Title: Not Even the Angels (1/35)
Author: David Hearne
Rating: PG-13
Category: XA

Summary: A powerful telekineticist poses a threat to the alien colonization
while a cult leader plans his own version of Armageddon.

Spoilers: Overall, the whole crazy, twisting, turning mythology. And
"Unusual Suspects," too.

Disclaimer: It's yours, Mister Carter. Are you satisified?

Notes: This story comes in three parts---"He Walks Among Us," "The Madman's
Logic," and "The Destoryer of Worlds."

Furthermore, I wrote this story awhile back. It contains characters who have
been dealt with in various ways on the show. Put the timeline between "The
Beginning" and "One Son."

Archiving: Any archive that wants it is welcome to it. Put it on your feet,
give your dogs a treat, what a wonderful shoe.

Just before I start up, I'll like to throw in some musical suggestions while
you're reading this. Everybody seems to be carrying their own soundtracks in
their heads nowadays so here's one for "Not Even The Angels."

For general mood---Tom Waits' "Bone Machine" album, Robbie Robertson's
self-titled album, Peter Gabriel's "Passion" album and Michael Tippet's "A
Child of Our time"(classical.) Also note the Leonard Cohen songs "Everybody
Knows" and "The Future."

For Scullyangst---Tricky's "Makes Me Wanna Die," Anne and Kate McGarrigle's
"Mother Mother" and Linda Thompson's "Walking on a Wire."

For Mulderangst--- Tool's "Forty-Six and Two" and PM Dawn's "I Had No
Right." In fact, PM Dawn's whole "Dearest Christian..." album could be a
Mulderangst soundtrack.

For a little humor--- Mose Allison's "Tell Me Something" and "Ever Since The
World Ended."

For sheer paranoia and anger--- Rancid's "Something In the World Today,"
Fugazi's "Exit Only," Fishbone's "Psychologically Overcast" and "Those Days
Are Gone."

And finally...for a little MSR---Linda Thompson's "Dimming of the Day," Nick
Drake's "Time Has Told Me," PM Dawn's "I'd Die Without You," "Faith In You"
and "Broken."

Again, thank you for your indulgence.

This has been a public service announcement.



PROLOGUE


This is a dream.

This is not a dream.

Howard Ellis was considering both of these possibilities as he laid in bed.
He was examining the current situation and looking for a way to declare it
imaginary. In his head was the kind of argument you have with yourself when
you have a gun pointed at your face or when an earthquake seethes through
your house or when you look down at your dead child. You don't want to
believe this is happening to you. It's the kind of event that should occur
in other places and to other people. It only happens by chance and chance
usually plays its meaner tricks on someone else. Why should it choose now to
hurt you?

However, this event originated in something other than chance, nature or the
unpredictability of evil. It had the scent of a design to it. It was
happening because an unknown person set it in motion. Nothing abstract like
luck or fate was involved. He was being targeted. An order had been given, a
button had been pushed, an agreement had been made.

Then, again, it was just a dream.

But it wasn't.

Either way, he had to come up with a response. He tried getting out of bed.

That didn't work, even though nothing had been tied around him. None of the
people (though they weren't people) around his bed were touching him. Still,
his muscles were locked tight. Breathing itself had become difficult. He
could barely choke out the word "help."



Those words. They had come from...

...inside his mind.



The words had the opposite effect they intended. Howard began to squirm and
yell as much as he could. The voice in his head said nothing more and the
people...the creatures around him waited with impassive faces. Whether
Howard went along or resisted was besides the point. Their politeness was
just a formality.

The latch on a window twisted open and Howard felt warm air flow across him
as the window pushed itself up. A light stormed into the bedroom and it had
the brightness of fire. There was a sound like a knife being sharpened, only
a hundred times louder.

Then he began to rise. The sheets slipped off his body as he floated
upwards.

This was not a dream.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Oh, yes, there was.

That awareness came to him as his body suddenly halted its rise. It was as
if an unseen third arm had instinctively grabbed ahold of a bedpost.

The creatures began to twitch and look at each other. The voice said,  Howard responded that he was doing just that. He felt more
fear than defiance but his third arm held tight.

The light and the sound got more intense which Howard had thought
impossible. Pain drained the arm of its strength and his body was hauled
towards the window.

At first, he prepared to surrender. Then, through the light and the sound
and the agony, a memory slipped in. It came with the smell of beer, a man's
curse, a woman's cry and a child's protest. And then he remembered a slap of
flesh that was no less coldly dominating than the creatures in his bedroom.

With that, Howard got angry.

He felt his third arm lengthen and it coursed with heat. It shot out,
wrapped around the invaders of his room and then went through the window to
charge at the source of his misery.

What happened next surprised everyone.


PART ONE
HE WALKS AMONG US


"Other said, 'How can a man that is a sinner do such
 miracles?" ---- John 9:16


CHAPTER ONE
GOT THEM CONSPIRACY BLUES


"For although we may not be alone in the universe, in our own separate ways
on this planet, we are all alone." --- Jose Chung


"It comes down to a matter of trust," she had said. "I guess it's always
been about that."

It's been about a hell of a lot more than that, Fox Mulder thought. But
let's leave it there.

He paced back and forth in his apartment. He stopped doing this to dribble
his basketball against the floor. Then he paced some more. He tried reading
a book. Then he turned on the television. When he could find nothing that
interested him, he put in a videotape and watched women with big hair and
ridiculously pink lips act aroused for the camera. After a few minutes of
this, he turned off the VCR and went back to pacing.

He knew that he could try working. Even though he was still trying (against
orders) to reconstruct the paper documents of the X-Files, there was still a
network of information he could use. He could look up his e-mail and see if
one of the several cranks that revered him had something to offer than their
heated imaginations. In the midst of their rantings, there was always that
bit of truth which could keep him going on his personal quest.

Then he remembered that he was no longer a saint of paranoids. He was more
likely to receive insults and caustic grumblings on his computer. The
believers would never forgive him for his comments at a UFO conference
months back. He could still hear the audience's gasp when he told them that
aliens didn't exist and that they were being used to perpetuate a lie. It
wouldn't matter that he had changed his mind. It was irrelevant that he
believed...

What?

That it was about to all fall apart? That human existence was about to be
warped into something indescribable? Than the entire history of the planet
was going to be swallowed and then coughed up as a horrid future?

Pretty much.

Mulder once caught a televangelist earnestly diagramming events on a
chalkboard as he lectured his viewing audience. He explained that Israel,
credits cards and Bill Clinton were all signs that the Rapture was upon us.
After he was done, a grin stretched over his face and he said, "Isn't that
amazing?"

Mulder speculated whether the reverend actually believed his spiel or if it
was just a con for money donations or if it fell between those two
attitudes. He also wondered how the televangelists would fit his own
experiences onto his chalkboard. What would the preacher make of chips
planted in human skin, living black oil, aliens bursting out of human bodies
and a big goddamn spaceship floating over the Antartctic? Was this the
apocalypse that the good brother had in mind?

Could you call it an apocalypse?

Mulder didn't know what else to call it.

That left him with one question---what was he going to do about it?

Was he going to waste his time on pacing, dribbling basketballs and watching
porno? Or was he...

The phone rang. Mulder snatched it up right after its first ring.

"Hello!"

"Whoa! Rein it in there, stallion!"

Mulder had to smile. When he had first heard that voice smugly try to sell
him a cable hook-up years back, he never conceived that it would belong to a
future friend. A creepy friend, maybe, but he couldn't look any ally in the
mouth.

"Sorry, Frohike. I was just a little worked-up when you called me."

"I guess so. How are you and Scully?"

How are we? That's a good question. After we had gotten back from the
Antarctic,  I assumed that things would be different. That she would
understand the full magnitude of what we were facing. Instead, she walks
into a hearing with me needing her to back me up and she tells me that
science has left me up the creek with...

"We're fine."

If Frohike heard any doubt in Mulder's voice, he didn't mention it. "Good. I
understand things are a little tense over in FBI land."

"They could be better. So, why did you call up?"

"Some weirdness is going down in Vermont. There's a report from the city of
Rutland of a giant flash in the sky followed by half the power in town going
out."

"Uh, Frohike, there is something called lightning."

"There were no weather conditions that would create a discharge big enough
to knock out power."

"It's a freak occurence. It doesn't mean anything."

"There were also reported sightings around the area before the occurence."

"Sightings of what?"

"Oh, come on, Mulder..."

"Look, I don't hear anything here worth sticking my neck out over,
especially not now."

"Mulder, did you just lose a foot in height and grow red hair?"

"What are you implying?"

"Meaning you're sounding awfully skeptical. You're not back on that whole
'UFO government hoax' kick, are you?"

"No. It's just...look, Frohike, I appreciate it. But I've got this new AD
who does not have a kindly attitude towards my previous work."

"Okay. I see. I understand."

"Not that I don't appreciate your help. In fact...I hope you guys keep in
touch. Apparently, I've lost a lot of admirers over the past year."

"Infidels, the whole lot of them. The Lone Gunmen will always be at your
side."

"Thanks."

"Oh, by the way...that red hair comment...I didn't mean anything..."

"I know what you meant."

"She's the best thing that you've got right now, Mulder. Don't forget that."

Mulder hesitated, then said, "I haven't. See you later, Frohike. Give Byers
and Langley a kiss for me."

"Now, you're scaring me, amigo."

Mulder hung up.

The best thing you've got right now.

Maybe so. But maybe he needed even more than what Scully had to offer.

He dialed another number.

"Hello?"

"Diana, it's me."

A slight pause.

"Hello, Mulder."

"I was wondering if you heard about what happened in Vermont."

"What happened in Vermont?"

As he relayed his information to the woman listening, he imagined that quiet
face under the dark hair. He wondered if her current apartment had some of
the same furnishings that he saw in her living space years back. Probably
not. Diana Fowley was not too sentimental about the past. Her main concern
was the present and how it led to the future. Anything interfering with that
was to be discarded.

Almost anything.

Maybe.

After he was done, Fowley said, "Do you see anything special here? Anything
that distinguishes it from the standard sighting?"

"There's the power outage."

"Lightning, Mulder."

"Yes. I know. Lightning."

"I don't see anything worth following up on. We probably wouldn't look into
it even if the Bureau gave us carte blanche to pursue our interests."

"You said 'we' and 'our,' Diana."

He heard her pull in a breath and then let it out. "There's always that
possibility."

The silence was the only thing going back and forth on the line for awhile.

"Mulder?"

"I'm still here."

"So...where did you hear about this Vermont sighting?"

"Frohike."

There was a brief, low chuckle. "Oh, yes. How are he and the rest doing?"

"Still crazy after all these years."

"Hmm."

Mulder laid back on the couch and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Diana."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"I shouldn't try to contact you unless it's absolutely urgent. They're
probably listening in on us right now."

"Don't worry about it." There was a small pause, then she said, "Don't lose
track of what matters most, Mulder."

"I'll try. Good night."

"Good night."

Mulder stretched out an arm and hung up the phone.

What do you do when the world is going to end?

You just close your eyes, lie still and wait for it to happen.


"You made me a whole person," he had said.

If you feel whole, she thought, then you're the only one who does.

Dana Scully looked at a photo of a little girl celebrating her birthday. She
knew that looking at the image brought nothing but pain, but she was always
taking it out of its hiding place. It was like a wound that she couldn't
resist touching.

She wasn't whole at all. Her body had been invaded and a vital part had been
stripped away. There was nothing she could do to change that. The only balm
for her pain was a vague possiblity of justice. She knew who the enemy was
and had a sense of his plans. When Scully held the photo, she would promise
the girl that the world she had left was not under the sole control of the
ruthless.

She would think these things, but they felt ridiculous. What justice had she
created? What damage had she done to the responsible men? What had seen
accomplished?

That's when the anger started.

She used to be afraid of this anger, but now she welcomed it more and more.
If the need for justice could no longer sustain her, then her rage would
suffice. The one thing that worried her...

She turned to the ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"Um, Agent Scully?"

"Frohike?"

"Yeah. Uh...I know it's late."

Her first inclination was to tell Frohike that it really was too late. Then
she thought of the short man who brought her roses at the hospital and
showed up drunk at her doorstep to mourn a friend that they believed dead.
For all of his strangeness and adolescent behavior, Frohike was dependable
and even innocent in a twisted way.

"It's not too late," she said. "What do you want?"

"I just...I was talking to Mulder. He sounds down."

"I see."

"Maybe you ought to talk to him, you know."

So, he's down, is he? Well, I'm feeling kind of down myself, Frohike. That's
what happens when you have faced death by cancer, a sister takes a bullet
meant for you and you find out that you've had a daughter and then watch her
die. It kind of gets you depressed. So I'm supposed to feel sorry for
Mulder? I'm supposed to comfort him in...

Scully snapped these thoughts off. "I think I will talk to him," she said.
"Thanks for telling me."

This was what she was afraid of. When you have this much anger, it had to
come out in some way and it didn't care who it hurt. She didn't want to
direct it at Mulder.

Didn't she?


When he heard the knocking, he instinctively knew who it was. He felt partly
glad to know she was here. He just hoped that they would avoid talking about
the only thing they ever talked about.

He opened the door and he felt the same tingle he always got in her
presence. He remembered the first time that she came into his office. The
careful planning behind her assignment had amused him. Not only had he been
saddled with an ambitious, scientifically rigorous partner, but they had
given him a pretty one as well. They must have thought her looks would be a
distraction from the work. He was determined to prove them wrong and to give
his partner the headaches of all time.

Now, she was here.

"Sorry, I already bought some girl scout cookies."

"Not one of your better lines, Mulder."

He nodded and stepped aside for her. He followed her into the living room.
She awkwardly sat herself down on a seat and he resumed his laying position
on the couch.

"Frohike said that you were feeling down."

"What, he called you?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"Well, are you down?"

"Aren't I always?"

A sharp comment rose to Scully's mouth, but she held it back. Instead, she
asked how the reconstruction of the burnt files was going.

"As well as it can, considering that I have to keep looking over my shoulder
while I'm doing it."

"Maybe you should lay off it for awhile. Your job at the FBI is on a thread
right now."

"This is beyond my job. Everything is at stake here."

"When you say everything, what do you mean?"

Mulder silently let out a breath, then said, "Have you ever read
Revelations?"

Scully paused, then replied, "Only the Cliff Notes."

Mulder gave her a mild smile. "It's wicked prose, Scully. Saint John is a
hell of a writer. 'And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying,
Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen and has become the habitiation of
devils...'"

"You sound like you know it by heart, Mulder."

"It's kind of hard to forget."

"Are you saying that Revelations is applicable to our situation?"

Mulder closed his eyes. "You know there is a virus out there, Scully. You
know how dangerous it is."

"Dangerous enough to end the world?"

"I've seen what it can do. And I can think of only one reason for it to be
used."

"Mulder...don't you think that's presumptuous?"

Mulder's eyes snapped open.

"You make it sound like it's your job to save the world. But you're a FBI
agent, not a god."

Mulder got off the couch and went up to the window, focusing on the night
sky.

"You used to want your sister back. But now if that burden wasn't big
enough, you see yourself as the only person standing between the human race
and destruction. Don't do this to yourself."

"Scully, I don't know how you can avoid the truth of..."

"Dammit, Mulder, don't start that!"

He quickly turned and was shocked to see the fury in Scully's eyes. It was
hot and bitter and unlike anything he had seen from her before.

She clenched her fists and let out a long sigh. The anger left her face, but
Mulder knew it hadn't gone anywhere. "I'm sorry," she said as she stood up.
"I shouldn't have come..."

He crossed over to her and took one of her hands, quickly yet gently. "No,
wait. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

His skin was warm and soft. She rubbed her thumb just once across the palm.
"I want the same thing you want, Mulder."

"I know. It's just..."

"Frustrating?"

"Yes. But, more often, rewarding."

She smiled slightly. "It can be."

They took just a moment to stand still and look at each other.

Then their hands slid apart and she said, "Did Frohike say anything else to
you?"

"Yes. There's been an unusual event up in Vermont. I told Diana about it..."
He could see the stiffening in Scully's shoulders, but she had to know
everything. "...and she said that they can't look into it."

"Neither can we. Do you think this is important?"

"To tell you the truth, I doubt it."

"Then, why are you concerned?"

"It's not so much a question of concern as...I preferred it when I had a
choice of what cases to look into. Or more of a choice. I would just like to
know if there's anything here because...you know..."

She nodded and thought about it. "Why does it have to be us?"

"Who else could look into it?"

"Well..."

He realized what she was thinking and nodded. "Sure. Why not?"


CHAPTER TWO
WHAT THE LONE GUNMEN SAW


"Paranoids are not paranoid because they are paranoid but because they, poor
fucking idiots, keep getting themselves into paranoid situations." ---Thomas Pynchon  


"If you kids don't shut up, I'm going to turn this car right back around!"

John Fitzgerald Byers didn't say that, but he wanted to make a statement
along those lines. However, there were two problems with that---the
passengers in the back seat were as old as he was and turning the car around
would please at least one of them.

"Frank freaking Miller, man," Langley muttered. "I'm missing a chance to see
Frank 'The Dark Knight Returns' Miller. One of the greatest minds in..."

"Would you shut up about that already?" Frohike barked.

"I had tickets, man! I had tickets for the comics convention! And I had to
give them away because of this damn snipe hunt!"

"We're here because Mulder and Scully asked us to do this."

"We're here because her name causes your mouth to drool."

"No one tied your arms, buddy."

"I had to come! You two would be lost without me!"

"Oh, ho! Get this! Look, pal, if you leave this organization, there are a
million long-haired Ramones-loving hackers we could get..."

"If I said it once," Byers told them. "I've said it a hundred times...will
you two pipe down?"

For once, Frohike and Langley did just that. Maybe because they all knew the
real reason why they were in Vermont. It wasn't just that they owed Mulder
and Scully. They could sense the strain that the two agents were under.
Something felt like it was going to snap. If they could alleviate the stress
by a little investigation in the Northeast, Byers would consider the time to
be well-spent.

Byers would never forget when Mulder sent him to warn Scully about the
doctor treating her cancer. She had been in her hospital bed, asleep and
color drained from her face. As carefully as possible, Byers had stirred her
awake. Her eyes stared at him without blinking as he explained that the
doctor she trusted was likely trying to kill her. She slowly nodded, then
asked if he could help her up. There was another patient that she needed to
see. Her arm felt tiny and frail in his grasp. She can't die, he thought.
The world would feel empty without her.

Another image floated through his mind---another woman, only with blonde
hair. He had known her for barely a day and he would miss her for the rest
of his life. He could only imagine what losing Scully would do to Mulder.

So, he was going to drive around Rutland, interview people, look for clues
and see if he could bring back anything that...

"What the hell is that?"

"Excuse me?"

"That," Langley said. "Slow down."

Byers pressed the brake and looked where Langley's finger was pointing. They
were currently on the outskirts of Rutland, surrounded by farms and long
open spaces. Most of the houses in this area had at least half-a-mile
between them.

If any farming had been done on this house's land, that was a long time ago.
Fertile soil was clogged up with weeds. The house badly needed the
assistance of carpenters and painters. However, the damage to the house
couldn't be the sole responsibility of time and neglect. The slant of the
roof enabled the Lone Gunmen to see a wide black spot planted on its tiles.

It looked like a burn.

Byers, Langley and Frohike looked at each other. Then Byers drove the car up
the long, rough driveway and parked it next to another car with rusty holes
in its skin. Equipment was unpacked from the trunk and the trio went to the
door.

Byers knocked.

There was no sound at first.

Then feet padded towards the door. It was opened and two eyes greeted them.

The eyes had a story to tell, one with disappointment, pain and anger in it.
The eyes also belonged to someone who wasn't thrilled about seeing three
strangers at his front door.

The Lone Gunmen took in the rest of the man. Unlike the eyes, the man as a
whole made no impression. The face was stuck with ordinariness, being
neither handsome or ugly. His thin body was covered with clothes that the
man had owned for years.

The man said, "No, I don't believe the world is coming to an end."

"Huh?" Byers said.

"I don't believe the world is going to end, I haven't accepted Christ as my
savior and I don't want to read your magazine."

"Sir?"

The man looked over Byers' suit and tie. "You're not a Jehovah's witness?"

"Uh, no. We're investigators for a newsletter called 'The Lone Gunman.' Have
you heard of us?"

The man's eyes informed Byers of the inherent stupidity in his question.

"Yes, well...we're investigating the strange occurence of three nights ago.
You know, the flash and the power outage?"

The man's slumped posture stiffened.

"We were wondering if anything unusual had happened to you on that night."

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because, um...there's a big burn mark on your roof."

The man hesitated before saying "Lightning."

"Well, that is one possibility we're considering."

"What other possibilities could you be considering?"

"Um..."

"Look, I have to go to work in about a hour. I don't really have the
time..."

"What's the problem?" Frohike squawked. "This will only take a few minutes.
I promise that you won't miss a second of flipping burgers."

Byers winced.

"I work for a mass-mailing company," the man grumbled.

"Whatever. Why be hard-assed about it? Are you hiding something?"

A new shade crossed the man's eyes. It indicated a threat.

And maybe the knowledge that he could carry out that threat.

Then the man shrugged and said, "Go ahead."

Byers nodded to his companions. Langley and Frohike began walking around the
house with microscopic goggles and a geiger counter. Byers got out his
notebook.

"Your name, sir?"

"Howard Ellis."

"Where were you when the power outage occurred?"

"In bed. Asleep. I had just gotten home from the second shift at Metromail.
I work from three to eleven so I was asleep by around midnight."

"On the way home, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

"Yeah. I noticed that I hated my job even more than usual."

Byers cleared his throat. "Did anybody at work talk about any experiences
they had?"

"I don't talk much with the others."

Oh, boy, Byers thought. Then Howard rubbed his neck and Byers noticed the
red inflammations on his hands.

"How did you get those burns?"

Howard looked at his hands, then back at Byers. "Cooking," he said flatly.

Byers knew that he had gotten everything possible out of this man. "Well..."
he concluded, then put away his notebook and shuffled on his feet until his
fellow Gunmen returned.

Frohike and Langley were chirpy as birds. "You wouldn't believe what I
found!" Langley declared, holding up a tiny plastic bag full of dirt. "This
is one weird-ass soil sample!"

"And check out the readings on this place!" Frohike pointed his geiger
counter at the house. The static from the counter was strong. "Something
happened here and it sure wasn't light---"

As Frohike excitedly talked, he swung his arms and the counter pointed at
Howard. The static grew in volume and the needle wavered further to the
right.

They all looked at Howard.

He looked back at them. He didn't like what he saw in their eyes. It was as
if they were mirrors that reflected a repulsive countenance.

Howard Ellis got angry.

"I've had enough of this shit! The last thing I need are a bunch of
geeks---"

The rough crackling got louder. It sounded like rats trying to chew through
wood.

"---invading my property! You better leave right now---"

The needle had crossed into the numbers marked red.

"---or I'm going to do something about it!"

The Lone Gunmen were already running back to their car.


When Mulder called up Scully and told her to meet him at a bar, his voice
had a tone that she hadn't heard in awhile. He was excited. She didn't know
whether to be encouraged or nervous.

At the bar, she found him in a booth situated at the back. As she walked
over there, she noticed that a female bartender with short blonde hair was
watching the FBI agents with an odd look.

"What's with her?" Scully asked.

"Long story," Mulder said, then related what Byers had told him about Howard
Ellis.

"When he got angry, they knew that he...there was something in the air,
Byers said. They knew that this man was not a person to get angry."

"Mulder, you know how jumpy those three are."

"I think they're on to something this time."

Scully took in the eagerness on Mulder's face. She had been with him long
enough to take his instincts seriously.

"What do we do if they are?" she asked.

Mulder leaned back and scratched his lip. "I don't know."

"Kersh is not going to let us look into this."

"I'm aware of that."

"So, what do you want to do?"

"Keep Byers and the rest down there. Get more information."

"Why is this important to you? Just something in the air?"

"I'm getting the same feeling that I got with Gibson Praise."

"Well, you remember what happened with him."

"Of course, I do."

Scully nodded. "All right. Let's see what they can found out about this. But
we only go forward when we're absolutely sure that it's worth it."

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that I'm reckless, Scully?"

"If swan diving into empty pools was an Olympic event, Mulder..."


The men who gathered in the sitting room at West 46th Street did not like to
be noticed. Power could make other men yearn for cheering crowds and seeing
their names in the history books. These men spent a lot of effort on being
the ghosts of history. No one would ever connect them with the events of the
past or the events yet to come.

Adam Bridge was one of the people given the job of maintaining that secrecy.
He would hover around these men, notice the chinks in their armor and then
seal them up. His superiors hardly acknowledged him and he rarely made eye
contact with them. It was as if they were afraid that self-awareness of
their relationship would expose its fragility. These men must always assume
that their power is complete and total. If they don't, doubt happens and
that is toxic to them. Arrogance is not just a price. It's the foundation of
all their plans.

There were days that Adam could sit in on their meetings. This was not one
of them. This time, he had to stand outside. He would wait in the hallway
for his direct superior---a large-jowled man with a dead voice---to be done
with the meeting. After which, he would drive him home or any other
destination he desired.

The meeting had not started yet. Adam waited until a man arrived. This one
trailed thin white clouds from his cigarette as he walked down the softly
carpeted hallway. Adam opened the door for him and the man stepped past him.

Adam took a brief glance at the smoking man's expression. He noticed that
there was something different in his face. Usually, the smoking man was the
most arrogant of the bunch. This time, there was a trace of uncertainity
about it. Adam would have missed it if he had not learned to read the faces
of these men. Over the years, he had been carefully watching them when they
were looking away. He searched for clues and signs in their expressions.

Information to pass on.

Adam assumed that the meeting would begin now. Yet there was one more person
to arrive.

He arrived a few minutes after the smoking man. Adam had perfected the art
of keeping emotion off his face, but his talent was strained by the sight of
this tall, wide-shouldered man walking towards the door. Unlike the men in
the room, this newcomer made direct eye contact. The sureness of his power
was clear across his sharp features. Adam quickly opened the door and the
man strode inside. Adam got a glimpse of the others straightening to
attention before he closed the door.

This meeting was obviously even more important than usual. Adam had never
seen this man present at any of their gatherings before.

That's why he made a call that night to a man whom he considered his real
superior---the man that he followed above all others.

"One of the colonists' own people were there, Reverend...I can't think of
any reason why...Yes, Reverend...Sir, might I ask...is this what we've been
waiting for? Is it beginning?"

A smile appeared on Adam's face, full of gratitude and relief.

"Oh, thank God...I'll keep you informed of everything I know...God bless
you, Reverend."


The next day, Frohike called up Mulder to tell him that he had been arrested
for being a murder accomplice.


CHAPTER THREE
PUNISHMENT


"I am determined that my children shall be brought up in their father's
religion, if they can find out what it is."--- Charles Lamb


Susan Jones remembered a time when she had defied her mother. It had begun
as an argument over ear piercing that had gotten hotter and angrier until
Mrs. Jones ordered her daughter to her room. "No, I will not!" Susan shouted
back.

Her mother's face went from angry to flat and cold. When Mrs. Jones told her
daughter to go see her father, Susan knew that she was trapped. Just telling
her father about what happened would be a heavy task, but not telling would
only make things worse.

It was a long, long walk from the living room to the garage. The details on
the way there---a picture of a hazy-faced Jesus, the checkerboard patterns
on a sofa, flower-shaped magnets on the refrigerator---were sharp to her
eyes as they changed from symbols of domestic security to emblems of the
household that trapped her. As she continued towards the sound of nails
being hammered, she wondered why she continued to rebel even when she knew
exactly what would be the final result. She knew what would happen when she
entered the garage...

Her father would look up from whatever project he was working on. (This
time, it was a bookshelf to hold the family's ever-growing collection of
books on the Rapture.) He would know from the timidity in her eyes that a
transgression had been committed. She would quietly give him the details. He
would nod, then pull of his belt.

Ten.

Ten lashes for ten Commandments. With the first lash, she would have to call
out, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me." The second lash would have
her recite the second of God's rules. This pattern would continue with what
would hopefully be the last eight remaining lashes. The trouble was that
confusion was easy. Even though those laws were written on a plaque hanging
in front of her bed, the pain and the crying would interfere with her
memories. If she forgot one or mixed up the order, her father would tell her
where she went wrong. Then they would start over again. They once got up to
thirty-eight lashes that way. (If her mother was ever disturbed by the red
lines that she had wash off Susan's panties, she never spoke of it.) This
time, they only got up to fourteen. Not too bad.

Afterwards, Susan would be sent to her room and left alone for awhile. Then
both parents would come in and explain that they only punished her for her
own good. Susan agreed with that and promised to honor her mother and
father. Hugs would follow, maybe even ice cream.

Twenty-five years later, Susan was walking through the many rooms of the
Ezekial Ranch. She passed by comfortable displays of furniture that no
longer seemed so inviting and cozy. Her friends went by her but they no
longer felt like her friends. She was headed for the office of Reverend
Michael Forester, feeling the same way she did as when she walked to the
garage of her childhood home.

Only this was worse.

She knocked on the office door, but there was only silence from the other
side. She briefly toyed with the hope that Forester wasn't inside. However,
the truth was evident. Forester was in the middle of prayer and would only
let her in after he was finished.

Nearly a minute passed.

Then he spoke in a voice so unique in its timbre that it could make the
simplest phrases sound authoriative.

"Come in."

She could only do that and nothing else.

Forester's office was an utter mess, a puddle of chaos in the middle of a
house where taste and organization tended to every other room. Covering the
desk and shelves was a hodgepodge of files, papers, photos and books. The
literature delved into subjects like biblical prophecy, conspiracy theories,
infectious diseases and military weaponary. The files contained geological
maps, messages from distant countries and graphs whose curves went steadily
upwards. Photos of white blurs in the skies and scientists who were young
men in the 1950's poked through the rubbish. There were also many photos of
a brown-haired man and a red-haired woman, both of whom were attractive in
fairly unconvential ways.

The clothes on Michael Forester continued the unkempt motif. His white dress
shirt and black pants hadn't been near a hot iron for weeks. His black shoes
were scarred and scruffed. This was not the appearance of a leader. He
didn't even look like he could find his own car keys.

Then he looked up with grey eyes that seemed to know everything. They rested
inside in a face whose marks and lines seem to attest to the eyes'
knowledge. When he stood up, he bore himself straight and with no
uncertainity.

"Miss Jones."

"You wish...to see me, Reverend?"

"I understand that you have doubts about the Church's mission."

Susan went mute.

"Am I misinformed?"

One lash for each Commandment. And her father never had Forester's sense of
authority. What possible punishment could he think up? Why the hell did
she...

"Well, Miss Jones?"

"I, um...I was talking to Linda and...I said that ours is not the first
church that claimed this era was the final generation."

Forester said nothing, only continued his powerful gaze. Susan kept talking
out of sheer nervousness.

"The Millerites, the Jehovah's Witnesses, you could go on and on, everyone
thought their time had the right signs, they could see it playing out,
but...here we still are..."

"Yes. Here we are."

"I just thought...I would point it out, sir." I just thought that I would
open my mouth and stick my smelly foot in it. Couldn't stop it when I was a
girl and I still can't stop it.

Forester pointed at a timeline pinned to the wall. "You don't consider these
to be the right signs?"

Susan didn't have to read the timeline. Everyone at the Ezekial Ranch knew
it by heart.

August 1994...a man claiming to be an alien abductee takes hostages at a
travel agency...

December-to-January 1995...identical doctors working in abortion clinics
disappear...

April 1997...a schoolground full of children is attacked by bees...

March 1998...Over a hundred abductees are burned alive, allegedly in a
suicide pact...

In between all of this, there were stories of unknown craft in the sky and
visitors with strange intentions, more and more of them with each passing
year.

"Well, yes, sir, but..." No, no, stop it. For once, use your head.

"But?"

"But what does it all add up to?" Oh, Christ.

Forester stepped forward until he was a few inches from her face. "So, you
do have doubts." His voice seemed to make her head vibrate.

Susan looked down.

"So do I."

Her head straightened up in astonishment and she stared at the old man in
front of her. He was no longer so imposing. His expression was more
withdrawn and his gaze cloudy and unfocused. The change was so sudden that
it left her a little dizzy.

"S-sir?"

He nodded. "That's right. I have doubts. Not about the events facing us, you
understand. Rather..."

He turned away. Susan got the impression that he wasn't aware of her
presence now. He stepped over to a window and regarded the rough land
outside. Even within the secure coolness of the Ranch, the brutal heat of
the Arizona desert could be sensed, if not felt.

He was silent for a long time. Then he said---

"Who am I in all of this? Am I playing my role correctly? Is there something
I should be doing? Or not doing? It's so hard to see..."

When he turned to Susan, he was neither the all-powerful Reverend or the
bewildered old man. He now looked like a tender, caring grandfather. Susan
had known Forester for almost a year and this was something that she had
never seen before. It was strange. And gratifying.

And maybe a little scary.

"If you want to leave, Susan...if you don't have the strength of
belief...then you should go."

Susan almost commented about what happened to people who wanted to leave the
Church, but even she knew better than that. Furthermore, she could sense
that Forester was telling the truth. She could leave right now.

But she didn't want to. She couldn't. Not after all the way Forester had
opened up to her. How could she not follow a leader capable of showing the
weakness in his soul?

"I'll stay."

"That's good. I need someone like you in charge if something should happen
to me."

Her body felt weak. "Someone like me?"

Forester went over to her and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "Yes.
You."

"But what about Sheldon? Or McDonald?"

"They...are believers through and through. But they don't have your
intelligence and insight."

"You would want me to lead? Even with my doubts?"

"It's been said that faith without doubt is just flabby sentimentality."

Susan searched in her memory for the quote's source. "G.K. Chesterton?"

"Actually, I think it was a 'MacGyver' episode."

Susan burst out laughing at the sheer unexpectedness of the joke. Forested
smiled at her.

Then he stopped smiling and Susan's laughter was cut off as those grey eyes
fixed upon her.

"I know what will happen, Miss Jones. I have seen the Great Beast in the
flesh. What I don't know is when the final events will occur. Jesus said,
'But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but
my Father only.' It may occur in the next fifty years. Or five. Or next
month. Or tomorrow. Or just as I'm finishing this sentence. That's why we
must bear a strong, unwavering faith because the moment of Judgment could
occur at anytime. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Reverend." Susan felt far away from herself, disconnected from her
body.

"Now, there is somewhere I have to go. I'm taking McDonald and Sheldon with
me. There's a very important matter that needs attending to." He paused. "If
my sources are correct, it may be the most important event of our lives. May
I trust you to look after the Ranch in my absence?"

"Of course, Reverend."

"Good. Now, leave, Miss Jones."

She turned, left the office and the door closed behind her. She went to the
women's sleeping quarters, saying not a word to anyone she passed. She went
to her bed and knelt at its side, thanking God that she had not been
punished. Her prayers also thanked Him for bringing Reverend Forester in her
life and expressed her joy that he had talked into staying and that he
trusted her, a weak person with a weak faith.

She ignored the small suspicion that Reverend Forester may have done the
worst possible thing to her.


CHAPTER FOUR
WHAT NOT TO DO AROUND HOWARD ELLIS


"The rival sergeants run about.
  But more to squabble than find out..."
                                                               ---W.H. Auden


It happened like this.

Byers, Langley and Frohike decided to keep an eye on Howard Ellis. Byers
watched the house while Langley and Frohike hung around Rutland's downtown
area in case Howard went there. Around eleven o'clock, Howard left the house
and drove his car downtown. He parked on a long street containing stores and
the town library.

At the time this was happening, Langley was in a music store just a block
away from the library. He was talking with the store owner about the long
line of autographed celebrity photos on the wall. One in particular caught
Langely's interest. The signature and image belonged to the lead actor of a
popular science fiction series. Right next to the photo was a letter from
the star's personal assistant. The letter said that the star received
thousands of autograph requests and this was only one of two that the
assistant personally sent to his employer.

"Why's that?" Langely asked.

"Read what he wrote on his photo."

Under the star's handsome, laconic face was a scrawl that read "Where's my
free shit?"

Langley burst out laughing. "You didn't actually..."

"Sure."

"You do this for all of these people?"

"Oh, no. Only the ones that I think will like it. For some reason, I get the
feeling that this guy wakes and bakes occasionally."

"You don't think he actually wanted some free shit, didn't he?"

"Hell, he doesn't need me. He can get all the free shit that he wants."

"Well, if he doesn't want it, I..."

*Byers to Langley, Byers to Langley, come in.*

Both Langley and the store owner jumped. Langley yanked out the
walkie-talkie from his jacket.

"Langley here."

"Ah, man, you're a goddamned narc!"

"I am not!"

*Subject is headed for the library. Pick up and follow.*

"Then what's with the walkie-talkie?"

"It's...ah, forget it. What was that, Byers?"

*I said, the subject is headed for the library. Pick up and follow.
Understand?*

"Yeah, yeah."

Langley went up the street to the library, a medium-sized building. He found
old people reading magazines, homeless folk sleeping in chairs and college
students studying microfilm. He also found Howard Ellis. Keeping his face
hidden behind a newspaper, he observed Howard wandering around the shelves
and occasionally taking a book down for a quick perusal. Howard finally
settled on one book and sat down in a chair with it. He read it for a few
minutes, then tossed it aside with disgust. He heeded for the exit.

Langley walked after him, but not before observing the book's title.
'Stranger in a Strange Land.'

As he followed Howard down the sidewalk, Langley saw that he was headed for
the Rutland shopping plaza. He notified Frohike who had that area staked
out.

Frohike waited on a bench until Howard had crossed an intersecting street.
He then followed Howard through a parking lot and towards a movie theater
located between a grocery and a shoe store. He managed to overhear which
film Howard bought a ticket for. He waited a few more minutes, then told
Langley and Byers of his current position, recommending no communcation
until it was absolutely necessary.

Then he bought a ticket, got a big box of popcorn and went to theater number
three. He sat four rows behind Howard.

He and Howard were the only ones in the theater. No wonder. The film was
some horrible thing about a doctor who got his medical license removed for
drug use. He ended up working for the mafia which was made up of gaudily
dressed actors trying to act tough as they cursed and strode cockily. There
were voice-overs about destiny, an artsy shot of the doctor reflected in a
crooked mirror and a dame torn between two men. It made Frohike curse the
day Quentin Tarantino was born. He would have walked out on it under other
circumstances.

Judging from the way Howard's head lolled about, he wanted to leave as well.
What kept him there? Maybe because the film only fulfilled his expectations.
When Howard walked, his shoulders were slumped and his hands were tucked
into his pockets. He looked like a man who expected disappointment whether
it was from work, entertainment or life itself.

Frohike thought about other people he knew in his unique circles. They were
losers, obviously---people with lousy jobs and empty love lives who suddenly
found a way out of their existence's tedium. Instead of being ordinary
people, they would be alien abductees or the ones smart enough to see hidden
forces controlling world events. (Of course, *he* wasn't like that.) Most of
them barely had proof to support their claims beyond a dream they had.

However, something real and tangible had happened to Howard Ellis. Witn an
experience like that, you could make a fortune, tour the talk shows, be
famous. Why didn't he take this opportunity? What made him that bitter?

Frohike was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the three new
people in the theater. Of course, these men were experts in being unnoticed.
It was as if Frohike had blinked and there they were, seated around Howard.
Then they were standing up and leaning towards him. "Excuse me, sir?" one of
them quietly said. "But would you come with us?"

Frohike ducked for cover and got out his walkie-talkie. "Langley! Byers!" he
hissed. "Code Black! Get your butts over to the theater!" He put away the
walkie-talkie and looked back up.

He saw one of the men standing over him. Even if they had been in daylight,
Frohike would have been hard-pressed to come up with an exact description of
the man. However, there was one thing he would always remember---the way he
looked at Frohike as if he was a misspelled word that had to be erased.

"What are you doing, sir?"

Frohike was saying something along the lines of "ummm...uh..." when he
heard---

"GET YOUR GODDAMNED HANDS OFF ME!"

Both Frohike and the man looked towards Howard. He was shoving one of the
other two men away from him. The pushed man only went back an inch and then
leaped forward to ram Howard into a headlock supplied by his companion.

"Be calm," the man holding Howard said. "Just be calm. There is nothing you
can do."

That was when Frohike felt it.

It was the same tingle in the air when Howard had gotten angry at the Lone
Gunmen. Even in the dim light, the rage on Howard's face was evident.

"Let...go...of...me," he growled.

"You cannot resist," he was informed. The man that Howard pushed took him by
the arm to lead him out of the theater.

That tingling got more intense.

"Wait, guys!" Frohike warned, but then he felt a hand clamp down on his
neck.

Howard pressed a foot against an arm rest and his body tried to stretch back
against his captor. His hands trembled. His breathing was as loud as the
movie's soundtrack.

Frohike knew something was going to happen. He wanted to push aside the
sharp pain in his neck and yell a warning out. Couldn't the dummies see it
coming? If they did, they had been too well trained. Orders overrode their
instincts.

"Sir, if you don't come with us, we're going to have to..."

Then it happened.

Long thick streams of...something leapt through the light of the projector,
accompanied by a sound like a big plastic bag being popped. Then the
projector light went out. There were two dull thumps.

Frohike felt the hand release him and he almost collapsed. He heard the
third man pull out a gun.

Then the popping sound occurred again and a warm substance splashed over
Frohike. There was another thump.

By then, Frohike's eyes had adjusted to the emergency lights that lined up
the aisle. He could see Howard watching him. He had no words to say and no
way of avoiding what was sure to happen.

Then Howard turned his head towards the back exit. Frohike looked there as
well.

There was another man in the theater. A big man. Frohike could faintly make
out thick lips, sharp cheekbones and unblinking eyes. He held a metal rod in
his hand, carefully judging its potential use.

Then the man returned the rod to his pocket and left the theater.

Howard left by the front door exit

Frohike sat down until an usher came in with a flashlight. The usher found
the three bodies as well as a short man stained with blood. The man blinked
in the light and said, "I can explain."

Detective Patricia Brand was having enough of a headache with this case
without having the FBI involved. Yet here they were, two representatives of
that grand institution, sitting right in front of her desk at the Rutland
Police Department as the clock reached nine p.m.

"What brings you two up from Washington?"

"We understand that you have a Melvin Frohike under arrest for complicity in
murder," the tall, dark-haired agent said politely.

"You understand correctly."

"Could you explain the circumstances of his arrest?"

"Not before you explain why you're here."

The male agent looked at his female partner. Brand noticed that the
red-haired woman was more noticeably tense. The two agents had a quick
silent communication and then the male agent said, "Mister Frohike was doing
unofficial business for the FBI."

He added nothing more after that. "O-kay," Brand said carefully. "Well,
there was a power outage in one of the theaters at the Rutland Plaza cinema.
In fact, the power went out in the whole Plaza." Brand noticed the slightest
flicker in the male agent's eyes when she mentioned that. "When an usher
went to check out one of the theaters, he found your Melvin Frohike with
three dead men."

"Dead how?"

"Well, it wasn't due to natural causes. I've heard of spontaneous
combustion, but not a spontaneous explosion in your chest."

"But you're not sure what the cause is."

"No. Not from a cursory examination. My guess would be a gun with a lot of
firepower. No one heard any shots but you know how loud movies get
nowadays."

"Well, I would like Agent Scully to be attendant at the autopsy."

Brand turned her eyes over to Scully, making the female agent even more
uncomfortable. "Sure," Brand said. "The more the merrier."

"Why do you think Frohike was involved in this?" Mulder asked.

"Let's just sat that his unwillingness in telling us what happened is a
little suspicious. We know that there was another person in the theater.
We'll ID that person eventually but your friend's cooperation would be
appreciated."

"I'll talk to him about that."

"Goody. Now tell me why exactly you're here."

Nothing came from either Mulder or Scully.

"Look, I've got a lot of problems with this case. It's bad enough that a
triple-murder occurs right in the middle of glorious center of commerce, but
I've got three bodies with no form of identification. We ran their
fingerprints and faces through the computer and nothing came out. And you
didn't look too surprised when I said that."

Another tense exchange of unspoken words flowed between the two agents. Then
Mulder said, "We need to know more before we can say anything conclusive.
But trust us, Detective Brand. We're here to help you."

"All I know is that you're here. And I can't do anything about that."

Mulder and Scully hoped that Detective Brand wouldn't learn that her last
statement was wrong.


"You've got to get me out of here, Mulder! The way people are looking at me,
you would think I was some kind of pervert."

"I wouldn't go there, Frohike."

Frohike grimaced at the man on the other side of the iron bars.

"What happened?" Mulder asked and got all the details Frohike could
remember.

"So, you see? I'm clean! You've got to go tell that Detective Bitch
Brand..."

"Ease up, Frohike. She's just doing her job."

"Oh, pardon me, Mister Politically Correct. But I'm in jail!"

"Well, the best way to get out is to tell who else was in that theater."

"I knew that you wanted to keep my mouth shut there. But now that you're
here..."

"Frohike..."

"...I can get the hell out of this roach motel..."

"Frohike..."

"...and get working on a lawsuit that will knock the Rutland Police
Department so hard..."

"Frohike?"

"What?"

"You're...going to have to stay in jail awhile longer."

"Pardon me?"

"I need you to keep quiet for now."

"What for? Mulder, it's not going to take them long to know who was in
there!"

"I know. But I need all the time I can get."

A long frown settled on the prisoner's lips.

"Please."

Frohike crossed his arms. "This is going to cost you."

"Frohike, if you're going to ask for naked pictures of Agent Scully..."

"Oh, grow up, Mulder. I'm past that."

"Good."

"Love is temporary. Money is forever."


The autopsy of the three murder victims hit a snag. When the police
forensics specialist and Scully went to the morgue, they found all three
bodies missing.

Upon hearing this, Detective Brand blew a fuse. "What the hell is going on
here, Agent Scully?!"

"I don't know. And that's the truth."

After Mulder's interview and Scully's aborted autopsy, they met to compare
notes. Then Scully reminded Mulder---

"We're in it deep enough just being here. The last thing we need is an angry
police detective."

"I know. But there's too much that's important at stake. Not to mention the
lives of Detective Brand and her fellow officers."

"What do you mean?"

"From what Frohike told me, it looks like we're dealing with a
telekineticist. A telekineticist who does not like to be cornered."

Scully took her traditional pause, then said, "Are you saying that Howard
Ellis willed those men to die?"

"Through the projection of some mental force. I don't want the local police
charging after them because I doubt they're going to accept my little
theory. They'll be unprepared to deal with him."

"Mulder, I don't accept it. At least, I can't without any evidence."

"The evidence has been removed, Scully. You willing to guess by whom?"

"Kersh is not going to be interested in our guesses. He's going to see us
down here without authorization and impeding a local investigation. We have
nothing to justify ourselves being here."

"Maybe not in this murder case."

"What does that mean?"

"I had Langley hack into the Rutland police records..."

"Oh, beautiful."

"He found a similiar case that occured twenty-three years ago. In it, a man
died as the result of violent trauma to his chest. It was ruled that the man
died of a shotgun blast, but there is a lot of uncertainty in the coroner's
report. This case also involved a nine-year-old boy named Howard Ellis."

Scully took all that in, then asked, "Who was the victim?"

"His father."


CHAPTER FIVE
A MEETING BY THE LAKE


"Behold, we put bits in the horse's mouths that they may obey us and we turn
about their whole body."---James 3:1


Conrad Strunghold entered the sitting room and memory hit him. The grim
looks on the other men's faces, their stiff posture, the way they regarded
him---it reminded him of when they learned of the infection in Texas.

"I take it this is important news if I must come all the way from Tunisia,"
he said mildly. "Nor will it be particularly encouraging news."

"We have a new problem," the smoking man said. "Something none of us
anticipated. And I mean...none of us."

"What do you mean?"

"There was an attempted abduction of a man in Vermont."

Strunghold looked puzzled. "An abduction by one of the colonists?"

"Of course."

"An *attempted* abduction?"

"The man in question---Howard Ellis---resisted. Successfully."

Strunghold clenched his hands inside his pockets. "How?" he said as quietly
as possible.

"He appears to be a telekineticist. A very powerful one. He was able to
obliterate his abductors and their ship."

"He also killed three of our men as they attempted to contain him," a
heavy-set man added. "One of the colonists' own people witnessed this."

"Where is this Howard Ellis now?"

"No one knows."

Strunghold looked at everyone in the room. "I should have been informed
about this before any action was taken."

"We had to move quickly," the smoking man explained, rolling his cigarette
between his fingers. "The colonists wanted this problem taken care of
immediately."

"Did anyone consider the possibility that this man could be an asset for our
side?"

A tiny smile appeared on the smoking man's mouth. "Why, Herr Strunghold...is
that rebellion you're talking?"

Strunghold fixed his eyes on the smoking man who quickly lost his smile.

"Rebellion has never been a real option because we never had the right
weapon," Strunghold said evenly. "Howard Ellis could be our weapon."

"It's too late for that," the heavy-set man said. "The colonists already
know of his existence. We have no time to harness his abilities, yet alone
know if he's capable of mounting a full-fledged resistance to their plans.
Furthermore, he sounds too unstable to be controlled."

Strunghold's eyes turned down to the floor. "Very well. The question
is---how will this problem be solved?"

"There's a more important question," the smoking man said. "Who will do the
job?"

Strunghold looked quickly up. "If they get involved..."

"Then it's a whole new game, isn't it?"


Investigating a case without bureau sanction. Impeding a murder
investigation. Computer hacking. And now, breaking and entering.

"While we're in town, Mulder, why don't we knock over a liquor store?"

Mulder said nothing as he entered the house of Howard Ellis. Scully sighed
and went through the door whose lock Mulder had picked. She followed him
through the rooms of the house, looking for anything significant. They
surveyed the dust on the rugs, the smeared windows and the furniture held
together by tape.

"Mister Ellis is not the most sanitary person in the world," Mulder
observed.

"Messiness is the least of his offenses," Scully replied.

"We're talking about self-defense, Scully. Those men were trying to take him
away."

"And you're saying that those men worked for the government?"

"I would say that it's a fair guess."

"And these men wanted to use Howard's powers for their own purposes?"

"Well...if they knew what he could do, they should have been smart enough
not to manhandle him. Maybe someone sent those men to make sure that
Howard's powers were real."

"But why send them in the first place?"

"Must have something to do with that flash from a few nights ago."

"Must have?"

Mulder sighed. "We've got a lot of pieces. Now it's a question of finding
the one that connects them all."

Scully said nothing more. What was there left to say? What was that point of
complaining after coming this far? Or complaining about anything after all
these years?

Besides, like it or not, there was an odd smell to this whole affair. If
nothing else, Mulder had given her an inclination for following this kind of
scent.

They reached Howard's bedroom with its unmade bed and dirty clothes
scattered on the floor. Mulder looked over the room and suddenly felt
frustrated. Why hadn't he learned anything? Once again, he had dived
head-first, assuming that the dry cement below was just an illusion. Not
only that, but he had yanked someone down with him.

He glanced over at Scully. She was examining the room but with the
expectation of finding nothing. Yet she was here. She had followed him on
nothing more than trust.

Same as it always was.

And this was the woman he had first regarded as a young brown noser? She had
given him everything she had to offer. What had he to give back? Somebody's
dirty laundry.

He kicked a shirt on the floor. That's how he saw it.

"Scully, come over here."

She knelt with him before a dark spot on the rug.

"It's a burn mark," she said.

Mulder pushed aside other piles of clothes until he found two more burn
marks. Then he noticed the window---singed around the frame. He rubbed his
finger around the window, as if those black streaks could tell him a secret.

"Mulder? What is it?"

No, he thought. It can't be possible. But...

"Scully, I think we are on the verge of..."

"Of getting your ass blown away if you move."


The blue car moved gingerly down the state route that passed through Rutland
and in front of the house of Howard Ellis. It pulled to the side across from
the house, right behind a pickup truck that had arrived a few minutes after
Mulder and Scully.

Inside the car were three men. The driver was a huge man with wild curly
hair and a full mustache. He wore a blue denim jacket and frayed jeans. A
tattoo of a snake wrapped around a skull was visible on his right hand.

In the back seat was a man who was five-foot-three in height but with a body
that was obviously fit and muscular. He looked like he spent at least a
half-hour of every day making sure his appearance was presentable, down from
his hair to his dress suit to his loafers.

The driver and the back-seat passenger were mirror opposites. Yet the
expressions in their faces were very alike. They looked like they were
awaiting orders.

The short man opened up a black case. He pulled out a small radio dish and
pointed it at the house. A wire ran from the dish to an earpiece. Through
the earpiece, he could hear---

"...federal agents. There's no need for the gun."

"Up against the wall."

"I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. Please, sir, would you..."

"Mulder and Scully are here," the short man said.

"I see," the third man commented. He sat besides the driver, scanning the
house with his grey eyes.

"They sound like they're in trouble."

"Don't worry. They'll get out of it." The third man smiled. "I should have
known Fox would be here. You know his parents could never keep his birthday
and Christmas presents hidden? He would always find them, no matter where
they were stashed. He neved did like secrets." The smile vanished.
"Unfortunately, secrets mean nothing unless you can see the truth that binds
them. I hope he realizes that before it's too late."


The old man looked at the ID badges, then handed them back to Mulder and
Scully. He placed his gun back in its holster where it snuggled against a
hefty belly with yellow suspenders across it. "All right," he said. "Why are
you here?"

"Mind if I ask who you are?" Mulder replied.

"I'm John Taylor."

Mulder looked surprised. "Detective John Taylor?"

The old man returned Mulder's look. "Former detective. How did you know?"

"You investigated the murder of Rob Ellis."

"You seem to be a few steps ahead of me."

"Actually, I think we're walking right in sync. I assume you've heard about
what happened in the movie theater."

"Everybody's heard about it. On a hunch, I called up a few friends on the
force and got some details."

"It's just like the death of Rob Ellis, isn't it? You know that Howard was
in that theater."

Taylor let out a lengthy sigh. He sat down on the bed. "I've been dreading
this for years."

"Mister Taylor," Scully said. "what happened in that other case?"

"What do you know?"

"That it was ruled that Rob Ellis was killed by his wife, Angela.
Apparently, he had been abusing both her and their son."

"That's the story that was given out. But, sometimes...well, maybe it's
better to believe the lie."

Scully looked at Taylor's sad eyes. "You think that Howard did it."

"Angela confessed to the murder, but there were a couple of problems with
her story. The autopsy indicated that the shotgun blast occurred after
death. Furthermore, powder burns on the floor show that she had shot Rob
while he was lying down. Yet blood patterns on the wall pointed to him
standing up at the moment of death."

"And you wonder if he had been shot," Mulder said.

Taylor looked at Mulder with a raised eyebrow. "Well. It does look like
we're in sync."

"What are you saying?" Scully asked.

"Judging from the wounds in Rob's body, it looked like something long, wide
and round had gone through his chest," Taylor explained. "Something a lot
bigger than a bullet."

"Such as?"

Taylor shrugged. "No one could answer that. No one could explain any of the
inconsistencies. Because of that and Angela's confession...well, there you
go."

"What about Howard?"

"I questioned him. I just knew that he was hiding something. Both he and his
mother. But I couldn't get anything out of them."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

Taylor looked at Scully. "Rob was a son-of-a-bitch. That's a fact. If Angela
wanted to protect her son...then who am I to say no?"

"But now three men are dead."

Taylor looked down, silent for a few moments. Then he said, "Life wasn't
easy for Howard, as you can imagine. After the trial, things got more and
more bitter between him and his mother. Eventually, he stopped seeing her in
prison. One year later after that, she died there. He didn't come to her
funeral. I could never understand what that was all about."

"You've been keeping an eye on him," Mulder observed.

"Trying to. It hasn't been easy. He's got a lot of anger inside of him. I
can't think of any friends that he has. I've tried to be there for him, but
I'm more of a reminder of the past than a help. He's never been able to hold
down a steady job. He's only been able to keep onto his house because it's
inherited, but...you can see how much he cares for it. It's where Rob died
after all."

"And now that anger is loose."

"He's been able to hold onto it this long. I can't imagine that he would
snap for no reason. Something set him off."

Mulder glanced at Scully and she could almost hear the wild theory singing
inside his head, even though she didn't know what it was.

"Have you told the police about this?" Mulder asked.

Taylor gazed straight at Mulder. "No. Have you?"

"I believe that the last thing anybody needs is for Howard to be hunted down
like an animal. We need to find him first."

"You know, it's funny how well we agree. What are you guys doing her
anyway?"

"It's a long story. The important thing is that we need to help each other."

Taylor nodded. "Okay. So, what do we do?"

"Right now, I would say that Howard is lost emotionally. He's repeated
something that he enjoyed doing but was forbidden by his mother to do
again."

"What makes you say that?"

"This kind of rage you say Howard has...it can only be checked by one thing.
A promise."

"To Angela?"

"Angela knew what her son was capable of. And knew that he was more than
willing to do it again."

"So, that's why he was so bitter with her. She took the heat for him so he
felt obliged to keep the promise. But he always hated it."

"Right. So now the promise is broken. He can't return to this house. It's
too much of a symbol of the past. He has to find a place that's comforting
to him.'

Taylor scratched his beard as he thought. "You know, I once took Howard on a
fishing trip down in Ludlow. I think that if we ever connected...it was
there. Maybe if I had done more things like that with him..." He shook his
head.

"You think he might be there?"

"It's as a good place as any right now."

"Okay. We'll go down there. Scully, you should stay here in case Howard
decides to come home."

"Right," she said.

"Let's go," Taylor said, getting to his feet. "We don't have much time."

The old man left the room. Before Mulder could follow him, Scully touched
him on the arm.

"You're thinking something big, Mulder."

"I am. But it's another long story."

She sighed. "All right. Go."

"Scully?"

'Yes?"

"If Howard does come here...don't get him upset."


The blue car had driven to an out-of-sight spot down the road before Mulder
and Taylor stepped outside. The short man turned on a laptop computer. The
computer was hooked up to a machine that was gray, flat and beeping. While
Taylor and the two FBI agents had been talking, the grey-eyed man had
authorized the placing of tracking bugs on both Taylor's pickup and the
agents' rental car.

A map of Rutland appeared on the computer screen. There were two tiny
flashing lights on the map, one blue and the other red. The blue one began
to move.

"The pickup is in motion."

"Follow them."

The big driver turned the car around and followed the pickup's trail. He
asked his leader, "If they take us to Howard Ellis, what should we do?"

"Then it might be necessary for each of us to do what we do best."

"Sir?"

"You know what your talents are. Mine is speaking the truth."


Ludlow was a small town located just over twenty miles south of Rutland. A
lake was close by, ringed with houses on its shore.

As Taylor drove his pickup down the interconnecting highway, Mulder thought
about everything.

Among his thoughts was the belief that he may have found something more than
a Holy Grail. He may have found the Sword of Excalibur---a mighty weapon. If
Howard could do what Mulder believed he could do, then he would make an
invaluable ally.

Then he thought about the other times when he had believed the end was in
sight. He thought of things that he had held in his hand...a human corpse
altered into something inhuman...a computer disk...another body, frozen in
ice...

All of them had been taken from him and been replaced with another weight to
hang around his neck. He had knowledge and the responsibilities that went
with that knowledge, but nothing more.

And there were the losses. And the near-loss.

Had the past made him more careful? He wasn't sure. He had a greater sense
of what matters most, but when the Grail shines in the distance, it was so
hard to resist the chase.

He once considered leaving the quest behind him. However, it seemed that the
quest had chosen him, not the other way around. It kept its hooks in Mulder
and was now dragging him down this dark highway to another probable
disaster.

Or maybe a victory.


Scully had done more searching in the house after her partner had left. She
found an old photobook. Held under the plastic were images of the Ellis
family. She examined the smiles of father, mother and son. Where was the
hurt and anger? In these displays of happiness, where were the signs of this
family's approaching self-destruction?

She wondered if Mulder looked at his photobooks in the same way. What did he
see when he looked at his father? Was it the man who had given him life? Or
the one who had betrayed him and his sister?

She also wondered if Mulder was projecting his own feelings onto this case.
Undoubtedly, he could relate to an anger that culminated in patricide.
Scully, however, was inclined to believe the mother's story. If Angela Ellis
had told Scully that she had shot her husband to protect her son, she would
have accepted it, understood it and sympathized with it. What mother
wouldn't commit murder to protect her...

Now, who was projecting her feelings?

She quickly closed the book.

Then she heard the door open.

She was about to call out, but cut that short. Mulder's theory was more than
a bit improbable, but she wasn't going to give away her position either.

She undid the strap on her holster.

She waited.

Footsteps creaked through the house. They went left and right through the
rooms, passing by the hallway that would lead to her.

Scully noticed that the footsteps were too light for a man. As the footsteps
finally turned to the hallway and headed for her, she realized that there
were some things almost as bad as a murderous telekineticist.

"Why, Agent Scully. Fancy meeting you here."

A very angry police detective, for example.


"They've taken a turn off the highway," the short man reported. "They're
right alongside the lake."

"Any cover we can use?" his leader asked.

"Yes. There's a forest around the road and lake. Should we bring the
necessary equipment?"

'"Of course."


As Taylor and Mulder went down the highway, a forest closed around them.
Taylor eventually look a left and slowed down for a residential road, the
one that went around the lake. At first, houses blocked Mulder's view.

Then the truck passed over a small bridge and Mulder could see a black plate
of water stretched out under a sharp night sky. A few lights could be seen
in the windows of houses, brighter and clearer than the stars but still
punier that those cold gems.

"There's a place where you can load your boats into the water," Taylor said.
"We can try looking for..."

"He's here."

Taylor glanced over at Mulder. Mulder has his eyes fixed on the dark around
him. He could sense the coldness outside.

This is where you go to be alone. This is where the pain can't reach you.
This is what we want death to be like---a coldness that has the comfort of
warmth, a darkness to protect you when the light becomes painful.

This is where Howard Ellis is, Mulder thought. In a way, it's where I am as
well.


Drowning is widely considered one of the worst ways to die. Perhaps because
it's shocking to find out that a soothing and loving element would destroy
us as readily as fire. Or perhaps what scares us is that it murders as
lovingly as it bathes. Fire is hungry and merciless. Water flows calmly
around us. Fire destroys the land and then promptly leaves. Water transforms
the land and stays like a caring mother. When we swim, don't we often slip
below the surface and see how long we can stay there? We remain there to
feel the softer side of death.

As Howard sat on the lake's edge and dipped his feet into the water, he
considered that loving kind of death.

When he heard the car coming, he considered the kind of death that he could
make.

The car parked next to his own. The lights drew a wide circle around him,
pulling his shadow over the lake. He heard the doors open and feet step onto
the ground.

He said, "If you don't leave right now...well...you know..."

"Howard?"

He turned his head and blinked until he could make out the features of one
of the men.

"Detective Taylor."

"Yeah. Hey."

Howard looked the old man over. "It's been awhile. You've gotten fat."

The old man smiled. "Yes, I have."

"Who's that with you?"

"That's Agent Fox Mulder. He's with the FBI."

Howard turned his eyes towards the tall, dark-haired man, but addressed his
words to Taylor. "What have you told him?"

"I told him that I'm worried about you."

"I'm not the one to worry about. You should know that by now, Detective
Taylor."

"I'm not afraid of you, Howard."

That was the dark-haired man. Howard was about to laugh at him, but then he
saw the expression on the man's face. The FBI agent looked...expectant.

"Then you don't know who I am," Howard replied.

"I know you're someone who will only use his gift if he's being attacked."

Taylor looked at Mulder in confusion. Now, Howard laughed.

"Get that, Detective Taylor. This guy has figured me out and we've barely
met. You've known me for over twenty years and you still haven't solved my
little mystery."

"I think Detective Taylor has known for a long time," Mulder said. "But it's
hard to accept. Isn't it?"

Taylor nodded slowly.

Mulder stepped forward. He took his time doing it.

"You've very important, Howard."

"Oh, I'm sure the government is very interested in me."

"Believe me, Howard, I'm not here as a representative of the government."

Howard looked at the faces of the two men as if he was seeing them for the
first time. "You're here alone?" he asked.

"We are."


Mulder, Taylor and Howard were in the middle of a clearing. Surrounding them
was a thick cover of trees. The three men following Taylor and Mulder had
left their car up the road and followed the beeps of a portable tracker.
When they reached the boat-launching area, they stepped into the cover of
the trees. The twigs and dry leaves did nothing to give them away. The big
man and short man were skilled at that kind of stealth and they had taught
what they knew to their leader, just as the leader had taught them what he
knew.

The car headlights gave them more than enough light to work with. All that
was needed now was an order.


"So, what do you want?" Howard asked Mulder.

"Quite a lot, actually. I've been looking for someone like you for a long
time."

"Why?"

"Because my life depends on it."

Howard looked this agent over. A handsome guy, this Mulder. Probably very
good at what he does and very smart as well. All the elements you need for a
nice life, but Howard had a nose for desperation and the scent was strong on
Mulder.

"Buddy...if you need me that bad, you're one sorry son-of-a-bitch."

"Look, Howard..." Taylor said.


A voice whispered, "Now."


"...maybe you ought to..."

There was a muffled snap from the trees and a piece of Taylor's head left
him. The rest of his body stumbled to the ground.

Mulder thought, run for cover, pull out your gun, call for back-up. Yet his
body instinctively resisted this. He knew that eyes were looking at his
heart through cross-hairs. He could only stay still and wait for the
watcher's decision. He was completely helpless.

Mulder was, anyway.

Howard had been paralyzed by shock as well. Then he shook himself and went
over to Taylor's body. He did not rush over there. He walked in a heavy way,
his bare feet leaving wet prints on the ground. He stared down a the corpse,
knowing that there was no hope. It had been a great shot.

He turned to the forest.

And Mulder felt a tingle in the air.

"Come on out, you bastards!" Howard screamed. "You come on out or I'll..."

"HOWARD!"

The voice seemed to blast over their heads to the other side of the lake. It
denied them any will of their own, any action they might take, any thought
except what the voice allowed them. Howard's anger snapped off his face and
Mulder saw the boy who had been terrorized by his father before he learned
that he was a little god.

But, now, it seemed that another god was usurping him.

"Howard, I wish to speak to you." The voice was much gentler this time.
There was no duplicity in it and no hints of secret agendas. "May I come
down?"

Howard silently nodded.

A man stepped into the clearing. As he got nearer, a memory came to Mulder.
The man was familiar and he opened his mouth to say so.

"Please, Agent Mulder," the newcomer told him. "I would rather do the
talking. And I would rather you not end up like this unfortnuate man."

He walked up to Taylor's body. There was an unmistakable appearance of
sadness on the old man's features. He lowered his head and closed his eyes
for a few moments.

Then he turned to Howard. "A friend of yours?"

"Sort of. Enough to make me want to kill you and your buddies up there."

"I understand."

"You know I could do it. Nothing can protect you."

"Except for the Lord."

The man's grey eyes looked into Howard's without blinking. Howard found
himself curious about this man. Of course, why wouldn't you be curious?

"What do you want?"

"I'm here to use you, Howard."

Howard closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face. He looked about
ready to collapse. Mulder watched this scene, not even beginning to
understand what it was about.

"Did you hear me?" the grey-eyed man asked.

"Yes. I heard you. You want to use me."

"I don't want to. I have to. Just as you will have to use me. Just as we are
all being used."

Howard lowered his hands and stared at this lunatic with the resounding
voice and penetrating eyes.

"I know it sounds scary," the grey-eyed man continued. "But, if you think
about it some more, it is...in fact...the great glory of life."

"It's glorious that we are used?"

"That we have a purpose. We might not always know the reasons why. But there
is a plan. God has created a plan and we are all key parts in it."

Howard groaned. "Shit, you sound like..."

"A character from 'Touched By An Angel?'"

Howard saw the man raise an eyebrow and he found himself giggling. "Yeah.
Now, that you mention it. Yeah."

Mulder watched Howard giggle, the grey-eyed man smile and John Taylor's head
drip blood and wondered if any of it was really happening. Come on, Scully,
wake me up and tell me it's all a bad dream.

Then the man stopped smiling and he placed his hands on Howard's shoulders.
Howard didn't mind this.

"I bring pain as well as hope, Howard. The things I will tell you...the
things I will show you...they won't stop the questions. There's only one
place where all questions are answered. But I will give you more answers
than anyone can provide."

"Answers to what?" Howard said quietly.

"Ask yourself this...can you think of any reason why you should be given
these powers?"

For a long time, the only sounds were a gentle wind and the rippling of
water.

Then Howard tried to speak through trembling lips. "I...I..."

Very gently, the man pulled Howard to him. He patted him on the back as
Howard cried onto his chest.

The man turned his grey eyes to Mulder. Coldness settled into the agent's
stomach, a cold sharper than anything felt in the night.

The grey-eyed man waved to the trees. A large man and a short man smoothly
stepped into the clearing. The large man kept a rifle trained on Mulder as
the short man took out a small leather case. He unzipped it and removed a
hypodermic needle filled with a clear liquid.

"It's time for us to leave," the grey-eyed man said. "All of us."

The short man tripped Mulder to the ground, planted a knee in his back and
stuck the needle into his neck. Mulder fell asleep...


...while someone else woke up. This person was an old man with weathered
skin and long grey hair. He came out of a dream with a quiet gasp. He
carefully sat up in bed and remained like that for a long time.

Then he left his bedroom and went outside. He stood before the star-laden
skies as they rested against the mountains. The fading memories of his dream
whispered in his mind before finally disappearing. He was left with no
recall of his dream's events, but the meaning was still left with him.

He spoke words in an old, old language. The last time he spoke these words
had been over a black, twisted corpse. They had been right that time and
undoubtedly would be right again.

In English, they meant, "They will be coming soon."  


PART TWO
THE MADMAN'S LOGIC


"My poor friend Smart showed the disturbance of the mind by falling upon his
knees and saying his prayers in the street or in any unusual place. Now
although, rationally speaking, it is greater madness not to pray at all than
to pray as Smart did, I am afraid there are so many who do not pray, that
their understanding is not called into question." --- Samuel Johnson.


CHAPTER SIX

NOVEMBER 20, 1979


"Humor me while I humor history."---Robert Littel


Jim closed the door, trying to stop the trembling in his body. He sat down
on his bed, rocking back and forth as sweat slid down his chest. He looked
at the walls around him---the walls that he himself had built. They had
never looked so tight and confining.

He picked up a Bible off a nightstand and tried to read it. He searched its
exquisite poetry for the assurance that he could usually find there.

Until now. Now, the words seem to blur on the page and become
unintelligible. He hurled it at the floor and bent over until his head was
on his knees.

There was a knocking at the door. "Go away!" he screamed.

"Jim, it's me."

He held in his breath.

"We need to talk. May I come in?"

Jim said in a small voice, "Yes."

A grey-eyed man entered the room. His face was perfectly calm. Jim always
marveled at how the man never let the heat and madness of the jungle get to
him.

They grey-eyed man closed the door. "Things have taken a sharp turn," he
commented. "Many are dead, including a Congressman."

"I know," Jim said.

"They'll be coming soon. They'll take everything away from you."

"I know that, too."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean? There's nothing I can do! It's over!"

Those grey eyes stared at Jim who suddenly felt ashamed. "I'm sorry," he
mumbled. "I'm sorry."

The grey eyes turned down to the floor. It was an array of wooden planks.
Through the slats, you could see grass thick as a horse's coat. Jim's
visitor picked up the Bible and flipped through its pages.

"'These all died in faith, not having receiving the promises, but having
seen them afar off and were persauded of them and embraced them and
confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.'"

The voice took ahold of Jim's ears and the meaning that had been lost before
was now present again. It was as if the speaker was laying out God's secrets
to him.

"'For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek out a
country. And truly, if they had been mindful of that country from whence
they came out, they might have had opportunity to have returned.'"

The man turned the Bible back over to Jim. His finger pointed to the Book of
Hebrews. Jim read aloud when the visitor had left off. When he spoke, he
found his voice to be strong and firm.

"'But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly; wherefore God
is not ashamed to be called their God; for he hath prepared them a city.'"

Jim looked up.

"You wanted to lead your people to that better country," he was told. "But
you will not find it here. You must take the lead again and show them a new
direction. Show them the way home."

"Where is that?"

The man waved his hand in dismissal. "It has always been your plan, Jim.
Your own logic. You must follow that logic to wherever it takes you."

Jim pressed the Bible close to his heard. When he stood up, his bearing was
straight and proud. "I know what to do," he said.

"Good. Now, I have to leave."

"You will not stay with me?"

"I'm afraid not. I have...my own logic to follow."

JIm nodded. "I understand. But I would like to know why you've helped me.
You've done so much and have asked for nothing in return."

"Oh, I got plenty in return. I got an understanding."

"Of what?"

"Of the way people like you think."

"What do you mean? People like me?"

"Paul wrote that the foolishness of God is wiser than men. Perhaps His
madness is saner than men as well."

The man gave Jim a weak smile, then left the room. Jim wondered what he
meant, but decided to put these thoughts aside. There were preparations that
needed to be made.


CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FAITH OF TWO WOMEN


"They saw the Messiah, but I guessed I missed him again.
That brings my score to a hundred and ten."
                                                  ---Pete Townshend


"Let's review, Agent Scully. You and Agent Mulder involved yourself in a
murder investigation that you had no business looking into. Your only
connection with this case was that this Melvin Frohike was doing some spying
for you, another questionable action. You withheld information from the
detective assigned to the case including the name of the most likely
suspect. Now that suspect is missing along with Agent Mulder. And we have
one more dead body, a man who was last seen with said missing agent."

Alvin Kersh coolly regarded the woman seated on his desk's other side. "I
hope you know how to speak Chinese, Agent Scully, because you've dug your
grave that deep."

"I'm aware of that, sir. But, with all due respect, I don't think my
offenses should be the focus of the Bureau right now."

Kersh was silent for a moment, then he said, "Unfortunately, you're right.
Not to say there won't be serious consequences down the line. For now,
however...the main concern is finding Agent Mulder and Howard Ellis. Your
assumption is that they're together, correct?"

"I believe so."

"Have you considered the possibility that Mulder is dead?"

"If that was the case, sir...I believe his body would have been there with
Detective Taylor."

Kersh nodded. "Then what is he doing right now with Mr. Ellis?"

"I think the most likely explanation is that they've both been taken by an
unknown party."

"Others would differ, Agent Scully."

Scully tightened her fingers in her lap. "Sir?"

"There are some in the Bureau who believe that Mulder is on the lam with
Howard Ellis. That he is now an accomplice in Mr. Ellis's crimes which
include the murder of Detective Taylor."

"Sir," Scully said in a voice that fought for control. "I find that idea
deeply offensive."

"It's not the first time Mulder has been implicated in a murder. There was
the incident involving the man from the DOD in which both of you
participated in a cover-up..."

"Because there were other issues at stake. The same goes for here."

"What are the issues here?"

"I doubt Howard Ellis had anything to do with Detective Taylor's murder. His
death does not jibe with the circumstances surrounding the death of those
three men in the theater. At least, I assume that it doesn't because those
bodies are still missing and unidentified, another interesting issue. There
are questions that need to be answered. For whatever errors he had committed
in protocol, Mulder wanted those answers. If we are to find him, we must
continue on the road that he started on."

Kersh examined the firm look on Scully's face. He had often wondered why
Walter Skinner had put up with so much crap from her and her partner. Maybe
they had found some soft spot in Skinner's exterior. Or maybe the passion
they had was convincing.

Not totally convincing, though.

"The main question I want answered, Agent Scully, is the question of
Mulder's disappearance. I'm getting a lot of heat over this and I plan to
track him down in whatever condition he is in, dead or alive, kidnapped or
running away. For that, I need your help. No one knows Mulder better than
you. However, if I find that you're causing trouble in any way...that's it."

Scully nodded.

"Now, with all that being said...where should we start?"


Susan opened drawers and sifted through filing cabinets, knee deep in the
paper maelstrom that was Reverend Forester's office. She was looking for a
cable television bill, but having no luck.

"The man's a goddamn pack rat," she muttered.

"Really?"

She looked up and saw Forester watching her from the open doorway.

"Oh, sir, I..."

He waved his hand. "It's an apt description."

"I, uh, I didn't know you had returned, sir."

"I have. So, what happened when I was gone?"

"Well...Kathyrn sprained her ankle. Harry think there's a problem with the
water heater."

"Is there?"

"I don't think so. You know that Harry is kind of a hypochondriac with
machines."

"True. Anything else?"

"There's been a lot of posts on the UFO mailing lists you're on. They all
report a lot of activity over the past few days." She gave him a long
printout to study.

"Hmmm."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What happened?"

He looked up at her. The smile on his face seemed almost...sly.

"We have two more residents here at the Ezekial Ranch. One of them is named
Howard Ellis. He's very, very important. He's the man who is going to make
us something more than a desert cult. Much more."

"And the other man?"

Forester pointed at a photo.

"Agent Mulder?" Susan said, excited. "Has he joined us?"

"No. Not exactly."

"Let's just say that Agent Mulder's freedom will be severely limited while
he's here."

A queasiness filled up Susan's gut.

"That obviously worries you," Forester observed.

"Oh, no, sir. I'm sure..."

"Susan, we already had this talk. I need you to be honest with me."

Susan Jones reviewed her words before she spoke them. "The FBI will come
looking for him, sir."

"That goes without saying."

"I follow you because I need guidance. I did not come here to get arrested.
Or worse.'

She expected Forester to turn on the intimidation. Instead, concern leaped
onto his features. He laid his hand quickly over hers.

"Oh, no! No. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not going---repeat, not---to
let this become another Waco. In fact, I'm going to insure that the very
opposite will happen."

"Nevertheless, you are taking a risk. For all of us."

"Susan...how long can you face Armageddon and not take a risk?" His fingers
tightened around hers, but not too hard. "You believe in what I've taught
you, don't you?"

"I want to."

"But...you need something more."

"Doesn't everybody?"

Forester nodded. "Just wait a hour or two. There's something I going to show
everybody. Something that will reward your faith."

"And if I don't feel properly rewarded? Is the open door policy still in
effect?"

Forester looked away from her. "Sheldon and McDonald would call you a
security risk."

"I promise that I will tell nothing of what goes on here."

Forester said nothing.

"It comes down to a matter of trust, Reverend."

He turned back to her. "I guess it's always been about that." He took a
breath. "Very well. You may still leave anytime you wish."

"Then I will trust you to reward my faith."

She gave his hand a squeeze, then left the office. Forester sat heavily down
in his chair.

He closed his eyes and folded his hands together. "Lord, give me the
strength to trust Susan Jones." He paused. "While I'm at it, give me the
strength to trust You."


Late in the afternoon, a call was made for everyone in the Ezekial Ranch to
come outside. All sixty-two Church members assembled in the final hour of
daylight as it streaked red across the sharp bushes and dry ground.

Susan looked over some of their faces. There was Kathryn Morgan, tall and
athletic, though walking with a limp now...Harry Hall, who regarded everyone
with belligerence (except for Forester)...Pete Gillipsie, the
sixteen-year-old who never talked about his parents...Joanne Wang, the
once-owner of a successful boat shop...Harlan DeBarr who was probably as
devoted to watching 'Twilight Zone' reruns as working for the
Church...Miguel Robez who was still learning English...Roger and Aretha
Chrisman with their two sons, David and Joe...

And there was Sheldon, the short man, and McDonald, the big one. They were
former "company men" who were supposed to be dead. Instead, they were here,
working for Forester. They were his left and right hand. (In order to keep
blood off his real hands, Susan thought and regretted that thought like so
many others.)

They whispered and murmured amongst themselves. One of their discussion
subjects was the rusty, useless car that now rested in front of the ranch
house. McDonald had bought it in the nearest town the day he had returned,
then towed it back to the Ezekial Ranch.

They talked until Forester stepped out of the Ranch and walked to the front
of the crowd. Then they were as quiet as the desert.

"First of all," he said. "the government will be here soon. They will try to
shut us down."

There was a rise of gasping and yells which Forester stopped by a raising of
his hand.

"They will have reasons that are actually valid. In the name of the Church,
I have committed crimes."

*I* have committed crimes, Susan thought. *He* was taking responsibility.
Why did she continue to doubt this man?

"I have committed crimes under the law because I felt these actions were
required by God's law. Undoubtedly, many of you are disappointed in me." He
glanced at Susan. She looked away.

"However...I hope to show you that I was right to do these things. I would
like you to meet someone. Howard?"

No one spoke up.

"Come on, Howard. It's all right."

A thin, unremarkable person came around the corner of the ranch house. He
shuffled to Forester's side, his hands in his pockets.

"This is Howard Ellis, our newest member."

Howard mumbled a greeting to the others.

"Howard has something to show us."

Forester motioned Howard in the direction of the car. Howard looked at it,
then at Forester.

"Go ahead," Forester said. "Knock yourself out."

Howard looked at the group, then he smiled and shrugged. He turned to the
car.

Susan felt the hair go up on her arms. She noticed that everybody was having
the same feeling. They looked around, scared and bewildered. But they were
hopeful as well. Instinctively, they knew what was about to happen.

Michael Forester was finally going to give them a miracle.

First, the windows exploded. Then great holes were punched into the doors.
The tires burst. The frame began to bend inward with a teeth-grinding
shriek. White fluff erupted from the seats. The engine collapsed into tiny
metal pieces.

Within ten seconds, the car was a ragged pile. Howard glanced back at the
stunned faces behind him, then turned to the remains of the car. As if a
great breath had struck it, it vaporized into a cloud of shiny particles.
They watched it drift away.

Forester spoke, quietly yet perfectly audible. "The time is upon us. We have
been given a Protector for these final days. Now, you have to decide---whose
side will you be on? God's or the..."

Jeanne Wang rushed forward. Howard almost jumped back as she knelt before
him, took his hand and kissed it.

Then the others gathered around Howard. They touched him as well, kissed
him, knelt before him.

Susan didn't. Instead, she walked over to Forester. She was crying. He was
smiling. The two of them embraced each other.

"I will never doubt you again, " she said. "Ever."

As they held each other, Susan looked at Howard over the Reverend's
shoulder. The miracle-maker was overwhelmed by the attention he was getting.

There was something else, though.

Was she misreading him? Was it just her imagination or did his smile looked
a little too tight? That he looked like a man searching for a way out?

Oh, God, she thought. No sooner do I throw the doubts aside...

She held Forester tighter.  


CHAPTER EIGHT
REASONS AND REASONING


"Do the devils lie? No, for then Hell could not subsist."                                                                    
       
                                                       ---Sir Thomas Brown


Mulder was wondering if you could pick a handcuff with your fingernail when
Forester walked into the room. He carried a steak on a plate and a sheepish
look on his face.

"Hello, Fox. I brought you your dinner."

Mulder looked firmly back at the man.

Forester added, "I hope you'll do me the courtesy of not throwing it in my
face."

"My brain is considering it but my stomach is against it."

Forester nodded. He laid the plate on the bed where Mulder was handcuffed on
one wrist.

"Oh, isn't that nice?" Mulder observed. "You had it cut into little pieces
for me."

"I'm afraid that you're not going to be allowed anything too sharp,"
Forester said, handing Mulder a plastic fork. "What would you like to drink,
Fox?"

"Look...you seem to know me fairly well."

"I do."

"Then you know that I'm not particularly fond of my first name."

Forester smiled slightly. "You know, your father never explained why he gave
you that moniker." He pulled a chair closer to the bed. "How well do you
remember me?"

"Barely."

"Not surprising. We only met once or twice when you were very young."

"I'm assuming that you did the same work my father did."

"For a long time."

"You still seem to be doing it."

"No, Mulder. I am now on a completely different path than our government."

"And you've taken Howard Ellis along with you."

Forester nodded. "You know what he is."

"I know he's important enough to you to commit murder."

Forester looked down. It was quiet for so long in the small, windowless room
that Mulder felt obliged to speak.

"He's a telekineticist."

"And?"

"He used his powers to kill his father. As well as three men whom I believe
were working for the government."

"What else?"

"A few nights ago...Howard was the victim of an attempted abduction. By
extraterrestrials. He used his powers to resist them."

'Yes. He vaporized them and their ship."

"How did you know about this if you're no longer involved with the
government?"

"I have a few followers in the right places. I was able to collect enough
information to guess what was happening."

"Mister Forester..."

"Reverend Forester."

"Reverend Forester...Howard Ellis is a very confused man."

"Then I must clear away his confusion."

"He possesses the ability to bring this whole house down on our heads. You
really think that you can control him?"

"And if you could control him? What would you do if you had his power at
your disposal?"

"You worked on the same project that my father participated in. You know the
forces that are..."

"I know everything, Mulder." Forester raised his head and those grey eyes
robbed Mulder of his ability to speak.

"I know more than you know. Or your father knew. Or what the men we worked
with knew. They could see the facts, but they couldn't see the truth."

Forester stood up. Suddenly, he looked impossibly tall. "I have been given a
vision of the future. And I've been given a responsibility which I will not
deny. And, yes, I will kill for it. I'll even kill you, Mulder. 'Whosoever
therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God and they that
resist shall receive to themselves damnation."

Forester touched Mulder on the cheek. Mulder almost flinched, but his body
was stiff.

"I would worry less about your life than your soul, Mulder. I think you're
capable of seeing what I see. To do so, you must make that final leap of
faith. Only then can you witness the glory of God."

Forester left his hand on Mulder's cheek for one more second. Then he left
the room. The door was locked.

A minute later, Mulder's hunger reasserted itself. He ate his meal, but the
taste barely registered.


What do we have?

We have two missing men---one of them a FBI agent, the other being the most
likely suspect in a murder case.

The FBI agent believed that the suspect had telekinetic abilities which
could be used to kill others. The FBI agent has a (damnable) tendency to go
to far lengths for the sake of his beliefs. This makes his coinciding
disappearance with the suspect unsettling. It is not improbable that the
agent is hiding out with the suspect, protecting him for some reason.

We have a crime scene.

The victim is a former police detective. He was found on the shores of a
lake along with his pickup and the murder suspect's car. When last seen, the
FBI agent and detective were headed for the lake in the hopes of finding the
suspect. It is likely they were successful.

The detective was killed by a high-powered rifle. This rules out the
(execrable) theory that the agent was a participant in the murder,
considering that he had his own handgun to use. There is the possibility
that the murder suspect killed the former detective as well as...

...as well as killed the agent.

Or kidnapped him.

There are problems with the murder theory, even if you exclude the missing
agent's inevitable explanation that a telekineticist does not need a
high-powered rifle. If the agent was killed, why wasn't his body left with
the detective? There is also no evidence that a second murder took place.
Furthermore, why leave two means of transportation behind? The only car
theft that could be connected with this murder was committed eighty miles
away and three hours later, if we believe the coroner's report. Why wait
that long to get transportation? And since the body was discovered just over
a hour after death, how could they evaded police so easily on foot?

What conclusion can be drawn here?

There is another party involved here. The suspicious disappearance of three
murder victims from the Rutland hospital morgue supports this notion.
Whether the two missing men have been captured by this third party or on the
run from them is unknown. However, steps should be taken to learn the
identity of this third party.

And that's why Agent Scully set up a meeting.


She waited in a park under a lamppost's glow. The leaves on the bushes
looked like knives. Paths led away from her into darkness and seclustion.

Then a tiny light appeared in the darkness, brief and red. He stepped
forward to let smoke pollute the lamppost's illumination.

"Evening, Agent Scully."

Good evening to you, you deceitful, soulless, black-lunged bastard.

"We've never really talked, have we? Most of what you know of me is through
Mulder."

"It doesn't matter. I didn't like you from the moment I first saw you."

"I like you. I've always liked you." The smoking man inhaled and exhaled,
then said, "You're here about Mulder."

"Do you have him?"

"Agent Scully, let me state the obvious and say that I am not a man who
easily tells the truth. However...this time...I will tell you the truth. Or
as much as I can."

Oh, really? Scully thought. You're going to be honest? Well, let me tell you
something. My gun holster is unstrapped. I didn't come here to play your
little mind games. I'm through with that. If I don't like what you've told
me...

"We don't know where Mulder is," the smoking man said. "Or where Howard
Ellis is, a fact that unsettles my group greatly."

"Why? Is it because he's a telekineticist?"

The smoking man raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe that?"

"Do you?

"Fair enough. There are a few of these specially gifted people around. They
are barely more than parlor magicians. However, not only is Howard Ellis
very powerful, but circumstances have placed him at the very center of
events governing this world."

"How?"

"I said that I wouldn't tell you everything."

It was as if the gun was talking to her. Bring me out. Tear that
insufferable smile off his face.

"I will tell you that it is better to stay out of this. And don't worry.
We're not interested in Mulder. Only Howard Ellis."

"But if Mulder gets in your way?"

"Will he? Is he hiding Mister Ellis from us? Did he kill this man in
Vermont?"

Blow that cigarette right off his lips..."Of course not."

"Are you sure?"

"Mulder wouldn't do that."

"I have seen the murderous side of Mulder up close. You know what kind of
demons he's got living inside him. You've managed to keep them in check all
these years which is no small feat. But how long before a man like that
breaks?"

"I take it Agent Mulder has threatened your life."

"Oh, yes."

"If he didn't kill you...he certainly wouldn't kill an innocent man."

The smoking man made no response.

"That's all I wanted from you." Scully turned to leave.

"This is dangerous territory you're entering," the smoking man called out.

She stopped short.

"We're dealing with the future, the most tender and fragile of substances.
You're an admirable person in many ways, Agent Scully, but don't pretend you
are up to the task ahead of you."

Scully wasn't thinking of the future. The past was flooding her mind. She
was seeing an empty hospital bed, a crucifix lying in a pile of sand and her
pale, wan face. These images wouldn't go away and there was only one way she
could think of that could make them stop. That was to turn around and send
this man to the hell where he belonged.

She stood still for a long time. The smoking man couldn't see her face, had
no idea what she was considering. However, he didn't feel that he was in any
danger and, after all, he was a man with tremendous survival instincts. If
there was a threat present, then he would know about it, wouldn't he?

Scully walked away. Then he left in his own direction.


CHAPTER NINE

MARCH 19, 1995


"The pure products of America go crazy."
                                       ---W.C. Williams


Timothy was kneeling on the rough dirt ground. He could see vague remains of
the building that once occupied the land around him. As the sun pressed its
heat against his neck, his unusually blank face looked over the blackened
concrete. He studied it for a long time.

Finally, he said, "They should pay for this."

"Last time I checked, vengeance was God's prerogative."

Timothy quickly turned. He saw an old man sauntering up to him, hands in his
pockets. Timothy stood up and regarded the man with his flat expression as
the man took his own look over the burnt remains.

The old man said, "It's a tragedy, isn't it?"

"It's a crime. A crime against the American people."

"How do you figure?"

"How do I...?" Timothy's inexpressive voice suddenly became impassioned.
"They killed these people! For no other reason that they were exercising
their Second Amendment rights!"

"From what I understand, they immolated themselves."

"From what you understand? What do you do? Work for the government?"

"I used to."

"Well, take a good look at this place. Because this could be your house one
day."

"No. This was different. The ATF went after this place because the people
were unique. They needed publicity so they decided to bust a gun-toting
apocalyptic cult."

Timothy advanced on the man. "Who are you to call them that?"

The old man turned his grey eyes upon Timothy. The younger man stopped in
his tracks.

"I'm the leader of another gun-toting apocalyptic cult."

The old man turned back to the ruins. "Well, actually, we don't have too
many guns. Those things always make me a little jumpy."

Timothy took another look at the man, trying to understand him. "Why are you
here?" he asked.

"I wanted to see this place. I've been wondering about my own beliefs and
asking myself if I would ever die for them."

"Well, I don't have to ask myself that," Timothy declared. "I would
certainly die for my beliefs."

The old man gave Timothy a raised eyebrow. "You're not some kind of racist
cracker, are you?"

When Timothy couldn't think of a reply, the old man continued. "Maybe the
better question is---do you think anybody would try to make you die for your
beliefs?"

"Well, if they tried that, they better come in full armor."

The old man rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"I didn't ask you if you wanted to kill."

"What are you asking me then?"

The old man sighed. "Look, obviously, you have some strong beliefs. Ask
yourself---where do those beliefs take you? What is their logic? You can
either follow that logic or discard the beliefs. There's nothing else you
can do."

"What about your beliefs?" Timothy snapped. "Are you willing to die for
them?"

"I'm not looking for death. I believe that death is looking for me."

"You're crazy, old man."

"And you're rather ordinary, sir. Desperately, pathetically ordinary."

With that, the old man turned and walked away. Only the eyes in Timothy's
still face indicated the rage inside of him. Where did that man get off
talking to him like that? How dare he ridicule his beliefs?

Would Timothy die for what he thought was just? Yes.

Would he kill?

Oh, yes.


CHAPTER TEN
CONVERSATIONS AT NIGHT


"Doubt may be the antibody that saves a body ravaged by the toxins of blind
faith." --- Steve Erickson


"How are you feeling, Howard?"

Howard turned from the window. Forester was standing in the doorway of his
room, looking strangely relaxed.

"I'm not sure," Howard responded.

Forester closed the door. "All this adulation you're getting...it feels
good, doesn't it?"

"I guess. I don't know. Just a few days ago, I was making eight dollars a
hour for running an mail inserter. Now, I'm being worshipped. I'm called the
Protector."

"Hm. You like your room?"

"Oh, yeah, this is real nice. My own computer, my own television...does
everybody's room look like this?"

"No, most of us sleep in bunk quarters."

"Oh."

"Don't get me wrong. Everybody lives well here."

"I guess so. I mean, that dinner...that was great."

"That was a little fancier than usual. But there's no gruel here. By the
way, have you seen our rec room yet?"

"No."

"Try breaking Oliver's top score on the pinball machine. I should warn you
that he is a fierce competitor."

"Where do you get the money for all this?"

Forester smiled and scratched behind his ear. "I used to work in certain
circles where there is a lot of loose change that no one accounts for. The
BCCI, the S&L's, the Pentagon's black budget...it's very easy to siphon off
a few bucks for yourself."

Howard nodded and looked around his room.

"You wonder if this is going to come crashing down, aren't you?"

"Well...um..."

"It could. Very easily. In fact, the whole theology here is based on things
falling apart."

Howard turned his eyes straight into Forester's grey ones. "You think that
the end of the world is coming."

"I think that the final battle between Heaven and Hell is upon us. I believe
that this world will be replaced by a better one."

Howard shifted on his feet.

"You're not sure if you buy that."

"Hell, I...I don't know..."

"The visitors that you had...the ones that tried to abduct you...what did
you think of them?"

"Well, I knew they were different. I mean, that's why I just wiped them out
instead of...you know, killing them in a more messy way...like my dad..."

"You were right to. Their blood is poisonous to us. But how did you know
that?"

"I just knew."

"I see. Go on."

"After it happened, I thought, 'This is perfect. This just fits in with the
rest of my life.'"

"You knew they were aliens."

"I figured that out. But...it just didn't impress me."

"That's why you didn't tell anybody about it."

"I didn't tell anybody because I promised..." Howard grimaced. "...I
promised my mom never to do anything like that again."

"You never used your abilities until then?"

"To tell the truth, I sort of forgot about it. What happened to my dad was
so long ago, I started to doubt what really happened. I knew that I was
responsible. I just didn't knew how."

"If you stay with us, Howard, you'll have to shatter that promise for good.
Does that make you feel guilty?"

A mean smile crept on Howard's face. "Are you kidding?" he said.

Forester gave Howard an askance look, robbing the smile from his face.

"Your mother was a strong woman," Forester observed. "She went to jail to
protect you."

Howard clenched his fists. "I don't need protection. You know that as well
as anybody."

Forester didn't blink. Instead, he stepped right up to Howard's face.
"You're revered in the Church right now," he said evenly. "How do you think
the people here would feel if they knew that you killed your father?"

"They would be scared!" Howard snarled.

"That's right. They would. That's what your mother didn't want. You think
the world needs that? More fear? There are very few telekineticists, but
there are too many killers. You don't need to be one of the latter."

"Well, you're a killer, too, aren't you? Or, at least, you get someone else
to do it."

"Again, you're right. I have killed and ordered killings. Eventually, my
followers here will find that out. Perhaps they'll lose faith in me. Perhaps
not. That doesn't matter. I'm nothing. I'm grist for the mill. But you---"

He poked his finger in Howard's chest. That small prodding make Howard
flinch and hunch his shoulders. "You are a sign," the Reverend told him.
"You are a worker of miracles and an angel walking among us. When the fires
of Hell erupt over this world, you will be a leader of God's army."

Forester sighed and shook his head. "At least, that's what I want you to be
and
not some emotionally twisted man who hates the mother that saved him more
than the father who hurt him."

It took some time before Howard mumbled words in reply.

"What was that?"

"What should I do?" Howard whispered.

Forester took a breath, then said, "I want you to listen to me..."


Mulder's sleep was disturbed by the sound of a creaking door. He jerked and
got a sharp pain around his manacled wrist.

"Sorry," Forester whispered. He walked in and closed the door. "Mind if I
turned on the light?"

"A bright light would be the least of my discomforts now."

A lamp clicked on. It had a soft glow that barely hurt Mulder's eyes.
Forester pulled up a chair next to the bed.

"I'm sorry to wake up, but I felt that we should talk some more. Are you
still hungry?"

"I'm okay. That big guy with the tattoo..."

"McDonald."

"Yeah. He came in and took my plate away. Then he took me to the bathroom
under gunpoint. I tried to engage him in conversation, but he's kind of
shy."

"I'm afraid that I'm the only person you'll be allowed to talk with here."

"Why? Are you afraid that I might corrupt your followers with my heathen
ways? Or that I might tell them that you're a murderer?"

"If you want to put it that way..."

"What is the name of your little congregation anyway?"

"It's called The Church of the True Angels."

"Who are the false ones?"

"You know who they are, Mulder. You've seen them."

Mulder examined the old man, then nodded. "So that's your theology."

"What, you've already figured it out? You are a smart guy."

"I'm assuming the false angels are supposed to be aliens."

Forester smiled and nodded. "It is our belief that..."

"...that extraterrestrials are the false prophets warned about in
Revelations. That they will seduce people with promises of a better future
to disguise the rise of Satan's kingdom. That alien abductions are signs of
a Biblical armageddon."

"You've...pretty much covered it there."

"Because I've heard this crap before. I've studied all bodies of thoughts
about aliens, Reverend, and nothing amuses me more than this half-assed
premillennium garbage that people like you are spreading."

Forester's lips squeezed tightly into either a smile or a grimace.

"Tell me, Reverend, do you believe that the devil built that face on Mars?"

Forester chuckled. "No. I don't believe that. Frankly, what's the big deal
if there is a face on Mars? I once saw a rock formation in this country that
looked just like Richard Nixon. Now, consider the theological
implications of..."

"How did it happen, Reverend? How did you crack so badly? I bet that it was
your work, wasn't it? It must be hard living with those kinds of secrets for
so long. Day after day, knowing things that you want to scream out in the
street. Then, suddenly...you...just...snap. And that pain is so bad that you
look to anywhere for relief. You found it in this twisted theology."

"That's a simplistic way of describing me," Forester said quietly. "And I
wouldn't go pointing fingers if I were you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you believe in God?"

Mulder gave out a small laugh. "I'm not interested in debating religion with
you."

'Yes? No? I'm not sure? Which answer is it?"

"Not...interested."

"You believe in some kind of afterlife, I know that. You believe in ghosts
and specters and demons. And reincarnation, too."

Inside his mind, Mulder batted away images of a dead woman with a torn photo
at her side. Or tried to.

"Yet you don't hold with any religion. Why?"

"I believe in the truth."

"And you've excluded God from this truth."

"You're going to keep bugging me about this, aren't you?"

Forester shrugged.

"Okay," Mulder sighed. "I don't think that the temporal plane we've termed
the 'afterlife' is strictly defined by Christianity or any other religion."

"So, you hold with some kind of New Age philosophy in which all beliefs
reflect a..."

"I don't believe that the universe is really constructed in our favor. I
don't think that there is a cosmic system that punishes the wicked and
rewards the good. Chaos reigns as much in the next world as in this one."

"What you're saying is that...you don't believe in God, but you do believe
in the Devil."

Mulder sat quietly.

"And you called me twisted."

"I didn't shoot an innocent man down."

"No, but I didn't let a quack doctor drill a hole in my head."

This time, there was no hope of keeping the memory away. Memory was what the
memory was about. Mulder would always remember the explosions that had gone
off inside his mind as he fought to construct a picture out of shredded
images and sounds. He had risked everything for it. He had risked Scully.

"You've obviously been keeping a close eye on me," Mulder said bitterly.

"Both you and Agent Scully. I've watched your struggles, your defeats, your
tiny victories, the improvement in Scully's wardrobe."

"Are we supposed to be a part of your prophecy?"

"I don't know what you're supposed to be." Forester was silent for a long
moment. In the dim light, the lines on his face and his disordered strands
of white hair made for a depressing sight.

"Your father didn't believe in God, either," Forester finally said. "He
believed in science. He believed that it could save us. But there is only
one way to salvation. Deep down, you know it, Mulder."

"What does Howard Ellis have to with this? What is your plan?"

"What would do with him, Mulder?"

"If he can protect people against abductions..."

"He can do more than that."

That's when Mulder realized what Forester was planning. The sheer, fantastic
lunancy of the Reverend's mind unfurled itself before Mulder.

"You're going to wage war on the aliens," Mulder whispered.

"You know what's at stake as well as I do. The men I worked with---they're
too scared to use Howard. But they've made two mistakes. They've
underestimated his power and they want to control him too much. However, I
know the extent of Howard's might. And I don't want to control him. I just
want to push him in the right direction."

"But what if you're wrong? How do you know this is the right direction?"

The corners of Forester's mouth lifted slightly. "How do I know? What a
silly question, Mulder." The smile drifted off. "The question is...when?
I can prepare Howard, but when I do set him loose? God still hasn't told me
that."

The Reverend shook his head, then stood up. "I'll let you go back to sleep.
I hope you'll think about what I've told you."

He went to the door. "Wait a minute!" Mulder exclaimed. "There are side
effects to Howard's telekinesis. Power outages. What if that's only the tip
of the iceberg?"

With his back turned to Mulder, Forester opened the door. "'And I heard a
great voice out of the temple saying to seven angels, Go your ways...'"

"Dammit, Forester, would you get your head out of scripture? Look at Howard!
You can't..."

"...and pour the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth." Forester stepped
outside and closed the door behind him. "'And the first went...'"

"...just unleash someone like that! There's no telling what kind of
destruction he'll cause!"

The door locked. "'...and poured out his vial upon the earth; and there fell
a noisome and grevious sore upon the men which had the mark of the
beast...'"

"Forester, listen to me! FORESTER!"

The voice receded. "'...and upon them which worshipped his image...'"

I'm a dead man, Mulder thought. Maybe the whole damn planet is dead.


Susan Jones couldn't clearly explain why she went to see Howard Ellis. That
odd, uncertain look on Howard's face had stuck with her all day, but that
still didn't explain why she went to his room in the dead of the night. She
had been watching Howard all through the dinner held in his honor. As she
listened to the praise given to 'The Protector,' she just couldn't shake
some damnable doubt away.

One thing she was sure of---she should have knocked on the door first.
Except for Forester's office, the members of The Church of the True Angels
went anywhere they pleased in the ranch. In a place where people slept in
bunk quarters, privacy was not an ingrained concept. Also, to her regret,
Susan was still impetuous and prone to acting without thinking.

That's why she opened the door and then her mouth to say "Excuse me,
Protector?" Nothing came out of her mouth, but it stayed open.

The bra had just been clipped from the shapely back of Poppy Hathaway. Her
heavy breathing was arrested as she quickly turned to the door. Underneath
her was the Protector Himself who had the kind of ridiculous expression that
only coitus interruptus could produce.

There were two ways that Susan might have properly responded. She could have
blushed and left the room immediately, spewing out apologies. Or she could
have been indignant and raged at Poppy for soiling the Protector with her
wicked ways.

Instead, she laughed.

Poppy ended up leaving the room, gathering up her bra and blouse with her.
She sneered at Susan's laughing as she went by. "Wait, wait!" Howard begged
to no avail.

"What's the matter with you?" he complained, zipping up his pants.

"I...I'm sorry," Susan chuckled. "You just looked so..."

"You shouldn't have come in here."

"I'm sorry. Really. Don't worry, I think she'll be back."

"You shouldn't have come."

"I said, I'm sorry."

Howard stood up from the bed and faced Susan. "Don't you know who I am?" he
said in a low voice.

Susan tired to get out another apology, but found her throat feeling hollow
and dry.

"You came in here without my permission. How dare you?"

Susan could feel the air tingle.

"No one does that to me. No one."

What Susan should have done---beg for forgiveness or run. What she should
have felt---fear.

"And you have the nerve to laugh at me?"

What she really felt---anger. In that self-righteous face of Howard's, she
saw her parents and she could feel the sting of leather and she could hear
herself screaming the Ten Commandments.

"You know what I could do. You know what I'm capable..."

"Oh, shut up."

The tingling lasted just a moment longer. Then it vanished along with the
anger on Howard's face. He blinked at Susan in confusion.

"I didn't commit blasphemy," she said. "I just walked in on your
hanky-panky. I'm sorry that I did that, but don't you dare...don't you dare
bring down the wrath of anything on me. Okay?"

She turned to leave, but then she heard a timid voice said, "I'm sorry."

She quickly looked back and she saw a lonely, uncertain man in his early
thirties. She didn't know what life this man had before, but she could make
a fair guess. She could see an excess of dull jobs and a shortage of friends
and lovers. She saw a loser.

She saw herself.

"It's all right," she told him kindly. "I understand that you were
embarrassed. But I wasn't laughing at you. Really. It's just that...before
she came here, more men were in and out of Poppy than a twenty-four-hour
supermarket. When she joined us, she said that she would only use her
sexuality for 'spiritual causes.' You were spiritual enough, I guess."

Howard smiled weakly.

Wait a second, Susan thought. This is the man that is supposed to ready the
Church for the Apocalypse. But all I'm seeing now is another awkward guy who
wants to get laid.

The thought first horrified her.

Then she found it strangely comforting.

"Really, I'm the one who ought to be embarrassed here," she said. "I
shouldn't have come in the first place."

"Why did you come?"

Susan laughed nervously. "Don't know, really. Maybe I just wanted to see how
you're doing."

"Well...why don't you sit down?"

Susan looked uncertain.

"You might as well."

So she did. She took a chair and Howard plopped down onto his bed.

"Anything you want to ask me about?" he said.

"I guess...how do you do it? You know...the thing."

"It just feels like a part of me. Like an arm. I extend it and things
happen."

"Things get destroyed."

"Yep."

"Can you do anything besides that?"

"What, you want more?"

Susan smiled. "I'm just curious. Seems like there should be all kinds of
fancy things that you can do. Read minds. Levitate."

"I don't really know. I..."

Then a change came across Howard's features. The discomfort and shyness
melted away and was replaced by an expression that Susan had never seen on
anybody's face. He looked like a man listening to a song that nobody could
hear. She found herself wanted to hear it, too.

"Sometimes," he said. "I get this strange feeling. That something is
brushing up against me and trying to get my attention. It's hard to explain.
I've never thought about it before."

"I see."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were looking at me in the strangest way."

She had been. She was trying to connect this calm, distant man with the
nasty person who almost hurt her out of embarrassment.

"Sorry." she said.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"I'm more afraid of Michael Forester."

He nodded. For a brief moment, he wanted to tell her about John Taylor, but
decided not to. He didn't want to scare her off. "What has he told you of
his past?" he asked.

"That he worked for the government. That there has been a secret power cabal
participating in a colonization of Earth. By aliens."

"You believed in that?"

"Well, I have to believe in it now, don't I?"

"I mean, before I came. Why did you believe this crazy story before then?
Were you abducted?"

"Oh, no. There are some people here who said they've been abducted, but not
me."

"So, why did you come to the Church?"

Susan thought for a long time.

A long time.

Finally, she said, "I'm thirty-three years old and I've already indulged in
most of the world's belief systems. I was raised Methodist, but since I left
my parents, I've indulged in Catholicism, Judaism, Buddhism, a whole host of
isms. I've meditated with crystals and been a member of The 700 Club. I've
even considered being a Satanist...for the sheer hell of it."

Howard grinned. She really liked his smile.

"I went through all that. And I got nothing. It all flowed in one ear and
out the other."

"Maybe you just didn't believe in God."

"I considered that, too. Then I found about Reverend Michael Forester. I
read about him in some fringe magazine and decided to attend one of his
sermons here at the ranch. I figured, hey, I tried everything else..."

She took a breath. "After the sermon, he came up to me personally. He said,
'You've been searching for a long time, haven't you?' I just nodded my head.
Then he said, 'I'll try not to disappoint you.'"

"I guess he didn't."

"What he said...it just sounded so right. I took his words and looked at the
world and it all fit together. So here I am."

She sounds less than convinced, Howard thought. Yet here she is, still in
the Church. Why?

Because she doesn't know where else to go. Just like me.

Susan now felt uneasy. The look on Howard's face was too...sympathetic.
"It's late," she said quickly. "I should go back to the bunk quarters."

"Sure. But come back anytime."

She nodded, then went to the door. She looked back and said, "Again, I'm
sorry about..."

"Don't give it the slightest thought."

"Okay. Well, good night."


Howard thought about her after she was gone. He remembered the way that her
smile and laugh shone through her plain features.

And he thought about what he could do. The only use I've put these powers to
is destruction, he told himself. Surely there's more I could accomplish.

He laid back on the bed. As the minutes went by, he could sense something
touching him. Something in the far corner of his mind or something at the
far end of the world.

He had never touched it in return. So he closed his eyes...


...and saw a mist. It was strange having images in your mind and knowing
they don't belong to you. Yet he wasn't scared. He asked the mist to come
towards him. Even though he knew that he had already done it, he closed his
eyes.


The old man opened his eyes. He had deliberately escaped from his dreams. An
intruder had been in there.

No, it hadn't been an intruder. He had all but asked the visitor to come.
Now, he must have the courage to face him.  He took deep breaths and closed
his eyes.

The man approached...

No, it wasn't a man...

Yes, it was.

And he could destroy the world.