From: Wendy Thomas Date: Fri, 09 Oct 1998 10:58:45 -0700 Subject: Prise du Mort II: Chthonic Principle (1/5), by Sheena, R, XRA Title: Prise du Mort II: Chthonic Principle Author: Sheena E-mail: wendyt@ucla.edu Rating: R Category: XRA Warning: MSR. This piece contains graphic and violent imagery; reader discretion is advised. Author's Note: In order to follow this piece, you really should read Prise du Mort I. It's not long and can be found at Gossamer. This piece has been a long and labored process. All the information on Voodoun mythology, deities and practices is accurate and has been carefully researched. Summary: Mulder and Scully are compelled to trail Hounsi through the backwoods of New Orleans in an attempt to stop his spree of terror in the "City that Care Forgot" Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are not mine; no harm is intended and no money is being made by the use of 1013's characters. Feedback is very much appreciated. Send all comments to wendyt@ucla.edu Prise du Mort II: Chthonic Principle (1/5) ******************** From his dreams, Mulder had seen his own point of departure, where his mind had temporarily witnessed Hounsi's madness, and a piece of it had seeped into him. This sacrifice was one he felt an intimate familiarity with, having fallen in step with the demons of modern man's pilgrimage, knowing that in order to stop the deeds of an incubus, he had to know the motivations from which they sprung. And while he accepted this liability for himself, he never admitted the debt Scully incurred as his partner, for if he had he would have to end their partnership to save her. And they were more than just partners. So it had seemed for ages. **************************** "What's the word? Am I safe for the streets yet?" Mulder's voice rasped softly over the periodic beeping of a heart monitor, idly flicking the saline solution bag next to his bed with the tips of his fingers. Scully tipped back her head and swung her hands inside the pockets of her overcoat. "You always were, Mulder. The only reason you're in here is to keep the streets safe from you." "When do I make my break for freedom? I bet I can use a hospital food fight as a diversion for a means of escape." "Assault with a deadly condiment, Mulder? I could have your badge for that, buddy." She smirked. He looked at her in mock solemnity. "Death by jello, Scully. My record, such as it is..." "As if alien abductions weren't enough..." She shot in. "..would be ruined." Their banter kept the air free from the weight of a silence neither of them was ready for, or ready to succumb to. It was the instinct of several years of working together on tiptoes, a natural result of a deadly situation and a brush with one of the more scalding fires either of them had ever played with. "Well, there's no need, Mulder. I'm here to check you out. We have a flight back to D.C. in four hours." Mulder tossed his head back and declared with a Southern evangelist drawl, "Praaaa-ise Yaweh, Alla, and the mojo-man." She answered as she turned to leave. "I'm just gonna go outside while you get ready? You need anything before we leave? Baskin was going to drive us to the airport." An imperceptible pause, and then, "That guy's a life-saver. How about some seeds for the plane?" "I'd just as soon rather not have you spitting seed shells on the stewardess' shoes, Mulder." "Suit yourself, Scully." ********************************* Hounsi approached his homeland from the sky, riding on the wings of a silver bird, screaming it's birth from the clouds to the earth. His thoughts remained on his home, a place where one could rest momentarily before resuming the rites; in St. Louis' Cemetary where he would walk with those he'd left behind the sage grasses of the nearby bayou. New Orleans beckoned him to it's breast; he would be more successful there than in Los Angeles. Los Angeles was a feast for sinners but it didn't know its history; it couldn't recognize the heritage of those who built missions from the earth of a desert, who made glass from sand. New Orleans knew it's bastard roots and claimed the history that had built it as gospel. How else could it come to be known as the "City that Care Forgot?" His time in the City of Angels had been fruitful. His efforts had been noble, but he had worked his rituals with the eager temperament of a child catching flies; too eager his intentions and too sloppy his hands. Precision would be his new methodology. Agents Mulder and Scully would have to meet him again, and entering the game on his territory, they would come to know, intimately, the meaning of the axiom of New Orleans. The too, would become something care forgets. ******************************** The sheets on her bed had been strangling her since the sun had hit the horizon. They choked her torso from movement, like the sheath of skin on a snake growing too quickly. It's coils burned her skin. Work had left her listless. She was glad to be home from California, and doubly glad that Mulder was safe but her own energy waned towards the middle of the day and she couldn't snap out of the funky haze her previous nights' sleep had left her with. She'd owed it up to jet-lag and told Mulder she was heading home early. She wondered, too, at how Mulder had stared at her as she left. His eyes, so clearly hanging on her figure till even her shadow left the hall outside their basement office. Her mind wandered back to that horrible day outside the bar in L.A., The Cave of Judas, when she trailed after the killer who'd kidnapped Mulder, and how she'd felt upon finding him, how relief swelled in her even as she quelled the stain of fear at his disappearance. The moonlight was bright; it poured through her bedroom windows, casting a pale luminescence across her sheets. She leaned back into her bed watching the light cast shadows across her stomach and breasts. She was still listless; she felt like she hadn't slept in days. She closed her eyes and let the dreams keep her spirit awake while her body slept. ************************************* A young man with a wooden cane, it's knob made smooth by the passage of water over time, walks along the desert by the sea. A white robe drifts around his ankles and a snake glides along the ground next to him. The snake's hiss is too quiet to be heard as the man approaches a tree at the water's edge. The leaves of the tree are green, and milk falls from their tips. He smiles as he leans in to taste the milk, so cool and wet. I am watching the man and I know him. He is Damballah, and we have known one another for many years. He is the wisest man alive, he created the waters from which I was born. He is the serpent, arched in the path that the sun travels across the sky. He is the patron of the waters of the heaven which he dominates, and of the springs and rivers which the heavenly waters nourish. It is from him that I learned who I am, and with him that I travel. He changes everything he encounters; the movement of his 7000 coils form hills and valleys, and when I look at him, I feel that it is he who has brought forth the stars and planets in the heavens, and that without him, all light ceases to exist. The venerable innocence of his eyes caresses me. They leave me, though. He sees someone else. "Carrefour, what are you doing here?" He speaks to another man, standing at the crossroads, Petro Mait' Carrefour, also called Kalfu. I fear Carrefour, for it is he who casts loose upon the world the demons of ill chance, misfortune and deliberate, unjust destruction. Damballah doesn't fear Kalfu as I do; he is so sure in his beliefs. He doesn't see that no man, however carefully he may have built up a logical structure of proper and righteous destiny, is wholly safe from such disruption. "How did you recognize me, Damballah?" "I've seen you coming for a long time now." "Why watch me, Damballah? I am merely the trafficker of the gate to the world of mortals. All my life I do this." "Yet destiny has an immediate as well as cosmic aspect, Kalfu; the daily death of the sun forebodes the year's end." Kalfu smiles and I am afraid for Damballah; he trusts his faith in the truth too much. He doesn't know that it alone cannot save him. "Yes Damballah, and as the empyrean year of the race wins, and the Legba sun drops toward the cosmic horizon which divides the upper regions from the underworld, is it not me, the moon, who has the greater power?" "The greater, immediate power, yes. But the sun will always rise, Kalfu." Kalfu looks away from Damballah. He sees me and I am paralyzed. Then he responds to Damballah, but he is still looking at me: "Is that so?" He looks back to Damballah. "Does she agree with you? Or are you afraid for her, as you should be?" His eyes level on me; his smile chases my nerves. "Hello Ayida- Wedo, you are radiant today." He says. Damballah looks at me and then at Kalfu. "She can take care of herself, Kalfu. I wouldn't underestimate her." I am in his thoughts. Damballah knows me so well. "She has the strength of my beliefs." ************************************* The phone wailing in her ear pulled her from the dream. Even as she picked up the receiver, the vision of the man, the serpent, the tree, and the crossroads started slipping away from her consciousness. "Scully." She voiced into the receiver. "Scully, it's me." "Mulll-derrrrr." She groaned. "Hate to pull you from your beauty sleep, but I think this warrants it." "What's up?" "A body was found tonight, Scully. In New Orleans. It's another girl, Olivia Maron." "So? What, Mulder, you're meaning to tell me you think it's him? Mulder, there's no evidence.." "That's not all, Scully." "I'm listening." "It was, there was a? I mean, the body, it was a young woman. There was a note left on the body, as well as some sort of desecratory design marked into the flesh." "Mulder, Hounsi kidnaps the women that he kills. He kidnaps them and keeps them alive for several days before killing them and he doesn't desecrate the body with.." "Scully, listen." "..designs or tattoos. Furthermore, there hasn't been enough time for him to.." "Scully! Listen! There was a note on the body, Scully. It said, 'And she will follow the enslaved gros-bon-ange to free them, with her hair from the fire of the sun, and her eyes from the water in the ocean. And she will come to me. And every day she waits, another gros-bon-ange will be chained.'" "And, Mulder?" "Don't pretend to be oblivious, Scully. Hair from the fire of the sun, fire being red, and eyes from the water in the ocean, the ocean being blue, right? That's you, Scully. I think he's going to continue with these killings unless you and I stop him." She paused and leaned her head on her knees. The light from the moon was still in her face, almost too bright after the solace behind the lids of her eyes. What had she been dreaming, anyway? She was still exhausted. Her sleep wasn't doing her much good. "Scully? Are you there?" His voice interrupted her thoughts. "What was the? the design in the body?" "Well, from what the sheriff on the phone said, ahhhh, let me get my notes, hold on." She heard a brief rustling of papers before he got back on the line. "It was a picture of two twin snakes separated by three stars." "Snakes?" "Yeah. Listen, we need to get ahead of this as soon as possible. If he's?" "I'm on my way, Mulder." "I'll be at National, Gate 87. You have three hours before our flight leaves." She hung up the phone and dragged herself to an upright position. She'd only relented to calm Mulder down. She thought that to herself again and again as she got ready to leave. Even as she thought of two snakes in a desert by the sea. *************************************** The vendors on Canal Street sprinkled the sidewalks and corners in a vaguely ordered chaotic fashion, like they were all working together anyway. Scully felt like an intruder, her heels clipping against the concrete like a drum-beat. Her sight-line took in the wide boulevard, filled with department stores and shops and movie theaters. There was a crowd of city-goers, tourists, merchants pawning trinkets only a middle-aged insurance salesman from the heartland would find authenticity in. It seemed to her, though, that these people were like the mannequins in a department store, pure window- dressing. She felt the presence of the people of New Orleans more than she saw their faces. Mulder stopped her for a moment, outside a barber shop, tugging her sleeve lightly. Jazz poured out of the nearby barroom, and for that matter, out of every shop on the street. The juke boxes and phonographs lined up in a music store, the radio by a shoeshine stand and from an old time "inner player" piano beyond an upstairs window. "Scully, are you feeling this?" "I'm not sure what you mean, Mulder." "Movement." She cocked her eyebrow. "I see. Mulder, there's the police department. Let's do what we came here for, okay?" He breathed in deeply and she could practically see the smells of the street invade his lungs. The stale beer and whiskey; oyster barrels too long in the hot sun, hamburgers-with-onions on griddles at open windows, a musky mingling of perspiration and cheap perfume, and the curious odor of incense lingering at a nearby doorway. However eclectic their surroundings, the police station was a stable reminder of what they'd traveled there for. "Is there a Detective Gottschalk here?" Scully asked at the front desk. A voice from behind her echoed, "I am Detective Gottschalk." They turned to the man standing straight before them. Gottschalk spoke with a warm and low timber, and a faint accent which Scully could place only to be from the West Indies. A mishmash of the British precision in pronunciation left over from the days of mercantilism, the deep echo of a Jamaican drum and the slow drawl of pure Creole. He was remarkable looking; he stood with tremendously straight posture several inches taller than Mulder, his skin a rich dark brown, and extended his hand towards Scully. "I am very pleased to meet you. I was told you would not be arriving till later this afternoon." he voiced. She shook his hand firmly. "I'm Agent Scully, and this is my partner, Agent Mulder." "Ahhh, excellent Mr. Mulder. Pleased to meet you." He nodded his head and continued to look at them. Mulder and Scully looked back. "Well then, you want to see the dead body, yes?" Scully started. "Well, yes sir, if that is something that could, that is, that you have available to us... for us." The man gestured his hand towards a nearby elevator and allowed Scully to pass before them first. He spoke as he guided them. "Certainly, yes, our county examiner is in the basement right now, in the morgue. It is very convenient to have things so relatively near to one another. I understand you know the killer here. That is very much convenient, too. Excellent good. Well, as you know, the girl was cut up and had various signs scrawled into her skin." Mulder interjected carefully, "You seem very nonchalant, Mr. Gottschalk. Are you familiar with this killer as well?" Gottschalk smiled faintly and then rumbled what Scully could only presume to be a chuckle. "Mister Mulder, I am one of the head detectives in the city of New Orleans, the Voodoun center of the United States of America. Do you not think I have encountered homicides of this manner and magnitude before?" "Well, then, perhaps you can enlighten us, sir, as to the nature of this kind of criminal." Gottschalk stopped them outside the door of the morgue. "Let me tell you where I was this morning, Mister Mulder. A woman, one of my neighbors, was walking her baby in a stroller and came upon a rooster tied to a tree, squawking loudly enough to disturb the neighbors. The poor creature had been plucked of all it's feathers and had nine silver pins sticking in it's breast. My neighbor went to my wife and refused to leave before I came to remove the animal." Mulder started as if to speak. "You see, Mister Mulder, it wouldn't be a Monday morning unless I had a Voodoun animal on my front lawn and a Voodoun sacrifice in my morgue." "That's a pretty cynical perspective." Mulder retorted. "A cynic is a person who's skepticism is not warranted. In this case, I am more pragmatic than cynical. And here," he pushed the doors of the morgue open, "is your guest." Scully approached the body and carefully pulled back the plastic sheet covering it. "Oh my god." she murmured. "Mulder, come take a look at this." Mulder brought himself up beside her. "How deep do the scars go?" he asked Gottschalk. "The girl has not been autopsied yet. The county examiner will be doing one soon." "I'd like to get a look at the autopsy report when he's done." Scully shot in. Gottschalk nodded and gestured to the door. "The rest of the investigation is proceeding upstairs. Would you like to see how we are progressing?" Mulder glanced at Scully. "Sure, lead the way." ******************************** "You were pretty quiet in there, Scully." "Mulder, I don't... I don't think this could be our case." "What makes you say that?" "He's not following his M.O. We both know how serial killers operate; there's a definite method to it and this is a very different pattern than what we saw in Los Angeles. First of all, there's no use of chemicals in the tissue of the skin." "But he only used those chemicals because he was keeping the victims alive for several days. If he was rushed for time, he might abandon that technique." "Also, the girl's body wasn't outside a place of religious significance." Mulder paused for a minute. "Maybe we're going at this wrong, Scully." "How so?" "We're looking too much at the results of his actions when we should be trying to analyze the motives for his actions. Why does a man do this? We already know he believes a specific ideology which allows him to rationalize his actions." "You're talking about how he tied religion and his murders." "Yes. Hounsi believed he was creating salvation for the damned, freeing their corporeal ties to what he views as, essentially, a grim existence, thwarting their spiritual numbness." Mulder paused for a moment and she jumped in. "What if Hounsi is not doing this for what he sees as altruistic reasons? What if he kills women because he thinks God is telling him to? Or as sacrifices to Voodoo Gods?" "Very few Voodoo gods demand live human sacrifices, Scully." "And what makes us think that it has to be religiously significant, anyway?" She continued. "Couldn't he merely be emulating the behavioral patterns of a religiously motivated killer in order to create the illusion of spiritually motivated actions? I think Hounsi is less a mythical manifestation of Voodoo religion than he would have us believe." "What do you mean?" "Mulder," she sighed, stopping and breathing deeply, "we're talking about a backwoods glimpse of Haitian witchcraft, and I don't think that Hounsi is martyring himself because he believes in these myths of snakes and stars and sages, rather that he *knows* you would sooner buy that theory than the truth!" Mulder stood quietly. His jaw twitched slightly but otherwise his voice was low and calm. "All I've ever wanted is the truth, Scully." She sighed and looked up at him. She had insulted him. "I know, Mulder. The problem with that is that it's only too easy for someone like Hounsi to pass you a plate of lies and tell you to dig in. It's an easy trap, Mulder. David Berkowitz convinced three out of four renowned psychiatrists that he was clinically insane before he went to trial. He later confessed that he'd made up his claims of being sent to kill by demons." "Through a dog, no less." he muttered, smirking slightly. She knew he was relenting. "Right. Psychology is an incredibly young and unstable science. Medical specialists are still unsure as to the causation or even existence of many psychological pathologies: Multiple Personality Disorder, even certain Borderline or Histrionic personality disorders; many supposedly psychogenic disorders are easily faked." "Harkens back to the days of trephining skulls to exorcise the demons knocking around inside your head." "Well, I'll hold off on the power tools for a while, Mulder." "Maybe you're the one who should have the psychology degree, Scully. I still think there's more to this case than the random actions of a schizophrenic suffering from a severe Anti-Social Personality Disorder." "Well, what do you think, Mulder." "I think we should check into a nearby motel; we may be here longer than first anticipated." ***************************** The water wasn't having the desired effect. Her body lay lax in the steam, unfettered by her clothes which were now wrinkled on the floor of her motel room. Her mind was unsettled though, harnessed by some unconscious plight. She didn't feel alone almost. Well of course she wasn't *really* alone. Mulder was in his room, and with their connecting door, she could hardly qualify herself as being in solitude. Every minute or so, there was the occasional rustle from his room; the television set, the water running, sounds of solace in fact. She wasn't disconcerted by Mulder. His presence assuaged her nerves, and she could be alone even while in a room with him. Because he let her. Her mind went back to the other night, the unsettling dream. It was so vague. She remembered a snake, a road, a river. She pulled her arm over the edge of the tub and rested her chin on the side of the porcelain. She was over- intellectualizing things in order to distance herself; defense mechanism. A tried and true path to emotional objectivism. Her body was tense and despite her attempts to reconcile herself to recent events, she couldn't find the distance usually required in cases so violent and perverse. She wanted to leave, to forget this case and go back to conspiracies and alien invasions. But she knew that Mulder was in it for the long run. Having spent time in Hounsi's chamber where he killed those women, it was now a personal battle between him and Hounsi. She would stay with him on it; guard his back, soothe his frustrations and do her best to calm the sickness growing within her. She longed to go to Mulder, now. To lie beside him and hear his heartbeat. But intimacy was never her strong suit. ****************************** Prise du Mort II: Chthonic Principle (2/5) ************************ They glanced at one another before entering the restaurant. The sign said, "Uglesich's" and was fairly well packed. "It's not even noon yet." Mulder whispered in her ear. Detective Gottschalk stood up as they arrived at the table. "Please sit down, my friends. Are you hungry?" "Ravenous. What about you, Scully?" Her stomach was grumbling slightly but she wasn't up for creative dining. "I'm okay. I'll have whatever you're having, Mulder." "The best oyster po-boy in town, I guarantee it." Gottschalk clapped his hands together and laughed. "I'm so glad you joined me. This neighborhood has a bad reputation but the food is worth the adventure, right?" "And Scully and I are armed, which is comforting." The waiter took their order before disappearing to the back, revealing only the smells of spices from the kitchen. Gottschalk breathed in and chuckled. He let his arm fall around the back of Mulder's chair, the expanse of his arms almost reaching Mulder's opposing shoulder. "So why am I here, Agent Mulder?" "Yes, Mulder, why are we here?" She voiced, a note of irritability in her voice. "I need the both of you. Detective, you know this area, it's culture and history, and Scully knows about our killer and has a better education in religion than I." "So what do we need you for, then?" She said dryly. "Why, for my fabulous conversational skills, dear Scully." *********************** Lunch arrived before any work was actually done. Gottschalk faced a steaming platter of crawfish while Mulder dug into a Streetcar Sandwich. She was content with a mild gumbo. "It's a good thing they kill them right here in the restaurant." Gottschalk announced. "Nothing like fresh crawfish." "Yeah, what's that smell? Bay leaves, lemons, tobasco sauce?" Mulder gaped pointedly at Gottschalk's plate. "That, and, my boy, ten bags of Zatarain's crab boil, cayenne pepper, Lagniappe and garlic." "Sooo, what you're saying is no open mouthed kisses till you floss, right?" "Eat up, Mr. Mulder." "So, about the case." "Yes, please, let's at least justify this tax-deductible lunch by mentioning what we actually traveled these several hundred miles to investigate." Scully interjected. Mulder shot her a look. She shut up. "Our man, Hounsi, is a serial killer. In Los Angeles, he was making a habit of kidnapping, torturing and murdering young women, and then dumping their bodies outside buildings named after apostles. While holding them hostage, he hung them upside down and then only after they died did he stab them." Mulder spewed out the events of the past couple weeks while gnawing on his po-boy. He kept eye contact with Gottschalk, who looked gravely at them both. Scully interjected, "We found various chemical agents on the epidermal layers of the victims bodies and under their nails. Trace elements of sodium hypochlorite, anionic and nonionic surfactants, aluminosilicates, sodium carbonate and sodium sulfate were found in very small quantities. We think he used it on them previous to their death, as a means of 'cleansing' them of sin. We also found a second blood type in their skin. We think it was his." "Right, but the DNA test we ran didn't match anything we have on file." Mulder said pointedly. "Though it's hard to believe a sicko like this is born overnight." She muttered beneath her breath. Gottschalk was leaning back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. For the first time since the food arrived, he spoke. "This man's name, Hounsi, that is a Voodoun name. It is the name of an accepted devotee of a hounfort, the sanctuary where Voodoo is practiced." Mulder leaned towards him, clasping his hands together. "Right, we got that far in L.A. This Hounsi mixes Voodoo and Christianity in a bizarre way; I wonder at the nature of that tie." Scully sat up, taking an interest in the conversation. "That might be a clue. He might be from around here, having grown up with a culture of Voodoo but have been sent to Catholic school. Maybe his family was Christian." "Well that narrows it down to about eighty percent of the city. Thanks partner." Mulder scoffed. She narrowed her gaze. "Shutup Mulder." "If I may intercede here," Gottschalk interposed, "the Voodoo religion itself is not entirely separate from that of Christianity." "Explain." Mulder said. "In the countryside of Haiti, each family compound includes a family graveyard. The tombs of family members are as elaborate as the family can afford. Some resemble small houses built above ground, with the crypt below." "Hounsi's hideout was underground. In Los Angeles. He was in the basement of a bar. Perhaps that was as close as he could come to the real thing so far from his home." "Perhaps," Gottschalk voiced. "You know, the bones of dead individuals are considered to have great magical powers, particularly if the dead person was somehow notable or distinguished to the family. A Vodouisant, or ancestor, is buried with Roman Catholic ceremony, and a wake is held for nine nights after the death. The ninth night is called the 'denye priye', the 'last prayer'. After the 'last prayer', the Catholic part of the death ritual is closed. At some point either before or after the Roman Catholic ceremony, the Voodoo ceremony of 'desounin' is held. In this ceremony, the component parts of the person's soul and life force, in the body of the person, are ritualistically separated and consigned to their correct destinations." "No kidding." Mulder stroked his chin thoughtfully. "So Hounsi kept the girls alive to pray for them, that's the Roman Catholic element, and then stabbed them post- humously to release the pieces of the soul as part of the Voodoun ceremony." He smiled triumphantly, as a small boy might after having successfully completed a jigsaw puzzle. "Well, Scully, what do you think? The vision of a madman coming clear, eh?" "Hmmm," she murmured, not agreeing or disagreeing. "Detective, what, hypothetically, happens after this ceremony?" Gottschalk scratched his face for a minute before answering. "The inheritor of any 'family lwa' liberated from the deceased is usually revealed, as the chosen individual becomes briefly possessed." "Possessed?" Scully asked. "Possession, Ms. Scully. The invasion of a spirit into someone's body. Families, you see, inherit their family gods. If you inherit your parents gods, you may become possessed by them, as initiation." "Okay," Mulder interjected, "let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've figured out that Hounsi probably has a background in Christian and Voodoo religions and may conduct his crimes near a graveyard." Gottschalk nodded. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Agent Mulder. I'll have someone down at headquarters look into anything that has shown up at nearby cemeteries while you work on figuring out who this Hounsi is." Scully and Mulder nodded in unison. Scully looked back and forth between them. "Why don't we make contact tomorrow?" "Agreed." Gottschalk said. *************************** A knock came to her door just as she was reaching for her lamp light. "Yes?" "It's me, Scully. Can I come in?" "Yeah." He pushed the door open and stood there momentarily before hesitantly walking to the edge of her bed to sit down. "Did I wake you?" "No, Mulder. What's up?" He gazed at her. Dark shadows beneath her eyes cast a frail look about her. He felt guilty, but couldn't figure out why. "Are you.. are you angry at me, Scully?" She sighed and leaned back on her pillows and he almost thought he saw her cringe before shaking her head. "Of course not." "Well, do you want to leave? Do you not think we should be here, investigating?" She crossed her arms. "A crime has been committed here, Mulder. I just don't know why we are the ones who were sent here. I mean, this doesn't qualify as an X-File; the Bureau could just as easily send two other agents." "Hounsi picked us, Scully. I don't think at this point that we can ask why. We either play the game by his rules or forfeit." "I just wonder sometimes, Mulder, why it is that we play at all. Why participate when we know there's someone out there designing obstacles to trip us up?" He smoothed her sheets and grimaced. "I appreciate it, Scully." They looked into each other. She couldn't help but admire him. Why question it, why fight it? This was no random pairing. Chaos theory never accounted for this partnership. "I know, Mulder. But that's not why I'm here." He smiled and trembled. Pursing his lips to prevent the knot from forming in his throat, he stood up and waved before walking out the door. ************************************* Hounsi knelt above the altar, moving his lips to a silent prayer. The skull of a goat lay in front of him while various glass bottles, cracked at the lip and rusted by blood stains lay around him in a circle. Then he started crowing loudly, calling out to ancestors, awaiting word. The heady smells of blood and spice, wine and meat rank from the heat penetrating the cave dizzied the fervored brain. Flies sat on his skin, mindlessly flying and landing, flying and landing. His vision came in a cloud. Time had folded over itself; what was past is present. Emerging from the vapor came two figures, traced by the sun's rays, luminescent and powerful. Hounsi cringed. "Nooo-sirrr, how do I stop the sun from rising." He heard a voice, knocking against the inside of his head, against his inner ear. He spoke it even as he heard it. "Carrefour, Kalfu, divide and conquer the men. Take the mother of all life and trap her with the spirit of hell. Dis will kill the man and dee woman is yours to own." "Who are they?" His second voice answered him, "They are Damballah and Ayida-Wedo." He hissed. He hissed. The hissing would never be silent. Not until he performed the sacrament. ******************* Ayida-Wedo sat with Damballah at the edge of a stream. Nine five-pointed stars were drawn into the nearby tree trunk. Ayida toyed with a large egg. It's shell was totally smooth and was a perfect oval. The cool symmetry of it's design soothed her. Damballah kneeled at the water's edge and dipped his hands into the water. He pulled out a crab and a fish. "Two sides of a coin." Ayida said. Damballah released the fish to the water and let the crab down to the earth. It swiveled back to the water. "The crab is my lieutenant, Ayida; Agassou, our ancestral houngan." Damballah pronounced. "As the fish is St. Ulrique, in the Catholic chromos." She countered. "They are not two sides of a coin because they do not look away from one another. They are opposite ends of a circle." "A circle has no ends, Damballah." "Precisely." "What is Carrefour doing?" Damballah stood, turning his gaze across the way to Carrefour, who loitered on the edge of the crossroads. He stomped the ground occasionally, staring at the sky. "He is calling the rains." Damballah mused. "Why?" Damballah looked at Ayida-Wedo gravely. "Not only is he the mask of night, he is the patron saint of magicians and trickery. By bringing the rains, he may confuse the heavens and it's inhabitants into believing that it is night." "To what end, Damballah?" "So that he may lure you." "Lure me?" Ayida let the egg rest in her lap as she sat up. "Damballah, I am yours. How could he lure me from you?" Damballah grimaced. Rarely had she ever seen Damballah fearful but that is how he appeared. His gaze fell over her. "He may trick you; he may cast a loa into you, possessing you for himself." Ayida grasped the egg and swiftly rose to face Damballah. She looked at him self-assuredly, attempting to placate her fear to where it could not reach his eyes. She longed to comfort him. "Damballah, I am for you. For you and no other man." It was then that the dream trespassed its way into the visage of a nightmare. ******************* Prise du Mort II: Chthonic Principle (3/5) *********************** The light was radiant. Mulder weaved his way around the graveyard, reading tombstones and poking the toe of his shoe into the grass every once in a while. He couldn't get the idea of zombies, reaching out of their graves for his ankles, far from his mind. His mind returned to last night when, upon hearing noises from her room, he'd found Scully shaking from a nightmare. She had turned her face from him and refused to discuss it. He looked over at her. Her hands were at her hips and she was looking around the mossy graveyard speculatively. Excusing the morbid theme, it really was a beautiful place. "Penny for your thoughts." He said. She looked up at him, around, down, and then back up at him. She slowly walked towards him. "I was just thinking. Do you ever feel like you... I don't know, had lived in a different time?" "Ms. Scully, I'm shocked. Is the ever practical doctor referring to the clandestine notion of re-incarnation?" "No. As I understand it, re-incarnation deals with the spirit living on through the lives of many people. I'm thinking more along the lines of you, Fox Mulder, having lived in a different time and place, with a different name, but still you. Different memories, maybe." "Don't our memories and experiences define us?" "Just answer me." "Okay, no, I haven't. But what's really up? Have you, Scully?" "I'm just thinking." Mulder paused. Scully musing on the destination of the soul in after-life is enough to raise an eyebrow or two. He gazed at her figure caught in the sunlight; her hair wound it's way around her neck, framing her face. The light from the sun clung to her dark suit and beads of sweat inched their way down her brow. She har-umphed in frustration. "Mulder, this is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. There must be hundreds of churches and graveyards in New Orleans. We need to narrow the search a bit." "Hey, I'm all for that. Any bright ideas?" She heeled the mossy floor of the cemetary before speaking. "Have we had any luck tracing the girl... What was her name?" "Umm, Olivia Maron." "Olivia Maron, have we traced her to the crime scene or to Hounsi? What did her family have to say?" "Gottschalk was supposed to talk to them today. I'll call him on the cell phone right now." He pulled out his phone and began dialing. Scully pulled her shoulders up and straightened her posture. "Scully." He interrupted her thoughts. "Yeah." "Gottschalk called the girl's home earlier and talked to her mother. He said he'd go by this afternoon but we're actually closer to her house so I told him we'd go." "Well, we couldn't do any worse off than we are now. Why don't you drive. My head is killing me." He watched her walk to the car. "Sure." **************** "So Mrs. Maron," Mulder began, "when was the last time you saw Olivia?" Sylvania Maron was crouched down in her chair, the light drawn from her eyes. Dust painted the furniture in the living room a mottled brown. Scully sat, perched on an antique armchair while Mulder sat at a loveseat, covered with designs of butterflies. Maron's voice was soft and lilted when she ended her sentences. The past few days had obviously been very difficult for her. "Three days ago. I made her lunch after school and then she went to her room. She must have left at some point but I don't remember hearing her." "Was there anything about her mood that was out of the ordinary?" "No." "Did she say anything to you that was out of the ordinary?" "No, we.. we just had lunch. I didn't eat much. I usually just liked to hear about her day." "And how was her day that day?" "The same as any other." Maron's voice cracked. Mulder looked up at Scully helplessly. Scully took the reigns of the interview, sensing Mulder's hesitance to press the issue. "Mrs. Maron, if there is anything you can think of that might have distinguished Olivia from other girls, perhaps... a hobby, um, maybe she had a particular interest in school?" A tear streamed down Maron's face. She spoke desperately, "No, she was just like other girls. She played soccer, she went to Sunday School, she wanted to audition for a school play next week." Scully's ear perked up. "Sunday School? Which church did she attend?" "Our Lady of Guadalupe, on North Rampart Street. Last year, she played St. Marron in the Orleans Christmas festival. I made her costume. Ribbons with tiny bells tied to her ankles and red handkerchiefs knotted together..." Mulder interrupted her. "Excuse me, Mrs. Maron, did you say that Olivia portrayed 'St. Marron' in a Christmas play? I've never heard of a Saint Maron." Maron smiled half-heartedly. "Why yes, a New Orleans Saint, really. St. Marron was the saint of runaway slaves, as well as of the Voodoos, and such slaves who worshipped him were known as 'marons.' I always thought it providential that Olivia was able to portray someone of her namesake." Both of the two agents sat on the edge of their seats. Mulder cleared his throat, "Well, Mrs. Maron, I can't thank you enough for your time. If you need anything, feel free to call this number." He handed her his card before standing and leading Scully out of the house. As they walked to the car, Scully tried to organize her thoughts. Once they were in and Mulder started the car, she spoke. "Hounsi originally killed girls and left their bodies outside of buildings named after apostles. Now we have a girl named after a Voodoo saint." Mulder picked up where she left off. "He's still using the religious imagery. Which means he knew the name of his victim." "Which means it was a premeditated murder." Scully figured. "I'm going to radio this into Gottschalk and have him meet us at the church. If Olivia was religious, he could have easily followed her to church and taken her there. It was at night and she was alone so he knew that there would likely be no witnesses." Mulder sped through a yellow light as he spoke, working it out in his head aloud. "You following me here, Scully?" "Yes, Mulder." ***************** The three of them stood outside of Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. It almost looked like a mission. Scully watched Gottschalk push open the gate to the front yard of the Church. She followed in his shadow, somehow comforted by his presence. He walked to the front of a marble statue standing outside the church. He read the engraving on the statue to Mulder and Scully. "This is a sculpture of St. Expedite. It's interesting," he said, "that the girl came here." Mulder put his hands on his hips and kicked a rock at his feet. "How so?" He inquired. "Well, this spot, it is something of a crossroads between ancient Voodoo culture and modern Catholic religion. It reminds me of what you mentioned earlier, Mr. Mulder, about this Hounsi's use of both Christian and Voodoun symbols." Scully's eyes watered and her stomach churned. She looked around the street. There were no people out; clouds had come over the bright sky and it seemed that the heart of the city was sinking. She looked through the church windows. Bow windows had been installed, with small square panes of bottle glass, probably designed to make the place look old and authentic- as it did- but the few people she saw inside had their faces altered by the warping glass. One face was all jaw, another one big vacant eye, but it all added to the age of the place, as did the geraniums and lobelias in the window boxes. Mulder was all business. "What do you mean by crossroads?" "Well, St. Expedite is probably the most popular saint in the Voodoo world who, incidentally, is a peculiar example of the bridge between New Orleans Voodooism and Catholicism. Though his authenticity is more than doubtful, statues of St. Expedite are in at least two Catholic churches in the city, including this one. Just around the corner from this church is where the Laveau's lived." Mulder tilted his head. "The Laveau's?" Gottschalk leaned against the statue as he spoke. "Marie Laveau, practically a deity of the Voodoun world around here. She was a very powerful figure in the evolution of Voodoo in this country. Particularly around here. She died in 1881 but until that time she lived right around the corner. This church is a very old one and was originally the Catholic chapel from which all burial services were held." "Really," Mulder responded in fascination. "What else do you know about Expedite?" "Well, I think that priests questioned about St. Expedite will generally remain noncommittal. Some will tell you they are certain he did exist while others disagree entirely. There are no records. Some years ago Archbishop Shaw of New Orleans made a public and angry demand that these statues be removed from Catholic churches in New Orleans. Nothing was ever done and the icons remain. I can tell you though, that St. Expedite is the most reliable of all saints, Catholic, Voodoo, whatever." "Reliable?" Mulder asked. "When it comes to getting things done in a hurry, yes. You have only to say, 'St. Expedite, do this now.' It will be done. Then you come to church, probably here, and pay off- burn a candle, say a prayer, if you're a true Voodoun maybe you'll leave a slice of poundcake, a new penny or a sprig of green fern at his feet." "A Catholic Church with a Voodoo statue right around the corner from what was the residence of one of the most powerful practitioners of Voodoo in human history." Mulder said. "This has to be our place. Hounsi can't be too far away." "And..." Gottschalk began. He pointed across the street. "My God." Mulder managed to get out. Virtually adjacent to the church was a cemetary. In metal grate letters above the cemetary gate read 'St. Louis Cemetary No. I.' Mulder began to run across the street excitedly. Gottschalk jogged in pursuit of him. The blood in Mulder's veins pounded through his heart. "This must be it," he yelled. He threw back a work to his partner. "Scully, come on!" Scully turned from them both and edged her way over to the side of the church. She sat down on the church stoop. The unruly sun dipped behind a cluster of clouds and her head bobbed to her chest. From when did this sleepy trance find her? At the round earth's imagined corners, a voice found her. "I was told I'd find you hear, Ayida." That was the last thing she heard before the club fell and all dissipated to night. She wasn't even suprised to feel the blow. ******************* Prise du Mort II: Chthonic Principle (4/5) **************************** Gottschalk and Mulder had just realized they were alone. "She had a headache earlier. She may have gone inside the Church to lie down." Mulder jogged across the yard of the Church while Gottschalk headed up the concrete steps to its front doors. "Scully!" Mulder called. He was outside and while a decently strong wind was picking up he could still swear that he heard an echo. A cold grip caught his heart as he turned to face the side stoop of the church. "No." He mouthed, no noise emitting from his throat. He doubled over while his eyes stung. Half of him had seeped away while he wasn't looking. Gottschalk emerged from around the corner in time to see Mulder sink to his knees. He caught the agent's gaze. Trembling with worry, Mulder raised his hand to Gottschalk. Entwined in his fingers was a gold necklace; dangling from the chain was a small gold crucifix. "Is it hers?" Gottschalk asked. Mulder nodded mutely. "I'll call for backup." Gottschalk said. ************************* A dozen times, moving her head slowly on her neck, she canvassed the shadows of the room for a weapon. Time had come and gone when she woke up. She could only assume that she'd spent the night knocked out. Moving her eyes back and forth, she carefully attempted to ascertain if she might have a concussion. Hounsi was nowhere to be seen. She'd woken up that morning to find him brewing something and there was a strange odor in the room though not altogether sickening. Strange as the nightmares from her unconscious state had been, this day was stranger. Fright and physical pain are perishable things once they are gone. But while pain merely dulls and telescopes in memory and remains diluted pain, terror looked back upon has nothing of terror left. She had been sure when she awoke that he would kill her. What else had he done with women he kidnapped? Apparently though, that was not his intention. Which may actually have inspired more fear in her. So while the ropes around her wrists and ankles merely posed an annoyance, the fright that attacked her system kept her thoughts clear. Now that the rays of light breaking through the wooden boards on the structure she was in were getting stronger, she tried to make out her surroundings. On an altar across the room there was an ornamented box. A couple times that morning she swore she heard something else in the room but couldn't see anything. It was almost like a soft shuffling sound. As far as she could tell, though, she was alone. And she was trapped. She sat in a scoop chair totally bound and gagged. Her neck was sore so she could guess that she spent the night upright in the same position. Noise floated in from the stairs outside the door. Someone was coming. The door creaked open and Hounsi silently crept in. Seeing that she was awake, he smiled perversely. "You're awake." She opened her eyes wider. Clutching desperately at the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, she nodded mutely. "Time, time, time..." He murmured. He threw the large bag he'd been carrying over and started removing various items: An iron, a white dress, charcoal grates, various bottles of liquid, what looked like torn paper mache decorations and a drum. "Time moves swiftly in America, doesn't it Agent Scully?" He asked her carefully. He looked up and around the room and then continued, as if he were speaking to an audience. "We are young and our ideas of age are somewhat distorted. Fifty years seems very long to us, and a century is almost an eon. We point with great pride to a house or a piece of furniture that is two hundred years old." He clucked lightly. "There are Asian civilizations on this planet that are thousands of years old and those pale in comparison to some of the African tribes that were creating society while Europeans still dwelled in caves." Scully squirmed slightly as he spoke, attempting to loosen her bindings. To no avail. She was stuck. "You are what, of Irish origin? French, perhaps? Does the age of slavery seem remote to you?" She muffled and answer through the gag and nearly wound up choking. "I'm sorry, you must excuse me; let me help you with that. I merely wanted to prevent you from screaming while I was away." He approached her and apologetically removed her gag. "Now, what were you saying?" "You're not African." She said. He giggled a little. "No, perhaps not. I'm white, you mean. But, you know, all modern-day civilizations evolved from one original source; Africa. Perhaps my memory extends to that era. Memory can be a very long thing. There are people alive today who remember the age of slavery still." She was worried that if she entertained his fantasies she would be unable to persuade him to surrender or at the very least, spare her life. She tried a different approach. "What do you want, Hounsi?" He said nothing. "You're already caught, you know. It's only a matter of time before you're tracked down by law enforcement officials. You might as well give yourself up now. Killing me will prove nothing." He turned to face her, shocked. "Kill you?" His face wrinkled. "My dear, I'm not going to kill you. Oh, no no. You see, I still have a score to settle but I need you to help me." He looked up at the light coming in through the window. "Speaking of which, if we're going to be there on time, we should get going." "Where are we going, Hounsi?" "You'll see." He looked to her for a moment before turning away. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to knock you out again. I can't have you trying to escape. I'm sorry." She straightened up and faced him. "What score do you have to settle, Hounsi?" His eyes bore into her, peeling away the layers of her skin, then her muscle, down to her very bone. His voice made her tremble. "A very old one." Realizing that he meant to use her as bait, she opted for defiance as her only option. "I would rather die than hurt him, Hounsi. You know I won't cooperate with you." He bent over and reached his hand out. He caressed the side of her head, tracing his fingers across her face. "I'm not worried about that." The second time darkness came, it was a suprise. ******************** He had been told to go to sleep but he couldn't. In the middle of the afternoon, after twenty hours of searching, he had returned to the motel room. He had gone to bed after undressing completely; he would sometimes sleep naked. He lay in silence. The only nearby noise arose from the increasingly violent winds outside. They howled, the mocked him. Voicing their disapproval, they committed him to fail. A muffled sob caught him unprepared. It was amazing how distanced he was from his own feelings. He could never recognize his own hatreds, fears. Love. "Hello?" He said to his room. He reached for his gun, drawing it slowly. There was no one else visible but there was someone present. He felt it. Panic. He stood up and agilely pulled on his boxers and pants. Pacing the room deftly, he eyed the walls of the cage cleverly disguised as a Motel 6. The surreal quality of his actions in the past twenty- four hours kept him from contemplating the ramifications of his inaction. He pulled out a book he'd brought for night reading and sat down on the edge of his bed. It was a history book. He leafed through, pausing at the pictures, done in an old-fashioned stippled style, of bas-reliefs, masks, Romans with empty eyes, pottery fragments. The book felt odd in his hands. The print of the book was determinedly legible, and smug, like a lesson book. As he bent over the pages, yellow at the edges, they were like rectangles of dusty glass through which he looked down into unreal and irrelevant words. "God dammit!" He yelled, hurling the book at the wall. "Who's there?!" He desperately sank to his knees, letting the grief fall over his shoulders in waves. Fully aware of how impotent he felt, how totally ineffectual he had been in tracking Hounsi, he crumpled like a dry leaf set to fire. The phone rang. "Hello?" He answered weakly. "Agent Mulder," came the reply. "May I ask you a question?" "Hounsi." He stood up, immediately alert. "Where are you, Hounsi? Let her go." "May I ask you a question?" "What?" Mulder cried angrily. "Have you ever felt, Agent Mulder, that you have lived in a different time?" Immediately, Mulder thought back to Scully asking the exact same question in the cemetary. "What do you want, Hounsi?" He demanded, in no mood for manipulation. "Did you feel, Agent Mulder, sitting in your motel room, that you were alone? Or did you feel someone else, maybe? A silent chant, something very familiar, perhaps?" Hounsi's voice found it's way through him; it dipped and swooped inside him, excavating his nerves, dividing the two halves of his brain, drinking his blood, spitting him out. "What do you want?" Mulder pleaded helplessly. "You will find her where you left her, Damballah. At a crossroads." "That makes no sense." Mulder searched his thoughts desperately. Hounsi screeched through the phone, "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM, YET?!" A click, and once again there was silence. ******************** Gottschalk peered at Mulder's features while attempting to appear that he was not paying attention to the Agent's demeanor. There was a wildness in Mulder's eyes, a plunging recklessness. "Are you sure you would not rather sleep, Mr. Mulder?" Mulder noiselessly shook his head. Gottschalk swiveled in his chair. The department was on a widespread manhunt but his office was empty with the exception of Mulder and himself. "What did you say he called you befo=81ly. Gottschalk perked up slightly. "Damballah?" "Yes, that's it. What is that?" "Damballah is the original divine man. A Voodoun god, a founder of creation, and a mortal." Mulder's eyes watered, and his words choked in his throat. "I don't understand." Gottschalk stood up and walked to his window. The world outside the deep-silled windows- a rutted lawn, a whitewashed barn, a walnut tree frothy with fresh green- was a delusion from which he was forever sealed off. "This case, Mr. Mulder, it is unusual. It makes me wonder." "How so?" "I've been thinking again about what you said about Hounsi mixing the Catholic and Voodoo religions. I have an idea." "Anything would be a step in the right direction at this point." "Both the Voodoun and Catholic faiths propose a myth of the world's origin and on a second level, the first creation of God, the original man and woman, who partake of the divine nature in it's loftiest sense but are human. In Voodoo, we have Damballah and Ayida-Wedo, who are similar to Adam and Eve in that they are mortal yet Damballah and Ayida also divine in nature, like mystical versions of Saints." "Why would Hounsi refer to me as Damballah?" Mulder queried. "If Damballah and Ayida are on a second level, then the deities governing the affairs of men are on a third level. The loa or 'lwa' as they are known can modify but they cannot create." "Detective, if you'll excuse me, I've never been a religious man. Can you put this in lamens terms?" "Say that Damballah and Ayida-Wedo lived in a garden the same way Adam and Eve did. The loa can help the garden grow and can bring the rain, but they did not create either the seed or the water. In effect, these loa are analogous to the Catholic saints." "Interesting." "You see, like the saints, the loa are considered to be on a plane far below God. According to Haitian myth, Agaou, the god of thunder, says, 'If God is willing' before bringing the rain." "It's very similar to Roman mythology in ways." Mulder stated. "Indeed. And, like the saints, the loa were once human, and are the immediate guardians of the people. Like the saints, they have special provinces of action. Is it so strange, then, that a madman confounded by Voodoun mysticism would, in an attempt to serve that which he cannot comprehend, cover his altars with the Catholic pictures of the saints, which he understands as representations of the loa?" "So, because he fails to grasp the intricacies of the Voodoun religion, he adapts random principles to the ideology he was raised with in an attempt to access the power associated with the Voodoun practitioners?" "Absolutely; I'm sure you've seen this warping of unfamiliar faiths by those who would take advantage of power before?" "At Oxford, I wrote a term paper on the exploitation of witchcraft by early American Puritans attempting to keep women out of the medical profession." "Yes. We all see in law enforcement how an apprehension of that which is alien to us can distort the truth." Mulder almost laughed out loud. "Ahh, distortion of the truth is something with which I am familiar." "Still, I have a question." Gottschalk mused. "What?" "Why would Hounsi refer to you as the original loa?" "I have no idea." "And where did he say he was going?" "He was being vague; something about a crossroads." "Hmmm." Gottschalk sat back on the edge of his desk. "I may be out of information on this, Mr. Mulder." The day was almost over. Mulder wandered around the office in silence as they each left the other to his own respective contemplation. Mulder stared out the window. The day had almost run it's course. The back lot behind the police station was an empty field. The sky was a turquoise color and the cinder moon was visible, round and full. "Detective Gottschalk," he began, "what is the significance of Damballah in the Voodoun religion?" Gottschalk chuckled. "I didn't study much of Voodoo growing up, Mr. Mulder. My father was a preacher. The only sermons he gave on Voodoo were when he was talking about stories from the Bible. He said how St. Patrick, in the act of sending the serpents to the sea, was Damballah, the great deity of serpents." "Serpents?" "Serpents hold a special place in the Voodoo religion, Mr. Mulder. The most powerful and mystical of earthly creatures." "It makes me wonder." "Wonder what?" "Gottschalk, are you aware at all of a loa, who is comparable to a Catholic saint, who was the deity of crossroads?" "Why do you ask?" "In Los Angeles, we originally caught Hounsi because he gave himself away by hiding in a location named after an apostle." Gottschalk bowed his head and went totally still for a moment before snapping up and nodding to Mulder. "The chromo of Lazarus, in which he is an old man with a staff and attended by dogs, represents old Legba, guardian of the cross-roads, to whom dogs were sacred in Dahomey." "Is there a Church of Lazarus anywhere around here that you know of?" Gottschalk spoke more rapidly, staring in astonishment at Mulder. "About ten miles out that way," he pointed out the window to the field of grass behind the station, "there is a deserted barn that many years ago acted as a church to the farmers who couldn't come in for Sunday service. It was known as the 'Coop of Lazarus.'" Mulder grabbed his sports coat and pulled it on. "That must be where he's going. Call in for back-up on the radio. We have a big head-start but we'll need help. He won't come in without a fight." ************************ "Do you know where the barn is, Gottschalk?" Mulder and Gottschalk prowled through the tall grass, being careful not to make noise that could alert Hounsi. Mulder had a New Orleans P.D. flashlight with him and made sure not to aim it at the sky. Stopping for a moment to find their bearings, Mulder set down his flashlight so that he could straighten his clothes. An insect alighted on its lens, a tiny insect, a mosquito or flea, so fragile and fine that the weak light projected its X-ray onto the wall boards; the faint rim of its wings, the blurred strokes, magnified, of its long hinged legs, the dark cone at the heart of its anatomy. A noise cracked through the night air like a fly ball in Candlestick Park. Without hesitation, the two men started running in the direction from which it came. The noise came again and sweat broke out on Mulders back. The cerebral aspect of his mind rebounded off of a solidness, a panic. His protesting nerves swarmed on its surface like lichen on a meteor. The skin of his chest was soaked with the effort of his legs. "This way, Mulder." Gottschalk panted, leading him around the bend of a grove to a large dilapidated wooden structure. There was no marking to indicate that the place had a name but light emanated from the glassless window panes. The two men ran through the open doorway. Inside, Hounsi stood, as if he had been calmly waiting the entire time. The roof of the barn had been torn away by years of neglect so that the structure resembled a open Cathedral or theater. Torches were lit at five corners of the building, lighting and warming the interior. Spider webs covered many of the walls and the supportive wooden beams. A path clearly marked by freshly laid dirt led to the middle of the floor. There lay a high table-like altar, next to it a decorative box on a short stand. Aside the box sat a wheelbarrow, a knife, a bowl and next to the stand, a deep hole in the ground. A hole that resembled a grave. Mulder's gaze, however, was drawn to the altar, a cobbled stone design, and to what lay on the altar. She wore a white dress and was lying flat on the long altar. Her eyes were closed and her chest was rising and falling evenly. Her sleep seemed serene. Gottschalk, acknowledging Mulder's state, stepped forward. "What is this?" Like a maitre'd at the Four Seasons, Hounsi stepped forward, bowed ever so slightly and stretched out his arm as if to lead them forward. "I'm so glad you could come." More alarming to Mulder than his surroundings was Hounsi's apparent sincerity. He genuinely seemed pleased to see them. A dense and internal fear danced inside him. This was unlike anything he'd ever encountered before. "What's going on, Hounsi?" Mulder spoke softly. Hounsi almost grinned; he glided over to the altar and motioned to Scully. "You've seen our queen, have you not? I have brought us here together to settle something. We all play an essential role. We have the two forces at odds; you and me. Detective, you are the observer of these events." "And her?" Mulder motioned to his sleeping beauty. "She is... well, she is more than a prize. She is the coin that we flip; she determines our fate even as we determine hers." "What are you going to do to her?" Gottschalk inquired. "First, let us set the stage." He walked to the box that lay next to the altar. "This box contains Vodu, the Zombi, the holy serpent." Mulder and Gottschalk said nothing. Hounsi continued with little hesitation. "Agent Mulder, you never did answer my question. Do you believe in the idea of an eternal soul? That it is possible you may have lived before you trespassed to this mortal coil?" "I can not speak with authority about the afterlife, Hounsi. And I refuse to get drawn into a metaphysical debate with you so long as you have a hostage." "A hostage? Oh, but she is far more than that. Shall we see what's behind Door Number Three?" He asked the air around him. "I think so." "Papa Legba, bring her to our table! Papa Legba!" He cried relentlessly, waving his arms and stamping the ground. The dirt flew around him. From the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Scully's head move. ****************** Prise du Mort II: Chthonic Principle (5/5) *********************** She was numb, cramped for space. Her arms were heavy. She opened her eyes. A flashlight beam bounced across the walls, the nearby trees casting light upon the nightcrawlers and mosquitos. A tide of clay had swept up to the stars; space was crushed into a mass. "She awakens!" She heard distantly, as if through a long tunnel. "Where..." She murmured. "Sit up, dear, so we can see you." The voice came again. Without thinking, her torso swung up so that her feet dangled over the edge of her sleeping surface and she faced the voice. Hounsi pulled up next to her. "Agent Scully, may I proposition you? Don't bother trying to answer me." He looked abashedly at the ground and ran his hand under her chin lightly. He then cooed in a concerned voice, "Miss Scully, I know you haven't been sleeping well. Tell you what, I'm going to give you a chance at survival here. Remember this?" He tapped the box sitting next to her. "Would you like to see what's in it?" Mulder and the Detective stepped forward, anxiously, so that they could see the contents of the box as he opened it. Scully moved her eyes to Hounsi's hands. The lid of the box came off, and inside was a tremendous Anaconda snake. "You can see why I had to take it in a wheelbarrow. It weighs several hundred pounds." "Get away from it, Scully." She heard Mulder call. Hounsi placed his hand on her thigh. "What I offer you, Miss Scully, is something very rare. A taste of the past, an opportunity to see how the world began, a glimpse of immortality. But I need something from you in exchange." She did not move. "You see, here I have a gun." From nowhere, Hounsi pulled a gun from his coat. He brandished it in the air for all three of them to see before bringing the nose of the gun back to her lap. He toyed the trigger as he spoke. "You may have wondered, Mulder, why your partner seems so exhausted. In the grand tradition of Voodoo, I have bound her into a hypnotic state. This place is my own and she cannot use a gun against me here. By the way, neither can you. You've entered my lair and just like a vampire, you cannot trespass against me using your own weapon." He looked just above his head and to the left, standing silent for several moments, as if listening to someone. He turned to Scully. "You have an important choice to make. I can either shoot these two, bury them here, and possess you for my own, going on to kill women all over the city... Or," he leaned in to her, his mouth only inches from her ear, "I can give you this gun, and you can kill your partner. Once he has left his body, I promise you, my spell will not stop you from shooting me. Bear in mind while you make your decision though, that if I possess you, you will never break free of the Voodoo spell that keeps you from sleeping at night." "Stop it!" Mulder yelled. "Scully, wake up. Scully, please..." "It's no use, Mr. Mulder. She can not prevent this. You know, Detective," he remarked, looking to Gottschalk, "of the 'desounin' ritual. Where an individual's parts are sent to the four winds. It is my opinion that once Ms. Scully's individual self has departed, what we will be left with is her ancient self." "That is possession, Hounsi." Gottschalk stated. "You may call it demonic possession; I may call it freeing her from the entrapments of her corporeal being." Scully moved her eyes to the remote surfaces of the building; to the barn wall and the grape arbor and the giant pine that stood by the path to the woods. Finally, her gaze fell to her partner. He opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing. She moved to take the gun from Hounsi. He proudly relinquished it. Mulder stood before her, staring with such soft, clinging, merciful eyes. Without warning, she swung the gun up to her mouth and bit down on the nose of the gun. Clicking back the safety, she stared to the sky as her finger moved to the trigger. In one moment, she considered those specters of science fiction she'd been chasing for so long. "NO!" Hounsi and Mulder screamed simulataneously. Hounsi struck her soundly across the side of the face, knocking the gun from her grip. It skidded across the ground without going off. "That was very stupid." Hounsi menaced. Coughing slightly, he continued, "Very well, you've made your decision." "Eh! Eh! Bomba hen hen!" He cried. "Canga bafie te, Danga moune de te, Canga do ki li! Canga li!" The snake in the box moved suddenly, knocking over the stand. It slowly wound it's way out, coiling around the base of the altar. Mulder watched as Scully began to move violently, bringing herself to a standing position on the altar. Her jerking became more violent as Hounsi's cries grew in volume. His voice echoed against he walls of the barn, creating a booming layered wail. Scully flung her arms toward the black night sky, and her head rolled on her shoulders as if her neck were broken. A scream ripped from her throat. Now invocations, curses and sacred words poured from her lips. She was possessed. Hounsi had accepted her as an oracle, and the words she spoke came not from herself but from the snake wound around the altar upon which she stood trembling and jerking. The current of energy spread like electricity. Hounsi's chant rose and fell in great crashing waves of sound, as steady and as rhythmic as the beat of Haitian tom-toms. Hounsi reached for the bowl next to the box. Using the knife, he slipped it over his arm, spilling blood into the bowl. Passing it to Scully, she drank it and handed it back to him. She spun and gyrated and leapt from the altar. She fell to her hands and knees, imitating the postures of animals, biting at the grass, shaking her posteriors violently. She bit and clawed at herself, tearing at her dress. Her head snapped up and she glared at the sky as the moon came out and glowed upon her naked flesh. "Damballah!" She screamed finally, before falling to the cold earth, still panting and shaking. Then she was unconscious again. ************************* The night sky loomed before Ayida-Wedo and Damballah. Carrefour was lightly tapping on a set of canvas drums, chanting softly. Every now and again he would look over to them and then return to his business. "Damballah, the rain is getting harder and the sky, darker. Soon the sun will disappear behind the clouds." Ayida clutched her egg and leaned in to avoid the rain that stung her arms. Damballah abruptly turned to her. "Ayida, we don't have much time. You must make a choice. Soon Kalfu will cast a Petro night loa into you, bringing your darker color to life." "But why?" "He hopes to usurp the power that stems from our union." Carrefour moved towards them, first walking, then kneeling, and then on all fours. Eventually, his limbs disappeared and his skin took on a luminescent quality. He was a snake, plunging through the bassin of mud he built with rain, writhing, dripping and inarticulate, upon the ground, slithering through the brush. "Damballah, what can I do?" Damballah looked to her face, and then down to the egg she held. "Ayida." He said softly. "This is you. You must either give it to him and go with him, or throw it away, and disappear forever." "Is there nothing else I can do?" "Those are the only two choices I can tell you." "Damballah, you must know something else. Help me." Ayida pleaded with him. Damballah tensed and held her tightly for a moment. "It's so hard, Ayida," he started softly, "when I hold you like this, I can't help thinking how we are also mortal beings and not just gods. You make me want to be a mortal. All I can tell you is that I am the patron of heavenly waters and you are the rainbow. As long as the sun is in the sky, it's light will reflect you through me." Without saying more, he leaned in his head and kissed her. It was so pleasant to feel his lips. "Ayida." A voice behind them hissed. "Are you ready to come with me?" Ayida looked to Carrefour, surrounding them in a coil. "I know what I am to do." Ayida whispered in Damballah's ear. She then looked to Carrefour. "I know what I am to do." *********************** "Now," Hounsi proclaimed, after a moment of silence, "she will arise again, as a Voodoo spirit." Gottschalk stared at the motionless body. It did not move. "Detective," Mulder spoke in a hollow voice, "return to our car, and call to see where our back-up is." "What?!" Gottschalk said, baffled. "Go." He reiterated. "Mr. Mulder, the recorder cannot leave the premises." "You will not stop him, Carrefour. This does not concern him." Hounsi balked. "What did you call me?" "Carrefour." Hounsi's voice took on a falsetto, airy tone. He waved his hand at the Detective. "Go, Detective. Go now." Gottschalk looked back and forth at them before turning on his heel and running out of the barn. There was electricity in the air. It snapped at the snake, still sliding around the altar. "Damballah," Carrefour said, having relinquished his suit of identity, "how did you get here?" "Carrefour, it was an ultimatum. Either Ayida passes you the shell containing her spirit or she breaks the egg, letting it fly away, forcing her to evaporate." "Yes." Carrefour nodded. "You believed that if you destroyed her, that my power would be no more, because we are two halves of a whole." "Yes." Carrefour conceded. "You see, I realize that there is another option. One which you both left out. You see, Carrefour, I am not Damballah." Carrefour shook ever so slightly. "What?" He whimpered. "I am Ayida, Carrefour." "Impossible." Carrefour hissed. "You are Damballah." "I am Ayida. You see, instead of throwing my spirit away or relinquishing it to you, I cracked the egg, and gave it to Damballah to drink. He took me into himself." Carrefour stumbled backward. "How..." He managed to get out. "Let me remind you, Carrefour of your promise: Hounsi told Scully that once Mulder left his body, she was free to shoot you." Apprehension blighted Carrefour immediately. Almost as quickly, the body of Mulder drew his side-arm and shot three bullets into Hounsi. "This battle never belonged here, Kalfu." "I will ...not...die." Carrefour gasped, clutching his wounds. He writhed on the ground, blood spurting from his sides. "You will not but Hounsi will. And you will be consigned to guard the crossroads for an eternity." "I can heal this body." He wailed, clutching for the bowl that had contained his blood behind him. "Carrefour, you forget, Damballah is the loa of the serpent. And even you are not immune to twelve thousand cubic centimeters of aggravated pressure squeezing you to death." The Anaconda snake, to that point relatively immobile, unwound itself from the altar and slithered over to Carrefour. Detaching its jaw, it opened wide the gaping hole to death and began to wrap itself around Carrefour, squeezing Hounsi's body of life. Hounsi attempted to scream but his lungs must have collapsed, because the only noise he emitted was an inhaled gasp. His eyes bulged from their sockets and oddly enough, the last look on his face as the snake began to swallow him whole, was one of confusion. "Goodbye, Carrefour." It was time to end this fight. Time for a return to the beginning. ********************** "Jesus!" Mulder gasped, doubling over. A wave of ... something, washed over him. It was almost as if he felt something vaporize from within him. He turned to see Scully, still lying in tatters on the ground. "Scully." He murmured, moving towards her. Kneeling on the ground, he brushed her hair back behind her ear. He took her hand and squeezed it lightly. Arching her back slightly, Scully moaned and opened her eyes. She smiled at him. "Mulder." "Scully, don't move. Are you hurt?" Raising her arms above her in a stretch, she yawned in an endearing, child-like way. "No. I feel...good." "Scully, what, what just happened?" Her legs bent up to her chest and she tucked her hands behind her knees, clasping them together. A laugh erupted from her lips, shaking her entire being. She swung up and sat, Indian-style, facing him. "I don't remember." "Where's Hounsi." She giggled. "I don't know." "Scully, we have to figure this out. Right? Scully? We have to figure this out, right?" Her face shone; she reached her hand out and caressed his face. "You know Mulder, things take shape faster than you can focus on them. Things initiated become things created." Enunciating carefully, Mulder said, "Why don't we get you to a hospital, Scully?" "I don't think so." Then, turning his hand over, she leaned down her head and kissed his palm. "Uhh, Scully? What are you doing?" "Cliff-jumping." She took his hand and placed it on her leg. "Ah, Scully, wasn't there a... snake here?" "Yeees." Leaning in quietly, she nuzzled his cheek. Sitting on the dirt surrounded by torches, an altar, and a grave, Mulder was getting really turned on. "Where did it go?" He coughed. "I don't know." She slid over to him, pulling one of her legs over his lap, happily pulling his coat off. "Scully,... Scully this is wrong in... in, so many ways." She hummed lightly as he dotted his face with kisses and wound her arms around his torso. He continued his monologue. "I mean, you're very vulnerable right now and I don't think that I can, in good conscience, do this. This is..." he groaned as her teeth took hold of his earlobe, "..this is bad." "It's a full moon, Mulder." Looking at her, he summoned up his nerve. "Aaaoooooowwwwww." He crowed, doing his best impression of a werewolf. Having released his brain of control, he swiftly took the edge of her dress in his hand and pulled the hem of it up. She lifted her hips instinctively as the material caught under her, then felt his strong arm beneath her back, raising her slightly. He freed her of the torn garment and she once again curved her arms around his neck. "Mulder, there's something I want you to know." She whispered in his ear. "Be careful what you say, Scully. This is a forgetful city." He moved his lips over hers urgently. She opened her mouth to him and tilted her head, provacatively churning her hips. He brushed his hands back and forth over her back. She pulled back slightly so he desperately leaned in to feather kisses on her forehead and nose and chin. "I love you, Mulder." Pushing her back, he lay over her, finding her body with his. Tears erupted from his eyes. She responded to his movements so perfectly. Their bodies aligned together like puzzle pieces. "We belong together, Scully." "Even if we didn't, it's too late to ask for a re- assignment." He placed his hands on either side of her face and she wrapped her legs around him. "That's not what I mean." As he pulled at his pants, kicking them down, she stared up at the night sky. There they were, two twin spirits, separated by three stars. "Mulder, I want you to be with me." She pulled him to her, urging him to fall between her legs. He kissed her neck, her chest, exploring her milky skin, her slowly sloping breasts with his hands and mouth. His gentle probing found her wet desire. She was flushed and sighing, arching her back, possessed once again, but with a different spirit. With her own spirit. Not waiting for further invitations, he sank into her, opening his eyes again to something new and at the same time, familiar. She placed her hand on his chest, finding the rhythm of his heart and his body. He breathed raggedly, wildly. He kissed her long and hard, finding such poetry in her body. Her body, so perfect, so yielding and so demanding. Bracing himself with his elbows, he pounded his thoughts into her as he moved. He felt her body respond and heard her cry out to him. She was fused to him as he bore down upon her. Her inner thighs clenched him but he broke loose, plunging forth, breaking waves, driving a path to completion. Her eyes lost focus, her muscles clenched and quivered as she cried out in completion. Forgetting their immortal relationship, for a second it was two people in one moment, in one point of time, together. He imbedded himelf in her and the hard heat of his groin burst into flames, immobilizing him. For several minutes they were silent. He fell to her side and held her closely. "You know I love you too, right Scully?" "I do now." The torches burnt to nothing, and it was only when they heard the sounds of sirens that they broke their embrace, to reassemble themselves for the rest of the watchful world. ********************** The plane ride was quiet. Scully slept peacefully for the first time in ages, and Mulder stared out the window at the endless sky around them. He had gotten old too young, that was for sure. His childhood was maybe a hoax employed by figures best thought of enclosed in clouds of smoke and dark trenchcoats. Never had he imagined that he fate would stray far from that grim existence. Yet how could he have predicted Scully entering his life? It was so fortuitous, it almost had to have been planned. Since when did chance ever deal a straight flush to a perpetual loser? But even the most careful planner couldn't have forseen a pairing so perfect. He'd been to the padded cell where madness reigned; he'd lived there for years without attempting to see if the door was locked. He'd played the prodigal son, the penitent brother, the existential hero. Where did all that lead? Nowhere. It was only here, in the arms of the right woman, the only woman, that his heart, his mind and his body had been answered in one voice, with one answer. Love was not the answer, but it was the reason. It was his reason to continue. Here they were again. Had they been here before? Maybe. Never had he felt so young, so new with another human being. He looked ahead, forward to the future. He finally felt justified in rewarding himself with this happiness. The clouds were beneath them, now. They soared above the sky this time, far from the trappings of nature or man. The shores of light washed over his face and the day would never end. THE END *********************** Feedback is very much appreciated. Please send all comments to me at wendyt@ucla.edu