From ishtarsb@msn.com Sun Apr 13 11:23:57 1997 Subject: Slowly Goes the Night (1/3) by Shannon Alayna From: "Shannon " -------- Title: Slowly Goes the Night Author: Shannon Alayna E-mail: ishtarsb@msn.com Posting: Post this wherever, just please attach my name Disclaimer: You aren't still reading these stupid things, are you? Oh well, CC owns the souls of the X-Files, and far be it for me to attempt to steal any of his marvelous (yet sexless characters). Spoilers: none for part 1, you'll be warned if there are any in the others Rating: PG for language in part 1. Eventually the rating might get a bit worse. Content warning: yup, you guessed it, another MSR. Classification: R, S, A Summary: Scully has a nightmare that might prove to be more significant than she thought. Author's Note: Feeeeeeedbaaccckkkkk!!! Please, I'll be your friend.....!! ***************************************************** Pools of black oil seeping to create the blackest pits to suck the innocent down into a maelstrom of insanity, dripping across a countenence of steel to form lakes of puddled irony. Faces of evil laughing and taunting white light so bright, so bright, the sun softened to merely a dark shadow in its forceful glow, limbs pulled asunder with harsh cries of loveless pain.... The body tossed on the wet sheets. Leering as they cut and split, killing the loved ones, coagulating in the gray matter that swam in painful circles to confuse the brain of even the most logical. Faces of others, those who had died, those who suffered, HIS face screaming, concentric little lines circumnavigating the world of lies that the beasts created, luring its victims to a facade of silent death before ripping the sadist's cravings to shreds and tatters of a youth that was left far behind in a Wonderland terra away from guns, drugs, records, betrayals. That was the whole strategem, the machination, then they struck. Goodbye to youth, welcome the pain, fiery swells raising the cacophony, the tintinnabulation of Poe's insane bells creating the death..... Words spilled meaninglessly from her parted lips as she fought the grip of nothingness The reaper continued his rage, swinging the scythe as the pendulum swung over the pit, the steadiness mirroring that of a man and woman making love, the pace quickening, the reaper's pace quickening, the sleeper's mind quickening as the agony sinks and swells... Demons ranting sweet lullabyes to the damned... and everyone knows how many colorful pseudonyms the devil has, horns hidden by the careful rings of cigarette smoke circling his presence, more circles, turning to spheres to trap the precise, a smokescreen of penmanship who had written the Book of Lies, who now leaned over, face curling around the cigarette in a sneer of triumph as he reached down to snuff the flame of her life.......... Scully's screams reverberated off the contours of the room, her overwrought agony piercing through the dreams, eyes snapping open in response. She couldn't move, bright lights still washing over her vision as she realized her paralysis, the crushing pressure in her limbs holding her motionless, helpless against the dampened sheets of the motel bed. Grief overwhelmed her as well, grinding with the physical pain. It was the Cancerman, he was coming for her, and Mulder, he was dead, gone, his memory snuffed as easily as one of his goddammed cigarette butts; now he was coming to torment her, freezing her to foggy immobility. "You can't take me, you bastard!" she lamented, her cries breaking as they left her throat, somehow managing to escape the force field that held her prisoner. Abruptly she was released, her arms flying up without the pressure, body twisting like a caught fish, the sandman's hook still lodged deep in her throat. Her shouts tapered softly into crackling, shuddering sobs, the nuances of Mulder's absence clothing her in an invisible mourner's gown, the veil drifting over her eyes as she sobbed his name, over and over. ********* The scream woke him from the knowing grasp of the other side, the nebulous opalescence of his dreams leaving him with the ire of a wronged lover, the slap of reality sending pimply goosebumps over his exposed chest. He sat upright, fumbling for the gun on his dresser. She was in trouble. As he stumbled to his feet he heard her again. "You can't take me, you bastard!" No, he couldn't lose her again. Mulder burst through the door adjoining the two rooms, gun drawn. "FBI! Freeze!" Through the dim effulgence that the streetlights outside the cotton covered window provided, he could see his partner's form huddled at the head of her bed, her arms hooked around her knees, as if she were trying to ward off a blow. At his entrance, her head jerked up toward him, her eyes wide and haunted as she stared at him, gaze darting over him frantically. She shook her head slowly than quickened the pace, snapping from side to side as her hair tossed across her eyes. "No, no, no, nononononononono........" Her words metamorphised to a chant, still shaking her head back and forth. With a glance around the room to ensure there had been no one there, Mulder tucked the gun into the small of his back, held by the top of his rumpled jeans. "Scully..?" he whispered hesitantly. She stilled and met his gaze, her azure orbs seeming to strike his core. "You're dead..." she ranted softly. "He killed you, and now he'll kill me. I tried to stop him but I couldn't and now.. now you're dead." Mulder approached the bed carefully, trying not to startle her. He sat down on the edge of the mattress. He chose his words carefully. "Scully, no. I'm not dead, I'm right here, it's okay." "But, I saw....." "Just a dream," he muttered to her. "It... Oh God." Tears began to slip down her face as she buried her head in her hands. "Oh God, I thought it was real." "Shhh..... Dana, it's all right." She leaned toward him, her arms encircling his waist as she pressed her cheek to his bare chest. "I love you, Mulder, please don't go. I love you." His eyes widened in shock, but he managed to keep his composure. "Don't worry," he said gently into her fiery hair "I'm not going anywhere." She stretched out against him, her head lying in his lap. Adjusting his position slightly, he followed her into a dark and dreamless sleep. *************** The luminescent glow of sunlight awoke the sleeping partners before the alarm did. Mulder was the first to awaken, stroking the hair of the woman in his lap with gentle affection. A minute later, her eyes sprang open. "Mulder!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" She desperately tried to regain some sort of composure, moving away from him to sit on the rumpled covers about a foot away. "Don't you remember?" Her eyes darkened for a minute with confusion as she attempted to recall the events that might have brought her partner to her bed. Suddenly the crashing realism of the dream poured over her. She closed her eyes and counted silently to ten, feeling the embarrassment already rushing to her cheeks. "Mulder. I'm so sorry. I..." He interrupted her. "What was the dream about?" he inquired. "Excuse me?" "What was the dream about." She seemed shocked by the question. "Well, there was a warehouse of some sort..... and you were looking at something.... I wasn't there, but I could see everything. I couldn't warn you. I tried to shout, but you didn't hear me. But I heard you.. and I heard the shot. You fell forward and this.. this figure came forward, rolling you over with his foot. I could FEEL your pain, the blood leaving my body as we stared up at the form as one entity. The gazes met for a split second and... then.. you were gone." Scully paused and took a deep, slow breath. "Superimposed over your face was a gray thick cloud of smoke. The rank scent of cigarettes tainted the air, and I knew HE was there, even if not as a solid spirit, he was still there. I screamed your name, but you just lay there, blood staining the floor, never hearing me. I couln't help you. I let you down." Her face had gone ashen as the dream replayed through her mind as vivid as the first time. END OF PART ONE ********************************************* "And the mercy seat is smoking I think my head is melting And in a way, I'm helping To be done with all this twisting of the truth." -Nick Cave, "The Mercy Seat" From ishtarsb@msn.com Sun Apr 13 22:52:29 1997 Subject: Slowly Goes the Night (2/4) by Shannon Alayna From: "Shannon " -------- Sorry, I seem to have miscalculated the number of parts to this story. (Don't you hate it when you add a plot? ) I think this is right... Title: Slowly Goes the Night Author: Shannon Alayna E-mail: ishtarsb@msn.com Posting: Post this wherever, just please attach my name Disclaimer: You aren't still reading these stupid things, are you? Oh well, CC owns the souls of the X-Files, and far be it for me to attempt to steal any of his marvelous (yet sexless characters). Except for Mulder and Scully, all the other bit parts in this story are mine. Spoilers: none for part 1 or 2, you'll be warned if there are any in the others Rating: PG for language in part 1 and 2. Eventually the rating might get a bit worse. Content warning: yup, you guessed it, another MSR. Classification: R, S, A, a bit if X Summary: Scully has a nightmare that might prove to be more significant than she thought. Author's Note: Feeeeeeedbaaccckkkkk!!! Please, I'll be your friend.....!! ************************************** The road stretched ahead of the light blue Ford, the tires creating a steady hum on the dampened street. Scully gazed out to the storm-darkened firmnament, eyes shining with an oblique obscurity to mask the turbulence that still rocked her mind with the ebony drippings of last night's dream. She felt foolish, yet nervous, as if any moment, the devil's bony hand would strain down and pluck the man at the wheel deep into the necromancy that lay behind the violent affront of the clouds. The impossibility of it all, her logical background just loess stripped off the soil of her paranoia by the searing winds that still burned with the incandescence of a star exploding, enough to flood her mind with a memory of the searing light. The dream had meant something, as stupid as it was, something nagged at her that even her perfected denial could not pass off as merely a bad night..... "Scully?" She didn't answer him, continued looking to the face of the storm for an explanation, maybe an alien craft so ALL her finely tuned beliefs could be shot to Hell.... "Scully!" She slowly turned to face him. "What?" "Are you sure you're all right? You seem really out of it." "I'm fine, Mulder, just tired." More lies. It didn't matter now. If she couldn't help lying to herself, why would it matter what she told him?" "Sure, right," he said a bit bitterly, supposing he would seem by this point officious to her. She was worrying him, occluding everything away as she always did when she was upset. Best to let her work through things on her own.... Bullshit. Her eerie repose was quickly beginning to piss him off. Her skin was still pallid and she looked disturbed by something as she returned her gaze to the passing tableau. Mulder shook his head. "Dammit, Scully." She looked back at him with puzzlement. "Look, Mulder. I told you I'm just tired. What's the problem?" "Will you tell the truth for once in your life? Something is bothering you and it is more than a lack of sleep." Her eyes dissected him uncomfortably for at least a minute before she looked away. "What do you want me to say?" she asked quietly. "That the dream scared me more than anything I've experienced for a long time? That the humiliation of acting like a helpless animal combines with an irrational fear that sticks to me in this... this mess!? Tell me, Mulder. What the hell do you want me to say? The thought of losing you frightens me more than you could know!" Mulder was silent for a long time, watching her eyes dampen with hurt as she tried to find anywhere to look but his face. "I just want you to be honest with me. I know how bad dreams can be. I also want to make sure you're going to be able to finish this case. Are you up to it?" She nodded. "Good, now we're here. You sure everything is okay?" "Yes.." Mulder gave her a sharp look. "For now," she added hastily. ******************** The area was harshly lit with the rotating glare of blue and white, spinning beacons oscillating dizzily. Scully looked at the ground for a moment, struggling to regain her precise FBI state of mind even though the lights resurfaced some aspects of her dream. A uniform ran up to them. She vaugely recognized him as one of the assisting officers who had put in a line or two of input, only recollecting that much because she remembered noting that he looked incredibly rodent like, with a pinched nose and beady eyes,but before she was forced to try and pull his name from the bromous fog, now a ubiquitous presence in her mind, he spoke. "Agents Mulder and Scully? I'm so glad you're here. There's been another abduction. This one, I really think we have a chance on... there's an eyewitness." That statement pulled her out of her daze sharply. Four abductions, now five, and four dead bodies. There had never been witnesses, but now...... "Is the witness here?" she asked professionally, trying to contain her excitement. "Right over there, Ma'am." he drawled, pointing to a shaken looking wino, standing in the essence of the panoply of excited policemen. "Great," Mulder said softly to her. "Our one witness and he's plastered." The cop overheard him. "You'd think so, sir, but he's given us a pretty lenghty description." The cop's voice took on a sly edge. "Didn't mention nothing about aliens, neither." Scully rolled her eyes. Mulder seemed not to hear him, just quickly made his way to the bum. "Is he always like that?" the squirrel-faced man inquired, his eyes seeming to squint even more as he stared down at her. "Yes, pretty much," she answered and followed her partner into the crowd, needing to get out of the man's presence as soon as possible. When she arrived at the center, the grizzled old man was already talking, his thick country accent rising like smoke into the air. Smoke. She shuddered and focused on listening to the descriptions. ".... and not to tall, you know, few inches shorter than you boy... but his eyes, sheeet.... "Oh, excuse me ma'am," he said sheepishly, noting Scully's arrival. He turned to Mulder. "Ladies don't like a man who curses too much," he said with a wink. Scully smiled slightly. "Anyway, like I was sayin' His eyes were black as charcoal, like the devil emself was in 'em... you know? He grabbed that woman like he was about to wring a chicken's neck or sometin, and she was tryin to scream, but he cupped his hand ov'r her mouth, real hard and began whispering. Couldn't hear what he was sayin, just looked like he was ranting, and, and he had a gun pressed against her neck... a pretty big one... I wanted to help.... but I was scared shitless!!" He stopped and bit his lip. "There I go again." "It's all right," Scully reassured him. "Please go on." "Well, I was scared, so I didn't move, tried not to make a sound. I didn't wanna die!! But he shoved her into his car, and.." Mulder interrupted him. "What kind of car was it, sir?" Mulder asked, scribbing furiously on a notepad. The man stuck the tip of his tongue out and looked up to the clouds like a little kid trying to remember the next letter in the alphabet. "It was dark red and kinda beat up. I remember that.... I think it was a..... Yeah, it was a Mercedes.... Damn foreign cars." He shook his head. "Did you happen to get the plates?" Scully asked him. "Nah, nope. You understand I was, you know.... just a little tipsy. The first letter may have been "B", but that's all I remember." "You've been a big help. We really appreciate your report," Scully said. "Wait, ma'am, there was one thing he said.." Scully looked at him expectantly. "He said 'Dead Sea' or somethin like that." "Dead Seat?" the cop said. Mulder and Scully both jumped. Neither had seen him approach. "Yeah! Could have been that!" the bum exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us that in your report?" the ferret asked in an accusatory tone. The nomad hicced. "Didn't 'member, then," he answered unplussed. He gestured to Scully. "Guess this young lady's beauty jogged my memory," he smiled appealingly at her. Somewhere, barely visible through the layers of alcoholic grime lay a charming funny man. Loving grandfather type. The cop apparently wasn't moved in the same way, and muttered something under his breath. "Wait," Mulder said. "What is Dead Seat?" "Old grain mill," the cop said. "The real name is Country Times Grain, but it shut down after several people got killed. Everyone calls it Dead Seat now. They were a real mess. Had kids working there, breaking about every violation you can dream up. Owner's still in jail." Mulder eyed the cop and then looked down with his typical 'I'm about to start making astounding connections' face. "It's our best bet," Mulder said. "I'm going to need your men to assist me in a thorough investigation of the mill. We don't have much time." Scully started to move toward the car. "Uh uh." She gave him The Look. "Scully I need you to stay with..." He raised an eyebrow at the officer. "Officer Rob McKenzie." "Yes, and look through the records of people killed at the mill. He's there somewhere. I know it. And if he's not holding the girl there, I really need you to possibly give me some idea who this guy is.. and why he's abducting these people. Please." She could tell he was serious, not just sticking her in the dark with some irritating uniform, and she nodded. "Thank you." ******************* Mulder hated police cars. Somehow they all carried the same stench of urban decay, the odor of criminals thown in the caged backseat to leave the car with a foul redolence that could never be washed out. The officer drove like a maniac along the dampness of the road, tires occasionally squealing at a turn taken too quickly sending Mulder's heart racing to his throat many times over. His stomach turned and twisted in acrobatic gyrations, and he silently thanked any existing deity for letting him skip breakfast. He was still worried about Scully, although he tried to prevent it from interfering with the case. He knew she thought he had left her behind because he thought she couldn't handle it, but that simply wasn't the case...... was it? Her words echoed in his head. "I love you." Had she meant it? Who knew? He sighed and the cop looked over at him. "To tell you the truth, Agent Mulder, I'm kind of nervous about this too." "Huh? Oh, yeah. You know, usual jitters," Mulder said trying to laugh it off, meanwhile praying that the man would return his eyes to the road. This was not how he planned on dying. ****************** The microfilm at the small public library in town spun at a dizzying rate. Names, faces, job titles, all blurs of words across a dirty screen. A list of names appeared, the names of those who had died. Sean Jacobs, Age 24, died 1983; Gregory Spain, Age 19, died 1985; Alexander Clark, Age 16 died 1985, Jeremy Stevens, Age 15 died 1987; the list went on and on. Young men, all of them, killed by a few men wanting to get richer, uncaring aristocrats who overlooked simple safety equipment for a few more dollars to add to their wallets, and this had gone on for years, the plant not having been shut down until 1993. Sometimes this job could be so depressing. Another list sprang forth. Owners, managers. The guilty ones. Most had gotten off with large fines, the thousands of dollars still next to nothing compared to the lives lost. Albert Sharpe, VP of Export. Sharpe... that sounded familiar. Scully turned away from the screen and flipped through the case file. Alicia Sharpe, Age 17; third abductee. She checked the records for the parents. Sure enough, Albert Sharpe, dead in 1995. She forwarded the film to another name: David Noell, Manager of Domestic Sales. He was still alive, but his location was unknown, going into hiding to avoid the scandall. Cowards, all of them. Back to the files. Thomas Noell, Age 11; first abductee. More names, more responsible... finally, another one recognized, Edward Oden, Company president. Scully didn't even have to look for this one; Erica Oden, age 21, missing as of 3:30 that morning. END PART TWO *********************** "Who's that yonder all in flames? Dragging behind him a sack of chains Who's that yonder all in flames? Up jumped the Devil and he staked his claim." -Nick Cave, "Up Jumped the Devil" From ishtarsb@msn.com Sat Apr 19 14:16:57 1997 Subject: Slowly Goes the Night (3/4) by Shannon Alayna From: "Shannon " -------- I am so sorry this took so long. I am one of those poor unfortunate MSN users you may have heard about on the news, whose mail was brutally shut off with no notice, But I'm BACK!!!!!!! Title: Slowly Goes the Night Author: Shannon Alayna E-mail: ishtarsb@msn.com Posting: Post this wherever, just please attach my name Disclaimer: You aren't still reading these stupid things, are you? Oh well, CC owns the souls of the X-Files, and far be it for me to attempt to steal any of his marvelous (yet sexless) characters. Spoilers: nope Rating: Somewhere between a strong PG-13 to a light R for violence Content warning: slight MSR Classification: R, S, A, X Summary: Scully has a nightmare that might prove to be more significant than she thought. Author's Note: Feeeeeeedbaaccckkkkk!!! Please, I'll be your friend.....!! The plant was massive, fields stretching for miles, dotted with ostentatious buildings towering, looming over the teams like sleeping ogres, ready to be awakened at the slightest crackling, movement, touch. Mulder shuddered, feeling his paranoia resurface, raising bile, corrosive and noisome, to his throat. "We have to split up to cover all this ground!" he yelled over the muttering of the lingering officers. "Don't overlook a thing, a corner, nothing! Remember, they could be anywhere!" With his words, the cops scattered, careful expressions of anticipation on their faces. Mulder drew his gun, sharing their agitation, feeling the presence of this..... place. The souls of the dead still roamed, the young faces still frozen with the invincible expression of youth, still believing they were living flesh, waiting any minute for a money shark to tell them to return to work. He gathered his courage, his training, pulled them all up with the strenuous effort of a weightlifter finally getting that extra ten pounds, and carefully made his way through the overgrowth to the waiting towers. ***************** Who was doing this? So many possible motives, angers of the family, desperation of the former owners to keep their gold mine alive. No, this wasn't a professional job, and they wouldn't hunt their own anyway. The mill was useless now, just a loss to be cut.... stupid idea. But if it is a family member... why? why now after this long? Scully rubbed the bridge of her nose. This analytical psychology crap was supposed to be Mulder's job, but he was off chasing demons again... leaving her to become the monster who was doing this, to let his anger seep into her brain to overwhelm her with grief and the irrationality of self-modified justice. This was symbolic, there was something here, staring at her, taunting her.... She began running dates through; numbers, symbols, birthdays, funeral announcements, wedding announcements, all flashing like lightning before her exhausted vision. Her glasses chafed, eyes reddened with fatigue, searching through the myriad of misery and death. Death. She ran another check on the death dates. More onerous files of melancholy uselessness until.... Phillip Navarro. Age 14, dead on October 5, 1992. It could be a coincidence but.... October 5, 1997, date of the first abduction; the five year anniversary of Phillip's death. It was a long shot but..... anything. Bracing herself, she read through the details of Phillip's death. Grisly facts spilled forth; tales of child labor usually only read about in historical culpability accounts, heavy machines, long hours. The story seemed archaic, one with which Dickens would have a field day. A nice, but uneducated boy working against all codes, all sense of self preservation to try to provide for his destitute family. His mother had been an untreated diabetic, legs amputated in order to save her life, rendering her unable to work. The father seemed quite physically capable, but lacked the wits to get a real job. So Phillip had taken on the responsibility. City life had certainly changed her views. Living in the brightly lit areas, night never truly dark, the Reflecting Pool considered "Natural" scenery, one could forget that deep in the rural country, there was no real separation between the ways of 10, 20, or even 100 years ago. Children could be commodities or slaves to be exploited by anyone with any idea of how desperate their situation was. He had been pulled into a machine while feeding in the cut grain. A device with safety blockers to prevent any tragedy from happening. Scully read on... but this one hadn't been checked in over 15 years, and the preventive flaps were little more that jutting adornments. Phillip apparently got his sleeve caught and was pulled in so quickly, there was nothing anyone else could do, no time to shut down the machine, no time even to sacrifice the young boy's arm to spare his life. Scully came across the pictures and turned away quickly, despite her harsh medical training... not soon enough. The partly crushed grain was dyed crimson, the amber gold looking bitterly ironic in places where the blood had not stained it. And in the center, dug out by tight faced policemen, the real tough ones, the ones who hadn't run out with their hands over their mouths the minute the machine was opened, was what was left of the boy, his face still in remarkably decent shape, the glassy look of horror and pain frozen forever on the young face... and the mill had operated for another year before being shut down. The images raced through Scully's mind, mingling with the captures of Mulder's bloodied face, and the reaper, coming for them both. She leaned over and tried to catch her breath. The librarian eyed her with alarm. "You, all right, dear?" If one more person asked her that..... She straightened her back with rigid poise, trying to keep her face as neutral and nondescript as possible. She could handle this... "Sorry, I guess I'd been sitting for too long," she answered weakly with a small smile, and turned back to the screen, hoping the old woman would just go away. "Well, better get up and stretch your legs a bit more," the woman said cheerfully and retreated. Scully relaxed and quickly removed the photos from the screen. So, the mother. Dead on December 17, 1992. A suicide.... sawed off shotgun to the head; belonged to her husband. Luckily, this interesting tidbit did not have accompanying photographs. But still, the suspense built around this family.. She read on. The father, Richard Navarro, institutionalized after his wife's death; released June of 1993, returned to custody after sending numerous death threats to the owners and managers. This time, released August, 1997, kept after he assaulted one of the psychologists, just as he was supposedly learning to manage his anger and grief. The doctor had spent four weeks in the hospital, beaten nearly to death, permanent scars streaking his countenance in the shape of tears, carefully carved into his face with a letter opener. Richard Navarro's trial statement? "Who's crying now?" Who's crying now? A simplistic childish phrase: like the geek who just beat up the school bully. Who's crying now, indeed? Released in August, just biding his time until the anniversary. There was no doubt; all the pieces fit into place, only this time he hadn't been stopped in time to save lives. Who in their right mind would let this man out of the institution? She picked up the cell phone..... out of rage. Damn electronic pieces of crap. What kind of interference could possibly be out here among hundreds of miles of pure nothing? ************************ Nothing. Absolutely nothing but dust in the first five buildings. Silt and pieces of wicked looking machinery, glaring ominously out from gears which still seemed to glisten beneath the corrosive rust coat. Rats scampered about at the invasion of their safe haven, and Mulder shuddered inwardly, which puzzled him; the furred little beasts had never really bothered him before, but here, they seemed to possess an unquenchable hunger, as if they would feed just as contentedly on human flesh as they would on the leftover feasts of grain and corn that still blanketed the grimy wooden floors, the musty odor pungent assimilated with rat feces and death. He moved specter-like from building to building, exchanging nothing with the anticipative officers but dejected nods. Mulder bristled with quiescence. He wanted to see who was doing this; to look into the eyes of one who would travel to this hellhole to complete his work as Mulder conquered him, ended this bloody crusade. He was here... with the girl, Erica; she couldn't be dead yet; he was so tired of death, of being too late, of having life after life ripped from his hands as he stood by, unable to do anything. Erica would live. He would see to that. He moved to the next building. ************************ Scully ran a few more records through after repeatedly being unsuccessful in contacting her partner. There was nothing more she could do. She stood up and as she did, her head erupted in a kind of pain that surpassed the urge to scream to go directly to a craving for death. Images flashed and smoke crept down her throat, everything was on fire, a pyre scorching her flesh, Mulder's flesh, everything, wood exploding with the lusting of the blaze, along with a bullet, moving in slow motion, silver glinting, blinding her as it pierced his flesh, showering her spirit with his blood. She heard laughter, insane, slow, and the screaming of a young woman. The warehouse, the warehouse meant death, demensia, grief. Mulder's hand extended towards her, grasped her arm, and his pyrophobia coarsed through her and her cries mingled with his as she felt his soul depart, ripped away from the incendiary holocaust like a bandaid being torn from an open wound... Scully shuddered and dropped to her knees, gripping her head with both hands, trying to will the images away. the warehouse........... Mulder. She had to find him. Her reason argued with her. It was stupid paranoia, nothing more than a rarefied version of last night's dream. What was this supposed to be; telepathy? The job had been getting to her, the fear of losing him had been getting to her. That didn't mean she was automatically ready to accept a job on the Psychic Hotline. Just tired. A warm bath, some sleep at the hotel tonight. Everything would be all right. the warehouse........... Did it matter if she was wrong? She could easily find some excuse to explain her presence there. She had found some information and couldn't get ahold of him; it was perfectly logical... wasn't it? the warehouse............ This time the silent reminder brought more flashes of color to her mind. Mostly red with the warm sheen of fire licking around the edges of the pool. "I'm going," she said out loud. She gathered herself and walked calmly to the check out counter, quickly learning the directions to the infamous 'Dead Seat'. She jumped in the car as Officer McKenzie appeared out of nowhere. "Hey!" he yelled as she sped off, sprinting after the car, papers spilling from his hands. She was gone. He stood transfixed in shock, staring at the clouds of spiraling dust left in her wake. Damn women. What the hell... **************************** Mulder punched the wall in frustration. It had been an hour and a half. Still so much distance to cover, despite the perseverance of the uniforms. Not a trace of anything, not a bloodstain, not even so much as dust unsettled by more than the footprints of rodents. He looked around. The grain warehouse stood in front of him, tall and black against the leadened neutrality of the sky. It had an essence to it, and something nagged at the corner of his mind, but he ignored it. He stepped out into the distance between the two buildings. The sky opened, drenching him in seconds. He took a deep breath and stepped under the overhang of the monstrous structure. *************************** It had started to rain. Not a gentle drizzle, or even a moderate shower, but a torrential downpour, blinding her to only the basic shapes, allowing her to have a general idea of where the road was going, but not anything on it. She pressed harder on the gas, as if driving on a day were as hot and arid as the inside of her mouth. Luckily there were no other cars on the road for at the speed she was driving, an accident would almost certainly be fatal. The concerns were not with her. Some part of her brain tried to alert her to the fact that she wouldn't do Mulder any good if she were twisted in a heap of aluminum on the side of the road, but she pushed it away, knowing only the images, the words... the warehouse......... She was getting closer; she could feel it, her blood turning to icy ashes as her heart churned in her chest. Her gun felt cool and comforting against her hip, but at the same time, pitifully useless. Suddenly, through the pounding sheets of rain, the mill appeared, jutting out of the Earth. The buildings looked like mausoleums, ready to accept her into the cool marble embrace of death, hidden behind the ramshackle wood fronts. The reaper smiled at her warmly. She told him silently to go to hell; pulling off onto the embankment, propelling herself out of her seat, running between the buildings, knowing instinctively where to go, oblivious to the wet fury pounding into her skin as she ran, hair plastered against her face. ****************************** As soon as he slid open the large door, the stinging rancid aroma of death wafted out, assaulting his senses with quiet nausea. He drew his gun and crept inside. Candles were burning. It seemed like there were hundreds of them, casting their shadows across the walls, blackened images dancing and swirling around the large room. The rank scent of decay was worse, stinging Mulder's eyes, forcing bile back up to his throat. He tried not to gag. At the far end of the chamber stood something that looked like some sort of an altar. Carefully peering around, he moved closer, the stench building with each step he took. He saw her, Erica, mouth stuffed with a blood soaked gag, eyes taped shut. She was still alive! Her chest rose and fell quickly with a wheezing sound. What he could see of her face was covered with bruises and bloodied abrasions. She lay in a pool of disgust; bodies stacked under her, creating a bed. The guy had killed even more people then they had thought. Why he had discarded some and kept the others here was a complete mystery. It didn't matter why; they were still dead. Most were young, around Erica's age, but there were a couple, that clearly, even through the advanced stage of decay, were just children, six or seven years old. Mulder turned away quickly, fighting the urge to vomit that overwhelmed him. Who was this guy??? Who would do this to innocent kids. Gathering his courage, he turned back. "Erica?" he said. The girl started and tried to whimper something through the gag, turning away from him as if trying to mingle with the rest of the death. "It's okay," he reassured her. "I'm with the FBI. You're safe now." He lifted the corner of the tape, trying to remove it from her eyes with as little pain as possible. She looked at him, her windows haunted, seeming much older than she actually was. He untied the gag. "Please, please, don't let him hurt me anymore, I didn't do anything, he's crazy, and I don't know Phillip; I didn't kill him!! I didn't....." "Shhh.." Mulder whispered, and tried to turn her over, pulling the knots free that bound her to the altar. "It's all right." Behind him, a shadow moved, unnoticed among the shrouding dance of fire light. A gun raised, aimed for Mulder's head.... END OF PART 3 *************************** "I'm losing ground You know how this world can beat you down. I'm made of clay I fear I'm the only one who thinks this way. I'm always falling down the same hill Bamboo puncturing this skin And nothing comes bleeding our of me just like a waterfall I'm drowning in." -Nine Inch Nails, "I do not want this" From ishtarsb@msn.com Mon Apr 21 01:50:20 1997 Subject: Slowly Goes the Night (4/4) by Shannon Alayna From: "Shannon " -------- Ah, yes... and at long last we see the end. Again, I want to apologize for the irregularity in getting this out. Whoever said e-mail was quick and efficient needs to have his/her head examined. Title: Slowly Goes the Night Author: Shannon Alayna E-mail: ishtarsb@msn.com Posting: Post this wherever, just please attach my name and e-mail Disclaimer: You aren't still reading these stupid things, are you? Oh well, CC owns the souls of the X-Files, and far be it for me to attempt to steal any of his marvelous (yet sexless) characters. Spoilers: nope Rating: Somewhere between a strong PG-13 to a light R for violence Content warning: MSR Classification: R, S, A, X Summary: Scully has a nightmare that might prove to be more significant than she thought. Author's Note: Feeeeeeedbaaccckkkkk!!! Please, I'll be your friend.....!! *************************************** A few discouraged looking uniforms eyed her curiously, and some small officious part of her busied brain informed her of how insane she must look, hurtling mindlessly through the fields. She was preoccupied, not giving a damn anymore about what those hillbilly, backwards cops thought of her; she only knew she was running out of time, the smoke choking her, a wetness running down her face that she couldn't determine to be either rain or tears; it felt more like blood, but cold.. icy. A painful cramp burrowed in her side, her breath catching in her throat as the spasms twisted into her, spreading like a disease through her lungs. Now the fire was beyond her mind. It radiated through her body, taunting her, begging her to stop her approach to the massive warehouse that stretched just a few yards ahead of her. Just a little more, just a little more. She swallowed the pain, sunk into a gray sea of apathy, absorbing the discomfort and the worry to propel her even faster, never losing footing in the slick muddied weeds, almost flying along. Drawing her gun, she hit the door, flinging it open, never slowing her pace. The silhouette of the gun shone with a sable glow, that seemed to steal the light from countless candles rather than reflecting it. The deadly blur swung towards her, as Mulder turned quickly drawing his own gun. A shot roared out violently, eliciting a shrill scream from something in Mulder's direction. For a moment, Scully had the strange impression that she had been the one to be hit, feeling detached, like she was watching from a different viewpoint, one of pain and finality. But then she became aware of the crimson stain quickly spreading across the gunman's chest. The shot had knocked him several feet backwards, but he was still upright, staring at her in confused shock. The gun dropped from his hand. He clutched the wound, drawing a handful of blood. He gazed at it as if he were a scientist examining some fascinating new specimen. Then his face crumpled. "No.... it wasn't supposed to happen this way..," he said in a puerile tone. Tears streamed down his face. "They killed Phillip.. now it's my turn.... No..." He smiled through his tears, excited. "You'll all die. Here with my Phillip.. all of you.." Richard dropped to the ground with a grunted wheeze and swung his hand at an array of candles. "No!!!!!" Scully yelled, diving for him, but it was too late. The ground exploded in blue flames, the heat blasting at her as she was suddenly imprisoned by crackling walls of thick merciless fire. His laughter rang with the pulsing rhythm of the inferno, loud, trilling, crazy. She watched in horror as his clothes caught. He was still cackling, a rolling ball of living incandescence, everything he touched bursting into the hungry lickings, devouring everything. The stench of burning flesh arose, mingling with the coppery scent of blood and the suffocating thick obscurity of the smoke. Shouts rang in the air, the cops outside yelling, unable to penetrate the blaze. "Scully!!!!!!" Mulder shouted, his voice hoarse with fear. Through the hellish glare, she could see him, clutching Erica to him, trying to protect them both. He was trapped also. They were all going to die in this... place, she was too late. She failed. "No.." she whispered and lept through the glaring cage, landing with a roll where he was. Tears glistened in his eyes, shining with a terror that had been ingrained, carved into him. He was shaking his head slowly. "Not fire.." he muttered. "It had to be fire. Shit shit shit..." The girl had her head pressed into his shoulder and was whimpering , gasping in small light breaths. The air was thick with death, wood raining down in scorching embers like a fiery rain from the gods, drenching all in its deathly glow... "Mulder." He looked at her with his haunted orbs. "I can't.." "Mulder!!" She grasped his shoulders. "We're going to make it." He gripped her hand and she tried to pull him awkwardly to his feet, nearly brought down on top of him. "Please, Mulder, it's okay, please," she pleaded. He finally managed to regain his footing. It had closed in on them. In the few seconds of precious bargaining, the predator had utilized its sneak attack, creeping up, prepared to devour them as easily as it had Richard Navarro, now nothing but a forgotten meal in the fire's uncaring memory. Three walls of fire, and one wall of smoldering wood, ready to collapse or explode at any given second. To get out into the rain. It couldn't reach them in here, the blaze killing it, sending the gaseous corpses back into the atmosphere to be revived before the teardrop bodies could even reach the earth. Scully kicked at the imposing wall and was rewarded by a downpour of ignited wood fragments, searing her flesh, burning through her clothes to nestle into her tender skin. She resisted the urge to cry out and kicked again, this time the wall cracking a bit, larger pieces of wood careening down, barely missing her. ****************************** Choking, gasping, no escape, death, smoke. It was the end of everything. The girl clung to his neck trying to somehow to evade the grasping heated clutch of the fire's hateful fingers. The nefarious specter continued to approach him, blocking out Scully's panicked voice. This was how he would die. He suddenly felt cold, despite the holocaust, and wondered briefly if he might be dead. Scully was shaking him, calling to him. He was dead.... she was dead? No, he couldn't let her die, not now. He managed to get up, ice still rushing through his veins. There was no way out, but still she fought. She kicked the wall of the building and he saw this.. this flurry of ashes scorch her. She kept on, not caring, face tight with repressed pain, her determination to live finally overriding the paralyzing fear. Protecting the girl as best he could, he gave the wall a sharp kick of his own, and instantly felt the antagonist's sting. Giving a cry of pure rage, he began to violently assault the burning front, his foot and free hand viciously chopping at the prison, feeling it give. Scully also beat against it, their combined efforts pushing harder and harder until....... it didn't just give, it disappeared, the area he had battered vanishing. the entire thing was coming down. He dived at Scully, knocking her down, the three bodies tangled together as the wall came down with a thundering crash, driving splinters deep into their beaten forms, hot, forceful.... Mulder was overwhelmed by the sensation, his head murky with the smoke that hung in his throat, causing his breath to tear from him like broken glass, splintering into his lungs. Scully moaned under him and tried to push her face into his chest to ward of the cruel blows. The girl had gone silent, limp, almost certainly unconscious, but hopefully still alive. Scully.... He moved his arm to give her more shelter. "I don't want to die here.." she sobbed. He just shook his head at her as best he could, wanting to tell her again that it would be all right, but not believing it himself. He clutched her closer, her hair brushing against his cheek softly as she clung to him, more for comfort than for protection. He pressed his cracked lips to her temple, and closed his eyes....... when cool drops began to splatter against his battered countenance. Erica still lay limp, half under him. He tried to get an arm under her, taking Scully along as he rolled away from the fiery blaze. They were going to make it!! He felt numerous hands on him, pulling him away from the two women, and instinctively he fought before realizing that they were the policemen. Their shouts were illegible, mingling slowly into a simple murmuring, fluctuating, one moment cacophonous, the next barely a whisper. "Help her.." he mumbled and let sleep overtake him. ********************************* The pungent smell of disinfectant awoke her, abusing her heightened sense of surrounding. Beeps and hums and the scuffle of nurse's paper shoes muffled covertly from the hospitals. "God, I hate hospitals," she muttered, trying to sit up. "Hey, you'll give me a complex," a voice rang out. She jumped, turning quickly to a round faced doctor who stood in the corner of the room, carefully studying a chart. "Good morning. Sorry I startled you. I'm Dr. Anton Farrar. How are you feeling." "I've been better," she said with a touch of irony in her voice. He wasn't fazed. "I can imagine." "Where's Mulder?" He didn't answer for a minute, still staring hard at the chart as if trying to memorize it. She sat up, feeling the pain roar through her. She didn't care. "Where is he!?" Dr. Farrar seemed surprised by her sudden zeal. "Whoa, take it easy. He's a couple doors down the hall. He'll be fine, just cuts, bruises, minor burns, and a couple of broken ribs. That'll take awhile to heal, but he's in no immediate danger. Just try to relax." "And Erica?" she persisted. "She was in pretty bad shape. Beaten badly, burning that seemed to precede the actual fire that you were involved in. She was airlifted to a hospital in Kentucky. But on the good side, her condition is stable." Scully let out a deep breath and sank back onto the pillow. "Now, please, for your own sake, get some rest." She nodded and closed her eyes. The doctor left, the door closing gently in his wake. Scully sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, carefully standing up. Every muscle in her body protested, screeching disapproval as she took a few shaky steps away from the bed. Growing more confident she slipped out into the hall, quickly finding Mulder's room. His eyes opened on her arrival. "You're okay," he breathed. She hobbled over and sank down on the side of the narrow bed. She groaned, trying to somehow stretch out her back with as little actual movement as possible. "I guess that would depend on your description of 'okay'. I just rediscovered every muscle in my body." Mulder smiled. "It could have been a lot worse. Nice timing by the way. It's pretty cool to have a psychic as a partner. Imagine, an X-File under my nose this whole time." "Shut up, Mulder." He took her hand. "Hey, you saved my life. I'm not complaining. And I won't ask you to explain it...." "I don't think I could. Nothing like this..." She shuddered. "It was horrible." He didn't say anything for a long time, just unconsciously rubbed her wrist, his thumb tracing the slender bones. "Do you remember what you said after you had that dream?" Scully blushed a deep maroon color and ducked her head. "I.. I..." she stuttered, trying to quickly come up with some excuse. She had hoped he hadn't heard her. "Did you mean it?" "Wha.. what?" He gazed deep into her, trying to read her. She couldn't look away, completely transfixed by his serious gaze, not one hint of mockery or derision in his tone. "Did you mean it? You said 'I love you'. I want to know if you meant it." "Mulder.." she sighed. He kept looking at her, expecting, anticipating. "Yes." His face broke into the most beautiful smile, lighting his hazel eyes. She leaned over and kissed him, brushing her lips softly against his, lingering, allowing herself to get a light taste of what he was like. After a time she pulled back, affectionately brushing a stubborn lock of hair out of his face. "The thought of losing you... I... the dream scared me more than you can imagine and then.. when it was real. When it was real....." "You think we can make this work? It's up to you, Scully. You know as well as I do, the problems we could face, but if you're willing. God, I'd give up everything." She smiled and kissed him again. "I won't tell if you won't." This time Mulder held her, entangling his fingers in her hair, deepening the kiss, fully tasting her, experiencing the sweet sensation, their mouths opening, relishing in the comfort of each other as their tongues melded. She tightened her grasp and he moaned in pain. "Ooh, sorry," she apologized, pulling back. "I can't wait until these ribs heal," he said with a knowing leer. "Me neither. I'd better get back before my disappearance is noticed." "Yeah...." Mulder agreed, trying not to let his disappointment show. She tousled his hair. "We'll be out of here soon and then we will take a well deserved vacation whether you like it or not." Scully got a devilish grin on her face. "Call it a spiritual journey......" "We're going to Graceland?" Mulder deadpanned. Scully gave him an exasperated smile and left. Mulder lay there for a long time, pondering over exactly what had just happened. "You are one lucky son of a bitch," he muttered, turned carefully on his side and went to sleep. Something told him it would be in his best interest to get plenty of rest.... END **************************** So, what did you think? I know this took a long time to get out, but I really hope it was worth it. Any feedback would be GREATLY appreciated. Hope you enjoyed it!!! ------------------------------------ "I still recall the taste of your tears Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore Scraping through my head 'til I don't want to sleep anymore. -Nine Inch Nails, "Something I Can Never Have"