Rating: R/NC-17 (Yes! Sex!)
Category: S, A, C, MSR
Spoilers: Assumes thorough and complete
knowledge of every single episode. EVERY SINGLE ONE!
Timeline: Post *Existence.* Branches off
wildly from there.
Archive: Sure. Thanks!
Thanks to: Euphrosyne for insta-beta, PD
and Ebonbird, who helped in so many ways, Weyo, Dee, and Susan,
for test driving, Pacquin for listening to Amanda whiiiiiiiine, Uncle
Chris, cuz it was his idea in the first place, and Mulder, for being so
damned pretty.
Special thanks: to the wonderful stalkers
who asked for more. None of this would have been possible without your
patience, encouragement, or really pointy sticks. Hope you like it!!
Summary: More of the same. Now with Texas
Pete Hot Sauce.
Our Lawyer says: Chris Carter owns
M&S; Fox owns The XFiles; we own this story. No infringement
intended.
NOTE: This won't make a lot of sense
unless you've read Book One and Book Two.
July 8, 2002
++++++++++++++++++
LEFT BOOKEND
She dreamed she was a seagull, flying far
from the sea.
Below her, vegetation clung to the
time-worn ground like mold on a crust of bread. It was hot down there;
she could see it clearly, the heat charging the air so that it danced
like a film of water over the parched soil.
Seeing the ground below her shimmering,
she couldn't understand why the air she flew in was so cold. Spreading
her wings wide, she paused and circled downward, trying to dip into the
rising heat and ease the shivering that threatened to drop her body from
the sky. No matter how low she descended, though, the heat seemed to
stay just beyond her reach, always a hopeful wing-flap away.
An unfamiliar voice sounded in her ear.
"How about that view, huh? Ever seen anything like it?"
Bewildered, she cast about for the source
of the voice and remembered the unmarked panel truck driving below her.
She'd been following it - hadn't she? - following it for days. Now the
truck was creeping past neat fences and carefully spaced cacti toward
three angular buildings: two larger, one smaller, gleaming like cubist
sculpture in the desert sun.
Another voice answered the first.
"It's a hole in the ground."
"Damn big hole in the ground. Take
us around there, son, back behind the center."
The truck followed a driveway to the
smallest of the buildings, and she followed the truck, not wanting to be
left behind. A garage door opened and the truck backed in.
The heavy door closed, squashing the
daylight away. High in the dark eaves of what seemed to be a maintenance
garage, she shook herself, puffing her chest and lifting her feathers,
trying to trap some warmth against her shivering skin.
She didn't want to be here. She wished
she could fly away. Something told her she had to stay, though, and pay
attention. Something told her she had to bear witness.
Rounding the back of the truck, men
tugged a loading ramp out of its housing and settled it into place.
Behind them, a heavy steel door opened and men in white coveralls
hurried across the concrete floor, pushing a cart loaded with medical
equipment.
"Hurry." A small, female figure
was standing in the back of the truck, tapping her foot impatiently at
the top of the loading ramp. At first the seagull thought the figure had
to be a child. But no, she realized, it was not a child, but a woman,
very old, very tiny, and very irate.
"Get this equipment connected.
Now." The tiny woman gestured to the white-clad men, and they
manhandled the cart up the ramp as if their lives depended on it.
Bright light spilled from the back of the
truck. Equipment began to hum. Another steel door in the garage clanged
open, and a mechanized wheelchair, rigged with enough medical equipment
to stock a small hospital and attended by a uniformed nurse, rolled
through it and into the garage.
"Oh Christ, not now." The tiny
woman frowned at the approaching chair. "Hauser! Tell him to go
back to his room. I'll send for him when she's ready."
"Tell him yourself," a man with
a spongy face muttered as he hurried away.
The tiny woman's voice was shrill. She
waved an accusing finger at the wheelchair. "You! What do you think
you're doing here?"
The body of the man in the wheelchair was
bent grotesquely to one side, as gray and gnarled as a root. His bony
fingers fluttered against the armrest of the chair. The nurse swung some
equipment into position, and the man glanced at a series of words on a
computer screen.
"I...need...see...her," a
mechanized voice droned.
"We've only just gotten her. She's
not ready."
"Out...of...my...way...doctor."
"Fine." The tiny woman threw
her hands up in defeat and, grumbling, stalked back into the truck.
The man with the spongy face called a
younger man forward, and together they steadied the bulky wheelchair as
it crept slowly up the narrow loading ramp.
Her heart pounding, the seagull dropped
from the rafters and perched on a bank of equipment. She strained to see
the face of the man in the chair. He was little more than a skeleton,
his gray flesh pulled tight against twisted bone, his mouth skewed and
drooling, his yellowed eyeballs rolling in their sockets like loose
marbles.
The sight of the man sickened her, but
she couldn't look away. Did she know him?
The wheelchair rolled across the truck
bed. When the bird cocked her head to see where it was going, she saw a
table. On the table, she saw a woman. Her heart swelled with pity. Poor
thing, she wanted to caw. Poor thing, poor thing, poor thing...
The tiny woman pulled back a thin sheet,
baring the woman's body to the icy air. The harsh light cast a bluish
glow on the woman's skin, giving her a cadaverous look, but the seagull
was relieved to see that the woman wasn't dead. Restrained in a nest of
wires and tubing, the woman seemed to be stirring.
The tiny woman stabbed a withered finger
at a white-clad man, barking orders the seagull could not understand,
but which filled her with fear and apprehension, just the same.
The woman's pale legs were lifted, spread
apart. They trembled violently as they were strapped into stirrups.
'Oh no,' the seagull thought. 'Oh my god,
no.'
As the technicians hurried to focus
lights and prepare instruments, the wheelchair edged closer to the bed.
Seeing the shriveled figure in the chair, the woman's eyes grew wide
with recognition. A shudder ran through her body, the motion as
involuntary as an ocean wave.
The flesh on the crippled man's face
twitched, his jaw worked up and down, and he made an animal sound
somewhere in his throat, a tortured noise, like a dog in a muzzle.
Seeming to understand just what was needed, the nurse grasped the man's
sleeve and picked up his wasted arm. She stretched his hand toward the
woman, brushing the twisted fingers along the woman's bare shoulder,
stroking downward, stopping just short of her breast.
The woman squirmed; she began to pant
with fear. Her forehead strained against a wide nylon strap that held
her head immobile.
The nurse settled the man's fingers back
on the armrest. He concentrated on his computer screen.
"She...cold."
The tiny woman pulled a pair of out-sized
latex gloves over her puny hands. "She's fine."
"Cover...her."
The tiny woman continued her preparations
without looking his way. "I know what I'm doing,*daddy*," she
said, her words dripping with sarcasm.
The crippled man twitched. "Not. .
.funny."
The tiny woman straightened and glared at
him. "It's not supposed to be, is it, *papa*?"
The seagull heard the sound of smothered
chuckling from the white-clad men.
The woman on the table flicked the tip of
her tongue over her lips. Her lips moved, but all the bird heard was a
sigh.
"Cover...her," the man in the
chair insisted.
Ignoring him, the tiny woman marched to
the foot of the bed and positioned herself between the woman's raised
legs. She thrust her fingers forward. A speculum followed. She gave a
controlled shove.
Face taut with panic, the woman on the
table struggled against her restraints and moaned.
"Damn it!" the tiny woman
muttered. "She's fighting me. Put her back under. Now."
A white-clad technician scrambled to do
as she had commanded.
A monitor on the wheelchair had been
beeping steadily since the crippled man's first appearance in the
garage. Now it began to blip at an accelerated, erratic rate.
"Calm him," the tiny woman
ordered his nurse. "We don't need the old man keeling over before
he can make his *contribution,* do we?"
The nurse quickly produced a syringe and
prepared an injection.
The seagull heard heavy footsteps. A
tall, square- jawed man walked up the ramp and into the truck. His eyes
were hollow, his face, curiously blank. He looked as solid as stone, the
bird thought, and as unforgiving. His massive shadow fell over the woman
on the table.
The tiny woman all but cowered when the
stone-man turned his steely gaze on her.
"Well?" he asked.
"We're nearly ready to
proceed," she assured him. "I'm verifying ovulation."
The stone-man nodded once, then laid his
huge hand on the flesh just below the restrained woman's navel. The
woman groaned and writhed, but the stone-man didn't seem to care.
"We are truly blessed," he
said, in a toneless voice.
"Truly blessed," the tiny woman
echoed, without conviction.
"Blessed," the mechanical voice
agreed.
'Oh no,' the bird thought, wanting the
dream to end. 'Oh my god, no.' Her tiny heart beating out of control,
she leapt from her perch and into the air, racing upward until cold
steel stopped her progress. Wings beating wildly, she fluttered against
the ceiling, trying to get her bearings.
The woman on the table flinched. "Wih..."
she moaned.
The tiny woman glared at one of the
white-clad men. "I told you to sedate her!" she growled.
"I have, doctor." The man
fumbled with a syringe and bottle. "She's already had a dangerously
high dos-"
Suddenly, every muscle in the woman's
body seized. "William!" she screamed. "William!"
William? The seagull knew William. She
squawked in alarm, trying desperately to escape...
The woman woke to the sound of her own
voice screaming for her child. She struggled to move, but nylon straps
held her immobile. Her eyes snapped open, but the blinding glare forced
them shut again.
"Dammit!" someone cursed.
Rough fingers forced her lids apart, and
a pinprick of bright light skittered madly across her eye.
"The time has come," a deep,
familiar voice intoned.
"Get her back under," a shrill
voice hissed. "Get her back under so we can get started.
'Oh no,' Scully thought as the drug raced
through her veins. 'Oh my god, no.'
ONE
Will shifted in his sleep.
Mulder changed his position accordingly,
sitting a little straighter, pulling the boy a little closer, adjusting
his seat belt so that the strap was away from Will's face. There was a
wet, faintly purple, faintly grape-scented spot in the center of
Mulder's t-shirt where Will had drooled out the last traces of
half-a-teaspoon of liquid Tylenol before finding enough relief to sleep,
so Mulder maneuvered the child's limp body to avoid that, too.
Teething, Mulder felt he could now state
without fear of contradiction, completely sucked.
A gust of wind blasted across the
highway, peppering the windshield with grains of sand. For a moment, the
RV veered slightly. Mulder leaned into the motion, tightening his grip
on his son and bracing his feet against the floor.
"Nasty weather," he muttered.
"Yes," Billy replied, and said
nothing more.
It wasn't exactly conversation, Mulder
thought, glancing out the passenger window and into inky nothing, but it
was something.
Billy had been driving since they'd left
Toronto, Ray sitting ramrod-straight in the passenger seat beside him.
This arrangement had changed so little over the preceding three days
that it seemed like the two of them had come factory-installed with the
vehicle. 'Gives the phrase 'auto-pilot' a whole new meaning,' Mulder had
thought with a sneer after the second day.
Earlier that evening, though, Ray had
been persuaded to vacate his choice seat. All it had taken was a
miserable, cranky William pointing to the back of the Winnebago,
scowling as he rubbed his mouth, and saying, "Ray doh seep
now." The last time Mulder had glanced that way, Ray had been
standing at attention between the tiny fridge and the side door, with
Fang curled up contentedly on the toe of his shoe. He was probably still
there.
"They are all sleeping,
Mulder," Billy announced.
Mulder's brow rose.
"You were wondering."
"Yes, I was." He thought about
telling Billy to stay out of his head, but knew there was no point -
Billy could no more stop reading Mulder's thoughts than water could stop
being wet.
"Perhaps you should sleep
also."
"Not tired." Mulder yawned.
"And don't bother telling me I'm lying. I already know."
"Yes, Mulder."
Another blast of wind hit the vehicle,
another shower of sand pelted its sleek metal sides. Billy drove on,
maneuvering the unwieldy machine like he'd been born for it.
Mulder rubbed his eyes with his free
hand. Perhaps sleeping *would* be a good idea. It certainly wasn't a
question of being tired; he was absolutely exhausted. But it was the
sort of jangling nervous exhaustion that made his brain race a mile a
minute and relaxation impossible.
Somewhere along the way, day had become
night for him. He'd barely spoken two words to Langly or Reyes since
they'd come onboard in Maryland, and he'd seen very little more of Leah.
He'd been sleeping, albeit fitfully, when everyone else was awake, and
awake when everyone else was sleeping.
Everyone but Billy, of course.
"You haven't slept in a while,
either, Bill. Or eaten."
"No Mulder," Billy replied, his
gaze straight ahead. "I have not."
"I know you need to do those things,
Bill. I've seen what happens when you don't." The weight of his son
against his shoulder was making his right arm numb. Mulder lifted the
child, moving him carefully so as not to wake him.
"Yes, Mulder."
"So, maybe you're the one who should
sleep? I mean, if you tell me where we're going, I can drive."
"I cannot sleep, Mulder."
"Why's that?"
"'And yea,'" Billy began in
what Mulder was beginning to think of as his preacher voice, "'they
went into Utgeam, which is in the land of Avenda, where they remained
for a time, as was told unto them. And they entered there, clean and
whole, and awaited Rhulak, whose coming was foretold.'"
Mulder rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that this is the time of
fasting and atonement," Billy answered.
Mulder's mouth twitched. "Just so
long as it isn't a time of sleep deprivation and rolling RVs into
ditches."
Billy stared at the road ahead. "I
understand."
"Right," Mulder thought.
"Got it. I'll shut up now."
Trying to ease a cramp in his leg, he
shifted in his seat again. He was getting tired of all this waiting.
There were only so many times, after all, that he could pace from one
end of the camper to the other without driving its other occupants to
damned- near audible thoughts of murder. He wanted to be wherever they
were going, to do whatever had to be done.
One way or another, he just wanted it all
to be over.
The highway stretched before them,
sitting on the desert like a crusty black scab. Mulder imagined it being
peeled up by an enormous thumbnail, imagined asphalt and guard-rails
being wadded up and tossed away.
The colonists could have done that to
humanity; it would have been just that easy. But they hadn't, of course.
The annihilation of humankind was hardly the point.
At least, that's what every molecule of
his being, every cell of his body kept telling him. His vision on the
Boardwalk back in Toronto had been long on the grand scheme of things,
but short on detail. For a few brief moments, though, everything had
seemed so clear. Then the universe had realized its mistake and gone
back to being as murky and confusing as ever.
A butte in the distance came into focus,
its steep sides and flat summit starkly outlined against the
increasingly purple sky. Mulder glanced at his watch. 4:17.
"So, Bill, where are we? Or more to
the point, where are we going?"
"You know, Mulder."
Pressing his forehead with the heel of
his hand, Mulder let out a frustrated sigh. He regularly had more
productive conversations with Fang.
Billy smiled. "All shall be as has
been written."
Mulder sighed. "Look, Bill, we've
been doing this on faith for almost a week. We've dragged Reyes and
Langly half-way across the country, and Leah or Yves or whoever she
really is away from the only home she can remember. You and Ray and Dee
act like it's some kind of day at the beach, but the rest of us are
pretty much - pretty damned much - in the dark."
"Yes, Mulder. Have faith. 'And yea,
the people -'"
"No, Bill." Mulder cut him off
before he could break out in another rash of zealotry. "I need for
you to tell me. Where are we going?"
Bill turned his gaze away from the
highway and toward Mulder. "We are going to Utgeam."
"Utgeam," Mulder echoed.
"And that is?"
"In Avenda."
"Avenda. Right. And when we get
there?"
"We shall await Rhulak. The storm
shall be called." Billy smiled. "Prophecy shall be
fulfilled."
"Right. Then what?"
"And then there will be great
rejoicing."
Mulder scowled. "Of course there
will."
If Billy understood Mulder's sarcasm, he
gave no indication. "Will you not rejoice in Avenda when the storm
has been called?"
About six facetious responses came
immediately to mind, but Mulder struggled for an honest answer. "I
don't know, Bill." He shrugged. "Will I? Will I have anything
to rejoice about?"
Billy's impenetrable expression shifted
no more than a hair's breadth, but Mulder, having spent months with him,
immediately noted the change. The hair on the back of Mulder's neck
bristled. Something told him he wasn't going to like Billy's answer.
"Bill?"
Billy blinked twice. "William wishes
for you to sleep now."
Mulder snorted and looked down at his
son. "William's out cold, Bill. Don't change the-"
"Yes, Mulder. But William
wish-"
Before Billy could finish, a tiny voice
came from the sleeping compartment at the rear of the RV. "Dada!
Dada! Doh seep! Doh seep now."
"Oh. THAT William. Right."
Mulder unbuckled his seatbelt, hefted his son, and stood, shaking his
head. He was turning to leave when Billy spoke again.
"Mulder."
"Yeah?"
"There will be rejoicing."
Mulder nodded, suddenly weary. "I'll
hold you to that, Bill. Night."
TWO
Mulder woke, hours later, with a stiff
back, one sock missing, and a sleeping child tucked under either arm. He
also had the vague sensation that he had forgotten something. Something
important, he thought as his brain made the long, slow climb from
half-asleep to half-awake, something he shouldn't allow himself to
forget.
Breathing slowly, he closed his eyes and
listened, taking in the hushed purr of pavement under the wheels, the
distant sound of the engine, the quiet drone of air conditioning.
Nothing unusual there.
He turned his attention to the inside of
the vehicle, hoping to hear Leah's soft voice, or muffled murmurs from
the occupants of the sleeping compartment next to his. Stretching and
extending his senses further, he tried to pick up some trace of that
weird, flat hum, the one he felt more than heard whenever Dee and Billy
and Ray were talking to each other without words. Again, nothing
unusual.
Well okay, he thought, trying to shift
enough to relieve the pressure on his lower back, nothing unusual if you
took into account that just over a week ago he had been the widowed
father of a 14 month old boy living under what amounted house arrest in
a foreign country, and this week he was the no-longer- widowed father of
twins living in a luxury RV.
He snorted. Once he'd finished sweating
the small stuff - like linear time and consensual reality and logic and
reason and maddening crap like that - the rest had been a piece of cake.
Lifting his head, he glanced at the boys.
They bracketed him like purple pajama'd bookends.
He'd been thrilled to meet his second
son, of course. Thrilled and probably less surprised than he should have
been. He still couldn't quite 'get' how he'd retroactively come to be
the father of twins. Billy's explanation -'The one was made two, as was
foretold,' - hadn't cleared things up much.
For their part, upon meeting, the boys
had greeted each other with a gleeful "Bubby!", thrown their
arms around one another in an awkward but sincere toddler embrace, and
had immediately begun fighting about whose Tinky Winky was whose.
His train of thought derailed when the
William lying on his right arm snuffled and rolled onto his side. Out of
habit, Mulder craned his neck, looking for any stray toys or linens that
might block a small airway. All clear, he was happy to note, and good
thing, too; there was no way he could get a hand free to move anything
without waking everyone.
'Everytwo?' he thought, and grinned at
his own stupid joke.
Billy, Ray, and Dee referred to both boys
simply as 'William,' and in the singular, which was weird, but then,
what did those three do that wasn't? Most of the time, Mulder just
thought of them as Will and Won't, and which child was which depended,
at any given moment, on which one of them was exhibiting what Mulder had
decided was their mother's stubborn streak.
William - the William he'd acquired in
suburban Maryland - had a crescent-shaped mole high on his left inside
thigh. Other than that, when dressed, at least, the boys were identical.
Unnervingly identical.
He closed his eyes, squeezing the lids so
tightly that bright points of light danced before him. The sensation
he'd had on waking washed over him again, catching him unaware.
Forgetting something. He was forgetting
something.
"No, Rich, you can't." Harsh
whispering from the next compartment interrupted his thoughts.
"Then what are we supposed to
do?" A second voice answered the first.
Reyes. And Langly. Reyes and Langly.
Mulder shook his head. He could have gone
on guessing for a thousand years and the notion of 'Reyes' and 'Langly'
turning into 'Reyes and Langly' would never have made it onto even an
'extremely extreme' list of possibilities.
He wondered, in a vague way, what they
were arguing about, then decided not to waste his energy.
'Monica Reyes is among the faithful,'
Billy had told him on the journey between Toronto and Maryland. 'She
will serve William.' At the time, Mulder had wondered why Billy had
mentioned it at all. But when they'd gone to the Gunmen's headquarters
for help and found Reyes and Langly together, protecting this second
William in the wake of Scully's disappearance, Billy's words had made
sense. Well, as much sense as any of this did.
Which was no sense at all, really.
He blew out a long slow breath. He felt a
headache coming on.
A red-gold head shot up before him.
"Dada, up?"
Mulder blinked. "Yeah, I'm
awake," he whispered. "Shhh. Your brother is still
sleeping."
Will sat back on his heels and looked at
his father, a puzzled expression on his face. "No shhh," he
answered.
"Yes, shh." Mulder reached up
and brushed the bangs out of Will's eyes. "You need a haircut,
buddy." There was an idea, Mulder thought: get the boys different
haircuts. At least he'd be able to tell them apart while they had
clothes on. Not that Billy was likely to let anyone wielding scissors
near either one of them, but maybe he could be persuaded.
"No shhh. No ki-et." The boy's
frown of concentration deepened. "Doast?"
"What?" Mulder was so startled
he forgot to whisper. "Toast? Did you say 'toast'?"
"Doast." Will nodded.
"Pease doast."
"Toast." Mulder felt a smile
spread across his face. William - his William -- didn't say *toast.* So
that meant that this was the other William, Scully's William. Mulder was
tempted to find a permanent marker and draw a big "S" on the
boy's forehead. "Yeah, sure. We'll have some toast in a minute.
Wait'll your brother wakes up and we'll have some toast."
"Doast!"
"Hang on," Mulder answered.
"You gotta get dressed and you need a clean diaper and your brother
is still slee. . ."
A voice rose from his left.
"No," the boy said, rubbing his eyes. "No doast.
Cake!"
"Doast!"
"Cake!"
Oh, hell, Mulder thought, suddenly caught
between two warring purple masses, so much for the toast theory.
Grabbing a boy under each arm, Mulder swiftly brought hostilities to a
halt. "You," he spoke to the boy under his right arm,
"can have toast once you are clean and dressed. And you," he
turned to the other child, "don't have to eat toast, but you aren't
getting cake for breakfast. And you both need to be changed. You
stink."
The RV lurched to one side, then came to
a smooth halt. Before Mulder could react, there was a knock at the door
of their small sleeping compartment.
Mulder felt a moment of panic.
"Yes?"
"Mulder," Billy's voice came
muffled through the door, "may I come in?"
Mulder self-consciously let go of the
boys. "Um, yeah Bill, sure."
"Good morning, Mulder. Good morning,
William." Billy turned to each of the boys in turn. "I hope
you slept well."
"Well enough." Mulder tried to
keep his tone bland. "What's going on?"
"We are stopping here."
Mulder felt his pulse quicken, his mouth
go dry. "Oh?"
"Yes, Mulder," Billy smiled
happily. "We have arrived in Utgeam."
"Oh." Mulder nodded.
"Okay. So, um, what now?"
"Doast!" One Will shouted.
"Cake!" The other countered.
"Yes," Billy answered.
The boys cheered.
"Yes?" Mulder looked from boy
to boy and back to Billy. "Yes what?"
"William wants French toast and
pancakes, Mulder. We are stopping for breakfast."
THREE
Mulder wasn't sure what he'd expected
from Utgeam, but he was pretty sure it hadn't been Uncle Ted's Good
Eats, with its made-for-tourists cowboy kitsch, fiberglass cacti, and
grinning purple donkeys in sombreros. Nonetheless, he reflected as their
pink- polyester-clad waitress refilled his coffee cup, that was exactly
what he'd gotten.
"Y'all need some Texas Pete?"
The waitress carefully placed the bottle of ketchup Langly had requested
in the middle of the table.
The U-shaped booth was designed to
accommodate perhaps four slightly under-nourished super models. Seven
healthy adult bodies and two high chairs, on the other hand, made for a
ridiculously tight fit. There had been no other tables immediately
available, though, and Billy hadn't taken the suggestion of sitting in
two different booths very well. Stuck between Monica Reyes on one side
and a highchair full of William on the other, Mulder was trying to eat
his breakfast without poking Reyes in the ribs or knocking his coffee
cup into Will's lap. Both were proving difficult.
Mulder glanced around the table.
"We're good, thanks." He took another sip of his coffee,
keeping his elbow carefully tucked in, but bumping Reyes' arm just the
same.
"Sorry," he murmured for the
fifth or sixth time since sitting down.
"S'fine." Reyes shook her head,
lips quirked in a smile. She picked at her fruit plate and cast a
suspicious glance Billy's way. "Kind of a tight fit, though."
"Yeah. Well, sorry about that, too.
Who knew this place would be so popular?"
Langly quit shoveling pancakes into his
mouth and mumbled something, his head down. Reyes snorted in response.
Judging from the look on her face, Mulder thought he probably should be
glad he hadn't heard whatever Langly'd said.
"So Mulder," Reyes began in an
too cheery tone of voice, "how about you tell us exactly
where-"
"Bubby! Twuck!" Overcome by
excitement, Will pointed enthusiastically toward the front window of the
restaurant and threw his sippy cup to the floor, where it bounced and
rolled under the bench.
His brother wiggled in his high chair.
"Twuck! Twuck!"
Mulder retrieved the cup, almost
mechanically wiped the spout with his napkin, and returned it to the
highchair tray. Craning his neck, he caught sight of a huge truck with a
cherry-picker attachment in the field just beyond the parking lot. Two
men were busy re-plastering a billboard that poked up out of the scrub.
"Yeah, truck," he agreed.
"Bid twuck," the other child
commented.
"Yes. Big truck," Mulder said,
offering a forkful of French toast to the twin nearest him. It was
amazing how much repetition was involved in parenting. "Very big,
very cool, very yellow truck."
"Twuck, Dada?" Will levered
himself up against the highchair tray, trying to climb out, but hindered
by his seatbelt. "Pease?"
"After breakfast," Mulder
answered around a mouthful of omelet. He was hungrier than he'd
realized. "You've both actually got to eat some food first. Sit
down, buddy."
Carleena returned and began to refill
Leah's water glass. "Ma'am," she said, addressing Dee,
"you haven't touched a thing on your plate. Something wrong with
your order?"
"No," Dee replied, fixed smile
in place.
"And likewise, you two
gentlemen." She addressed Billy and Ray. "Is something wrong
with your food?"
"There is a struggle for heaven and
earth," Ray replied, smiling blissfully.
Carleena seemed surprised by this news.
"Is there, now?"
"There is," Billy assured her.
"We are fasting."
"Oh." For a moment, Carleena's
fat pink lips pursed. Then she brightened. "Oh! Y'all here for the
Revival?"
"Yes, we are," Billy answered.
Reyes turned to Mulder. "Are
we?" she whispered, sounding somewhat shocked.
"Well. . ." Mulder started, not
entirely sure what to say. For all he knew, they were.
"Well, y'all should have said
something!" Carleena started clearing their plates. "You
didn't have to order anything. We ain't got no two egg minimum or
nothing." She loaded the three untouched meals onto her tray and
turned toward the kitchen. "I'll just pack' em up for you."
She stood between the highchairs a moment
longer. "I just have to mention, these two are as adorable as can
be," she said, nodding to the boys. She looked at Reyes, then at
Leah, and then, drawing some silent conclusion, asked Leah, "Twins,
huh?"
"Yes," Leah answered. After a
quick glance at Reyes, she gave a tight little smile and turned her
attention back to convincing William to eat.
"My grandbabies are twins. My
daughter calls 'em Chelsee and Britnee. I said to her, 'Luanda Mae,
why'd you call them that? All the good names already taken or somethin'?'"
Carleena rolled her eyes. "Still, they are the sweetest little
things, even with those goofy names. They're almost two now, will be in
a month, I mean, and talking up a storm. Why, the other day we was at
the Wal-mart in. . ."
"Carleena," Billy interrupted,
pointing across the restaurant, "that man wishes for you to bring
him the breakfast special number three with eggs over easy."
The waitress blinked at Billy in
confusion, then nodded. "Of course," she answered. She turned
on her heel and marched away.
Leah dropped her fork. It clattered
noisily against her plate. Her gaze was focused down, but Mulder saw she
was wide-eyed with fear.
"Leah, it's okay," he told her,
in the most soothing voice he could muster.
"Have a nice day," Billy called
after Carleena.
"It's okay, Leah," Mulder
repeated. "She's all right. Bill, tell her the waitress is all
right."
"Yes Mulder." Billy answered,
"Carleena is fine. For in Utgeam-"
Mulder held up a hand. "Not now. Did
you hear what he said, Leah? She's okay." He reached across the
table and gently touched the back of Leah's hand, drawing her attention.
Leah closed her eyes, breathing in and
out slowly. "Yeah." She nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
Mulder stabbed another forkful of hash
browns. He turned to Billy. "Don't do that again."
"But the man at that table wished. .
. "
"He can tell her himself,
Bill."
"Yes, Mulder. I understand."
Langly cleared his throat.
"Mulder," he began, his voice a low, harsh whisper, "what
the hell is going-"
"Mulder," Ray interrupted,
rising and reaching across the table with a handful of napkins,
"William is sticky."
Mulder swallowed and sighed, thinking
he'd had this conversation before. "Down boy," he muttered in
Ray's general direction.
"I'll bathe them before we
leave," Leah said tersely, to no one in particular. "If
there's time." She turned to Mulder. "Will there be
time?"
Mulder shrugged. "Billy, will. .
."
"'We know not the hour, but the hour
shall arrive; we know not the day, but the day shall come,'" Billy
unhelpfully supplied.
Leah lifted her brows.
"Mulder?"
"I don't-"
"It is a kid thing," Ray
announced, his voice a shade too loud.
"A kid thing," Dee echoed,
smiling proudly at the boys. "To be sticky."
"Something like that." Mulder
nodded. He could feel Reyes and Langly's eyes on him, and wondered if
perhaps he'd been mistaken, taking their cooperation for granted. After
their initial shock at seeing him had faded, they'd seemed willing,
almost eager to help, but now it occurred to him that their decision to
board the RV may have had very little to do with acceptance or support
of his situation. He needed a chance to explain things to them.
Hopefully, he'd get five minutes to sit down and. . .
"Twuck?" William asked.
"Soon," Mulder answered.
"Eat something first."
Will obligingly fed Will a hunk of
pancake. Billy watched the boys with a radiant expression, stretching
his arms toward them, as if embracing them from afar. "'And each
was as a brother, and each also was a son, all waiting for Rhulak, whose
coming was foretold.'"
"Billy," Mulder rolled his
eyes, "not at the table, okay?"
"Mulder," Langly bit out
harshly, "what in the fu-"
"Later, Langly," Mulder said.
"We'll talk later, okay?"
Billy lowered his arms and turned toward
Langly with a frozen smile. "'Ust'dan called to the people, filling
their minds with confusion and deceit, for his time had not come, and he
was smitten and silenced. The people waited as the sun soared. They
waited for Rhulak to bless them with a sign.'"
Langly stared at Billy, swallowing
nervously, then pushed his glasses up on his nose and dropped his gaze.
"Oooo-kay," he said softly, exchanging a look with Reyes out
of the corner of his eye.
Leah had produced a small package of wet
wipes from her pack and was attempting to clean sticky hands and faces.
"Well, the boys are done eating. I think it's time to go," she
said. "The campground has hookups. I think we ought to stop here,
at least for a few hours, so the boys can have proper baths and I can do
some laundry. Can you see about getting us a space for the day,
Mulder?"
"I will arrange it," Billy
offered helpfully.
Leah didn't meet Billy's gaze. She tossed
the dirty wipes on to her plate and continued. "The wipes aren't
cutting it. I need to take them to the rest room."
"I'll do it," Mulder
volunteered.
"Right. I'll get Fang, and you can
take him over the playground while I start the laundry. He could use
some fresh air."
"Yes ma'am." Mulder grinned at
her. Leah always got bossy when she was nervous. "Anything else I
can do for you, ma'am?"
Leah returned his grin. "That will
be all, thank you."
Langly cleared his throat noisily and
rose. "Need some help?" he asked Mulder, in a
not-quite-friendly tone of voice.
"Wang!" both boys lifted their
arms, waiting to be set free.
"Sure," Mulder told Langly. Ray
and Dee swung into position behind them.
Billy rose. "I will take care of the
bill."
++++++++++++++++++
FOUR
The restroom was bright, modern, and
spotlessly clean, but Mulder wasn't surprised; it wasn't as if Billy was
going to let him take his dirty children into a dirty bathroom. Backpack
full of child supplies slung easily over one shoulder, Mulder hitched
Will a little higher on the opposite hip, heedless of the mess he was
making of his own shirt, and waited for the all-clear.
After checking each stall, carefully but
quickly analyzing the contents of the garbage bin, and staring just a
microsecond too long at the buzzing fluorescent over head, Ray stood at
attention, his back to the door. "The facility appears secure,
Mulder."
"Thanks, Ray," Mulder nodded
absently, setting Will down on the counter next to a gleaming stainless
steel sink. "At ease, or, you know, whatever." He pulled a
couple of dry washcloths out of his backpack and handed one to Langly.
"Let the de-stickifying commence," he said with a wry grin.
Langly gave Mulder a pointed look, but
said nothing and turned on the tap.
'What?' Mulder mouthed. He turned a
faucet and began filling the other sink.
Langly jerked his head slightly in Ray's
direction.
Mulder raised his brows in question.
"What is it?"
Langly's head bobbed toward Ray again.
"I have extremely shy kidneys," he said, his eyes cutting to
the sentry once more. "Could you ask your little friend to
leave?"
Wiping the syrup-glossed spaces between
the fingers on Will's right hand, Mulder shrugged. "Oh, yeah,
sure." He caught Ray's reflected gaze in the mirror. "Ray,
would you wait outside with Dee, please?"
"Mulder, it is my duty. . ."
Mulder looked down at his son. "Tell
him, buddy."
Will leaned to the side so he could see
around his father's body. "Ray doh out."
"Doh out," his brother echoed.
"William," Mulder admonished.
"And, um, William: how do we ask?"
"Ray out *pease*."
"Pease out now."
"That's better, guys." Mulder
flipped Will's hand palm up.
Ray's reflection blinked once, twice.
"Yes, William." He nodded to each of the boys once and left
the room.
"Bye bye!" both boys chirped in
chorus.
Langly flinched.
Mulder mustered a fake cough, covering
his mouth to hide a smirk. Poor Langly.
"What's so funny?" Langly
lifted Will's arm so he could pull off the boy's t-shirt.
"Nothing." Shaking his head,
Mulder soaked the cloth and wrung it out.
The two worked in silence.
"Langly, um. . . the last time you
saw Scully, how was she?"
"Fine, I guess." Langly
shrugged. "She was. . ."
"She was what?"
"Fine. I mean, um, the day before
she um, you know, she stopped by the office. She was, I don't know,
tired, I guess. She was working long hours. Hey, Will, lift up you arm,
dude."
"Doooooooooood." Will echoed as
he raised his arm.
"Yeah, doooood," Langly
answered.
"She was tired?"
Langly pointed to Will with his chin.
"She said he'd been cutting molars or something and neither one of
them had been sleeping much."
"Been there." Mulder nodded.
"So, why did she come by?"
Langly hesitated, then gave another
shrug. "No reason in particular."
"Really?"
"Really."
Mulder knew that was a lie. Scully
wouldn't just drop in on the Gunmen's office. He wondered what Langly
was hiding. Or *thought* he was hiding. Maybe he should just step out in
the hallway and ask Ray.
He wiped Will's sticky forearm. "For
what it's worth, and as you've probably figured out by now, Billy and
the others can hear pretty much anything you say, whether you think
they're in earshot or not. There's more to it than that, though. If it's
not something you want them to know, don't even think it."
Langly had gone to work cleaning Mulder's
other child, starting with one syrup and crumb-coated knee. He paused a
moment, pushed his glasses up his nose with the tip of his thumb, and
frowned. "How exactly am I supposed to *not* think about this
stuff?"
Mulder kept his tone as neutral as he
could. "Which stuff in particular?"
"Any of it. All of it." Langly
shrugged. "Christ, pick somethin'."
"Give me your other hand,
Will." Mulder rinsed and wrung the cloth again, buying time. He
wasn't sure what to tell himself, most days, so he really wasn't sure
what to tell his friend. "I, um, well. . ." he began, but
faltered. Letting out a long, slow breath, he finished, "it's
complicated."
The other man snorted. "No shit,
Sherlock."
"NO SHIT!" Will giggled and
tried to slide off the counter.
"Hey," Mulder swung his wet
washcloth at his friend in mock-indignation. "Watch the potty mouth
in front of my kids. Will, come here. We're not done yet."
Langly dodged the washcloth. The baby on
his side of the counter tried to crawl toward his brother. "Will,
don't." He pinned the boy in place with a hand on the chest and
began wiping his way up one arm. He paused. "Okay, let's start
there. Let's start with why you've got two kids, just about the same
age, both named William."
"Oh, *that*." Mulder laughed
dryly. "I, ah, -- did I mention this was complicated?"
Langly ploughed on, disregarding Mulder's
attempt at humor. "Or, or, okay, Mulder, how about why you took off
on Scully and one baby to be with Yves and the other."
"What?"
"And if you had to do it, for
whatever fucked up reason, why couldn't you just have talked to Scully
about it? Christ, what was that all about, pulling that disappearing act
and leaving Will behind on his grandmother's doorstep? What the hell
were you thinking?"
Mulder felt something knot deep in his
gut, but out of habit, he fought down the anger that threatened to
unbalance him. They were safe, he reminded himself. Safe, protected,
loved. He took a slow, deep breath. "Langly, I didn't-"
"Look, nevermind. How about you just
tell me where the hell we are, or where the hell we're going. Monica
talked to Doggett just before you showed up, and he told her they found
Scully's SUV at Skyland Mountain, so why are we in the middle of the
des-?"
"Wang." Wide-eyed, Will reached
up and grabbed a handful of Langly's t-shirt. "Dop."
"Hang on a minute, buddy."
Langly's voice trembled.
"Dop!" This came from the child
in Mulder's care.
"Whoa." Mulder held up his
hand. "They're right, Langly. Stop. If you get yourself worked up,
you'll get the boys worked up, and if the boys get worked up, Billy's
going to come charging in here like-"
"I don't care, Muld-"
"Yeah, you do, Langly. You do. That
is the very last thing you want to happen." Mulder turned his
attention back to Will. "Look up here so I can wash your dirty
neck, big guy." The baby tilted his face accommodatingly and Mulder
wiped carefully at the delicate skin. "Now, for starters, I did NOT
leave Scully. And I had no idea that Will's nanny Leah was your
femme-fatale Yves. Leah had no idea she was your femme-fatale Yves,
either."
"Yeah, right." Langly snorted
again.
"Yeah right what?"
"Yves is a pretty good
actress."
"I've spent just about every day of
the last year with her, Langly. She didn't have a clue."
"Well, she seems pretty damned
territorial for a nanny, in case you haven't noticed. She practically
growls at Monica every time they get within ten feet of each
other."
Mulder couldn't argue with that; there'd
been a distinctly combative aura surrounding Leah since the road trip
began, and it had become decidedly more pronounced since Reyes had
joined them.
"Leah's pretty heavily invested.
She's been looking after Will since he was six weeks old. It's the only
life she can remember. She probably feels threatened."
Langly gave him another hard, silent
look.
"What?"
"Will isn't - aren't - the only ones
she's territorial about."
Mulder blinked. "What do you
mean?"
"On come on, man. She's all over you
like-"
"Yeah, right." It was Mulder's
turn to snort. "She's not all over me like anything, Langly."
Langly wiped carefully at the baby's
cheeks. His voice was low and tight. "Look, we all know - we all
knew - Scully kept you on a damned short leash, and-"
Mulder felt his blood pressure jump
another notch. "Scully didn't keep me on a-"
"Cut the crap, man. I like Scully.
We all like her. But, Christ, you followed her around like a whipped dog
for years, like you were waiting for her to throw you a bone or
something. And, now, all of the sudden you've got this hot little-"
"Hang on," Mulder commanded,
then stopped. Beating the shit out of Langly wouldn't do him any good,
his reasonable side assured him, even thought his less reasonable side
thought it was a damned fine idea. He took another long, slow breath,
and released it. "One, you don't know sh-- jack about me and
Scully, okay? You may think you know, but you don't. Got that?"
Langly gave a dismissive shrug.
"Whatever."
Mulder squared his shoulders and went on.
"Having said that, I believed Scully was dead. I understood she'd
been killed in an explosion *before* Billy dragged me out of DC."
"And what? That's when you hooked up
with Yves and built William II, the Sequel, there? Sorry, my man. Does
not compute."
"I didn't - I haven't - hooked up
with Yves. Leah. She's Will's nanny."
"Well, Monica was there when Scully
went into labor, Mulder. She was there for the whole thing. Scully had
one -- count 'em, one -- baby. So little Repeat there had to come from
somewhere."
"Christ, what the - ? Langly, Leah's
not Will's mothe-"
"Her name is Yves."
"Fine. Yves. Whatever her name
is." Mulder pulled a tube of zinc cream out of his pack. "She
is not William's mother. She works for me."
"So, what? You hired her? You
interviewed a bunch of applicants and decided a great rack and amnesia
were all the qualifications she needed?"
"No." The headache Mulder had
been battling since waking flared. "She works for Billy, but she
looks after me. Us, I mean. She looks after us."
"You certainly sound
convinced." Langly's frown turned into a full-blown scowl.
"And that's another thing. Billy Miles. Why the hell are you
hanging around with this guy? Do you know how many people he's accused
of killing, Mulder? How many people I've seen actual footage of him
decapitating?"
"They were-" Mulder hesitated,
trying to find the most accurate, least inflammatory words. "They
were - threats. They had to be - to be eliminated."
"Threats? Eliminated?" The
pitch of Langly's voice rose. "Are you hearing yourself, like, at
all? You sound like you swallowed the NewSpeak dictionary."
Mulder nodded, not in agreement, but
simply in an attempt to placate the younger man. He rubbed his throbbing
forehead. "I know it must look bad. All I can tell you is that he -
that all of them - have William's best interests at heart. Their only
interest is in protecting him."
Langly stared at Mulder over the rim of
his glasses. His voice dropped. "How do you figure that, man?"
"Put your arms up, bud, so we can
get that dirty shirt off." William complied and Mulder slipped it
smoothly over his head. Pulling two clean t-shirts and two pairs of
shorts from the pack, Mulder handed one of each to Langly. "Change
him, huh?"
"I'm on it," Langly nodded. He
waited. "Answer the question, Mulder."
Mulder flattened a changing pad out on a
stretch of counter next to the sink, then patted it. "Lie down so I
can change your diaper, Will," he said.
"No," the baby replied.
"Yes."
"Twuck!"
"Diaper first." Mulder patted
the pad again. "Lie still and we'll go look at the cherry picker.
Deal?"
Will seemed to consider the offer. He
exchanged a look with his brother. "Tay," they answered in
unison. Will stretched out on the changing pad.
"Mulder?"
"Hm?"
Langly gently tugged the clean t-shirt
over the other child's head. "How do you know Billy's trying to
protect William? And which William is that, by the way?"
"Both of them. And. . .I just
do."
"Oh well," Langly rolled his
eyes, "if you 'just do,' that's plenty good enough for me."
Mulder ground his molars in frustration.
"Billy's looked after us for the last year. He's kept William and
me safe. He kept Scully and - and 'THAT' William safe for as long as he
could, and...look, I know it doesn't make sense, but he did that by
keeping us apart. He's fed us, clothed us, sheltered us, and he's asked
nothing in return."
"Nothing?"
"No one thing."
"Then why were you kept hidden in
Toronto? Why weren't you allowed to contact us? You know, if you'd have
called, someone -- hell, anyone -- could have told you that, heck no,
Scully isn't dead, and-"
The word was out of Mulder's mouth before
he could stop it. "Prophecy."
Langly stopped short. "What?"
A wave of familiar feelings -- dread,
panic, fear -- all long-suppressed, but never completely eradicated,
swelled inside Mulder and threatened to overwhelm him. Safe, he told
himself. Safe. Protected. Loved.
"That stuff Billy is spouting all
the time," Mulder began, willing himself calm. "It's - it's
some kind of scripture. Some kind of prophecy."
Langly slumped against the counter, eyes
wide, jaw slack. "Prophecy?"
Mulder's throat felt tight, constricted.
He swallowed with some difficulty. "Billy and the others, they
think William has, um, has a destiny."
Now that he had said it out loud, Mulder
realized how stupid it had to sound. He wondered why Ray hadn't busted
in by now, why Langly hadn't been dragged off, or worse, god, why Billy
hadn't come through that door and tried to take his sons away.
"Wang? Up!" Will extended his
arms.
"Hang on a second, buddy."
Langly slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and turned to
Mulder. "A destiny?"
Mulder nodded. "Yeah."
Heavy silence hung between the men as
they finished dressing the children. Finally, Langly spoke.
"Mulder, honest to god, I am talking
to you as your friend, man. And as your friend, I'm asking you to take a
step back and try to see the whole picture here."
Mulder gnawed the inside of his cheek.
"Which picture is that?"
"Think about what's been done to
you, about what's being done to you. You've been misled, held captive,
isolated. You've been forced to hand all control of your safety and the
safety of your family, your children, over to someone who is a known
dangerous felon. You've been threatened, if only indirectly. You're
being emotionally controlled. They've got you convinced they can read
your thoughts, Mulder, that they can read your mind. You're-"
"Langly, no, you don't under-"
Langly raised a finger. "No. Just
listen. Now they've got you, a card-carrying, dues-paying member of
Atheists-Are-Us spouting some quasi-religious crap. Take all that into
account, Mulder, all those factors, and probably a couple dozen others I
haven't figured in yet, and tell me you haven't got yourself a classic
case of Stockholm Syndrome."
Mulder's eyes shot wide, and his breath
caught in his throat. "What?" he choked out. "Stockho-"
"Look at everything you've told me,
at everything that's happened, and tell me, if you were writing a
profile, that isn't exactly what you'd diagnose."
"I-"
"Ah done!" Will proclaimed.
"Ah done!" his brother echoed.
"Twuck!"
The door swung open and Billy stepped in,
his usual bland smile in place, but, Mulder thought, different somehow.
"Mulder, William wishes to see the truck now."
Mulder stood the child on the counter,
began re- packing the backpack. "In a minute, Billy."
He looked up. His eyes met Langly's in
the mirror.
"Just think about what I've said,
okay?" Langly asked. "Think about it, and when you're through
thinking, we'll talk. Then we'll act."
The throbbing behind Mulder's eyes
threatened to blind him. He nodded and scooped up his son. "C'mon,
guys. Let's go see the truck."
FIVE
"Hot," Leah said to no one in
particular as they left the relative shelter of the restaurant's covered
porch.
"Very," Mulder agreed. He
raised a hand to his brow, shading his eyes. It *was* hot; far hotter,
he was certain, than it had been just an hour or so ago. Or maybe the
headache, which had gone from nagging to raging, just made it seem that
way.
"At least it's a dry heat."
Reyes said. "God, the humidity in New Orleans in the
summertime." She and Langly walked just slightly ahead of Mulder
and Leah; Billy, Ray, and Dee walked just slightly behind. Mulder had
one William tucked on his hip while Leah led the other by the hand.
One William, Mulder thought, feeling
stupid. He'd needed Langly - of all people - to remind him of the
obvious. Scully had only given birth to one child. One William. Even if
this other child was a product of their supposedly failed IVF attempts,
even if the second boy was truly their son, one boy was too much like
the other for coincidence.
And yet he'd accepted a second William
without a second thought. Months of distrusting Billy and his smiling
army of darkness, months of trying to find an escape, and all it had
taken was one most likely drug-induced seizure and he was willing to. .
.to. . .oh god. . .
He didn't realize he'd shut his eyes
until the toe of his hiking boot caught on something and sent him
stumbling forward.
"Mulder?" Leah's hand wrapped
around his bicep and yanked him from his dangerous thoughts. "You
okay?"
"Yeah." He nodded. He set
William on his feet and took him by the hand. "Just clumsy."
William pointed down. "Wocks,"
he said.
Mulder squinted. "Yep. Rocks."
The other boy pointed, too. "Yots
wocks."
Mulder nodded. "Lots of rocks."
Leah peered at him from beneath the brim
of her ball cap. She frowned. "Perhaps you're dehydrated. You look
peaked."
"Peaked?" Mulder gave a dry
chuckle. He tugged on Will's hand and started walking again. "I
haven't heard that expression since dinosaurs roamed the earth."
Leah arched a brow at him. "Pale,
sickly, wan, ashen - pick one."
"This headache won't let up."
Mulder rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "That's all."
"You take Tylenol?"
"Yes, mom," he muttered.
"Should have worn your hat."
"Yes, mom."
Reyes looked over her shoulder at them.
"You been to New Orleans, Agent Mulder?" she asked. Her tone
was overly bright, he thought, but maybe he shouldn't read anything into
it. Maybe that was just the way she was.
"It's just Mulder, Monica," he
replied, deciding, what the hell, since they were probably risking life
and limb together, they should now be officially on single-name status.
"And, uh, yeah, couple of times. I liked it. Except for, like you
said, the humidity."
Will tugged on the cuff of Mulder's
shorts. "Twuck?"
"In a minute, buddy."
"Yo." Langly spun around and
walked backwards as he spoke. "Me and Monica were thinking of
checking out that store." He gestured in the direction of a low
wooden building. In foot-high letters, a sign proclaimed it 'Uncle Ted's
General Store and Assayer's Office'. "We wanna grab some
stuff."
Mulder felt a low buzzing sensation in
the base of his skull. For a moment, the air around him seemed to
crackle and spark. Dee quickly moved past him and, with her usual blank
smile, insinuated herself between Langly and Reyes.
"Mr. Langly, Ms Reyes," Billy
said, "Dee will be honored to accompany you."
Langly stopped walking, and the rest of
the group came to a halt. He looked Dee up and down, then frowned.
"She isn't invited."
"Mr. Langly, Ms Reyes," Billy
repeated, "Dee will be honored to accompany you."
Folding his arms across his chest, Langly
gave Mulder a long, piercing look. "Call them off, Mulder," he
all but snarled.
Mulder sighed. Rubbing his eyes with the
heels of his hands, he asked, "Billy, does Dee have to go with
them?"
"Yes, Mulder," Billy said.
Mulder shrugged. "Mr. Langly, Ms
Reyes, Dee will be honored to accompany you."
"Fu-" Langly kicked at the
gravel parking lot, sending up a spray of fine dust and red pebbles.
"Wocks!" both boys squealed.
They imitated Langly's move, creating a pair of miniature red dust
storms.
"Rich," Monica said, laying a
hand on Langly's shoulder, "it's no big deal." Her eyes cut to
Leah, then to Mulder. "The boys need anything?"
Mulder started to shake his head, but
renewed pounding assured him this would be a very bad idea. "I
don't think so. Leah?"
"No, nothing. You three run ahead
and we'll meet you there, okay?"
"Fine." Langly answered, after
a pause and a scowl. His tone made it clear it was anything but. He
turned and stalked off. After a nervous glance at Billy, Reyes followed,
Dee smiling at her heels.
"Mulder," Billy said. "We
will inquire about a campsite at the main office."
"Oh. Sure." Taken aback, Mulder
watched Billy and Ray march away. It was unusual, being left alone. But
then, he thought, taking in the barren landscape surrounding the truck
stop, there wasn't much of anywhere to run, even if he decided he wanted
to.
William handed Mulder a tiny fistful of
pebbles. "Wocks."
Mulder accepted the offering.
"Thanks, bud."
"Pottet," William instructed.
"Yeah, okay." Mulder blew the
fine grit off the rocks, then dropped them in the pocket of his shorts.
"C'mon guys," Mulder told his sons, "let's get a Popsicle
before we go see the truck."
Neither boy seemed to be paying
attention. Tiny heads together, they squatted in the dust, pushing red
rocks and dirt into a pile.
"Mulder," Leah asked, "How
well do you know, um, what's-his-name...Rich, is it?"
"Langly? I've known him for years.
Why?"
The corner of Leah's mouth twitched.
"What about the woman, Agent Reyes? How long have you known
her?"
"Not very long. But Langly vouches
for her. Why?"
"I just. . .I have a bad feeling
about them," Leah answered. "Nothing I can pinpoint, but. .
."
"But?"
She bit her bottom lip. "I wonder if
they can be trusted."
Mulder glanced over his shoulder. Billy
and Ray were becoming distant specks. "Would Billy have let them
come along if they couldn't be?"
Leah tilted her head. "So, what?
We're trusting Billy, now?"
Heart suddenly racing, Mulder took a deep
breath and watched his sons playing peacefully in the dirt. He had to
stay calm. Suddenly nothing seemed more important. "I don't think
this is something we should be discussing."
Leah gnawed the inside of her cheek.
"She was dead, Mulder. You saw it. You were there. You were ready
to move on."
"Leah, don't-"
"Listen to me." She took a step
closer. "It's very convenient, don't you think, that one moment
William's mother is dead and we're being held prisoner, and the next, oh
look, no, she's not dead, after all? In fact, she's alive and well and
living in Washington. But, what's this? She's suddenly in grave danger,
and you, you, and only you, can save her? And let's bring along two of
Mulder's friends from before to go along with this ridiculous story,
and- "
"Stop." Mulder squared his
shoulders and pulled himself to his full height, towering over her,
glowering. His head thrummed. "We are not discussing this. Do you
understand me? This conversation is over. Guys," he bent and spoke
to the boys, who were still happily tossing handfuls of gravel around,
"come on. We're going to the st-"
"Mulder!" Leah's voice was a
low, harsh hiss. "They've done this, haven't they?"
Kneeling, Mulder brushed dust from the
back of one boys' shorts and legs, then reached for the other. "I
don't know what you're talking about."
"Langly and that Reyes woman,"
she spit out. "They've convinced you I'm some sort of threat,
haven't they? That I'm this dangerous Yves person, who can't be trusted.
That's it, isn't it?"
"Stop."
She ignored his protest. "That's why
you keep looking at me like I'm, I'm, some sort of, of filth, why you
all do."
He dusted Will's shorts a little harder.
"Leah, please."
"And why didn't you ever tell me
William had a twin?"
"Because-" he bit out, then
stopped himself. Taking a deep breath, he began again. "Because he
doesn't. Okay?"
"He clearly does," she replied,
without missing a beat. She drew her lips into a thin line. "Is
that what's going on here? Were they holding one son hostage? Did you
have to agree to do something so you could get him back? Is that where
we're really going?"
"No."
"Mulder, look at me," she
commanded.
Mulder raised his head, meeting her angry
glare.
"Tell me the truth. Are we on some
sort of suicide mission?"
He closed his eyes, rubbed them with his
now-gritty thumb and forefinger. White stars danced on his lids and
black bile rose in his gorge.
He blew out a long breath. "I don't
know, Leah. I don't know."
SIX
Mulder's cheeks were burning by the time
they reached the store. He was angry - really, really angry. He hadn't
let himself get this mad - this completely frustrated - in so long that
it was almost a new emotion. One, he quickly realized, that he had to
tamp down, and fast.
The front porch of the store was wide and
shaded, a welcome relief from the sun. Mulder paused at the top of the
stairs, taking in the faux-antique rocking chairs, mining lamps, pick
axes, and shovels that were meant, no doubt, to lend atmosphere. For a
moment, he studied a tin sign that told him 'genuine, healing minerals,'
were available inside. Breathing deeply, he reigned in his rage.
A blast of fabulously cold air hit them
as he swung the door open. "No running," he told the boys as
they barreled past him. "And no touching, either," he added
almost immediately, swooping down to rescue a cactus snow-globe from his
son's grubby fingers. He put the merchandise back on the shelf.
Dee was waiting near the front.
"Sir," she said with a curt nod before resuming her intent
study of a rack of chips near the counter.
"Dee," Mulder said, in absent
acknowledgment. He scanned the aisles of the shop quickly, looking for
Langly and Reyes, then glanced back at the boys. "I said no
touching, guys," he said, snatching a ceramic burro from the brink
of destruction.
"No touch!" William agreed,
reaching for a cowboy- and-cowgirl-shaped salt and pepper set. His
brother echoed his words, grabbing what purported to be a collectable
spoon.
"Some company store," Leah
said, taking in the aisles of bric-a brac and convenience food.
"Watch them. I'm going to find the bathroom."
"Wocks!" Will shouted. He
started running, his brother on his orthopedically-correct heels. "Yots
wocks!"
"Stay with me, guys," Mulder
called, following them toward the front counter.
The boys stopped when they reached a bin
full of souvenir minerals. The stones were polished to a glossy sheen,
some of them so garishly colored that they'd obviously been dyed. Many
of the larger ones the boys pulled out and examined had a smallish, off-
center hole drilled through them, ready for stringing.
"Looks like someone got the deluxe
rock tumbler for Christmas," he said, crouching between the boys
and accepting a smooth, flat oval of something that looked like jade
from one of them. He handed it back. "Your Aunt Sam had one of
those. You guys want a popsi-"
The clerk behind the front counter put
down her magazine and leaned toward them. "Well, there's them
pretty babies again!" She looked up at Mulder and smiled. "I
just can't get over how cute they are."
Mulder stood a little too quickly,
causing a head rush that nearly blew off the top of his skull.
Swallowing hard, he tried to focus his vision. "Thanks. Um, weren't
you just working in the restaurant? Or are you twins, too?"
"Nope." Carleena's brow raised,
her features taking on a martyred expression. "My sister Bobbi
usually works mornings up here, but she had to go to the foot doctor
'cause her corns is actin' up. Like *my* corns ain't after coming in to
work at five AM, but you know, family's family."
Mulder blinked, noticing, for the first
time, Carleena's brightly painted face and round, watery eyes. Her
features seemed too soft, her eyes too bright. He quickly looked away.
He found himself looking at a shelf full
of breakfast cereal, the pictures on the boxes glowing like neon. It was
taking his eyes a long time to adjust to the indoor lighting, he
thought. But he remembered that photosensitivity could be a symptom of
dehydration. Maybe Leah was right. Maybe what he really needed was a
bottle of water. . .
"Dada! Wock." Will offered him
a black chunk of stone roughly shaped like a pyramid.
"No thanks, buddy," Mulder
muttered, fighting a wave of nausea. "I'm all set on rocks."
He dropped it back into the bin.
Looking around, he spotted a metal
folding chair next to the door, and gestured toward it. "Would it
be all right if I sat down over there?"
"Oh heck yes," Carleena
replied. "Let them babies play. Set on down."
Mulder's eyes cut to Dee, who was still
studying bags of Doritos and popcorn. She turned and met his gaze, her
smile too wide, somehow, much brighter than usual. Feeling bewildered,
Mulder sat, placing his elbows on his knees and cradling his forehead in
his hands. The room seemed to be humming, filling with a low, whispering
sound that was vaguely familiar. For a moment, he thought someone was
singing, very softly, into his left ear.
Straightening, he scanned the empty aisle
before him, glanced over at Dee again, and looked up at the ceiling.
There was a speaker positioned just above where he was sitting.
Reassured, he resumed his earlier position and closed his eyes. That's
all it was, he thought. Just a speaker. Nothing weird there.
"Wock, Dada." Will held another
pyramid of stone toward him, this one smaller than the last.
"No thanks, buddy," Mulder
muttered.
"You can take that rock home,
baby," Carleena said, her voice sticky-sweet. "Your brother
can have one, too. They're called lodestones. They're for fixin' things,
like arthritis and bad luck. They're magnetic, too."
Raising his head, Mulder looked at the
stone his son was holding. He blinked at it, then blinked again. Stones
don't glow, he told himself, even though the one in William's palm
didn't seem to understand this, because it was emitting a faint,
purplish light. Mulder dropped his head again. The whispering he'd heard
before seemed to be growing louder. "Put that back, Will."
"I think the word is 'traumatized,'
Rich."
Mulder's head shot up, sending a fresh
surge of pounding across his temples. Monica Reyes was murmuring,
somewhere nearby. But he couldn't get a fix on which direction her words
were coming from. He couldn't see her at all.
"You okay?" Carleena asked.
"You look kinda peaked."
"Peaked?" Mulder mumbled.
"I'm fine."
"Wock." One of the boys placed
a stone on Mulder's knee.
"Guys," he said, his voice
strained. "Enough with the rocks, okay?" He handed the stone
to the boy. Water. He needed -
"Them rocks, now there's a funny
thing." Carleena said. "Shows you what a visionary my daddy's
always been. He was in full time service to the Lord when he first came
west, you know, workin' as a Deacon in one a them old-timey travelin'
revivals, remember them? Settin' up the tent and passin' the plate and
winnin' all the souls they could. But then he saw this chunk of barren
land in the middle of the desert, and found out the government was just
about beggin' someone to take it. He used to tell us the Lord gave him a
vision, right there on the spot, a vision about what that land could be.
So he asked his daddy to lend him the money to open the diner, and
Paw-paw said, 'boy, you're crazy! You don't even know how to
cook....'"
Mulder massaged his temples, trying to
make sense of what Carleena had said. Something didn't quite--
"Don't make excuses for him."
Langly's voice drifted toward him.
"I'm not. But I think Mulder's been
through a hell of a lot." Reyes' hushed tones mingled with the
growing hum. Mulder glanced carefully over his shoulder, then looked
around the store again. Where the hell were they standing?
"I'm not arguing that,"
Langly's voice faded in, then out again. "-mething's not right with
him, and even you know it. Everybody's worried, Monica. They're ready to
help."
"Like them rocks," Carleena
went on. "That just shows what a natural-born businessman daddy
was. He got the idea to sell healin' stones long before all them
hippies-" her voice faded.
"What do you mean, 'everyone'?"
Reyes asked somewhere off in the distance. Her voice became stronger,
clearer, "Who else did you call?"
"Nobody else. Only Frohike,"
Langly answered. "I needed to check on Byers, for Christ's sake.
Shit, he'd only been out of the hospital a few hours when we just
fucking deserted them."
Mulder glanced around again. Langly and
Reyes didn't seem to be anywhere nearby, so his battered brain must be
cooking this up on its own, giving voice, perhaps, to the doubts Langly
had raised earlier. At any rate, he told himself, there was no chance
Langly was going to be able to make the kind of call he seemed to be
describing. Billy's 'no phone' policy was set in stone - he would
certainly enforce it.
He took a deep breath. He'd just
convinced himself he was hallucinating. Could you be hallucinating if
you had to talk yourself into it, he wondered. And why, he wanted to
know, had they turned off the air conditioning?
"'Course daddy's in the nursin' home
now, poor thing," Carleena's voice again, louder. "And even up
there they still call him Uncle Ted. Oh my yes, he's respected in these
parts, has been for years..."
The wash of static poured over Mulder's
senses. He lifted his head.
"Dada!" Will stood before him,
holding one dark rock in each outstretched palm. "Yook."
"Rocks. Great," Mulder
muttered. Dee could get him a bottle of water. He looked up, searching
for her. She was no longer by the chips. He looked around. Where would
she go?
"...hard at first, but then they
opened that museum in Grants, you know, the World's Only Underground
Uranium Mining Museum? And the visitor's center up the road. And a
couple of Indian reservations, though I don't think they call them that
now, something with 'native' in it instead, and the park, of course,
and..." Carleena droned on.
"Yook," Will repeated, stepping
so close that Mulder could feel the boy's warm, sweet breath on his
clammy skin.
Mulder looked at the dark rocks in his
son's hands.
"Mama wock," Will lifted one
palm a little, then the other. "Dada wock."
His brother grinned, holding another,
smaller stone out to him. "Bubby wock."
"The rock family. I get it."
Mulder said. "Dee, I need some wa-"
"...Frohike's been in touch with
Skinner, Monica, and they're coming out here. No one thinks what we're
doing is a good idea..."
Carleena's voice jarred Mulder back to
the here and now. "...see, it was 'Uncle Ted's Good Eats,' and just
between you and me, Mama always hated that name, but daddy said, 'no,
that's the name.' It had to be, 'cause he'd had a vision about that too,
see, and..."
Langly's voice emerged from the static
again. "...der's being controlled. We're out on a limb, here,
Monica. We need some backup."
"It's not like that. Rich, I'd
explain this to you if I could."
"Funny, that's what Mulder just said
to me. You working for Billy Miles now, too?"
"Yook!" both boys insisted.
Battling another wave of nausea, Mulder
stood. He blinked, once, twice, three times, trying hard to focus. It
was as if the boys were at the far end of a mile-long tunnel.
Will made the rocks dance, bouncing them
up and down. "Mama wock, Dada wock," the boy said again. The
stones, still glowing, hopped in his palms.
Only now, it seemed, time had slowed. The
rocks stayed in the air longer than they should have, hovering just
above William's hand. No matter how hard or how often Mulder blinked,
the stones hung in the air, resting on a cushion of indigo light.
His breath caught in his throat. The air
around him was blurring, turning an unappealing shade of lavender. His
stomach lurched. "William, how-"
Reyes sounded anguished. "No, of
course not. It's just...Rich, right before Mulder showed up, Will
touched me, and...I had a dream. A vision. "
"Monica? What the fuck?"
"I know we're doing the right thing.
Please, you've got to be patient..."
The floor seemed to shift under his feet.
Mulder reached for the counter, steadying himself. Carleena kept
talking. "So when he opened the campground, there was a theme for
it, all ready to go, and..."
Mulder felt the blood drain from his
face. Resisting the urge to clap his hands to his ears, he tried to
focus on the cartoon that was Carleena's face, tried to find his voice,
which seemed to have dried up like a roadkill in the desert sun.
"So now it's...Uncle Ted's Good Eats
and...MINING." Carleena laughed again. "Kind of silly, ain't
it? He never mined nothing in his life."
Another voice emerged. "She is
blessed among women. The perfect vessel. Rejoice." The voice was
harsh. It was right behind him.
Mulder felt his heart stop cold.
"Huh?" He spun. There was no
one. He stared up at the speaker. "Who is?"
Carleena's voice was suddenly sharp.
"You alright, sir?"
"I'm fi-" he said, swallowing
bile.
Bells tinkled and an automatic door
whooshed shut.
"Oh, sir - your boys!"
"What?"
"Your boys just ran out the door.
That blonde lady just let them get right past her and-"
"Will..." Mulder glanced wildly
at the rock bin where the boys had been standing. They were gone.
He lurched toward the door, blood
boiling. Where was Leah? What the hell was Dee doing letting the boys
out?
He burst onto the porch. Ray was waiting
for him, blocking the stairs.
"What the fuck, Ray?" Mulder
barked, pushing past. "Where are the kids?"
"'And in that place,'" Ray
said, gesturing toward the parking lot, seemingly unable to contain his
delight, "'a sign was given.'"
Mulder squinted in the searing light. The
boys were over halfway across the parking lot, holding hands, their tiny
legs pumping as they ran. Dee followed them at a distance - too great a
distance for Mulder's liking.
"William!" Mulder yelled,
taking off toward them at a dead run. His legs felt like lead weights.
"Dammit, stop!" he shouted.
Beyond the lot, the cherry picker that
had been working on the billboard was pulling out, slowly making its way
across the field. The boys were running toward it.
"Will!" There was a distant
shout. Langly and Reyes, who had apparently been standing by a bank of
pay phones on the far side of the parking lot, were rushing toward the
boys.
"Mulder!" Leah's voice rang
out, far behind him, sounding shrill and terrified.
The truck was gaining speed.
Mulder ran faster, heart in his throat,
head pounding, vision blurring. William - all that mattered now was
William, he thought, just before he tripped. He sprawled in the gravel
for what felt like weeks before he ordered his weary body to get up and
move again.
Waving her arms, Reyes dashed into the
path of the on-coming truck. Within moments, Langly was heading the boys
off, grabbing one by the hand and snaring the back of the other's shirt.
"Bye-bye! Bye-bye!" Heedless of
the commotion they'd caused, the boys waved at the truck, which slowed,
changed course, and went on its way.
Mulder made it to the curb, snatching up
the first boy in his path and holding on for dear life.
"It's okay," Langly panted.
"They're okay."
Taking the other child from Langly's
arms, Mulder spun on Ray and Dee, who were now standing just a few feet
away. He was so angry he could barely speak. "What the fuck were
you thinking?"
Ray smiled. "William is protected.
He is loved, as always."
"Shut the hell up." Langly
started toward them. "That's bullshit and you know it."
"Rich, no." Alarmed, Reyes
caught hold of Langly's arm. He pulled away with a curse.
Billy had arrived at the edge of the
field and now he opened his arms toward them, his eyes wide, lifting his
face and gazing toward the heavens with an intensity that Mulder had
never witnessed before.
"What the-" Mulder began, but
his words were lost in a rumble of thunder. The sky, which had been
cloudless blue moments before, grew pewter-dark as the wind rose.
"Lo," Billy said, "The
storm approaches."
"Billy, goddammit, what-" he
tried again, but something reached into his chest and squeezed the air
out of his lungs. He set the boys down and bent double, his hands on his
scraped and bloody knees, his body shaking wildly. He panted, fighting
to draw air into his lungs.
"'A sign was given unto them,"
he heard Billy say.
"What?!" Langly asked.
"*That's* the sign?"
"Mama!" William called and
echoed. "Mama!"
Mulder fell to his knees.
"Mulder!" Reyes' voice sounded
panicked. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"
Disregarding the pain, he turned his gaze
to the boys.
They were both pointing. Pointing to the
billboard.
He turned his head.
"Visit Scenic..."
The boys turned to him. "Wock,
dada," they said, each holding a lump of lodestone out to him.
"Wock. See?"
With a gust of wind, the static he had
heard in the store returned full-force, the white noise deafening,
teeming with voices, the voices of every soul around him, every soul on
the planet. The voices whispered reassurance. They bellowed accusations.
They laughed with joy and wailed with despair.
In the midst of the clamor, one voice
begged for mercy.
"Scul-" he whispered. The edges
of his vision were darkening.
"Mulder, tell us what's wrong, how
can we help..." Someone was speaking to him, but the voice seemed a
thousand miles away.
"See?" William said again. As
Mulder watched, the rocks lifted from the boys' hands. They hovered a
moment, then flew toward the billboard, crashing through the sign,
leaving a single gaping whole in its center.
"'The way was shown to them,"
he heard Billy say. "'Their path was made clear.'"
"Hallelujah," Ray's voice
whispered inside Mulder's head. He felt himself jerk forward and land in
the dust.
"Hallelujah," Dee's voice
echoed softly, filling his mind.
"Hallelujah," he thought,
though he didn't know why.
Then everything went black.
SEVEN
A bird was turning lazy circles in the
hazy sky above him, coasting on a current of air. Mulder watched the
creature wheel away from him, then come back again, over and over. It
was cooler now that the sun wasn't beating down, and his head had
finally stopped pounding.
Nice, he thought, watching the gull
spiral lower. He rarely found himself flat on his back without someone
poking him, prodding him, trying to strap him into restraints, or more
recently, attempting to climb over him or shove Happy Meal toys up his
nose. He closed his eyes, listened to the surf, and thought about what a
soothing sound it was.
"You were supposed to help me!"
a young voice said, somewhere off in the distance to his right.
"I am helping you!" an
identical voice answered.
Mulder wondered, briefly, how he'd gotten
from the desert to the ocean. New Mexico was a long way from here,
wherever here was.
"Ha!"
"Ha, to you!"
The voice was at once familiar and
foreign. Something from an old movie, maybe?
"Not like that!"
"Ahhhhhhh! Now look what you
did!"
"I didn't do anything!"
Or someone from the past - an old case?
If he thought about it, he could probably-
"Excuse me?"
That voice wasn't as far away as the
others. That voice was grown-up, feminine, and, if he ignored it, he
hoped, it and its owner would go away.
"Um, excuse me?"
"Yes?" Mulder reluctantly
opened an eye and gave the owner of the voice a long look, taking in her
features. She was young, in the twenty to twenty- five range, and was
wearing cutoffs, a faded blue sweatshirt, and an un-branded red ball cap
with a suede bill. A long, brown ponytail fell forward over her right
shoulder. Nothing about her seemed at all familiar.
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
"Are those yours?"
Mulder lifted his head. The *those* in
question were two sandy-haired boys, five or six years old, armed with
shovels and pails, who were scrambling over a hillock of sand. Both
*those* and the beach where they played looked familiar. Very familiar.
"Yeah." Mulder nodded and sat
the rest of the way up. He knew where he was now, and that was
comforting. "Yeah. At least, I think so."
The young woman pulled back and gave him
a puzzled frown. "You 'think' so?"
Mulder watched the boys argue for a
moment. One threw a handful of sand at the other. "Um, I mean,
until about a week ago I was pretty sure at least one of them was mine.
Now I'm not sure either of them is." He looked up at her. She was
watching him with unreadable gray eyes. "Have we met?"
"Not yet," she replied,
extending her hand. "I'm Sophie."
"Mulder."
They shook.
She pointed to the patch of sand beside
him. "Mind if I sit?"
"Be my guest." Mulder nodded
and scooted away a little. "So what's a nice girl like you doing in
my subconscious?"
Sophie's brows rose. "Is that where
we are?"
"That's my best guess."
"Oh. Well, then. Nice subconscious
you've got here." She scanned the horizon. "A little damp,
though. Kinda foggy. Someone goes to the beach, even in their mind, and
you'd think they'd want it nice and sunny and -" she gestured
toward a couple of gulls specking at the waterline, "- sans
sky-rats."
"You would think that, wouldn't
you?" He looked down at his feet. They were bare and sandy and cold
and a patch of tar clung to one side of his left foot. He wiggled his
toes and wondered why he hadn't imagined himself with shoes. He tried,
picturing himself wearing his favorite beat-up court shoes, or even a
warm, dry pair of socks, but his feet remained stubbornly bare. "I
seem to have about as much control over my subconscious as I do over
anything else."
"Not like that!" One of the
boys shouted at the other, waving his arms at the sand pile.
"That's wrong! That's all wrong!"
"Yes, like this!" the other
replied. "Just like this!"
Whatever was said next between the boys
was lost in the crash of the surf.
"So, what are you guys doing
here?" Sophie asked eventually.
Mulder paused to consider his answer.
"Not entirely sure," he finally said. "This is usually
where I end up when reality and I part company."
"Oh." She nodded as if that
were a perfectly reasonable thing for someone she'd just met to say.
"That happen a lot?"
"Often enough." He blinked at
her. "Why are you here?"
"I don't know." Sophie plucked
a sand dollar from the sand between them. It was about the size of a
poker chip and as white as bleached bone. She held it in her palm, star
side up, and brushed a few grains of sand away. "Girl's gotta be
somewhere, right?"
"I suppose so." A thought, at
once disturbing and oddly intriguing, crossed his mind, and he wondered,
for a moment, if he dared give it voice. Finally, he cleared his throat.
"You aren't coming on to me, are you?"
"Ew! No!" Sophie's lip curled.
"Don't be gross."
"Just checking." He gave a
soft, self-deprecating chuckle. "It's just that you've never been
here with me before. With us before. I'd remember you, I think."
She smiled, the kindness in her eyes
showing him she had taken no offense, and intended none, either.
"Besides - " She nodded toward the ring on his left hand.
"You're spoken for, right?"
He gave a non-committal tilt of the head,
and turned to watch his boys at work in the sand.
His boys.
Mulder's head dropped to his chest and he
rubbed hard circles in his forehead with his knuckles. Jesus, what a
mess.
Sophie must not have liked his non-reply,
because after a moment, she asked him again, more emphatically:
"Mulder? You *are* taken, right?"
He was almost surprised to hear himself
speak. "I've had some time to think about that over the last couple
of days and I realize that my last few marriage proposals were met with
something less than enthusiasm on her part. So, um" - he twisted
the gold band on his finger and studied it for a moment - "I'm not
entirely sure how 'taken' I am."
"Ah. I see." She turned the
sand dollar over in her hand. "You know, you don't seem to be
entirely sure of much at the moment."
He nodded. "Good call."
"So," She said, bringing the
sand dollar closer to her face, examining it minutely, "what brings
on this sudden crisis of faith?"
Mulder eyed her narrowly.
"Interesting choice of words."
Sophie shrugged. "Seriously. What's
wrong?"
"What's wrong?" He blew out a
long, slow breath. "I've been kidnapped, held prisoner, dragged
across the continent, handed a second child I didn't know I had,
participated in the forcible confinement of a couple of friends, found
out my sons' nanny may or may not be an internationally wanted criminal,
discovered the dead woman I love may not be dead after all, and have
realized that my place in the grand scheme of things, which seemed
pretty obvious and almost reasonable a couple of days ago, now seems
ridiculous and very probably hazardous to my health."
"All that, huh?" Sophie's brows
drew together. She peered at him from beneath the brim of her cap,
giving him a hard, analytical look. "On the up side, you still have
most of your hair. That must count for something."
Mulder snorted.
"Yes yes yes!" One of the boys
shouted as the other smoothed a cone of sand. "We did it!"
"That 'place in the grand scheme of
things' stuff," Sophie said. "It's a big deal, huh?"
"I think it might be," Mulder
agreed. "I'm just not-"
"Sure at the moment?" she
finished for him.
Mulder grinned and ran a hand through his
hair. "Yeah."
Sophie put the sand dollar down between
them again. She pulled her knees up and hugged them close to her chest.
"What would it take to reassure you?"
Mulder pursed his lips in thought.
"I don't know," he answered finally. "I - I have spent my
entire adult life trying to do the right thing. And this time, I have no
idea what the right thing is."
Sophie nodded thoughtfully. "Well,
what are your choices?"
"That's the problem, or part of
it," he answered. "I don't think I have any."
"Oh, so it's more of a destiny
thing? Fate stepping in and smacking you upside the head?"
"Pretty much." Mulder nodded.
"Apparently, at some point I don't recall, I chose to be chosen.
Since then, it's been out of my hands."
"Hmm." The girl was quiet a
moment, as if deep in thought. "How's that a problem, then? You
don't have to actually make any decisions, right? You just have to do
what has to be done."
"I guess."
"Well," Sophie's expression
brightened, "what exactly does this whole 'destiny' thing
involve?"
"It's not really clear." Mulder
scratched at his cheek. He needed a shave. "It's either rescuing
Scully, or-"
"'Scully' being. . .?"
He gestured to the sand pile. "Their
mother. Um, *probably* their mother."
"The not-dead woman you aren't sure
you belong to?"
"One and the same."
"Oh. Okay. So you either have to-
?"
He turned to her. "Either rescue her
or save the planet."
"Oh." Sophie blinked once,
twice. "But you aren't sure which?"
Mulder shook his head.
Sophie gave a low whistle.
"Wow."
"See what I mean?"
She smiled. "So I suppose a comment
about having your own teeth wouldn't help right now?"
Mulder bared his teeth, tapped on the top
left side. "These three are caps."
"Shit," the girl replied.
"Yeah," Mulder agreed.
"Shit."
"Oh no oh no oh no!" One of the
boys groaned as a wall of sand collapsed.
"Argh! Ahhhh!" the other
wailed.
"You sure it's an either-or deal,
Mulder?"
"As you yourself pointed out, I'm
not entirely sure about a lot, right now." He scraped his foot
against the sand, trying to rub the tar away. "I just - I have a
feeling we can't all live through this."
A soft sympathetic sound rose for the
girl's throat. She reached out and placed her warm hand on his bare
forearm. "This must hard for you."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm
afraid it's been nothing but lies, you know? What if I wanted to
understand so badly, wanted so much to make sense of something that in
and of itself made no sense, that allowed myself to be led? I'm afraid
I've been connecting the dots all these years, joining A to B to C to D,
only to realize that, in the end, it's going to spell out *sucker*. I
can't stand to think it's all been for nothing."
"Nothing comes without a
price," she said.
"No one knows that better than I
do," he answered. "And for some reason, I just go on paying
it."
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a
while, watching the boys pouring and shaping their buckets of sand.
"What are those two doing,
anyway?" Sophie asked.
"They're building a spaceship."
"Out of sand?"
Mulder nodded. "They've been working
on it a long time."
Sophie frowned. "What's the point of
building a spaceship from sand?"
"I don't know," Mulder answered
honestly. "I used to assume it was symbolic. Now, I'm not so sur--"
Sophie held up a hand. "Don't say
it."
Another sand wall caved in. Both boys
howled in frustration. Sophie turned to him. "They seem like nice
kids, Mulder."
"Thanks. They are nice kids." A
surge of pride washed through him. "But I can't take all the
credit. Scully's been raising one of them."
Sophie squinted at the boys. "Which
one?"
Mulder squinted at them, too, trying to
tell which boy was his and which was Scully's. But it was pointless. He
gave a wry chuckle. "I have no idea."
"It doesn't really matter if they're
yours or not, does it? You love them anyway."
His answer was automatic and honest.
"I do."
"It's the same for her isn't
it?" Sophie pressed. "You love her even when you aren't sure
she's going to love you back?"
Mulder's throat was suddenly tight and
dry. He swallowed and nodded.
She gave him a long look. "It looks
like your sons could use some help."
Mulder sighed out his frustration.
"Haven't you been listening? I don't know what to do. I don't know
how to help."
"Yes, you do. You just told me you
do." Sophie rose to her feet and offered him her hand. "Now,
get up on your feet, walk over to that pile of sand, and meet your
destiny."
He let her help him up. Now that they
were both standing, he towered over her. "Just like that?"
"All shall be as has been
written." she said in a tone of voice that sounded too much like
Billy's. "You cannot doubt that."
"I don't." Mulder closed his
eyes and rubbed them. "I don't doubt it. I just don't understand
it."
"You don't have to." She bent
down and retrieved the sand dollar. Turning, she threw it into the sea.
It skipped three times before it sank beneath the surface. "Your
family needs you. Just go do what has to be done."
++++++++++++++++++
EIGHT
"Wha-?" His body jerked.
Someone was slapping him across the face. Hard.
"Mulder, dammit, open your eyes and
look at me!" Leah's voice was harsh.
His eyes flew open. He was lying on his
bed in the RV's back bedroom. "I'm awake," he coughed.
"Mulder, thank god." Leah laid
her hand on his forehead and inspected his face intently, as if
expecting his eyes to close again.
"I'm okay," he assured her, and
it was only a small lie. Planting his palms against the mattress, he
ordered his aching muscles into action. "What's going on?"
She wrapped an arm around his back and
helped him sit. "You passed out. Do you remember?"
He licked his lips. "Sort of."
"Do you think you can get up?"
"Yeah." Groaning, he swung his
legs over the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?"
"They took the boys, Mulder. I don't
know why, but-"
Adrenaline surged through his body.
"Who did?" His feet hit the floor. Feeling heavy-headed and
unsteady, he grabbed his T-shirt from the foot of the bed and looked
around urgently for his boots.
"Langly and Reyes." Leah held
his boots out to him, her face tight with anger.
"What? Why?" He tied the laces
quickly, trying to make sense of the situation. Langly and Reyes would
only take the boys if they were trying to protect them. But -
"Where's Billy? Where are Ray and
Dee?"
"I don't know," she said.
"There's a little store back by the gate. Billy said William wanted
juice and sent me to get some. When I came back, Billy and the others
were gone and your supposed friends were carrying the boys in that
direction." She pointed out the tiny window, toward a distant hill
with group of white buildings perched at its top.
Mulder's gaze followed her finger.
"Where the hell are we?"
"I'm not really sure. There was too
much going on for me to really pay attention..."
Mulder went to the window and peered out,
studying the structures at the top of the hill. He noted that the roof
of the largest one swept up into a dramatic spire. This wasn't some
isolated desert compound, then. Clearly, these buildings were meant to
be seen.
He turned back to Leah. "How long
have they been gone?"
"An hour, maybe. I didn't-"
"What!?" He grabbed her by the
upper arms. "An hour? And you let me sleep? What the hell were you
think-"
He knew he was squeezing too hard. He
fought to retain his composure.
"I didn't *let* you sleep. You've
been unconscious all day. I've been trying to slap you awake ever since
I got back." She glared at his hands, then at him, and very calmly
said, "Let go."
Mulder dropped his hands, embarrassed by
his outburst. He had to focus. He had to keep a clear head. "Leah,
I'm sor-"
"We don't have time for this."
She reached for the doorknob. "Come on."
He took a deep breath and clattered down
the steps behind her.
Outside, the twilight was hot and windy.
Covered in reddish grime, the RV sat in the middle of a wide, weedy
square of concrete. An abandoned parking lot, he thought, noticing a
well-tended driveway passing close to one end. Though faded and worn,
the words 'Visitor Center Parking, Lot G, Row 7,' were stenciled on the
pavement inches from where they stood.
"'Visitor Center'?" Mulder
read. "Where the fuck are we?"
There was a sudden clap of thunder. The
wind showered them with sand. Shielding his eyes, Mulder looked up at
the sky. Dark clouds churned in a slow circle above them.
"Has it been like this all
day?" he asked.
"What?"
"The weather. Has it been like this
all day?"
"Yes. Lots of thunder and wind, but
not one drop of rain."
"The storm's been called,"
Mulder mumbled, remembering Billy's words; remembering Sophie's.
"What?"
"Nothing." Mulder shook his
head. The wind picked up, whistling past his ears. He stepped closer so
he wouldn't have to shout. "Look, Leah, I think this is it."
"It?"
For about the millionth time in a year,
Mulder wished he had some sort of weapon. "Where we've been headed.
The place Billy keeps talking about. Avenda."
Her brow creased in confusion. "Avenda?"
"Yeah. This is probably going to be
dangerous. I want you to stay here."
Leah frowned. "And do what?"
"Wait for me to come back."
She spoke without hesitation.
"No."
"I have to find the boys. And Leah,
I think - "
"What?"
"Their mother - she's here
somewhere."
Leah's face settled into a mask of
studied detachment. "So?" she said. "I'm coming. You may
need help."
"You'll help me most by staying
here."
"I fail to see how sitting around
waiting for Billy to pop in and lop my head off is going to help anyone,
least of all you."
Mulder's brow rose in surprise.
"Trust me when I tell you both
Langly and Agent Reyes have had a few choice things to whisper on the
subject of Billy Miles, Mulder." She folded her arms across her
chest. "I'm not going to sit here and wait for him to decide I'm
expendable, or that I need replacing."
Mulder took a deep breath and leaned
closer. The wind whistled between them. "Leah, you've lost so much.
From what I've been told, this is my destiny. My fate. I can't drag you
any further into this. I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt."
"And how do you know it isn't my
fate, too? How do you know I'm not here for a reason?" Leah dropped
her chin in challenge. "Everything isn't about you, Mulder."
He opened his mouth to argue with her,
but found he couldn't. She was right: it wasn't about him and it never
had been. He was just a tooth on a cog on a wheel in a damned big,
damned scary machine.
He reached over and tucked one of her
braids behind her shoulder. "I'm not going to talk you out of this,
am I?"
She shook her head.
He took her hand, squeezing gently. Billy
really had known what he was doing when he'd hand-picked Leah for
Mulder. In another life, a life where Scully had never existed. . .
He cleared his throat. "Okay, then.
Come on."
*************
"The boys were wired, and I was
trying to get them to nap," Leah explained, following him up the
hill. "I know we crossed the border into Arizona at some point, and
that's..." Something ahead of them caught her eye. Her lip curled
in horror. "Oh my god."
Mulder stopped short. His gaze followed
Leah's. Before them was a second parking lot with a maintenance cart
idling near its entrance. The driver of the cart was slumped over the
steering wheel. Nearby, two men in blue coveralls were lying on the
ground. A weed trimmer was still running on the ground between them,
vibrating a slow circle in a pool of blood.
An icy chill shot through Mulder's body.
He looked away.
Leah's face had gone white. "Are
they dead?"
Mulder went to the little vehicle and
pressed his fingers to the driver's neck. He reached down and turned the
key in the cart's ignition. The engine died. "This one is."
Thunder rumbled overhead. The wind
gusted.
Mulder turned to look at the
outbuildings. Two blue- clad bodies slumped next to some bushes in the
middle distance. Another was propped against a wall, its head at an
unnerving angle. Yet another lay in a black puddle of blood a little
further away. "I'm guessing those guys are, too."
"Jesus," Leah murmured, coming
up behind him.
Mulder reached for her hand. "If you
want to go ba-"
He was interrupted by a familiar whirring
sound, carried across the desert on the steady wind.
"Fuck."
"Mulder, what is that?"
"Bad news."
"What?"
He was just about to say 'helicopter,'
when a huge black chopper sprang over the top of a nearby butte and made
straight for them.
Mulder spun, looking for an escape route
or, barring that, a hiding place. Decision made, he tugged her hand.
"Come on!"
"Who is it? Who's in the
helicopter?" she yelled over the roar of wind and rotor blades as
Mulder pulled her behind him.
"I don't know," Mulder called
back. "And I don't want to. Come on!" A huge clap of thunder
rumbled above them, shaking the ground, drowning out Leah's response.
They ran to the largest building, hugging
the long, windowless wall, trying to blend into the evening shadows as
they made their way around to the back of it.
"This way." Mulder tugged her
up the spotless sidewalk, gingerly climbed over the lifeless body of a
woman in a blue apron, and tried a door at the top of a long set of
concrete stairs.
"Fuck!" Mulder snarled. The
door was locked.
The whirring drone of a second helicopter
joined the first. The wind was blowing at gale force now, and Mulder
stood for a moment at the top of the stairway, watching the black sky.
The helicopters wouldn't stay up if the wind got much worse; maybe the
weather gods were on their side.
"Mulder!"
Standing at the bottom of the stairs,
Leah shouted over the wind, shielding her face from blowing debris with
one arm while she pointed with the other. "Mulder, look!"
Mulder descended and ran to join her.
"Oh my god," he muttered.
There were two bodies lying near the
smallest of the three buildings. Long blonde hair fanned out against the
sandy soil.
"Holy shit." Mulder ran.
They reached Langly first. He was curled
in on himself, clutching his abdomen, as if trying to ward off a
beating. Twisted and cracked, his broken glasses lay a good three feet
from his body. Mulder dropped to his knees and placed a hand on Langly's
neck, avoiding a deep gash that had covered his friend's face in blood.
Warm. Langly's skin was warm. Trembling,
Mulder searched for a pulse.
"She's alive," Leah called. She
was bent over Reyes, whose form was sprawled near a service door a few
feet away.
Something in Mulder's gut told him that
time was running out.
"Mulder!"
He looked up at Leah just in time to see
the side door of the small garage swinging slowly shut. He sprang up and
dashed toward it, catching it just before it closed.
"Come on!" He waved for her to
join him.
The churn of helicopter blades mixed with
the relentless howl of the wind. One craft seemed to be circling the
grounds. The other craft was obviously landing. A plume of reddish dust
rose over the roof of the Center.
"What about your friends?" Leah
shouted.
"Hold the door," he replied,
when the helicopter whirled away from them. Choking on dust, he dragged
first Reyes, then Langly through the open door of the cinderblock
building, laying them on the cool tile of a dim hallway.
"God, it's freezing in here,"
Leah whispered, pulling the door shut behind them.
Mulder knelt and took Reyes' hand,
checking her pulse. "We need to hide them somewhere until we can
get some help."
She knelt next to Langly, examining his
wounds. "He needs a doctor. Now."
"We don't have a doctor now,"
Mulder said, his voice thick with frustration. "Goddammit - we've
got to find the boys."
"What are we going to do? We can't
leave them to die."
He stood. "If someone had wanted
them dead, they would be."
"That's very convenient, don't you
thin-"
"Shh." Mulder walked quietly to
the end of the hall. He flattened himself against the wall and peered
cautiously through the door. All that he could tell about the room that
lay beyond was that it was dark, frigid, and so silent that, for a
moment, he was tempted to assume they were alone.
"What's in there?"
"Shh." He raised his hand. The
silence beyond the door was not quite as complete as he'd originally
thought. Somewhere in the icy recess beyond the hallway, a voice was
calling out, its tone strident enough to twist his stomach into a knot
the minute his ears detected it.
Leah had joined him by then.
"Mulder, where do you think we should look for -"
He reached back and laid a finger on her
lips, silencing her. "Hear that?" he whispered.
She frowned and shook her head.
"Screaming," he mouthed. The
knot in his stomach got heavier. He drew a labored breath. "Stay
here."
"Mul-" she began.
"Quiet," he hissed. He pulled a
fire extinguisher from its mounting on the wall. "Lock that,"
he told her, pointing to the exterior door they'd just come through.
"If anyone comes in-" he handed her the extinguisher.
Leah's mouth settled into a hard, thin
line. She nodded her understanding. "Okay."
He gave her hand a quick squeeze.
"I'll be back." He hurried through the door.
The temperature dropped a good ten
degrees on the other side of the threshold. The air was so damp it
seemed almost sticky. Shrill and hysterical, the voice rang out again,
shouting some unintelligible phrase, the end of which swelled into a
long, muffled scream. The tone of the voice was vaguely metallic, almost
as if the owner of the voice had been stuffed into a tin can.
It was also unmistakably female.
The knot in Mulder's stomach drew
tighter.
He rounded a parked maintenance cart. A
white panel truck, light spilling from its open back, sat parked in the
center of the room. Long shadows lurched away from the truck, stretching
high into the eaves and across the chilly floor. Mulder held his breath,
stooping and pressing his body against the cart.
Another long shriek pierced the quiet.
For a moment, Mulder froze, shocked into
stillness by the desperation in the cry. Then he took a cautious step
forward. His boot slid. He nearly fell. An acrid, familiar smell rose as
he raised his foot, looking to see what he'd slipped in. Even in the
poor light he could see the green ooze clinging to the bottom of his
boot. It was already starting to eat away at his sole.
Heart racing, he squinted at the floor. A
long film of slime was still bubbling.
The voice screamed again.
Mulder spun. This time the source of the
voice was unmistakable. The voice was coming from inside the truck.
Skirting the green mess in front of him,
Mulder edged toward the truck, flattened himself against its paneled
side, crept slowly toward the square of light shining against the far
wall.
He stumbled on something, looked down,
then all around.
There were bodies lying everywhere.
Men in white coveralls lay scattered on
the floor between the back of the truck and an open door in the wall of
the garage. Mulder covered his nose and mouth to shut out the stench of
blood. He didn't need to touch the men to know that they were dead.
"William!"
Every hair on Mulder's body stood at
attention.
Skirting a second puddle of slime, he
made his way quickly up the loading ramp and stepped into the back of
the truck. The interior walls were splattered with blood. Fighting the
urge to retch, Mulder stepped over a tiny, headless corpse in a white
lab coat, pushed his way past an elaborate wheelchair filled with a
substance that looked a lot like hamburger.
"William!!"
She was weeping, pleading, begging for
mercy. A moan tore through Mulder's body. No, he thought, not like this,
not like this...
"Oh my god," she raved.
"Oh my god, no!"
"Scully." He didn't realize he
was speaking until he heard his own voice rising to join hers. "Oh
my god, no."
NINE
He froze, staring numbly at the scattered
clamps and scalpels, the knot in his stomach slowly turning into a
heavy, searing pain.
"Scu-" he began, but he choked
on her name.
She was naked. Restrained. Writhing in
stirrups under a harsh white light.
Mulder closed his eyes.
She cried out. "Who's there?"
Raising his eyes from the floor, he
forced himself to look toward the back of the compartment.
"Dammit, answer me..."
She sounded so frightened.
"Say something, dammit!" Terror
stretched the upper ranges of her voice until it was barely
recognizable. "I know you're still here. Where are you?"
Mulder wrapped his arms around himself,
hugging his belly in agony.
She was here. She was alive.
Why couldn't he go to her?
"You son of a bitch," she
sobbed. "Come back."
Come back, she was crying. Don't leave me
here.
He took an unsteady step toward the bed
and slipped in a pool of blood. He grabbed a metal cart to keep from
falling, sending medical instruments clattering to the floor.
Scully flinched. She jerked her head back
and forth, fighting the band that restrained it. "...son of a
bitch..." she slurred. "...if you're gonna kill me too then
just get it over with..."
He moved closer and forced himself to
look at her face.
One year and one week ago, Scully had
worn a sweet, sleepy smile. All she had wanted then was soft, clean
cotton, a cold drink, a few hours of sleep.
All she had wanted was some time to
herself.
Now her eyes were shut tight, her teeth
clenched, her brow furrowed in agony. He wanted so badly to speak to
her, but found he couldn't. What had gone through her mind, he wondered,
when she'd lain alone in bed after his disappearance? Had she really
thought he'd abandoned her? Would she spit in his face when he appeared
at her bedside?
He bent toward her, bringing his face
close to hers. Even the heavy smell of her fear could not hide the
familiar scent of her body. He paused for a long moment, breathing her
in. "Scully," he finally murmured. "Honey, it's me."
"Mul-? " Her eyes slid open and
she stared at him for a wild second. Then her lids closed tightly again.
"No. No, go away."
The fire in Mulder's belly blazed hot. He
tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. Do something, he told
himself. You've got to get her out of here.
Feeling numb, he reached for the nearest
restraint and began to unbuckle it.
Scully's eyes opened again. Misty and
glazed, they settled on his face. Her breathing was ragged. A film of
fear lay over her features. "Mulder?" she whispered.
"Yeah, it's me." He circled the
bed, reaching for another cuff. The strap fell away, and he lifted her
arm and laid it across her abdomen, taking in the bruises on her wrists,
the clammy feel of her skin, the ridges of gooseflesh that covered her
body. "We don't have much time, honey," he choked out.
"Do you think you can walk?"
"Mulder..." she muttered.
"You...it's...oh my god..."
"Shh, it'll be okay." The
headstrap was buckled so tightly the stiff nylon had cut her flesh.
Mulder cursed softly as he freed her.
Scully raised her head as the strap came
away. "Thank you," she whispered, then a low, tearing noise
came from her body, a long, wavering cry like an animal dying. Mulder
couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying.
"It's okay," he said, the words
meant to soothe them both. Heart racing, he kept working. A sheet was
folded on a chair near the bed. He grabbed it and covered her, then set
to freeing her feet.
Don't see the stirrups, he told himself.
Don't see the clamps. Don't notice all that gear on the table, and don't
think about the reason the table is parked between her knees. Focus, he
told himself. Keep a clear head.
He shut his eyes tightly for a moment,
taking a deep breath to calm himself, and then began gingerly removing
clamps from her labia. She moaned and her legs began to tremble.
"It's okay, honey," he quavered, "we're almost
there..."
Focus, he told himself, don't think about
this. You don't have a chance unless you keep yourself together.
All at once Scully's legs went rigid in
the stirrups. "Nice one, guys..." she shouted, wrapping her
arms around her body and twisting, trying to sit up. Mulder realized
with horror that the noise she had been making was, in fact, a bitter
kind of laughter.
"...first you drag Billy Miles out
of mothballs to go boom boom boom and now you send *him*..."
"Scully, it's me," Mulder
repeated, trying to keep his voice calm. "Really. Please. You have
to be quiet. I don't know if we're alone."
"Not by a long shot, buddy,"
she said, rolling onto her back and looking him straight in the eye. Her
voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper. "Trust me."
There were wire leads piercing the
delicate skin of her chest. Mulder winced as he pulled each one free.
"Scully, the people who hurt you - I think they're all dead."
She laughed again.
"Do you know who killed them?"
"You know who." Her eyes rolled
back in her head. "You bastard."
Mulder felt the blood drain from his
face.
Her eyes had closed again. He patted her
cheek. "You've got to stay awake."
"...it's the drugs, Mu - " Her
eyes flew wide again, and she stared at him in shock, as if she couldn't
believe she was saying his name. "The IV," she muttered.
He took her hand, peeled away the tape,
and slowly removed the IV tube. "There," he said, twining his
fingers with hers and watching her blood rise up, slowly pooling inside
the tiny hole the tube had left behind. "I wonder if there's
something for you to wear; a gown, or -"
He stopped, still holding Scully's hand.
There was a hard, yellow glint inches from the red smear: a familiar
band of gold, he realized, still circling the ring finger of her left
hand.
The one that matched his.
Seemed he *was* taken, after all.
Placing both hands on the gurney so he
wouldn't fall, he allowed his body to crumple, laying his head gently
between her breasts, listening to the slow thump of her heart.
She stroked his hair as he wept. "It
*is* you, isn't it?" she whispered. "It's you. Where have you
be-"
"Mulder!" A low, urgent call
rang out from the other end of the compartment. "Where are
you?"
Mulder raised his head, meeting Scully's
gaze, shaking his head in wordless anguish and tracing her mouth with
his fingertips.
"What are you doing, Mulder? We have
to hurry." He could hear Leah coming up the ramp. "They're at
the door. We have to find a way out!"
"Don't come in!" He helped
Scully to an unsteady sitting position.
"Mulder," Scully said softly,
and her eyes were both brighter and more frightened than they'd been a
moment before. "We have to hide. Billy Miles is here
somewhere..."
"I know," he said. He pulled
off his shirt and slipped it over her head. "Here."
"They were screaming," she
murmured, pushing her arms through the sleeves. "He stood by my bed
and he was telling me something...I can't remember exactly what."
"I'll hold them off as long as I
can!" Leah's footsteps rumbled back down the ramp. "Come
on!"
He lifted Scully from the table and set
her on her feet. "I'll hold you up. Just do the best you
can..."
"Mulder, wait." Scully slumped
against him. He wrapped his arms around her. She'd lost weight, and she
was pale, so pale.
"It was about our son," she
said, laying her head on his chest. "He was talking about William.
Mulder, I think something terrible is about to happen."
TEN
Mulder swept Scully into his arms and
quickly made his way to the back of the truck. He glanced down at her as
they arrived at the top of the loading ramp and the look on her face
stopped him in his tracks.
"Scully?"
Her eyes roamed his features like she
wanted to devour him. "Where have you been?" she rasped.
"Mulder!" Leah's voice came
from the hallway. Something heavy struck the outside door.
He pulled her closer. "God, Scully,
it's a long st-"
The pounding grew louder.
"Mulder, NOW!" Leah shouted,
her voice echoing throughout the room.
"I'll explain everything
later," he told her, brushing his lips against her hair. "We
have to go."
At the bottom of the ramp he set Scully
on her feet, and, wrapping his arm around her waist, helped her toward
the hallway. "Oh my God," she murmured, looking down at the
bodies scattered across the floor. "How did Billy-?"
Mulder didn't want to think about it,
didn't want to know, didn't want to wonder whether Ray and Dee had been
smiling when they'd taken all those lives. He didn't want Scully to
think about it, either. "Billy isn't working alone," he said
curtly.
There was a sickening crunch as the side
door began to give way. Leah moved toward them, still clutching the fire
extinguisher. "They're coming in," she barked, running
backwards, her eyes on the crumpling door.
She stopped short just inches from where
Mulder and Scully stood and spun abruptly around. Staring open- mouthed
at Scully, she raised her eyes to Mulder's in silent question.
Mulder looked quickly from one woman to
the other, wondering what needed to be said. "Um, Scully, this is
Leah. Leah, Scully." The crunch of buckling metal drowned out his
last syllable. "We have to get out of here."
"And go where?" Leah turned her
back to them, brandishing the fire extinguisher defensively.
He scanned the room. On the far side,
obscured from view by idling tow-motors and hastily abandoned equipment,
Mulder spotted a studded-steel door with rounded corners, set into a
steel frame about nine inches above the floor. Instead of a knob, there
was a wheel at its center, making it look like it belonged on a ship or
a submarine.
"Over there. Leah, come on!" He
ran, pulling Scully behind him, just as the side door gave way. A harsh
voice ordered them to stop, but Mulder kept running, half-dragging
Scully through a macabre maze of discarded machinery and broken bodies.
Leah shouted like a battle-hardened
warrior. There was the 'whoosh' of a fire extinguisher cutting loose,
and the sound of men cursing and howling in pain. Mulder pulled the
wheel on the heavy door and it swung open with surprising ease. He
scooped Scully up, and, having nothing to trust but his instincts,
lifted her over the threshold and into the darkness on the other side.
"Mulder," Scully panted as he
set her gently on the cold floor, "what the hell is going on?"
"I have no idea," he answered,
breathlessly. "But I'm pretty sure it isn't good."
"Mulder!" There was a loud
metallic clang as a fire extinguisher crashed to the floor, then the
thrum of Leah's shoes as she ran across the cement.
Mulder turned and reached for her.
"Leah!"
A dark figure stumbled toward her, wiping
its eyes.
"Hurry!" He extended his arm
further, preparing to catch her hand.
Suddenly, and seemingly of its own
volition, the door slammed shut, leaving Leah on the other side,
plunging Mulder and Scully into eerie, silent darkness.
"What the fuck?" Mulder's harsh
whisper echoed in the chilly air. He pushed on the door, slammed against
it, pounded his fist on its smooth, uninterrupted surface. "Leah!
Dammit, goddammit...Leah!"
"Mulder, wait." Scully's ragged
voice came to him through the darkness. "Here, I think I found. .
."
The chamber was suddenly flooded with
brilliant white light.
Squinting against the glare, Mulder
inspected the door, looking for some way to open it. There was no knob,
no latch, no wheel on this side. The door had obviously been designed
with one-way traffic in mind.
"Where are we?" Scully asked,
her voice filled with apprehension. "What is this place?"
He turned away from her, from the door,
and looked around. They stood on a shiny pressed-metal platform at one
end of a high-ceilinged, narrow room. The room itself wasn't very big -
Mulder estimated that it was perhaps one hundred feet long and maybe six
feet wide, more of a hallway than anything else. The floor was painted
glossy white, and a covered drain about a foot wide ran down the center
of the room. Tiny halogen lights were set into the ceiling, casting
harsh white light onto every reflective surface. Row after row of
gleaming stainless steel pipes lined the walls, making the whole room
look like a post-modern log pile or a long, thin house of mirrors.
There appeared to be no way out.
"Fuck!" Mulder smacked his hand
against the cold white railing in frustration.
Leah was as good as dead. His sons were
gone. He'd rescued Scully from one trap only to deliver her to another.
He closed his eyes, his heart thudding
madly against his ribs. A strange tingling pressure was building in the
back of his head, and with it came a crushing sense of failure, of
futility. Of defeat.
It was over.
But. . .no.
No, he thought, shaking off his despair.
No, dammit, no.
Everything will be as has been written,
he thought. Apparently, *this* was his destiny. This was where he
belonged. There was nothing he could do but what had to be done.
But he'd sacrificed too much for this to
be the end.
"Mulder." Scully placed her
hand over his. Her voice sounded even weaker now, thinner, tinged with
desperation. "They'll come through that door next."
As if to illustrate her point, the door
thrummed as some buzzing thing slammed into it.
"I know." Pulling himself
upright, Mulder took her hand, brought it to his mouth, brushed her cold
knuckles with his dry lips. "So we have to go."
"But Mulder, it doesn't look like
-"
"Looks can be deceiving," he
said, with a brief smile. "Come on."
Something struck the door again. It
rattled. The stairs shook as they ran down them, and when they reached
the bottom, they found that the white floor was humming, vibrating so
intensely they could barely stay on their feet.
"Shit!" Mulder quickened their
pace. "I don't think the battering ram is doing this."
The floor shook harder.
"Mulder -"
The hum turned into a roar, drowning out
Scully's words.
Then suddenly, everything was still.
"Jesus!" Mulder stopped dead,
pulling Scully close.
"What's happening?" she
whispered.
"I don't- "
Something wet hit his forehead.
"Oh god. Mulder..." Scully
stared up at him, wide- eyed.
His nostrils filled with a dark, familiar
aroma. He reached up, touched something slick and sticky on his
forehead.
"Oh shit."
He looked up. Black oil oozed from the
light fixture above them.
"Scully."
"Yeah?"
"Run."
Then the roar came again, driving them
forward. Mulder threw Scully over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and
ran for their lives.
Pipes trembled and shook, hissed and
cracked. Suddenly the Oil was everywhere - a black tide seeping from the
halogen fixtures, dripping from the ceiling, spraying from the pipes. It
oozed down walls and across the floor, sliding and squirming toward the
drain.
Squirming very deliberately toward the
drain.
"Shit!" Mulder slipped, lost
his balance, tumbled into an inky, writhing puddle. Rearing to his
knees, he jerked Scully from the floor and swiped at a tendril of oil
that was clinging to her cheek.
The oil slid from his fingertips and
skittered away.
"Mulder!" Scully tugged at his
hand, pointing to the end of the room. A wall had crumbled, exposing a
round, narrow passage. Mulder's first thought was that it looked like a
human-sized Habitrail. His second thought was that they had found their
escape route.
"Come on." He pulled her
hurriedly to her feet and together they slipped and slid forward to the
opening in the wall.
He pushed Scully into the narrow passage
ahead of him. "Go!" he shouted.
The passage was faintly lit, but Mulder
couldn't tell where the light was coming from. The tunnel twisted and
turned, seeming, at times, to double back on itself, but always ramping
gently upward. It was difficult to gauge how far they'd actually
traveled. The rumbling grew fainter the further they went, and after a
short while, all Mulder could hear was their scuffling footsteps, their
panted breaths, and the roar of blood rushing past his ears.
And then -
Mulder stopped, pulling Scully to a stop
with him. He thought he was hearing a faint whispering sound, much like
the one he'd heard this morning, in the store. He turned and peered
behind them, fearing they'd been followed, but the sound wasn't coming
from behind them, or in front of them. It was coming, he thought, from
everywhere.
He shook his head, dizzy with the
vibration. "Do you hear that?"
The sound intensified, becoming a buzz,
then a hum.
"Yes, I hear it," she said.
"It's residual - from the noise before. It's like an after-image,
Mulder, it's -"
"No. Not that. Listen."
The humming swelled, developed rhythm,
melody, harmony. Voices began to sing, seemingly miles away, but drawing
closer.
It was a chorus, he realized. A chorus of
thousands.
A flash of pain ripped through Mulder's
brain. Before he could even clutch his head in agony, the pain receded,
and suddenly he could hear the music perfectly. He could feel it in the
marrow of his bones, reach out and touch it, if he wanted. It was a song
of praise, a hymn, an anthem, its reverberation so clear he knew the
radio of his mind had finally found the frequency it had sought so long.
He was hearing the truth.
'My true believers fare ye well, fare ye
well, fare ye well...'
Mulder wanted to stop and listen, to let
the truth wash through him. He tried telling his feet to stop, tried
telling his legs to be still, but his body seemed to have lost the
capacity to obey his brain. All they could do was go forward, now. They
had to. The time was at hand.
'Let him lead his people home!
Hallelujah!'
Mulder stumbled. He could feel a surge of
energy at his back now. Their purpose, their fate, their destination had
suddenly become so clear...
Scully spoke, but she sounded a hundred
miles away. "Mulder, I can't keep-"
The passage brightened, the dim light
taking on a pinkish cast, air swirling before his eyes like an ocean
made of wine. The chorus kept singing, the melody shifting:
'Who will come and go with me, I'm bound
for the land of Canaan. Fair Canaan is the land to see, I'm bound for
the land of Canaan...'
"Mulder, that sound-"
"Yes," he murmured, increasing
their pace. He had moved ahead of her, and was pulling her along beside
him now.
The song changed, the melody morphing
strangely, voices rising in intricate harmony:
'Hear the mournful thunder Roll from door
to door, Calling home God's children, Get home by an' by...'
He tugged her around another tight corner
and there, at the end of the passage, he saw faint beams of light,
dropping like rope from the ceiling. "This way, Scully.
Hurry."
"Mulder!" Her voice was sharp,
terrified. She tugged his wrist, pulling with both her hands, reining
him back, like she was digging her heels into the earth. "Mulder,
stop! God, stop-"
"We can't." He jerked his arm,
pulling her forward, and ran, his lungs straining for air. "I
can't."
"Mulder, please! Stop!!" Scully
strained against him.
But Mulder still ran, sweeping her along
in his wake.
There was no time to waste. No time to
explain.
There was a colossal clap of thunder and
a roar, like a freight-train was barreling toward them. The floor
beneath their feet shook.
The ropes of light grew thicker, more
distinct as the roaring swelled. They reached the end of the passage.
Above them, a wooden cellar-style door rattled on its hinges, violet
light spilling in around its edges and leaking through its many cracks
and crevices. There was another roar of thunder, then a flash of
lightning and mad rattling of the door.
There wasn't time to talk, but he had to
tell her, had to make sure there was no doubt, and never would be.
Cradling her face in his hands, he pressed his lips to hers. It began as
a gentle kiss, but as grief, horror, regret, and a dozen other emotions
waved through him, he realized it was an act of contrition, too.
When the kisses ended, she pressed her
lips to his bare chest. Then she reached up, wound her arms around his
neck, and gave him a look so full of love that his heart ached for them
both, for all they had lost, for all they would lose.
"Mulder," she said, "when we get home, when we get out
of-"
He enfolded her once again, giving silent
thanks he'd had the chance to see her one more time. His voice was
faint, perhaps too faint for her to hear, but he told her anyway.
"I'm not getting out of this, Scully. Not this time."
Scarcely believing what he was doing, he
let her go and reached for the door handle.
"Mulder, you can't go out
there!" Scully grabbed him by his upper arms and shook him. In the
hazy purple light he could see the terror in her eyes. "Do you hear
that? There's a tornado out there. What the hell are you trying to do?
Get us killed?"
"I have to go, Scully. The boys need
me."
"'Boys?'" She caught his hand.
"Mulder, what do you mean, 'boys?'"
He opened his mouth to answer, just as
the door blew open under the force of the gale. Mulder threw Scully to
the ground, shielding her body and crying out as the heavy wood smashed
against them.
Then he was on his feet again, moving
toward the open door. The air outside was an eerie shade of purple.
Sand-devils spiraled by, fast and getting faster.
"No!" Scully seized his arm.
He turned and looked into her face. She
gazed at him resolutely, her eyes wide and frightened, but her jaw set
with determination. "I have to," he shouted over the roar of
the wind. He brought her palm to his lips and planted a firm kiss there.
"Stay here."
"No," She shook her head
defiantly and took one step away from him. "I'm coming with
you."
"Scully, I-"
She put he hand in his. "Don't let
go," she said.
ELEVEN
Mulder clung to Scully's hand, bracing
them against the tearing wind and the shaking ground. The storm seemed
muffled, as if it were very far away, not swirling around them in
violent rust-colored spirals. The smell of oil and ozone hung heavy in
the air.
"Where the hell-?" Mulder
squinted into the distance, trying to get his bearings. Between clouds
of sand and the half-light of late evening, it was difficult to see much
of anything, but they seemed to be in a depression of some sort, a
vaguely circular hole. The earth slanted gently upward and away from
them for a good distance, and then shot suddenly and sharply upward,
forming an almost vertical wall. Mulder had the impression that they
were standing at the bottom of a very large, very unsteady soup bowl.
"Oh my god." Scully turned to
face him. "Mulder, I've been here before."
Mulder moved in close, trying to shield
her from blowing sand. "You have?"
She nodded and pushed wind-whipped hair
back from her face. "When I was thirteen, my family stopped here on
the way to the Grand Canyon and took the tour." She pointed into
the distance. "See that jagged white line over there? That's a mule
track from an old mining operation."
"Mining?" Mulder lifted his
hand to his eyes, squinting. His eyeballs felt dry and gritty, as if
someone had replaced his eyelids with sandpaper, but he could just make
out a faint zig-zag in the distance. "What kind of mining?"
"Silica," she said, reciting
from memory. "Before that, iron." She peered around them, her
brow furrowed in confusion. "Mulder, we're at the bottom of the
Barringer Meteor Crater."
"Barring- "
Before he could finish, Scully's grip on
his forearms tightened. She was looking straight up. "Mulder, the
sky. . ."
Mulder looked up.
Directly above them, the first stars of
the evening glittered in the cloudless sky. Lower, however, at the rim
of the crater, a ring of churning, lightning- spiked clouds raced around
and around, like an apocalyptic merry-go-round. It was like standing at
the center of a centrifuge, or. . .
"Mulder?"
"The storm, Scully," he said,
realization dawning. Wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders, he
drew her closer. "We're in the eye of the storm."
"'The One looked into the Void and
saw nothing. And the One said, "Let the Void be
filled."'"
"Wha-" Mulder cast about for
the source of the voice.
"'And the One was made Two. Then the
One looked into the Void and saw only itself. And the One said,
"Let there be more." And the Two were made Many.'"
About twenty feet in front of them, where
there had been nothing just moments before, there was a wide, flat rock.
A figure stood on top of it, brandishing a long, thin knife that glinted
in the light of the setting sun.
The figure raised its arms to the sky.
"'And the Many went into the Void, seeking to fill it with the One
and the Many.'"
Scully's grip tightened. "Mulder, is
that-"
The earth trembled. Mulder felt that
strange pressure at his back again, the irresistible impulse to move
forward at all costs. Fighting against it with all his might, he stepped
cautiously forward, pulling Scully behind him, shielding her body with
his own. "Yeah," he said. "It's Billy Miles."
"No Mulder, not Billy," the
figure on the rock spoke in a familiar tone of patient correction.
"We are William now, for our name is our father's father's."
"Right," Mulder said, keeping
his eyes on Billy's, careful to make no sudden moves. Holding his hands
palms-up in front of him, fingers spread in a deliberate gesture of
supplication and appeasement, Mulder took a few more careful steps. Nice
mad dog, he thought. Nice crazy fucking bastard mad dog. He and Scully
inched slowly forward.
A bolt of lighting tore through the
circling clouds, a groan of thunder followed and the earth shook. The
scent of oil grew thicker, stronger.
"'The Many went into the Void,"
Billy intoned, "'and filled the empty places. The One looked into
the Void and saw that it was good.'"
"Okay, Bill. We're here. Now what
hap-"
Mulder stopped.
Something at Billy's feet had moved.
Oh god, Mulder thought, moving to block
Scully's view. Oh god, no.
The something at Billy's feet moved
again, resolving first into two separate somethings, then into two small
human figures.
A jolt of foreboding charged through
Mulder, followed by the shock of sudden clarity.
Billy was standing over his boys. On an
altar. With a knife.
Nothing came with out a price, Sophie had
told him.
And all would be as had been written.
Behind him, Scully let out a sudden,
sharp gasp. "Oh my god!" She pushed past Mulder and moved
toward the stone. "William?!"
"Scully!" Reaching out, his
fingertips brushed her shoulder, but she twisted away from his grasp.
"Scully, stop!"
Billy held his hands aloft, ignoring
them, and continued his chanting. "'In that time, the Many spread,
taking the One to all the empty places. In the days of Dul'usahn, the
Many came to a new land, and sought to fill it. But a cry went up to the
One. 'This is not our land, and these are not our people.'"
"William!" She charged toward
the rock again.
Mulder knew he had to stop her, but his
whole body felt like it had been filled with molten lead, hot and heavy
and searing. "Scul-!"
The earth gave a violent jerk. Scully
stumbled, lost her balance, and lurched to one side. That was all the
opening Mulder needed. He snared her arm and held on tight, yanking her
back. "No, Scully."
Scully's eyes flashed at him as she
struggled. "Jesus Christ Mulder, he's got William! And that other
child! He's got a knife! Let go of me!"
He strengthened his grip. "Scully,
no."
"'And the One spoke into the
Void," Billy continued, "'and told the Many to leave that land
untouched and those people undisturbed. But the Many called to the one
saying, 'We cannot leave, for we are held here, enslaved.'"
"William!" Scully screamed, her
eyes wild with pain and panic. She turned on Mulder, trying desperately
to push him away. "Mulder, let go, he's got our son!"
"No." Mulder wrapped his arms
around her, fighting to pin her flailing body to his, cradling her head
against his chest so she wouldn't have to see. It was enough that she
was standing here, bearing witness as had been written.
"No!" Despite her weakened
state, Scully fought back, becoming a wild animal in Mulder's arms,
kicking and cursing, writhing and snarling.
He held her close, whispering into the
crown of her head, knowing she wouldn't understand, couldn't understand,
knowing his words would be like poison poured into her ears. "Every
choice we've ever made, Scully, every decision we've ever come to, every
time we've gone left instead of right, forward instead of back, every
breath, every heartbeat, has led us here."
"'And the One said, 'The storm shall
be called, and it shall carry you home.'"
"You aren't Mulder!" she
growled, thrashing against his hold. "You can't be Mulder! Now let
me go!"
Mulder held her tight, swaying almost
instinctively from foot to foot in a futile effort to comfort her, to
comfort himself. He grazed her forehead with his lips, sure it would be
the last time he kissed her. "I'm sorry, Scully." In spite of
the sincerity of his words, he nearly choked on them. "I'm so
sorry, but it has to be this way."
Their struggle had brought them close to
the rock. Scully feinted left, twisted right, and braced her feet
against the base of the stone, pushing back, trying to unbalance him.
"Let go of me, you bastard! William!"
But then she stopped struggling, staring
at the children on the rock. "Two?" she murmured. "There
are two?"
The boys looked up from their play,
frowning puzzled little frowns, as if they'd suddenly become aware of
Mulder and Scully's presence.
"Dada!" one of them called and
smiled.
"Mama!" the other said, waving
the object they'd been playing with.
Mulder felt the blood draining from his
face, from his heart.
Will held a sand dollar, perfectly round,
white as bleached bone.
Another bolt of lightning tore across the
sky. The smell of oil had become so thick in the air that Mulder could
barely breathe.
"No!"
With one final burst of determined
effort, Scully drove her elbow up and into Mulder's gut. He doubled over
in pain and surprise, clutching his middle. Free of his grasp, Scully
launched herself at the rock. Gasping for air, Mulder reached out,
hoping to snag the hem of her shirt and bring her down. Instead, some
unseen force hurled Scully back at him as if she were a rag-doll. Her
body slammed into Mulder's, driving all the air from his lungs. Mulder
let out an agonized howl as his shoulder snapped back too far and
unhinged, and the two of them fell to the ground.
Scully tried to scramble to her feet, but
the same force that had pushed her back was now holding them both down.
Cursing, she struggled vainly for a few moments, until the last ounce of
her energy was spent.
Mulder gasped, biting his lip. The pain
in his shoulder was almost more than he could bear. "We knew,
Scully," he rasped. "We knew when he was born that he wasn't
an ordinary child."
"No," she wept, "No no no
no."
"I think he-" Mulder stifled a
moan, trying to force his brain to function when it was far beyond
reason. "-I think *they* were ours to love, Scully, but not to
keep."
Billy held a long iron blade in his hand.
Its reddish surface was dull with age, but the blade had been freshly
honed. He raised his arms, looking toward Mulder, his gaze strangely
intimate.
"'And yea, they went into Utgeam,"
he said, "which is in the land of Avenda, where they remained for a
time, as was told unto them.'" For a moment, something like emotion
flickered behind his blank eyes. The he took the left hand of the boy
standing to his left. He turned Will's hand palm up, baring the pale,
tender skin of the boys' wrist.
Hot tears stinging his eyes, Mulder
pulled Scully closer, hissing as pain shot through his shoulder and
radiated outward. "Don't look, Scully. Please, don't..."
"'And they entered there, clean and
whole, and awaited Rhulak, whose coming was foretold.'" Billy
smiled at the child and the boy smiled back, trusting and unafraid.
Mulder tried to look away, but found he
couldn't. As much as it sickened him, he knew that he had been born to
bear witness to this act, to observe this sacrifice. Scully tensed
against him and let out an anguished sob. Please let it be over, Mulder
begged silently, his empty heart slowing to a listless thump. Please let
it end.
Billy drew the knife gently across the
child's palm.
William stared at the blood in
fascination. Billy knelt next to him, holding the bleeding wound over
the pristine sand dollar.
"Me now!" The boy on the right
held up his left hand and Billy patiently lowered it, taking the right
instead. Mulder winced as the blade struck, gashing the fleshy heel of
the child's tiny hand. Will's eyes went wide, but he seemed too
mesmerized by the blood rising up and flowing out of his wound to pay
much attention to the pain.
The rock began to tremble, tiny cracks
opening up in its smooth surface. It glistened in the half-light, grew
dark then darker, shiny and slick as oil oozed from the fissures and
pooled at its base.
Billy closed his eyes, still kneeling
between the boys. He clasped his hands in prayer, the bloodstained knife
nestled between them.
"This is not our land, Mulder,"
he said, his gaze intent on the sky. "And these are not our
people."
Mulder struggled to move. "I know,
Bill," he choked out.
Billy raised the knife. "We are
going home."
"Doh home," William said.
"Doh home," his brother echoed.
Mulder sniffed, unsurprised to find his
face wet with tears. He nodded. "Love you, Will. Go home,
buddy."
In the space between Mulder's next two
heartbeats, Scully stiffened in his arms and whimpered softly; William
and William, grinning their toothy baby grins, waved bye-bye; a streak
of lightning and a blast of thunder ripped across the sky; and Billy
Miles, smiling the blissful, terrifying smile Mulder had come to know
and hate, slit his throat from ear to ear.
Scully gasped and made a desperate lunge
toward the boys but Mulder held her, watching as one by one Billy's
fingers uncurled, allowing the knife to clatter to the ground. Drenched
in his own blood, Billy leaned over the sand dollar, the gash in his
throat spurting crimson.
Blood met blood.
The storm broke free, no longer held at
bay on the lip of the crater, and contracted around them, closing in,
engulfing them.
"William!" Scully wrenched
herself free and crawled onto the rock, scrambling on her belly like a
commando.
"Scully!" Mulder threw himself
after her, grabbing for her feet and forgetting his injury. He yowled,
cringing against the pain, but forced himself to keep crawling.
"Scully!" Mulder dragged
himself across the fractured surface of the rock, through the sticky oil
that was seeping from its every crevice. Blinded and battered by blowing
sand, he scanned left and right, searching for Scully, for his sons.
Fat, slug-like clots of oil slithered up and over his body, covering him
like a living, liquid blanket of night.
Billy still stood in the center of the
stone, arms outstretched, face lifted skyward, gazing into the storm.
Smiling. Still smiling.
"Scully!" Mulder screamed, his
own voice lost in the howling wind. "William!"
Something made him reach for the bloodied
sand dollar at Billy's feet. Lifting it, he held it up, offering it to
the storm. Oil snakes slithered up his arm, coiling and writhing toward
his outstretched hand.
A bolt of lightning shot down, struck the
shell and splintered it, sent fragments flying in all directions. Mulder
jerked his hand away with a howl. Fragments fell into the whirlwind and
ignited it, brilliant color spreading throughout the spiral, flashes of
light, color, and song spitting back at him.
In moments, the whole storm glowed, sang,
burned from within.
The funnel tightened, loops of golden
energy coiling and twisting at its center. The vacuum it created sucked
up dust and sand and debris, somehow simultaneously pinning Mulder to
the earth. Billy's lifeless body jerked, shot up, spun madly in the
center of the storm, then exploded in an electric rain of sparks and
color.
The rock beneath Mulder convulsed,
heaved, shuddered, then crumbled and collapsed in on itself. Mulder
landed on a jagged shard of stone that bit into his left shoulder blade,
setting off another scream of pain. The ground under him throbbed, then
pulsed, and Mulder, finding himself unable to move, was suddenly wet
with oil, then immersed in oil, then sputtering, sinking, drowning.
Black threads of oil rose around him, one by one, merging and growing,
becoming streamers, then ropes, then endless glistening black pillars
and columns, drawn up and up and up into the storm.
It seemed to last forever - for an age
and a millennia and several pain-laden eternities. Mulder lay immobile,
unable to do so much as close his eyes. He wondered, for a thousand
years of agony or so, if he was going to die. His next thought was that
he had already died, and perhaps was just waiting for his turn to fly up
and fall apart.
Then the chaos stopped.
The storm was gone. The stars were gone.
The sky was gone.
There was nothing but nothing.
Oh my god, he thought. Oh my god, *yes*.
Mulder looked into the Void, into the eye
of the One.
The One looked back.
And the One was sorry. Very, very sorry.
Mulder blinked, once, twice, and found it
utterly exhausting. He tried to remember which muscles he'd need to lick
his dry lips, but drew a blank. His shoulder seemed to be the only part
of his body with any desire to do anything, and all it wanted to do was
throb.
It's okay, he told the One. Apology
accepted.
Just don't come back.
Just don't ever-
"Dada!" A small voice
interrupted his half-formed thoughts.
"Will?!" Mulder tried to speak
but all that came out was a dusty croak.
"Dada?" A small familiar face
came into Mulder's line of vision, blocking out all the endless nothing
above him. Brow knit with concern, William frowned. "Tay,
dada?"
"Fine," Mulder whispered.
"Your mom?"
A second familiar face came into frame.
"Shhhh," the second child brought a finger to his lips.
"Mama seep."
A whirring noise caught his attention.
Helicopter, he thought, and filed the information away.
"Is she okay?" Mulder rasped.
"Mama seep," the child
repeated. "Shhhhhhhh!"
"Billy doh home," the first boy
said, smiling happily.
"Ray doh home. Dee doh 'way,"
the other added. He threw up his hands. "All done!"
"Yeah," Mulder agreed.
"All done."
Everything was as had been written, he
supposed.
The helicopters were getting closer.
Someone would find the boys, he thought. Someone would find Scully.
Someone might even find him and hell, he might even live long enough to
be found.
William reached down and patted Mulder's
broken shoulder. "Owee?"
"Big owee," Mulder said. It
hurt like hell but he couldn't even flinch.
William puzzled over this a moment, then
knelt next to his father. His brother did the same.
"Doh seep, Dada." One boy
leaned over and planted a wet kiss on Mulder's cheek. He laid his head
on Mulder's chest.
A voice boomed through a megaphone, but
the words were indistinct and formless, a jumble of sounds without
meaning.
His other son laid his head on Mulder's
chest. "Night night, dada. Night night."
Mulder used his final ounce of energy to
blink up at the sky.
The stars were back, twinkling in the
sweet, dry air.
"Really?"
"Really."
Langly set her suitcase and laptop down
in the hallway. "No way."
"Way." Monica opened her purse
and started picking through it, looking for her keys. "It's not a
curse, it's a virus. And apparently ... " She gave her purse a
shake, but didn't hear the expected rattle. "You should have seen
the CDC guy's face when I told him why I was there."
Langly chuckled. "I bet."
Ordering her brain to stop imagining her
key ring on a cafe table somewhere in Port Au Prince, Monica wiggled her
fingers towards the bottom of the bag, and sighed. "I think I put
my keys in my suitcase."
Langly leaned against the wall and shoved
his hands into his pockets, looking amused and decidedly smug. "You
think?"
She felt herself flush.
"Or...not?"
He laughed gently. "I put them on
your bureau. They wouldn't have been safe at my place." Digging
deeper into his pocket, he pulled out a single key. "I have a hard
enough time keeping track of this."
She watched him as he fit his key into
the lock, reaching over and running her fingers once again through the
newly cropped locks. "I can't get over it, Rich."
Langly had gotten a haircut while she was
away. She'd already done all the appropriate ooing and ahhing at the
airport, and he'd seemed pleased enough that she was pleased. Still,
when she'd asked him why he'd done it, he'd refused to explain,
muttering something half-assed about it being too hot for long hair. For
her part, Monica would bet cold cash that there was more behind his
decision to get a buzz cut than a little hot weather.
He jiggled the knob and turned the key.
"Can't get over what?"
"You with no hair."
The door swung open. Dropping his key
into his pocket, he turned back toward the hallway. "I have
hair," he said, then ran his hand vigorously across the top of his
head until every hair was standing on end. "Look. Just like Vanilla
Ice."
"That's better," she said.
"Not so preppy."
He smiled at her, shrugged. "Next
week when I meet your folks, I'll comb it flat and they'll be none the
wiser."
Ah. So there it was. She scooped up her
laptop. "They're not going to care what your hair looks like."
He picked up her suitcase and strode into
the apartment. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not taking any chances."
Monica sighed, wondering if things could
ever get back to normal, or whatever passed for normal these days. It
had only been in the last couple of months that he'd finally quit
brooding about their trip to Arizona, what they had or hadn't seen
there, should or shouldn't have done. He'd been in intensive care for a
week after the incident at the crater, and he'd had a hard time
processing the fact that the battle was over, the danger passed. It had
been hard to convince him that Billy Miles and his kind were really
gone.
She wished, for probably the thousandth
time since last July, that Langly had had the chance to say good-bye to
Mulder, as she had. If he could have seen the tranquillity, the look of
fulfillment on Mulder's face, she was sure Langly would have been able
to make peace with the whole situation.
Passing from the hallway to the living
room, she switched on a lamp and took a grateful breath of the cool,
familiar air. Setting her laptop in a chair, she turned to Langly and
held out her hand. "C'mere."
He dropped her suitcase with an
unceremonious thud and slipped his arms around her waist, his mouth
hungry on hers. Monica shivered with pleasure. It was good to know he'd
missed her.
He pulled back, smiling. "Oh. I
forgot. Here..."
"Hmmm?" Monica's brain was
taking a few minutes to function. Langly reached into his back pocket,
pulling out his wallet. He withdrew a small photograph, and handed it to
her.
"What is-"
A wrinkled newborn baby gazed back at her
from the photo, brilliant blue eyes wide and alert, toothless mouth open
in a kind of crooked smile.
She turned the picture over. Scrawled in
blue was: 'baby girl, 7 lbs. 5 oz. Born April 17. Mother and daughter
doing fine. Father and brothers delirious.'
Monica knew the handwriting well - it
filled line after line in the files she worked with every day.
She tried to swallow the lump that had
suddenly formed in her throat. "Oh my god," she managed, at
last. "Not a word for almost a year and now this? What else did he
say? Was there a letter? How are they?"
He shrugged. "From the look of it,
they're doing great. But there wasn't a letter or anything. Not even a
return address on the envelope. Still laying low, I guess."
They regarded the picture together.
"I wish they'd come home," Langly said quietly, after a few
minutes.
"Me, too. But I understand why they
haven't. They wanted a fresh start, and the chance of that happening
here was pretty damned slim."
His arm tightened around her waist.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I just - they're on their own up there, you
know? Anything could happen."
She turned toward him and laid her hand
lightly on his shoulder. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Not
anymore." She raised the picture and held it where Langly could
see. "My god, just look at her. Do you think she'd be here if it
wasn't true?"
******
"Make it slow," she whispered,
her breath rushing against his ear. He pressed himself into her,
relishing her heat, her moisture, the silken feeling of being inside
her.
God, yes. He was a lucky, lucky man. He
closed his eyes and tipped his hips forward again, sliding into her as
slowly as his aching body would allow.
"Oh my god, Mulder," Scully
moaned softly. "Oh my god, yes..."
He swirled the tip of his tongue across
her lower lip. "Shhhh...we're still sleeping, right?"
She gave a languid smile and rocked
against him. "Dead...to...the...oh god, don't stop."
"Yes ma'am." Increasing their
tempo, he tried to make his strokes even and deliberate. Keeping himself
in check was damned tricky so early in the day, but he figured he was
probably up to the task. And if he didn't get it right this time, hell,
there was always tomorrow. They had the rest of their lives to practice.
The rest of their lives. He liked the
sound of that.
He drove in hard and she rewarded him
with a gasp and a clenching of her internal muscles and. . .
Oh.
"Jesus, woman," he muttered,
shivering. He wasn't going to last much longer.
She seized him by his nape, wrapping her
legs around him and arching her back so she could rise to meet his rapid
thrusts. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a hoarse cry, then found
himself laughing: it was ridiculous to try to be quiet at a time like
this. Besides, the way she made him feel, he didn't care who heard.
Measuring his breaths, he closed his
eyes.
"Harder," Scully whispered,
locking her ankles together in the small of his back. "Faster,
Mulder, god, oh my god..."
Mulder was vaguely aware of a pattering
sound outside their locked bedroom door, but then Scully made a feral
groaning sound, tightening around him and digging all ten fingernails
in...
"Oh my god, Scully..."
Then his mind went blue-blank, swimming
with stars.
"That," she gasped, when they'd
finally stopped moving and he was lying beside her, damp fingers
smoothing her tangled hair, "was amazing."
"Good morning to you, too" he
answered, trying to catch his breath.
"I heard the boys in the hall,"
she panted. "I'm sure Min isn't up yet. Go see what they're doing.
I don't think I can walk."
"Like I can?" he rasped.
"You can," she said. Rolling on
to her side, she pushed him with both hands. "Hurry up. They might
be trying to make toast again."
"Fuck. Toast."
"My point exactly."
He shifted unsteadily off the mattress
and lifted the sheet, digging around for the gym shorts he'd immediately
discarded upon waking.
"Shit. Have you seen -"
"Here." She threw them at his
head and stretched out like a contented cat, kicking the sheet back and
fanning herself. Mulder had managed to get one leg into his shorts, but
the sight of her body brought his forward progress to a grinding halt.
Scully was all Renaissance curves now, all round belly and milk- filled
breasts, all satisfied, all his.
All his.
He couldn't help himself. Shorts hanging
off one leg, he fell back onto the bed and wriggled toward her.
She laughed and shoved him away.
"Mulder, no. Go see what they're doing."
He rolled onto his back. "They can't
burn the place to the ground without me?"
All the answer he got was a growl.
Fang and Fifi met him at the bedroom
door, skittering and yapping as he made his way down the hall.
"Yes, yes," he muttered, sidestepping first one, then the
other, "walks for everyone. Hang on, just let me - "
Even though the kitchen was on the other
side of the apartment, the ring of little voices and the scrape of a
stool across the tile were unmistakable. The boys had only been out of
their room for a few minutes, but Mulder picked up his pace, hoping
they'd hear his footsteps and stop doing whatever it was they were
doing. Bright and capable as both boys were, they still had an uncanny
ability to cause big trouble fast.
"Here," one of them said as
Mulder crossed the dining room. "Hold it."
"Not that one," the other
answered. "Gwape."
"No, Nanna."
"Gwape!"
"Nanna!"
Mulder came through the archway and into
the kitchen. "Okay, why are you two up so early? Did you set an
alarm or something?"
Will was standing on a stool by the open
freezer. Liam was holding a Popsicle. Mulder scooped Will off the stool
with one hand, collecting Liam's pop with the other. "Breakfast
doesn't come from the freezer," he told them, trying unsuccessfully
to plaster a businesslike expression over his post- coital smile.
Both boys arched an eyebrow his way.
"Well, not when Mama's home, anyway.
Sorry, guys," he told them cheerfully, heading for the pantry.
"You know the rules." He located a box of cereal and set it on
the counter. "Hey, does anybody want to use the big boy
potty?"
Both boys clutched their diapers and
scowled. Liam shook his head.
Mulder sighed. Scully assured him they'd
be toilet trained before high school. He was having his doubts.
"All right, then. Bowl of cereal?" Mulder shook the box,
rattling the Cheerios for emphasis. "We've got the honey-nut kind
today."
Will wrinkled his nose, considering the
offer. Liam cast a suspicious glance at his brother, as if his father's
insistence on a proper breakfast was somehow insidious and evil.
"Want it in your Buzz Lightyear
bowls?"
"Buzz!" All thoughts of
Popsicles instantly forgotten, the twins turned and made for the kitchen
table like a couple of crazed puppies. Ah yes, Mulder thought. When in
doubt, invoke Buzz Lightyear. Gets' em every time.
He got the milk out of the 'fridge and
found the bowls he'd promised the boys sitting dirty in the dishwasher.
Washing them at the sink, he gazed out the window at their petunia-smothereed
deck and the tiny patch of high-maintenance 'yard' just beyond.
He never could have imagined wanting to
return to this city, wanting to reclaim these four walls. He'd found
Scully, though, and everything had changed. Toronto was a peaceful
place, all in all, sane and clean and far from Washington. The house was
beautiful and well-located, and, as Billy had informed him late one
night while they were driving to Arizona, it belonged to Mulder, lock,
stock, courtyard, and ugly fountain.
The whole thing had been kind of hard to
pass up.
Being a landlord wasn't a bad way to make
a living, he reflected. It was good money, gave him lots of time for
Scully and the kids, and, as a bonus, he'd gotten pretty damn handy with
a cordless drill.
"Dad."
He looked down. Liam tugged impatiently
at the leg of his shorts. "Bekfast."
"Okay."
A small, warbling cry echoed through the
apartment, skimming the hardwood floors and bouncing off the cool walls.
Next came the sound of footsteps and Scully's soothing murmur.
"You aren't the only ones up
early," he told the boys, pouring milk on their cereal. "I
wonder when Min's going to..."
"Morneen, Mista Mudda!"
Adjusting her bathrobe and smoothing her hair, the boys' nanny hurried
into the kitchen. "Missa Mudda get the baby."
"Not Mister Mulder, Min, just
Mulder. And good morning."
Will waved his spoon. "Juice pease!"
"You wan' juice, litta
turkeys?" Min shot across the kitchen like a nylon-wrapped bullet,
her brightly embroidered slippers scuffing the tiles as she went.
"I get."
Min had been working for them for over
three months, but she was still just as enthusiastic as the day she'd
arrived. Lately, Mulder had been joking that Min couldn't possibly be
Mrs. Ko's great-niece. It was far more likely that Mrs. Ko had simply
had herself cloned so she could be closer to the boys.
The boys still asked for Leah, of course.
At first, he'd had to explain where she'd gone at least a couple of
times a day. When they asked he told them that Leah loved them, but she
had gone on a trip with a very special friend. She'd been away from that
friend for a long time, and he had missed her. Now he wanted her to stay
with him.
Occasionally, Leah sent Mulder cryptic
postcards from out-of-the-way places. He was glad she'd gotten her life
back, if not her memory. He hoped Jimmy Bond was helping her put the
pieces together.
Fang whined and licked Mulder's foot.
Fifi made an expectant circle in the archway. "Okay, okay. Hang on.
We'll go out running."
He paused at the counter just long enough
to pour Scully a glass of orange juice, and made a quick trip back to
the bedroom.
Mulder pushed the bedroom door open.
Scully was lying on her side, cradling their daughter while she nursed.
"Min's up," he said, his voice dropping low. "How's our
girl this morning?"
"Still beautiful," she said.
"And still hungry. Growth spurt, I think."
"It's *all* a growth spurt, isn't
it?" Mulder set the orange juice on the bedside table. He eased
himself onto the bed. "Hey there, Sophie," he said, softly.
"What's the plan today?"
Sophie opened her eyes for a moment, a
tiny stream of milk running out of the corner of her mouth as she
smiled. Then she put her hand on Scully's breast and patted it.
"Smart girl," Mulder whispered.
"I'll take the dogs out for a
run," he told Scully. "Okay?"
Scully nodded but a frown of concern
crossed her face.
"Something wrong?"
She half-shrugged. "Do you know what
day it is?"
"Um, Saturday?"
"It's July 6."
"Oh." He let the information
sink in, settle. "Oh. Right." He gave her a tight little
smile. "Happy anniversary?"
"Not funny, Mulder."
"I'll be coming back. And it won't
take a year this time." He lifted two fingers in a boy scout
salute. "Promise."
Scully gnawed her lower lip. "I just
- sometimes, I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall."
"There isn't another shoe,
sweetheart." He traced the curve of her hip up and back. "We
are out of shoes. We are shoeless. Speaking of shoes. . ."
She didn't look at him, or answer.
"Hey, trust me, Scully."
"I do." She shifted, lifting
her breast so Sophie could have better access. "It's just. .
."
He lay down next to her, Sophie between
them.
"The seed colony had a one-way
ticket to a lifeless world. When it got here and found out there was
already life, and plenty of it, life it was not even slightly compatible
with, all it wanted was to go home. The iron ore trapped it, and every
time it tried to interact with humans and explain the situation, well,
you know how that usually turned out."
"Not well," she answered, steel
in her voice.
"Not well at all." They both
had souvenir-of Antarctica frostbite scars as reminders of that.
"It took millions of years, and a lot of false starts, but yes, it
finally figured it out. All it needed was a catalyst. So it built a
couple of them, just in case."
"Will and Liam."
"Yes, Will and Won't." He gave
a little smile but took in her clouded expression. "Hey," he
squeezed her hip, "the IVF worked, Scully. Miracles one and
two."
"Thanks to a lot of manipulation of
that chip in my neck and some embryo-splitting and a surrogate mother
and I am not sure what else."
"Well, sometimes miracles need
help," he offered.
She nodded thoughtfully. "And all
that pseudo- religious stuff?"
"What's religion but a set of
instructions about how to make nice with the other kids in the sand
box?"
She was silent a moment. "It's gone?
For good?"
"Gone for good. It's left us our own
path." He ran one finger down Sophie's soft cheek and smiled.
"And the ability to make our own miracles from now on."
"Mama! Mama!" Will and Liam
thundered into the room. Mulder wondered if they would ever learn to
make an entrance that didn't involve lots of noise.
"Shhh, buddies," Scully told
them. "Sophie's having breakfast..."
The twins stopped at the foot of the bed
and stared. "My baby," Will said, elbowing his brother.
"No, mine," Liam argued.
"Ours." Scully closed her eyes
and bent to kiss Sophie's forehead. "We'll be here when you get
back," she told Mulder. "All of us. Now go run."
++++++++++++++++++
END
Book Three
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