Warning/Rating: NC-17
Summary: This takes place 3 months after Mulder's recovery from the events of Desert Places.
Mulder's isolated himself and the paranoia is eating him alive. Unbeknownst to him, Mulder has
certain memories that, if recovered, could bring down the Consortium. The Consortium has
plans
of their own for Mulder.
Disclaimer: Don't sue.
MUCH Thanks to Rebecca, my beta reader, a.k.a. the ass kicker, for sticking by me all these
months. Katherine and Madame Butterfly, you guys know why. And all of you who responded
with feedback on Desert Places. This of course, is for you.
Archive: Sure. Just ask me.
Comments: I'm serious folks. This is not Mulder falls down, breaks a leg, and Scully comes to
the
rescue (Although there's nothing wrong with that, you just won't find it here). Disturbing content
lies ahead. No broken bones, but sexual/child abuse, electrocution and other means of
interrogation are included.
NOTE: Below is a short description of the events of Desert Places for those of you who haven't
read or don't remember what happened.
Mulder went to an arranged meeting w/ someone from the Consortium. He was abducted by
CSM and taken to the Mulder's summer house. There, he was force fed drugs, sexually abused
and beaten in attempt to evoke/recover certain memories etc. etc. You get the point.
AND since the reader has a tendency to get lost in my stories here are some helpful hints: Scenes
dealing with Mulder as a child that are told in third person is him actually remembering these
events. Also, scenes dealing with Mulder as a child that are told in first person is him actually
telling somebody about them...only seen from his mind's perspective. Get it? Good.
Oh. And you can't get out backwards. You gotta go forwards to go back...
~~~~~~~
Son of man, you cannot say, or guess,
For you know only a heap of broken images,
Where the sun beats and the dead tree gives
No shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
--The Waste Land
~~~~~~~
It was late.
At least in a normal sense.
Normal.
He wasn't normal. Never had been. It was true. He knew that now.
Dana Scully had left hours ago, parting with only a worried glance. He had mumbled something
after her but didn't recall any indication that she had heard him.
Now he was alone.
Alone.
The word was death to him but he thought it ironic that this was how he wanted it, needed it to
be.
The light in the corner was dim. So thin and frail it almost seemed fake. Unreal.
He sat there on the edge of his desk, not moving. Utterly still.
He use to run himself in circles, pacing back and forth, oblivious to a quiet moment in stillness.
<You have to be quiet to hear them>
He found himself straining, holding his breath for a few terrifying seconds before exhaling
slowly.
It would have been inaudible to anyone standing next to him. The compact walls of their small
office would not distinguish the sounds he made, if they had the presence of mind to do so.
<You have to listen hard>
His behavior was hard to discern. He covered it well.
He sat there. Head bowed, large dark eyes slanted downward, studying the ground in earnest,
not particularly looking at anything. Just what was there. Or not. His rhythmic breaths came
slowly.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
A tingle of warmth shot up his spine, gathering at the base of his neck where it pulsed in low dull
throbs. With incomprehensible speed it covered the distance to his chest and face. Rigid became
his back as tension gathered behind his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to close them,
shutdown the images that played over and over in his mind with an uncanny clearness, but did
not.
They were locked in their own gaze dancing with colored images below him.
<There isn't enough light>
The edge of the desk where he sat pressed hard into his lower back, almost painfully. A dull ache
radiated from the pressure he was putting on to that one spot of his body.
The position was uncomfortable at best.
He leaned into it harder, anchoring himself with the dolorous sensation. His body slowly
becoming paralyzed to the brutally cold warmth that was everywhere, slowly climbing around
and
inside him.
The memory of smoke, so strong, burning at the intake of air and eyes watering.
Cruel laughter.
His chest constricted in rhythmic spasms, threatening to drop him to the floor. In that moment
his
heart quickly fluttered as his posture slumped and his head fell to his trembling hands. The
wetness he felt on his finger tips was real.
The memory was real. It would not be forgotten. It would not be shrugged off and away.
Inhaling deeply, knowing it would come back out a large ugly rasp. A lump crawled its way up
his
throat haphazardly. He tried swallowing it but that was of no use. It loitered for the moment,
leisurely taking its time. Waiting, slowly luring his determined, shame tinged thoughts out of
him,
giving them physical form.
<We have plans for you.> The words had been exhaled in an excited whisper. Spoken from thin
nicotine coated lips that had peeled back into a corpse grin, perhaps thinking of future
possibilities.
He ground his teeth back and forth in anger. Though, it was just a disguise. The anger was just a
figment but the pain, oh yes the pain. It was strung together in a tight fist centered in his chest.
Immense and unbearable, it sat. Weighted down like a rock at the bottom of the sea. It wasn't
going anywhere.
The tears dried quickly creating annoying crusts around his puffy eyes. They ached with
displeasure when he shifted their position. The light refracted pained him as he blinked hard.
Once. Twice. Third time was a charm.
He swallowed convulsively. He just needed to breath and everything would be fine.
Great.
Grand.
Wonderful.
Spooky was invincible. Even when reason decided to take a wild swing, Spooky never went
down.
His jaw clenched involuntarily, the muscles pumping fiercely in time to each grit. A hard breath
exhaled through the nose making the only distinguishable sound over the electric din of the
computers.
The tip of his tongue darted out to his lips for a brief moment before returning back to his dry
mouth.
Standing, fists clenched at the sides. He grabbed his things, flicked the light off with an angry
hand and left.
His brisk, unsure footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted basement hallway.
~~~~~~~
- Three months earlier -
Scully's eyes darted to the silent occupant beside her in the passenger seat. Hands drawn up into
his lap cradling each other. His eyes were obscured somewhat as they stared directly ahead at
nothing. He looked tired, so lost. She opened her mouth, hesitating slightly....
<raperaperaperaperaperaperape...>
...and quickly shut it.
<The doctor said there had been no penetration... >
Scully clamped down on an anguished breath that would have surely deviated to a sob had she
given it the chance. She exhaled hard through her nose, producing a sharp sting in her nasal
cavity. Fingernails digging into the worn familiar tread of the steering wheel.
<Rape>
Harder.
<Bruises>
Cuticles bending in an opposed direction.
<Burns>
Sinking further into flaccid leather.
<Scars>
Intolerable pressure.
<Minimal blood loss. Fuckers knew what they were doing...>
~~~~~~~
Between them the harsh silence beat out a slow mellow hum.
Her worried stare was a deafening shout in Mulder's sensitive ears. He would not chance a
glance
at her. Silent eyes drunkenly roaming from directly ahead to the passenger side window.
Anywhere but to his immediate left. That area was deemed off limits.
He was going home. He would have driven himself had the doctor not forced an indiscriminate
amount of haldol into him for the ride to his apartment. The doctor had also graciously given
Scully a small package of needles along with his medication just in case he got out of hand.
<Fucker>
Behind green eyes that held flecks of gray and red, unwanted memories flourished. Thriving
waves of images assaulted him. An unending disorderly stream of uncontrollable dissonance. He
furrowed his brow in an attempt not to make any rash movements or sounds. He just sat there
and
took it until they past.
A tortured whimper died behind gritted teeth.
He lowered his eyes to his hands that sat in his lap. The joints ached from lack of movement but
he made no move to alleviate it. There were still bruises on his wrists. The cuts had healed
weeks
ago. The bruises were new. The hospital staff had developed a systematical way of dealing with
him.
They didn't even give him a chance to calm down when he woke up. When he had nightmares.
Tying him down and drugging him up to the eyeballs was, ostensibly, a much easier and less
time
consuming option.
Scully had fought them but she couldn't calm him down fast enough. No one could. But she
stayed with him. Even when his mind was one large incapacitated mass of tissue and cells, she
had
stayed, rambling sentences that he couldn't distinguish.
He hadn't let her near him when he was awake and lucid.
Never.
Those first few convoluted weeks had been a confused conglomeration of pain and drugs
intertwined with hoarse demands that she and these fucking doctors leave him alone.
Those times of lucidity had been few and far between. The chances of him coming out of this
without some kind of drug dependency seemed slim to nil.
Mulder unsuccessfully suppressed a yawn and concentrated on the intricate rivulets of rain that
ran chaotically down his window. It was coming hard and fast with a force only god could have
mustered.
His eyes felt dead--so tired. They were half-lidded, hypnotically studying the cold liquid drops
splay patterns of nothing.
The monotonous thumping noise rose and fell each time they escaped from under a dark
cumulus
cloud then proceeded back under another one.
An unfair paralysis crept around inside him. He blinked slowly as his head came to rest against
the
cold glass. Images blossomed in short spastic bursts of painful light. Rendering him observer by
force.
The loud smack of rain against his ear snapped his head up, as quick as one might expect a small
waking child to. Mulder gulped as he stared dully out at the space in front of him.
"Scully?" Slurred but recognizable
Scully breathed a sigh of relief and fear in one breath.
"Do you need to throw up?"
He shouldn't have to, she knew, but the words were just spoken to fill space.
Mulder's brow furrowed while his lower lip protruded in a pseudo pout. "I never had a dog when
I was a kid." A child proclaiming innocence.
She cocked an eyebrow to his remark. This wasn't him. It was the drugs speaking on his
bewildered behalf.
Surprising her, he continued.
"He knew I didn't have one but he said I did anyway."
This was the longest conversation she had with him since his disappearance.
"Who's he Mulder?"
He acted somewhat distressed and annoyed but only for a moment. "Him!" His voice caught as
he
breathed a low tremulous, "Dad."
"Dad told me to clean the dog shit off his lawn before the neighbors saw it."
"Mulder--" but she was interrupted before she could finish.
"I told him I didn't have a dog. He smacked me and told me to go clean it up. I said no, he
dragged me out of the house and dropped me down right in front of the pile of shit."
He took a shallow lazy breath.
"He told me to pick it up but I wouldn't. He shoved my head down, real close to it. I could smell
it really good. It was really hot out that day too."
A silent giggle devoid of humor fell from his dry parted lips.
"He shouted in my ear but I still refused."
He kept his eyes on the road ahead.
"He pushed my face down in it and tried to make me eat it. I ate some, at least before I vomited
it
back up on the lawn. I got really sick after that."
Tenuously smiling down at his lap.
"It was the neighbors... We... I didn't have a dog..."
Tears inched forward and down his cheeks as he returned his head to the cold solid glass and
wept. Instantly falling asleep to the thrumming sound of the rain in his ear.
~~~~~~~
"The group is very disturbed. You did not acquire the information that was to be retrieved."
The words were formed concisely.
Smoke was unleashed again, pervading through the thick congealed air of the large office space.
He flashed a cold smile at his associates back. The cigarette came back to his lips unconsciously
as he inhaled long and slow before he spoke.
"There was no information to be retrieved at the time. Consciously, he knows nothing."
The other man gazed out at the overlaying landscape. The sun perished behind dark clouds as the
peripheral edges of heaven displayed a horizon containing too many colors for the eyes to
comprehend in one glance.
He sighed, thinking this over.
Below, people were rushing back and forth across the crowded streets. Unending movements
back and forth, mindlessly absorbed in the minutiae of their day, believing their lives, their fate,
were in their hands.
He snapped his eyes level and squinted back out at the sky.
"Unconsciously?"
Cancerman's mouth curved up in a congruous smirk aimed at the back of the man at the window
as his eyes softened for a moment around their cold edges.
"So much more than we could have imagined."
~~~~~~~
Mulder violently jerked the keys out of the ignition. With nervous, angry haste he stepped out
onto the sidewalk and slammed the door shut with much more force than was needed. He held
his
briefcase with an iron grip in his left hand, right hand free if needed. He looked across the street
and back again as he jogged to his apartment building. Once safely on the apartment steps he
glanced back down the street again.
No one was there.
The paranoia was eating Fox Mulder alive.
And he knew it.
He had done his little incumbent dance around the bureau psychologist for two months playing
possum and denying everything.
<Everything is okay>
The first session with Bennings had been a cake walk. From then on, Mulder had the
guy fucking pinned to the wall, bypassing each question with one of his own. Giving false
accounts, he finished his treatment with a clean bill of health and everyone was happy.
<Everything is fine>
He climbed into the elevator and leaned back against the trembling inner wall as the doors
closed
with a soft descant ding. Graphic images raced behind his closed eyes as his head rested still on
the wall behind him. A pattern of movements developed under his eyelids as his eyes skittered
back and forth beneath them.
Another soft chime broke him out of the state.
<Everything is great>
He strode abruptly down the hallway. The soles of his shoes scraping along the floor, sounding
too loud in a space so confined and quiet.
<Everything is super>
He retrieved the keys he had been digging through his pockets for. Quickly, he unlocked the door
and stepped inside, forcefully yanking the key out of the lock as he did so. Not even feeling the
nail of his index finger being ripped off.
<Everything is just fucking spectacular>
His foot connected with the back of the door sending it crashing back into its frame.
<Everything....>
He collapsed to all fours in a heap, tears glistening off his eye lashes as his head sagged between
his shoulders.
The apartment was dark, containing too many creeping shadows of black and not enough crystal
reflections of transparent light from the street.
The first crack of his knuckle against the hardwood floor beneath him was sickeningly dull. The
next swing downward was completed at full momentum shooting icy shivers of pain up and
down
his arm and back. The third and final swing was weak but determined as it crashed down,
smearing blood across the wood when he dragged it back underneath him to support his weight.
He wiped away the tears with his forearm but made no move to get up.
The oppressive red indicator light of his answering machine pulsed with ostentation.
He sat and waited.
~~~~~~~
The apartment lay wasted with darkness, splayed with obnoxious patterns of blaring light
flashing
intermediately from the muted television pushed up against the wall.
She lay silently stretched out on the living room couch. Phone clasped in the sweaty palm of her
right hand, resting on her chest as it delicately rose and fell. Every fiber in her body was frozen
still, focused on the small sounds escaping her mouth.
Lost in thought.
Bennings was a joke. Mulder had run circles around the guy. Around the bureau. They actually
believed he was alright.
Healthy.
His behavior was not alright. No nervous twitches or manic gun waving in the air. They were
little
things. Little things only she could notice.
At times, she would catch him just staring off into space, eyes glazed over, transfixed in an
undescribable state of remembrance.
Or pain.
It was hard to tell.
He was working so hard.
Asking him how he was doing was ultimately always rewarded with a weak smile, no teeth, and
an award winning "I'm fine." Occasionally, after he caught her staring, he would throw a wise
crack at her about bureau policy involving male and female agents consorting while on duty.
Although these ostensibly lacked the usual follow up of his devious smile.
She dialed again.
After four rings his answering machine clicked on again.
His direct voice slipped into her ear with, "This is Mulder. Leave a message."
Her eyes traveled along the ceiling. <Short and sweet, as always>
She rambled into the receiver for the second time that night before hanging up and resting it
back
down on her chest.
Several months of his sudden need to run to the nearest bathroom to retch his guts out, to cry,
had been enough. This was going to get settled.
Immediately.
Even if that meant Mulder going back to the hospital....Involuntarily.
He needed help.
~~~~~~~
The desk lamp was the only source of light in the entire room.
The surrounding darkness was a warm blanket of familiarity as he sat hunched over, absorbed
only in the small notebook he held in his hands. He read softly in low mumblings to himself.
The handwriting was small and negligent, occasionally drifting below the guide line of the
paper.
At times it was hard to ignore though the contents made such inklings seem petty.
He sorely craved a cigarette but continued further, examining the drunken scrawl, searching for
something he wasn't quite sure of.
The date at the top of this particular page read "11-25-75" This night had not been an especially
pleasant one for Fox, he thought with a quick, wry smile.
Bill Mulder knew how to draw his readers in.
Intricate details described the sound of the belt as it hit his son's shoulders, over and over again
until the metal clasp had broken under the strain of the downward force.
He unwillingly skimmed the rest until he came upon the passage he had been hoping to find.
Although, disappointingly, it was brief.
He had gotten careless. Too drunk. In a period of vicissitude the repugnant idea of penitence had
appealed to Bill. He had mentioned things to Fox. Things he should not have mentioned.
In some cases they were small slips of the mouth. Though, for the majority, they were not.
Fortunately, the boy had no clear recollection of hearing such things. Perhaps an after affect of
PTSD.
Although there was the inevitable conclusion that such memories could be retrieved if given the
right circumstances. The simple pharmaceutical approach in combination with the natural
physical
environment had failed.
Licking his lips in a slow sinuous movement.
The only option left was to bring him in.
He flipped back to the first page and began reading intently.
Wide eyes swimming while his mouth lay slack, breathing in and out heavily.
~~~~~~~
By this grace dissolved in space
What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger --
Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye
Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all waters meet.
--Marina
~~~~~~~
Salty tang of the sudden sting, hot water made worse.
Face turned slightly into the coarse torrent of silky liquid. Water rolling meanderingly down the
sinewy smooth skin in a confluence before corrugating over scarred tissue in chance streams.
Bloody knuckles nestled tightly against slick condensed water tiles. Eyes turned down, head
bowed, spent in submission to the pounding current that poured down unending. The sonorous
unrhythmic drum of the water compounded in his ears as it slipped down the long slide of
gravity
and broke with violent force against the floor, splitting and doubling its numbers.
Slowly, each hand came up to cover each ear. Long delicate fingers pushed slightly into the
soaked mat of his hair. Applying tiny bits of pressure to sore spots, each hand trying to shut out
the noise. The pain. The rasp of water faded, wasting away in the form of a dull refraining echo,
beating down steadily. The world, everything, everyone, was out there and he was safe inside.
The sharp pricks of water slapping against his skin in unbroken columns was not real.
Skin numbed over from pressured vibrations.
Water trickling down his face to the corners of his mouth. Lips segmented just a fraction tasting
the familiar salty mixture. Small desperate gasps of air sucked in trying to fill the small
constricted
space that was his chest. The expedient heel of his palm dug into his face, rubbing away at grit
encrusted eyelids. Gut clenching repulsively, uncoiling and recoiling in frigid convulsions of too
many things to name.
It came so suddenly.
Cold bursts of air gravitated from the violent roaring swells crested with white. Almost looking
like a swirl of cream in a cup of black coffee. Among the tall dark stalks of grass, almost taller
than her, waiting, muscles tensed in anticipation. Her face held strict determination and a
mischievous smile, eyes dancing back and forth from his face to the horizon ahead. The wind
whistled passed them, lifting tufts of his short hair into anarchy while hers whipped sharply,
rising
and falling with the wind.
"Don't cheat, Fox. It's not fair if you cheat."
He gave her an earnest smirk. "What do you mean? You always win."
"You let me win. You cheat. Don't cheat me this time."
He glanced back at her simple round face, dark eyes honest, unevading. He slowly nodded,
aware
of her sincerity.
The salty tang of the air brushed them both. Squinting ahead, avoiding the tiny particles of sand
that rolled off the dunes, unavoidably locked in turmoil, she counted.
He got a better foothold in the uprooted sand, smiling. Sam wanted a race. She would get one.
"GO!" The command a keen shrill.
She took off ahead of him. The counter always had the advantage at the start. He waited before
gaining the yard she had on him, watching the hood of her vibrant red sweat jacket bounce
crazily
up and down against her back. He took his place beside her, muscles pumping in time as he
glanced at her. An immutable stare forward and lines of resolution etched her face. He
quickened
his pace breathing in short terse bursts of air. Obstinately she kept up with him.
She was fast, like him.
He furrowed his brow with effort as he took the lead.
Sand swirled in tiny cyclones as they raced along the beach, lazily kicking bits of grit into
streams
of wind that carried them off.
He let his lead fall, giving her a chance to match him stride for stride. To his surprise, she took
the
opportunity and raced ahead.
Biting his lower lip, his feet struck the ground with incomparable speed and retook the lead at
the
last leg of the race. He could see their bikes, toppled over atop a large sand dune, slightly
hidden in the tall blades of sea grass.
A pang of guilt struck his chest as he glanced back to see Sam still charging on with reckless
abandon. His eyes turned back forward about to lessen his pace when she appeared right beside
him. An evil placid grin gracing her features. She gave him a little nudge with her elbow as she
passed him at the finish line, a small trail of shiny stones gathered from the shore.
They both leaned over, hands clasped on each knee, puffing for oxygen.
He finally choked out, "Sorry."
She looked up from the ground, just inches away from his face. Gasping, "For what?"
He wavered, still trying to control his chaotic breathing pattern. "I cheated. . ." Sucking in more
air then dispelling it back out with haste. "I...I let you win."
A smirk not unlike his own appeared on her face, lips curved up in a impish grin.
"No you didn't." She stood upright and started trudging her way up the dune to their bikes.
He stared after her, eyes shining, a reflection of the gray clouds above, muttering a silent, "Smart
ass," before he took off after her.
He trembled cold and disquiet as he took in his surroundings with a brief glance up from the
floor.
He inarticulately held the encompassing wisps of sea breeze for as long as humanly possible
until
they finally left his senses completely. Leaving the small space bare as the once hot water
bubbled
down in tepid shifts. He remained stoic, standing up straight, breathing in deep before his guts
twisted as if clutched in a rotating fist.
A hand snapped up and shut the water off while his knees felt like buckling underneath him,
threatening his stability on the slick porcelain. Soft squeaks from beneath his feet sounded as he
moved to get out and away from the confined space.
Naked.
The rush of cold air across his back was to much and he heaved dryly, hands balanced familiarly
on his knees.
This thought brought more bile, burning coarsely up his throat as it rose. He stumbled to the sink
and eagerly lowered his head to the facet. Simplistic icy water cascaded down over his dry lips
and down his throat. He stood there, leaning over the sink, gulping furiously.
He stopped for a moment long enough to glance over to his right at the small paper cup sitting
harmlessly on top of the toilet. He took a second to study the simple pink and blue flower
embroidery. The trademark "Dixie" name with a flower inserted in the spelling where the "x"
should have been.
Terror coalesced with his stomach.
The water that had rushed down his sore throat so quickly came back up with almost the same
speed as he retched. Fingers grasped the edges of the sink with an unequal force until the heaves
came less frequently and he could manage to breath some what. Eyes blinked back the
resonating
colors assaulting his every move.
Enclosing him.
He sank to the floor when he was finished, eyes barely open, arms at his sides, limp with ache.
He
brought his knees up to his chest slowly as if reading instructions on how to preform the task.
Once accomplished, he lowered his head to his chest, eyes half hidden behind wet tendrils of
hair
and began rocking.
To and fro.
~~~~~~~
No lights.
He hadn't used the phone.
Simple.
Patience.
They would wait.
~~~~~~~
A broken refrain lost, drifting slowly in at the most inopportune time. Once important in the
little
ones eye, committed to memory long ago.
<All around the mulberry bush.....>
Head on the cold floor, cocked at an irregular angle, view tilted and unfocused.
<The monkey chased the weasel.....>
The horrible scrape of expensive rubber soles atop the dirty concrete.
<Around, around the merry go round.....>
Stripped down to the bare skin. Metallic sweetness lined the corners of his mouth. Serene red,
everywhere, slipping down his delicate back and smeared across the floor.
<Pop goes the weasel!>
<m'sorry. m'sorry....questions! questions? why is he asking so many questions? me? no answers.
nothing. no one. im not you...m'sorry...m'sorry>
"They made me, Fox. They took her away from us for a reason. She's special, Fox. Just like you.
She's special. . . ." Breath scorched with his favorite drink.
Dad was up above, somewhere, walking in slow circles around his broken body, voice fading in
and out.
The heat was slowly seeping from his body. Cracked whispers dying soon after they were forced
from his split bloody lips. "Dad. . .da. ndth..." Swollen tongue slipping sideways, unable to
function correctly.
"Shhh. Be still. I'm going to tell you some things, Fox...a secret..."
<secrets? I member...no. I member darkness. I member rich anger. Hot heavy labored breaths
wheezing against the back of my neck. The speed of his wiry fingers on and inside me. I
member.....>
<allaroundthemulberrybush...>
Mulder tensed and inhaled the soft smell of leather, belly thrust up against the give of the
cushions.
<themonkeychasedtheweasel...>
Eyes flying open, frantically searching the room in panic.
<aroundaroundthemerrygoround...>
Heart stopping with the shrill ring of the phone loud in his ears.
<popgoestheweasel!>
He raised himself by the arms, drenched in sweat. Shaking off remnants of the past. A small pool
of spit lay smeared on the leather were his mouth had ground into the cushion. Somehow he had
managed to pull on a pair of baggy navy blue sweats and a plain white t-shirt.
He carefully sat up, hand almost immediately reaching for the lamp to his left. He snatched it
back
at the last second as if afraid it held some evil intent or purpose.
A slow glance into the surrounding darkness made him shudder. An ill ease quickly settled deep
within in his bowels, lurking.
Elbows resting on his knees, head held in his hands. He gave a short breathless laugh, shaking
his
head as he brought it up from his hands to look forward.
Lost.
The next ring sharply broke him out of the stare. He reached forward, gun and phone lay side by
side, so temptingly close. His hand hovered.
<So easy....so--popgoestheweasel!>
Decidedly he maneuvered his hand over the phone and slipped a palm around its smooth plastic
frame.
Another ring.
Grasping the phone firmly, he winced, not fully anticipating the sharp clang in his ears as it
resounded there. He knew who it was. He would stand a better chance at not breaking down over
the phone than face to face. He had to answer.
<No you don't>
"Mulder." Voice rough around the edges from sleep.
"Mulder, where have you been?" The voice held deep rooted worry covered with a thin sweet
coating of chocolatey anger.
He flinched as lights from traffic outside danced around on the ceiling, watching them intently as
he spoke up.
"Jesus, Scully."
Dulled and tired, so tired.
"It's two a.m." He paused and let the realization of how odd their role reversals seemed sink in
for a moment.
"I went jogging and went to bed. Why?" Ridicule and sarcasm were clear and precise.
It sounded not nearly as convincing as he thought it would have. The anger that had bubbled out
was unjust. All that was needed was a little coaxing on Scully's part and....
He could almost hear her grasping frantically for words in the air and coming up with nothing.
"Are you okay?"
<Surprise, surprise>
She fell back, as usual, on the old reliable question that always failed. Filling space was
something of a duty for Agent Scully.
<Predictable>
<You always were a little when it came to me.>
"I'm okay, Scully. Really, I'm fine."
He was about to add just super but figured that would be pushing it.
<So far, so good>
He heard a sharp intake of breath as if she was tensing.
"Scully?"
"Did you ever own a dog when you were a kid?"
The words hit with blunt force almost doubling him over.
<How does she know. She can't. I never told...never ever...nevernever>
Her voice was hard to hear. It was so soft and fragile, so calm.
"Please don't give me anymore bullshit. Please, I'm tired. No more bullshit."
In a last ditch effort, "What are...I have...no.."
He made no move to recover knowing his efforts would have been utterly useless.
His voice became so small. "How did you know?"
"In the car, on the way home from the hospital. You were so out of it, you started talking and--"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Silence rode out the minute with a small symphony of static and heavy breathing.
"Why didn't you tell me." The force with which it was said did not require a questioning tone.
"I thought it was the drugs. I thought you would be okay if...after counseling..."
Another sigh. "Mulder, you need help."
The tenuous hold he had on his anger slipped an inch.
"Why? So you and those doctors can fucking tie me down and pump narcotics into me till I can't
even see straight? Until I can just barely breath on my own?" It wasn't loud. It was incredibly
small, a whisper almost.
"It won't be like that again. I'll--"
"No." It was out with a sharp flick of the tongue. "This isn't about you. It isn't your fault. It's
fine. I'm fine. I don't need any help..."
<liarliarpantsonfire>
"I've dealt with it for a long time. I can handle this. It's nothing new."
He hadn't noticed his voice had become heavy, counterbalanced with an even shake. The tears
that had formed in his eyes didn't fall.
"Don't make me force you into this. . ." She hadn't meant for it to sound like a threat.
They fell.
<Just let go>
His head sagged between his shoulders, letting the tiny drops fall to the cheap rug beneath his
bare feet.
<Just let go>
It was suddenly too cold in his apartment. Too empty, so quiet. The smooth hands of pain were
all over his body, undulating unforgivingly as he trembled from head to toe.
<Too quiet>
He breathed into the receiver. "You know I can't."
<Just let it go>
"It doesn't have to be like that."
<Do it for her >
"But it will be."
<Let go>
He was right and she knew it.
A long interminable silence became a blanket of security for both.
"Talk."
He could see the incredulous quirk of her brow before she even said anything.
"Please. I dream and..."
<And if I fall asleep to your voice maybe it won't be so bad>
"You'll get help?"
Barely perceptible in the silence of his apartment, she didn't know how much he was giving up.
For her. "Yes."
She waited a long minute before he heard the shuffling of feet and the small flip of crisp paper.
Mulder listened intently with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths while counting to ten.
He swung his feet back up onto the cushions and spread himself out comfortably on the couch.
She cleared her throat loudly into the phone, so much so that Mulder pulled the phone away
from
his ear in hurt. A coarse giggle hitched in his chest momentarily as she spoke.
"I read this when I was seven. I found it flipping through books that nobody looked at in the back
section of the library. In the "w's."
The sound, although everyday, was already producing a slowness within him.
He whispered softly, urging her on. "Okay."
Her voice was uneven and trembling, but oh so sweet in his ears.
"We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street. . ."
His breaths were already slow and shallow as his eyes awkwardly disengaged.
"Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play. . ."
The phone, entangled between his long, elegant fingers, slipped an inch or
two away from his ear.
"Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers weared of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl."
The author was obvious yet he couldn't place the name.
"And down the long silent street,"
"The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,"
"Crept like a frightened girl."
Lost. The soft gentle fingers of sleep caressed his eyelids down for good. Sending him backward
into the sweep of silence where dreams were but figments of wild imaginations.
~~~~~~~
She could hear soft shallow breathing somewhere off in the background.
She whispered, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep. "Mulder?"
A soft snort confirmed her assumption. She caught herself breathing in time to his own breaths.
Eyes lost as she stared into space, caught in a trance listening to the small childish noises he
made
as he slept.
She hadn't needed the book. The poem had been ingrained in to her memory since she
encountered it one day wandering. Not knowing what the poem really meant nor did she care at
the time. The first and last lines were her's. The book just comforted her. The slick cover and
intricate design of it.
A soft murmur broke her train of thought as she realized she hadn't hung up.
She uttered a gentle, "Sweet dreams, Mulder." Before shutting off the phone.
~~~~~~~
The dial tone sung loudly beside him. Overemphasized by the dank silence that clouded the
apartment.
The three figures about the room closed in. One turning on the television and increasing the
volume till it blared.
Mulder jolted awake, sweaty and out of breath.
A harsh gasp of air when he realized he wasn't alone.
A pair of hands grabbed his wrists and forced them up behind his back, pushing his face down
into
the soft cushion, harsh metal grating against his skin. He screamed into the suffocating leather,
terrified. Kicking and twisting harder when he felt another pair of greedy hands rip down his
sweats past his hip.
A cool breath against his neck. "This might sting a little."
He felt the sharp prick of the needle and bucked upwards, rewarded with a dull snap and a
singing
pain that radiated up and down his thigh.
"Fuck."
A sharp knee was forcefully thrust into his lower back, crushing the air out of him. A hand
clutched a fistful of his hair, pushing his head down further until he couldn't breath anymore.
Still squirming beneath the intolerable weight.
Silent whispers he couldn't make out.
His body was reduced to one uncontrollable mass of panic, bucking and fidgeting until the
paralysis broke out, spreading through his body.
Face hidden deep within the sweaty leather, crying out, his last attempts muffled.
He jerked and twisted. A gentle tremor shook through his body before it gave in, relaxing against
his wishes.
Fox Mulder lay still.
~~~~~~~
Shift.
Clink.
Drowning in a sea of black crescendo.
Swing.
Clink.
Wondering as if a lost child in a sea of faceless others, on his tiptoes, peering over heads too tall
for him to see over.
Sway.
Clink.
Aimlessly drifting, caught between the listless current and crimson tide. Each struggling to pull
him from each others grasp.
Clink.
Crusted eyelids struggling open while the back of his mind firmly said no.
Head heavy, chin on his chest, toes swaying a mere three inches off the ground.
<Floating?>
Eyes uncomprehending stared downwards shifting about studying the ground in confusion.
A wiggle of the fingers above his head brought hot needles of pain up and down his arms.
A strict finger gently placed below the hollow of his chin urged him to lift his gaze. They
followed
the aesthetic hand, a musicians, up past the arm to warm blue eyes wrinkled around the edges
with age, a grandfather perhaps.
He focused into them. They were brilliant.
Cold.
A sharp breeze slipped down his bare back. He shifted his eyes back down.
The musicians hand roughly grasped his chin and snapped his head up quick. A bright light
shone
directly into his eyes then the hands were gone.
Black spots preformed disoriented swirls in front of his tired eyes.
Ashes gracefully danced to the barren floor.
He kept his head down, slowly comprehending the situation.
Polished leather shoes stepped into view and he tilted his head back up.
<A fast learner>
Mulder tried flinching back but found his muscles would have none of it, his blood still coursing
with the narcotic.
<So sweet to look at>
As Mulder's eyes grew wide, Cancerman brought a hand up to Mulder's bare belly, caressing the
navel in small slow circles with his thumb.
<Even sweeter to touch>
He screwed his eyes shut, suppressing a sob as memories raced through him in a fury and tears
burned his eyes.
Cancerman's eyes were transfixed on his thumb, circling lazily. "I'm sorry our time was cut so
short."
Mulder's gut clenched tight as he turned his head away in disgust, pleading with his body to react
somehow.
An index finger joined in on the assault and slowly descended to the waist band of his sweats
that
were just barely hanging from his narrow hips. For a moment, they traced lines back and forth
just above the cotton, before dipping down inside, then quickly returning back to his navel, all in
one agonizingly slow movement.
Mulder's stomach turned again as he clenched his jaw tightly, pleading with his body not to
react to the calloused fingers sliding down his waist.
Suddenly, Cancerman was on top of him, breathing humid warmth into his ear as he tried to lean
back. The cuffs holding him groaned but held strong.
"He touched you like this didn't he?"
<So long ago...so small...strapped down...then the slow caress with his fing-->
<no no no no no no....>
Mulder whipped his head around looking through screwed up eyes.
Growling low and fierce. "Fuck you."
Cancerman's lips curved up slightly, genuine. Walking behind him, he came up close to his ear
again, whispering.
"I own you, Fox. You're mine."
Those strangler hands resting on his hips slightly tugging down at his sweats.
"I let him, Fox. I told him he could have you. . . .for a--"
"No." Tense. Eyes clenched shut as the words sunk in.
One hand was sliding past his hip over his stomach to rest, rubbing, fingertips just below the
waistband of his underwear.
"--He told me things about you. So many things...You're so...responsive."
The hand moved down, feeling along the way with slow intent.
<All around the mulberry bush...>
Mulder reared back away from the hand shoved firmly down his sweats and screamed.
Lifting his body, elbows interlocked, muscles straining furiously against the metal sinking into
his
wrists. The blood trickled down along his arms, gaining momentum as it rolled down his back
and
pooled at the base of his spine.
Desperate and useless. "No!"
Still fighting, violently yanking at the cuffs in a blind panic, ignoring the sharp fire that was
eagerly spreading down his arms and back.
He didn't notice the butt end of a 9 millimeter swinging towards his brow.
The shock of the ominous black was incomprehensible.
Clink.
The body swung lifelessly. The cuffs creaking in time to each swing.
Clink...
Cancerman spoke wordlessly to the doctor, who produced a small syringe and went profoundly
to
work.
~~~~~~~
Nov. 31, 1975
His tender round face lay nestled deep within the soft cotton pillow. Arms drawn up tightly
beside
his chest. Small supple lips murmured soft whimpers while he watched again in horror with
muddled clarity.
The dark corridors of his conscious brought back the sounds and sights all in one exhausting
second.
~~~
Nov. 23, 1974
Suddenly black.
<She hates the dark>
"Fox!"
Blinding lights.
Too many to count focused in on them.
Heart pounding in his small chest, grasping the cold metal of his father's gun in his tiny shaking
hands.
His eyes grew huge as the white hit him with physical force...
~~~
Nov. 31, 1975
A hungry whisper in his ear translating into sticky warmth reeled him back from sleep.
"I told you what would have to be done if you didn't keep your god damn mouth shut when I'm
trying to sleep."
Fox blinked his eyes slowly, eyelashes brushing against the soft pillow producing a strange
grating
noise in his ears. He tried to bring his hand round to rub the sleep away from his eyes but found
he couldn't.
A labored breath in his ear snapped his head up quick
Sanguine. <Mom?>
<No, she left. She was gone>
Heavy breathing.
<This could still be a dream>
"Dad?"
The pressure straddling his legs told him different.
That certain sound of nothing, holding the room in upheaval, was unbearable.
The calm steadiness of his thoughts turned frantic as he realized why he couldn't move his arms.
They lay strapped tightly together, grating, bone on bone, tethered by the thick leather of a belt
to
one of the beds head posts.
"Dad!--"
A large fist came crashing down on his lower back and he suddenly couldn't breath.
For the life of him he wanted to scream, wake the neighbors, he didn't care anymore.
A rough hand shoved his shirt up to his shoulders, then that hot breath again on the bare skin of
his back.
"Lay still you little fuck."
The words whispered breathlessly gave way to inchoate fear. Instantly, he began struggling
vainly,
twisting below the immense weight on top of him.
Grunting, "God damn you."
Another fist found itself buried in his exposed stomach.
The abrupt lack of air and hot sting running up and down his side brought lassitude along with
shame following not far behind. Unconsciously, he tried curling his legs up so he could lay in a
ball but his father had other ideas.
Blunt fingers clawed and dug into his hips, leaving no hope for escape, and shifted them so that
his belly lay flat against the mattress again.
His forehead rested on the mattress, dazed. The soft fuzz of the bed sheet tickled at his brow,
dulling everything into a small, slow and steady hum of sensation.
A calloused finger slowly traced a line down the curve of his spine, pausing every so often
before
continuing down the slope of his back. Another hand caressed his left hip in coarse little
movements, while the finger at his waist teased itself, playing with the waistband of his pj's.
Tears stung the sides of his cheeks as he kept his eyes screwed shut, welcoming the darkness that
it brought.
Both hands pushed the cumbersome clothing down around his thighs.
Trembling, an anguished sob irrupted from his chest.
A finger slid down and inside with ill practiced ease.
The salty tang of blood filled his mouth as he realized he'd bitten his lip, and screamed for the
one
person he knew would not have came, even if she had been there.
A warm hand clamped the back of his neck and applied pressure, quieting him down quickly
and...
~~~
Nov. 23, 1974
The light stung his eyes, his skin, he had to turn away but couldn't. Staring into the light then
down the long spiral steps of darkness where all was lost.
<Sammy?>
Curled in a tiny ball on the living room floor, alone, in the dark.
<Where's Samantha?>
Sweat glistened his brow as his eyes lay glazed over, unmoving, digging holes into the ugly worn
carpet beneath him.
<Sam?!...>
~~~
Nov. 31, 1975
Blinking hard he was dully aware of the sharp sting licking up and down his back. Recognizing
the unmistakable creak of leather being stretched and twisted and tightened around his father's
knuckles in effort to get a better hold on the slick material. That split second where all that can
be
heard is the rapid progression of the belt, swinging down through the air. Then meeting soft
peach
skin with a hardy crack, left resounding in your ears, pulsing in time to each new throbbing welt.
Swoosh.
Crack.
<Don't scream. That's what he wants>
Swoosh.
Crack.
<Hold it in. You lost her. You deserve this>
Swoosh.
Crack.
Scream.
A deafening boom pulsed inside his head as the floors of consciousness crumbled beneath his
feet.
~~~
Nov. 23, 1974
More lights filtered in through the window.
<They're back>
He stiffened in fear waiting for the light, the one that stung.
<Where'd you take her?>
A door opened and closed somewhere off in the distance, then the tread of those expensive work
shoes on the worn carpet floor.
<Is it my turn?>
Someone was shouting in his face, in his ear. Shaking his limp body in rage.
<No, m'sorry Sam....m'sorry>
Then nothing....
~~~
Nov. 31, 1975
He worked to open his eyes. It was still dark in his room. The hot fire that was his back throbbed
against the cold wall he was pushed up against. Sitting on the floor he could make out the faint
outline of his father, sitting on his bed, head down in his hands.
He didn't dare move. Everything hurt. His skin was sticky with sweat and a little blood and he
wished it wasn't so dark but didn't exactly care for the light that would banish it either.
Somewhere in between lay comfort.
The creak of the bed seemed far off in his ears as he diverted his attention to the floor, eyes
barely
peeking out over his knees.
Suddenly, the face of his father was just a wary foot from his own.
Trapped in a corner and there was no way out. Then a hand reached out slow and deliberate
towards him.
He flinched, not taking his eyes off the hand for a second as it neared him.
It came to rest softly on his head, rubbing his sweat soaked hair before it slid down pressing
against his cheek, caressing, nice and easy.
His mind screamed crazily while he just sat there, frozen, looking back into his father's eyes in
confusion.
The grown man in front of him stuttered, voice wavering. "I'm...I-I'm...so..I..need to
tell...I'm...forgive me..."
Comprehension and confusion became one as everything slid back down into the silent drowning
waters of black.
~~~~~~~
She sat at the farthest end of the couch, sinking down into the comfortable leather. Her eyes sat
propped forward, disengaged, deadlocked on the spot where the floor met the wall. Dust sat
there
comfortably in little clumps.
Mulder never had been one to be excessively tidy.
The apartment was somewhat dark though light filtered in through the half closed blinds, casting
the farthest reaches of the room in spurious inky blackness and the rest in awkwardly pale gray
light.
It was humid outside. Just like it always was in the spring time though the sun was blanketed
with
resourceful gray clouds that held no menace. Earlier, their presence in the sky had struck her as
obscene. Now, their obscurity of light seemed to do the day justice.
For some reason, she knew she would not have been able to handle the sparkling light that
surely would have been present had the clouds not taken the brunt of it. Drinking it in would
have
made things terribly worse.
It had only taken a split second for the day to come crashing down in one enormous heap.
She had stood, refusing the AD's request that she sit down.
He was about to sit, frozen hunched over as if unsure for a moment, then decided to stand also.
Her jaw had been set with a mix of resolve and futile anger, eyes staring past Skinner and out the
large picturesque window, tearing the god damned world down in a fury.
Skinner's inquires were a dull rhythmic hum that she had not heard clearly. The roar in her ears
had kept getting louder and angrier. Clenching her fist harder at her sides, her knuckles had
become a pasty white.
She spoke intermediately with an occasional, "Yes sir," and, "no sir," at times even a, "thank you
sir." They came out cool, calm, under complete control. But the anger was there. In her eyes, just
beneath that blank stare. She had not looked into Skinner's eyes. What she saw when he had
stood from his chair to greet her told her enough.
In the brief moment that she had made eye contact with his worn face and tired red eyes she had
known. He had blinked hard twice, registering his intent in his eyes.
They said, I'm sorry but they've decided to fuck with Mulder some more. I'm sorry, I know who
took him, but I've done all I can do. I'm sorry, but I have no choice in the matter. I'm sorry, but I
couldn't stop them. I'm sorry, but they said he would be returned. I'm sorry, but I'm stuck up shit
creek without a paddle and have been for some time. I'm sorry, but there will be no lengthy
formal
investigation. I'm sorry, but you'll need to stay out of this. I'm sorry, but they need you over at
Quantico. I'm sorry, but I've tried to negotiate. I'm sorry, but things cannot be changed. I'm sorry,
but this is their way. I'm sorry, but...
"Fuck sorry," she had almost screamed. "Fuck you. Fuck them. Fuck Quantico and fuck formal
investigation."
<You're going to hell Dana Katherine Scully>
The voice in her head was weak, sounding too much like a bad impression of the parish priest
she
had known when she was younger.
<fuckfuckfuckfuck>
The filter of the fish tank hummed and gurgled softly. It was familiar and soothing though there
were no neglected fish swimming around, preying on each others babies, looking for one final
meal.
The apartment had already been searched, analyzed and dusted.
Nothing had been left out of place. The only indication that Mulder had struggled were a few
cushions scattered on the floor and a small drop of blood smeared on the rug beside the couch.
His gun had been left lying untouched on the coffee table just a few feet away from where he
had
slept.
The rush of waiting burned through her head. Thoughts clouded her brain, overloading
simultaneously, melting down and dulling her eyes. Things that needed to be said, to be
screamed,
would not be said today. Skinner had made sure of it.
It would never be enough for them.
Her hands were shaking but she held them in her lap, still staring at the point where the floor met
the wall.
Still staring into the dust.
The light above was sheer.
Mulder moaned and blinked hard up at it, stinging his eyes and making them water.
Bile rose in his throat as he watched shadows sway in and out of focus above him. Leaning and
talking over him in sharp tones. Their voices seemed odd and uneven as if contorted in some
kind
of pseudo language.
His hands were shaking underneath the thick leather that held them at his sides. Cold air played
across his belly, sending slow nasty shivers up and down his body. The fine grain of latex was
suddenly pressed against his skin, moving in a chaotic fashion, slipping and sliding. He arched in
displeasure at their violation, the restraints creaking with his effort, holding him down so the
shadows could play.
The rubber sheathed hands were gone. The cold air replaced them, gliding across his abdomen.
The skin there crawled and tightened.
He squinted up and hissed at shadow number one on his right A steady beep of a monitor
distracted him as a smooth surgical hand forced his head back down to the table.
The small glint off a tray of shiny surgical instruments caught his eye and his lower lip began to
quiver in antipathy. He slowly rolled his eyes to his left, trying to repress the fear that was
making
him tremble. And soon scream.
Another hand forced an eyelid open.
He howled fiercely, straining against the leather biting into his wrists and ankles, dark eyes
vitreous and watery with glaring rage. Latex pinched and gripped his skin. Then another held his
chin and dug its bruising fingers into his jaw.
He was breathing hard when he saw a dropper filled with a milky white fluid gravitating towards
his eye.
Latex fingers dug harder, daring him to move.
A shadow leaned over him, carefully lowering the dropper to his left eye.
Two fingers painfully peeled back his eyelid further, exposing his eye to its fullest. A barely
perceptible whimper was wrenched from him as he watched the milky substance drip along the
droppers edge and fall.
He shook and strained against the hands that held him when he felt the wet liquid hit his exposed
eye.
Blunt fingers sharply peeled back the right eyelid he had managed to clench shut.
He moaned low and quiet, "No."
The slick fluid filled his eyes as he blinked hard once.
He fought the slippery feel of it against the back of his eyelids.
He fought the grinding hands that still cradled his head.
He fought as his eyes rolled back and up.
The edges of the dark were smooth and unconfined.
He fought that too.
~~~~~~~
Memories and horrific nightmares chased each other round, back and forth, almost evenly paced
with the movements under his fragile eyelids. Too many things raced in and out, passing him in a
blur of movement before he could actually distinguish truth from fiction.
He was sweating and breathing hard. Groaning and flinching back violently every so often until
he
screamed so loud he woke himself up.
Dazed, he shifted quickly into a crouch, back up against the wall, still only clothed in his sweats.
Immediately, his fingers came up to his eyes, rubbing and tearing at them until he was sure there
was nothing there that wasn't suppose to be. He looked down at his hands, double checking
before roaming the room from the corner of his eyes.
The concrete was cold and hard beneath his bare feet, a small drain subjugated with what he
hoped was decayed rust was centered in the middle of the floor. There was a tiny black camera
in
the corner of one of the white walls leaving its other three brothers bare to the touch.
His teeth ground back and forth over each other as he slid slowly up the wall into a standing
position.
Images and sounds kept interrupting his thoughts, breaking the useful ones in two.
The room was lit annoyingly bright, almost painfully so. He placed his hands along the cold wall
behind him and pushed off with a little effort from his strained limbs.
The room itself was small. He counted 3 paces to the other wall. He stood in the middle of the
room, staring up in the camera's general direction as fear burned and itched his skin.
He turned his back to it and uttered a small and resigned, "Fuck."
Glancing to his left he saw the only immediate means of escape, a metal door with a small
convenient window laced with chicken wire.
Intertwining fear and anger urged him to bang hard on it, kick and scream and yell until
somebody
came and...
<Then what? Give em' the lowdown, outline a few main points of habeas corpus?>
He shook his head and walked towards the corner where he had awoken next to. He sat so his
back was to one of the walls and he could rest his head on the adjacent one.
The wave of sounds and images in his head crashed over him in a roar of white noise as he
blinked
and swore to Christ he wouldn't fall asleep.
~~~~~~~
Vinton spoke in a rigid tone. "I am afraid this may take some time."
Cancerman glanced sideways and back into the doctors eyes, "Will the schedule keep?"
He regarded Vinton scornfully, though highly aware of his abilities and success rate. The man
had
achieved a great many things in technology and interrogation tactics in Germany.
Simply, the man knew how to fuck with people, mentally and physically.
"I believe so," he paused for a moment glancing down at the video monitor. "The best results
come after three days of episodic abuse. The more obstinate wills are slowly broken."
Cancerman's words were sharp and acute. "How will we know he has actually remembered?"
"I'm most certain he has. The implants show accelerated breathing patterns and his bp has
increased remarkably. Retrieving the information you've requested will take time. His limits will
be explored. If he does not comply, the stimulation process will be repeated."
He closed his eyes, relishing the moment of a promise kept.
This was only the beginning.
~~~~~~~
The overhead light reflected sharply off her hair as she stared at charred black flesh and curled
limbs bent in an almost comical fashion. Its mouth lay agape, containing faint resemblances of
teeth, blackened and ashe gray--as if to say, Surprise!'
Scully's lips curled up for a second and a slight chuckle disguised as a cough echoed faintly off
the walls before she coldly killed both. The stress was getting to her. She held a scalpel in a tight
fist, hypnotized by the sharp squeak of rubber as it gripped slippery steel. It was on the table,
waiting. Routine. The rigid structure of it and simple answers had forced her up against the wall
and dulled her mind.
Sea green surrounded her, complimented by bright florescent lights above. She stood staring at it
on the table, not moving and barely breathing.
Everyone was so sad to hear about Spooky. Some even used the nickname when giving her their
regards, like he was dead. Like she--
The shrill ring of the phone made her flinch and gasp involuntarily.
She hadn't noticed, but her legs ached from standing for so long. She calmly laid the scalpel
down
and ripped a glove off. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the phone that was placed on
the
wall.
"Pathology."
Dead silence greeted her.
"Hello?"
The annoying dial tone stung her ears for a moment before she slammed the phone back down
on
the cradle.
Walking back to the cadaver, "Prick."
~~~~~~~
Mulder's eyes shifted underneath his eyelids.
Somewhere, shoes were scuffing noisily in a circle, pacing back and forth.
He blinked and tried to turn his head unsuccessfully as he felt some strange object force its way
into his mouth. It roughly scraped the sides of his cheek, then was gone. The pain inside his head
shifted in lazy swirls as he examined his surroundings.
The room was a mix of light and shadow swaying drunkenly in and out of focus.
More scraping on his feet then a small clip of scissors when he finally distinguished the lab
technician above him. He made a move to protest but his tongue seemed awkward and heavy.
He flinched as he felt the soft touch of a latex sheathed hand and roaming fingers on his cock,
moving in a slow pumping motion. Revulsion made his stomach clench and turn wickedly.
An inarticulate growl that might have been the word no, escaped from the shallow depths of his
throat. Though his body seemed to have other ideas as the hand began to enthrall his lower half.
He blinked hard and struggled to find himself bound to a table as the fingers varied in their
stroking method and increased their pace, egging his body on.
Although his body was effete, he groaned low and fierce, in shame, as his hips tried to buck
upwards toward the fist that he was fucking. Squirming and shifting, trying to escape its grasp.
The straps held him down strictly as he stiffened and came into the ruthless hand that was still
manipulating his cock, milking it until his body had nothing left to give.
His fists were clenched in tight balls of anger and humiliation when he heard the soft snap of a
lid.
A satisfied grunt. Then empty receding steps echoing off barren walls.
A thin black plastic belt was strapped tightly across his forehead, restricting his movements.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A pair of hands appeared and checked his
eyes,
but he couldn't quite distinguish a face before they left. He barred his teeth and exhaled shrilly at
the sudden excruciating pain as he felt some kind of probe shoved up into his cock.
<Oh fuck, oh Jesus, this isn't happening again. This isn't...>
Mulder's mind was going a mile a minute and was on the verge of breakdown when the hard set
face of the old man leaned over him.
"What do--"
The old man cut him off.
"--In time my boy. In time." His blue eyes were stone, marred by their animal quality.
Vinton flicked a large needle with his finger before lowering it to Mulder's exposed arm.
His voice was small and scared as he tried to watch from the corner of his eye as Vinton injected
it, "What is that?"
"A little something to sensitize the nerves," as if explaining to a small, unwitting child that
monsters don't really exist.
Another face hovered up above Mulder. This man was young. Wide pale eyes, thin pressed lips,
and short boyish hair that shot out every which way. The kind that didn't require any grooming or
brushing.
"Dr. Vinton?" The man was motioning to something he could not see.
Mulder stared upward at Vinton, eyes confused and brow furrowed in anticipation.
"Yes, finish him up."
The young man tightened some of the black straps that held Mulder down. Clamping electrodes
to the tip of his navel, inner thighs, and temple.
Mulder's tongue flicked out and wet his lips.
Vinton caught the nervous gesture out of the corner of his eye and leaned down closer to Mulder,
placing a hand on his forehead, smiling contritely.
"We haven't even begun and you're trembling?"
He concentrated on Vinton with dusky eyes, producing a maniacal smile. It had been so long
since
his last display of defiance.
"Shitty hand jobs tend to have that effect on me."
Vinton produced a wicked smile of his own and nodded.
A sudden brilliant red pain engulfed his entire being in a matter of moments. He screamed, eyes
squeezed shut, body tensing and arching as the horrific shock ripped through him. His mind
ceased, all thoughts halted, for a moment, along with his heart.
He blinked hard, registering the fuzz that coated every sound he heard.
His old friend fear came out to play again.
Mulder lay dazed, unable to stop trembling. A constant stream of profanity was all that raced
through his conscious as he opened his mouth.
Out of breath, voice shaking, "W-what do you wa--." He choked on those words as Vinton
nodded again, accordingly.
His fists clenched. The screaming muted through gritted teeth, jaw locked down. Tiny sounds of
anguish escaped from his throat as his body kept shaking even after the machine had been turned
off.
"It has been brought to my attention that you're..." he actually smiled, "...that you can be difficult.
I'm going to help you learn, Fox. You lack discipline, but that will soon change. I'm going to
teach you."
Mulder's expression was feral, hate stemming from the pain. Rocking the balance of power fear
had over him. "That's not what all the girls say."
Almost regretfully, "I see."
An incumbent nod.
Mulder held his breath, clenching his eyes shut.
White heat split his body in two, searing up his groin and strangling his heart. The idea of trying
to breathe would have been hysterical had he been able to think of such a luxury.
Vinton watched Mulder's body arch upward, straining impossibly with his bound hands and feet.
Guttural sounds of torment were sent screaming through Mulder's clenched teeth and echoing off
the walls. Through it all, Vinton could still distinguish that Mulder was yelling the word no.
It had been a long time.
Vinton noted the tears streaming from Mulder's eyes as he watched him try to catch his breath.
"Fox."
Mulder groaned, eyes painfully watching the bright colors recede and his body still twitching
absently, remembering each shock as it passed through him. He was oblivious to everything else.
"Fox!"
Vinton gave a terse nod to the young man.
Mulder's body no longer needed to indulge itself in remembrance. He bit clean through his lower
lip, grunting in a determined effort not to scream which failed miserably as his body danced to
the
tune of the electric dissonance burning fiercely through him.
"Listen to me. Fox, look at me."
Mulder's eyes flicked right up to his face, he was learning so quickly.
"I want the truth. You see, I'm a truth seeker, much like yourself."
Mulder paled at the comparison and held back a hysteric giggle that pressed against the back of
his teeth. He disregarded it. He was going to go insane if they kept this up, that much was
undoubtably true.
"I expect it and nothing less. I want it and I will see to it that you give it to me."
Vinton paused almost for effect, drilling holes into Mulder's half conscious eyes.
"Fox, this is only level one, the lowest current. Your choices are simple. You can give me the
information that I need now or in a few days from now when you're half dead. I won't kill you,
but I can make you wish I had, it's up to you."
<My choice!?!> Mulder gave an impish grin and tried to nod, but the strap across his head
prevented him from doing so.
Vinton scowled in disapproval, nodding.
Horrific heat surrounded him and buried him alive beneath its heavy layered surface, smothering
him down into a dark cavernous twilight. Somewhere in between the polar opposites of pain and
comfort, light and dark, life and death. The lines weren't clear cut as to where each one stopped
and the other began but he felt himself slowly inching forwards towards the remitting darkness
that looked oh so soft....
Vinton stabbed Mulder with a needle and pressed his eyelids up.
Mulder blinked back the encumbering light and groaned low as the darkness receded, a chance
of
reprieve just beyond his fingertips.
"I'm sorry my dear boy, that won't happen again. My assistant can...," his face was dour, almost
apologetic, "...become a bit over zealous."
He slowly whispered up, not particularly speaking to anyone. "I have that same problem every
time I receive my new issue of Celebrity Skin."
Vinton's eyes gleamed for a moment.
<Ohshityoustupidfuck! Why the fuck did you have to go and say that?>
The assistant spoke, "We can continue, the pulse is normal."
Vinton's lips curved upward in a slight leer. "We'll take those matters up later, Fox. But let's
get started shall we?"
Mulder swallowed and tried to shrug absently, forgetting that he was strapped down like an
animal.
"What have you been remembering?"
Mulder's brow furrowed, "What?"
Vinton stared at him, grimacing. A slight nod.
All Mulder got out was "No w--," before the stroking heat swept his body in upheaval.
"Your father was quite the stickler for discipline wasn't he? You're remembering some of these
incidents?"
Mulder's mind reeled away from the mental pictures that assaulted him, he could still faintly
smell
his father's sweat on his skin.
Anger flared. He yelled uselessly, "You sick fuck! I'm going to kill you! I'm going--."
A cruel smile and a generous nod.
His nerves were on fire, pain pulsing and flaring continuously. The lights dimmed but the light
held him, leaving only black spots hovering in front of his eyes, mocking him.
"Your father loved to write, you know. He was very good at it too, though not quite consistent
with details."
Mulder hardly heard a word of this. He could only cringe as he felt himself remembering his
father's unendearing touch.
He didn't bother answering, just closed his eyes, set his jaw with resolve and waited for the pain
to rip through him again.
Vinton watcher Mulder bear down and sighed.
He let his hand travel down Mulder's abdomen and came to rest stroking the insides of his thighs.
The metal probe was imbedded deep within his engorged cock. The crown a dark purple,
puckered tight around the probe. Vinton flicked the end and was rewarded with a tiny gasp of
pain.
"This will do you no good. Why must you fight me every step of the way? This doesn't have to be
painful. Just tell me what you remember and this will be all over. No more pain. I promise.
Mulder breathed hard and fierce through his nose. <No more pain. I promise.> The words
echoed
as he felt the hand stroking his thighs. That manic giggle pressing up against his lips again,
begging for release.
Tears slid down the side of his face, "Please, I don't remember. I can't--just--please don't do
this."
Vinton's hands thankfully stopped rubbing and left his skin.
Vinton appeared on his right again, the assistant on his left, needle nose pliers in hand.
"I need you to answer my questions." Vinton's eyes deviated from him to the assistant, then back
again. "What do you remember?"
Mulder stared hard at the pliers, swallowing hard and struggling to breath, "Nothing, I swear.
Nothing!"
The assistant grabbed his middle finger and bent it cruelly. Bracing the pliers, he clenched
Mulder's fingernail with its two pinchers and pulled.
Waves of agony spread up and down his arm. Gritting his teeth, he whimpered and forced his
eyes
to close sending another tear sliding down across his overworked jaw.
The assistant had ripped his fingernail halfway out.
"I need you to concentrate Fox, for your own sake."
The assistant dutifully flicked his fingernail hard.
A sob, "I don't know you crazy fuck! I don't remember!"
The assistant twisted Mulder's finger again to get a better hold and pulled the nail out with one
firm jerk.
His shriek was fierce, followed by a small staccato of whimpers and hiccups.
"What do you remember Fox?"
The more things change, the more things say the same.
He couldn't breath. Couldn't see. Could only feel.
He whispered a few encouraging comments to the assistant who quickly turned on that quaint
little machine that made him all tingly inside. Level four current was a straight shot into the inky
black outer reaches of space.
~~~~~~~
The night was dense and muggy--not even a small succinct breeze. The smell of putrid sweat so
strong that it could almost be licked off the air. The humidity in this city was just a fucking
crime.
Skinner sped over deserted back streets, occasionally glancing over to the cell phone lying
carelessly on the passenger side seat. Off in the distance beyond the crumbled and fallen
buildings
of the archaic district was a horizon lined with the steady stream of blaring red brake lights stuck
in rush hour traffic, swamping the beltway. Through the haze of sifting smog the cars seemed set
at a stand still, or maybe deserted by their owners in some frantic haste to avoid the inevitable.
He glanced back over to his cell phone, jaw set grimly.
Was it worth the risk?
The smoking bastard had called him.
Deep and toneless, "Things are taking longer than expected."
Fury had burned through his veins. Anger reducing him to only a one word sentence. "Why?"
The words came fast--smooth, "Agent Mulder is having trouble understanding our need for his
cooperation. It is vital. Make the necessary adjustments in light of this inconvenience and I'll
contact you then."
The dial tone sang in his ear, mocking him.
<Godamncocksuckingmotherfuckershithead....>
One of Skinner's hands left the steering wheel and decidedly snatched the phone up off the seat.
He had already dialed her number once that day, hesitating only a moment before hanging up,
their threats echoing over and over in his tired brain ceaselessly, parading repeatedly like a
fucking
merry go round.
As he dialed, his eyes darted from the telephone to the road and back.
The sudden squeal of tires jerked his head up, his hands and feet immediately responding to
what
lay ahead. He swerved and stomped down on the brake, knuckles almost white with effort, trying
to keep control of the steering wheel. His head slammed back into the seat and then there was no
longer any movement or noise, just the acrid smell of burnt rubber and sweat.
Skinner glared through the windshield at the sedan just inches away from his own, but only for a
moment, before putting the car in reverse in an attempt to barrel out of the situation backwards.
His efforts were thwarted by another black sedan blocking his only means of escape.
He despondently turned off the engine but left the keys swaying back and forth in the ignition.
Anger pulsed and adrenaline crept a long bony finger up his spine while he listened to the jingle
of
his keys as they rocked chaotically.
The cold steel felt comfortable in his hand as he got out the car in one fluid movement.
The crack of a blunt object between his shoulder blades sent him sprawling to the ground, the
sound of his gun sliding on the dry, beaten pavement rattling in his ears. Another blow to his
spine
and he felt the cracked earth beneath his cheek.
"This could have been dealt with more humanely, yet your predictability is astounding." The
slight
hitch in the voice was the only sign of life in the old man standing over him.
"Where's Mulder?" Fire caressed the back of his throat as the bright lights in front of him shifted
and swayed with his words. The pressure on his back increased, his wrists behind him, grinding
bone on bone.
"Agent Scully is not to know of your position in this matter, Mr. Skinner. Agent Mulder's health
suffers the consequences of your actions. It would be wise of you to stop and think about what
you have readily accepted so graciously for him."
Skinner flinched at the betrayal and fought against the weight on his back.
"We had an agreement. Have you forgotten so quickly?"
Anger seethed from between his clenched teeth as his head strained upward so he could see the
old man's face, but gave up and spit hatred at the expensive leather soles beside him. "We never
made any agreement. Agent Mulder is not just some lab rat you can fuck with. You take what
you
want to take."
"Is it that simple? Agent Mulder has matters to attend to as do you. Agent Scully is subdued for
now but I lack confidence in your commitment to this endeavor." The sound of metal gliding
back
on metal and the small click confirmed the finality of his words.
Skinner thrashed but found another blow hammered into the base of his neck. He closed his
eyes,
letting the colors fade, and hoped the bullet was slow and painful. A swift end with a bullet to
the
brain.....He didn't deserve that much.
A breathless sigh brought his eyes open a slit. "Agent Mulder will be returned.....when he has
given us what has been asked of him. Keep Agent Scully out of this, Mr. Skinner. She is not to
know." His tone was grave. A blatant warning of reproval and reassurance that both would suffer
if he did anything noble.
The weight atop him was shifting. The voice above seemed pressed for time, then coddled the
words as they slid past the old man's teeth.
"Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite."
He heard the sickening thud as metal collided with his flesh.
He slept tight.
~~~~~~~
The room was the same--harsh light pushing down, searing his skin, and walls that glowed with
their whiteness--only it was filled with a disturbed clicking sound that echoed off the walls.
Mulder sank back against the wall and hissed, cradling his hand close against his side in an
attempt to protect and soothe his throbbing finger. His movements were slow and clumsy, but
calculated. Holding back tears, he finally collapsed down on the floor and gritted his teeth,
desperately trying to keep them from chattering.
He squinted up at the ceiling, his lower lip trembling as a raw chill sliced its way up his spine
and
lingered--frost-bitten fingertips dancing seductively on the back of his neck, tracing slow chaotic
paths that made his gut clench in cold terror.
He screwed up his face as he let his eyes fall back to the floor, writhing as the small quakes
shook
his body. Somehow he had been given his sweats back. That small piece of clothing gave him
comfort, if only a little.
He curled up against the wall, arms wrapped around himself and knees pulled up close to his
chest, muttering nonsense under his breath.
They had given him something, something to slow him down, when they were dragging him
back--cold white floors, fluorescent lights beating down from above and his reflection muddled
on
the slick tiles beneath his body.
Dark hazel wandered off becoming glassier with each passing shiver.
At least they gave him some of the good shit....
Time shifted, sweet and sticky and horrifically balanced, set in sync with a slow mellow song
that
hummed softly in his ear.
Gently rocking to and fro on the splintered docks that groaned. Watching the rusted patterns of
light collapse back to earth. When it was dusk the air was cool and so was the water, an ebbing
current slipping past his ankles. Water drifted in--the monotonous sway of the dock and the
constant sloosh and creak as water collided with eroded wood. Edging forward you could just
barely see reflections in the water, spider-webbed and ruined once the surface was disturbed by
the incoming tide.
Dad was storming around inside. Anger masked fear and terror, but not very well.
Where's Sam?
Away.
She went with Mom down to the local market. Just as they had left Dad had gotten a visitor.
The visitor made Dad slam doors and shout and, and....
Their voices were faint, but he could just barely hear them over the soft splash of the water from
where they stood on the deserted beach
His father's voice was hoarse and ragged. "...I won't let them take him!.... Bullshit! No!"
Samantha and Mom would bring back hot dogs, and burgers, and soda, and...
"It's not your decision to make. He's the most suitable subject. Don't be a fool..."
And maybe even dessert from the small store on the corner. They had the best homemade
chocolate chip mint ice cream....
"They're children for Christ sake! Don't make me..."
A burst of salt corroded wind assaulted his eyes and made his nostrils burn.
"This shouldn't be tough in the first place. He's not even..."
The last bits of the sun reflected sharp golden along the outer rim of the deteriorating horizon,
stinging his eyes and almost forcing him to betray himself by breaking his gaze.
"I can't...He's just a child...I won't.....Not him....No--"
His face stung and his eyelids fluttered, trying to decide if it was worth the effort.
The young assistant was above, pale eyes set with grim determination. Mulder opened his eyes in
time to see a hand raised above him and then his face stung again. Heat gently rolled down over
his lips as his tongue swirled tangy salt against the back of his teeth.
Dulled hazel glistened uncomprehending, chin slightly tilted upwards. Heat caressed Mulder as
he
felt a warm hand knot around the back of his neck. The hand viciously slammed him face down
to
the floor.
Mulder grunted and struggled in slow motion as a weight settled down on top of him, pulling his
arms tight behind him and shoving them upwards in a direction they were not meant to be
forced.
He groaned and squirmed, receiving a jolt of pain when his arms were pushed up further.
The assistant above wasn't even out of breath as he settled his knee directly on Mulder's lower
back, grinding harshly--bone against bone. Mulder's breath caught and a whoosh of air broke free
from his lungs as he stopped thrashing and lowered his forehead to the cool floor, breathing in
sobs. The tile felt nice against his fevered skin, almost calming him until he heard the doctor's
footsteps.
The echo bounced off walls and resounded in his ears--no escape.
Pain and electrodes then questions and no answers just like with Dad. No answers and the horrid
stench of his own marred flesh, sizzling and crackling in his mind and deep rooted pain again
and
those pliers, pulling and yanking at the fringes of sanity that were already crumbling and...
Mulder's breathing was accentuated by a sudden gasp. His muscles froze, body tensed and
trembling beneath that grinding knee. His breath left a slippery residue on the tile below him. He
closed his eyes and thrashed, only to receive a hard rap to the side of his head.
He lifted his head for a moment, red eyes rimmed with tears glancing upwards.
A nice pair of black shoes. All shiny and new. The leather creaked and groaned, not yet worn in
and exposed to the elements.
Oh god they all had wonderfully expensive shoes.
Vinton crouched down, large needle in hand. Lowering it just enough so that Mulder could see
the razored tip of it if he strained his neck enough.
Mulder was content to stare hard into the floor, hard enough to make his eyes hurt. His warm
breath ricocheted off the ground and came back cold and devoid of life, alien.
The sharp glint of the needle was finally comprehended through the thick haze that was his
thoughts.
Mulder shifted in an effort to get the weight atop him off balance, but the bony knee dug into his
back, halting any effort.
The room was silent except for his own harsh breathing.
Vinton studied his subject with skewed eyes, slowly reaching a hand out to let it gently stroke
the
top of Mulder's head.
Mulder flinched and shouted. "Leamme alone!"
Vinton snatched a fistful of Mulder's hair and pulled. The weight on Mulder's back forced his
arms up further, wrenching sounds of anguish filtered through his gritted teeth.
The back of his throat was dry and raw. It hurt to scream. It hurt to move and to think.
Everything hurt and they would never let up. Never.
Once he stopped struggling Vinton released the cruel grasp he had on Mulder's hair.
Mulder breathed. Tried to remember how, but couldn't quite recall everything. The result was a
strangled exhale that shook unstably.
Vinton returned his hand to Mulder's head and continued stroking the softness. Mulder didn't
flinch. Didn't move. His eyes watered, letting the hand take another piece of him. The gentle
rubbing was so tender. Kind. Lightly brushing his hair back in a paternal gesture. Soothing, but
producing the exact opposite effect. Mulder shuddered and screwed his eyes shut, letting the
tears
slip down his face and barely made a sound--a small, keen whimper.
Sounds were cooed into his ear, "Sshhh...," and the hand kept stroking.
The tears burned, stinging his eyes. He was so tired. Too goddamned tired.
The hand left his head and he felt his sweats tugged down. He tensed his muscles, but wasn't
ready for the needle.
Just a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down...
Vinton stuck the syringe down hard into Mulder's butt. Depressing the syrupy liquid with quick,
painful speed.
Mulder's backside burned with a sharp ache that throbbed up along his spine to his head. His skin
started to tingle before it burned. His head began to pound and his chest froze, constricted and
tensed, making it painful to breath.
The assistant got off Mulder's back and let him lay there on the floor.
Vinton stepped back and observed Mulder's groaning form.
"Don't fight it, Fox. It'll only get worse."
Mulder curled into a ball and clutched his stomach as hot waves of pain rippled along his skin,
unable to stifle a moan as it broke fiercely from his chest.
"It's sulfizine. I'm sure you're familiar with it, yes?"
Mulder clenched his eyelids shut, willing the pain away. Vinton's voice reverberated between his
skull and gray matter.
Pharmaceutical text appeared before his eyes, long ago stored and memorized. Sulfizine, a from
of purified sulphur that was found decades ago to have no therapeutic value. Manly used for
interrogational purposes...'
"I can help you, Fox. Just let me help you and I promise this will all be over soon."
Vinton could see that Mulder was hanging on his every word. He paused, enjoying the lines of
frustration and pain etched into Mulder's face.
"I can give you something for the pain if--"
Mulder bit down on his tongue and whispered fiercely. "Go to hell."
Vinton crouched next to Mulder, leaned down close, eyes cast down studying the forsaken form
before him with frighteningly calm, cold eyes.
"You're a handsome subject, Fox--."
Images of restraints and drugs and tests danced in his head.
"Truly remarkable. Your ribosomal RNA structure has me intrigued." Vinton sighed and brushed
a finger over Mulder's jaw, studying. "It seems your father had no qualms about sacrificing his
children to science--when it was to his advantage..."
The loud wave of static washed over him, listening, dimly aware, as the cool tide washed over
his
fevered skin and dragged him further from the truth.
"Your father liked records, Fox and I have them. Official and unofficial."
Vinton traced a menacing finger along the back of Mulder's shoulder.
"I know how your father liked leather, Fox. Liked the sound as it cracked against your fine
skin..."
Mulder fought feebly as the drug coursed hard through his body, and glared up at the sordid face
above him.
Vinton answered the unvoiced question with a gleam in his eye. "As I said before, records boy.
Pages and pages of documents."
The finger caressed the sides of his ribs, then down to his hip.
"I think you just might be of assistance in attaining information that has been...lost."
Mulder's body forced out a disheartened groan. The drug seemingly slipped sideways and bore
into him, creating a glazed over appearance in his eyes as the agony dug down into his bowels.
"No."
He tried to say more but he wasn't sure he could trust himself not to scream.
"You're such a sweet boy. I'd hate to enforce stricter punishment...."
Vinton came to Mulder's navel with his finger and brushed it against the scabbed skin, where
the electrode had been clipped too tightly and had burned into his flesh.
"Do you remember the first time, Fox? Do you? Your father certainly did. I believe his words
were..." He paused, smiled as he finally saw Mulder's eyes go dark. "..Fox was little then, the
first
time I touched him. He cried the first time I touched him..."
Vinton gently grasped Mulder's chin and lifted his head from the floor so that he could see
Mulder's eyes.
"I told you before. It's only going to get worse."
Mulder let silence do what he knew his voice could not accomplish.
Vinton released Mulder's chin and with one last nasty glance in Mulder's direction, exited the
room.
The words played over and over in his cluttered mind, the drug flowed as undiluted pain pushed
up against the interiors of his brain, slashing razor teeth deeply into his bowels. Useless tears
welled up in his eyes, slipped down his flushed cheeks and rushed down to meet the floor as
remembrance brought more anguish.
The tips of his fingers tingled while the rest of him convulsed and the drug took hold of his
mind.
<Just make it stop.pleasepleaseplease make it stop...>
Mulder screamed hoarsely and without restraint.
He screamed for Vinton.
~~~~~~~
The nights in Chilmark were always cold.
Not just the air but the sky.
During the day, it stretched for miles in endless gray swirls of dizzying proportions. It hurt to
keep your eyes on it for long. It was the same no matter what direction you looked from.
But the immense black sky was different. Each glance brought an unfamiliar star-studded patch
into view. Never repeating itself.
Sam couldn't conceive why I got so nervous when she made me sneak up onto the roof with her,
to watch the stars.
At least not until Dad came home early one night.
But I remember her voice when she was up there. Both of us laying on our backs against the
slight tilt of the roof. The back of our pj's getting damp and muddy as we sat in silence. When
she
did speak, her voice was almost always a whisper, yet it was so....excited.
Anticipating something magnificent.
I tried teaching her the constellations once, but she quickly touched my arm lightly, eyes wide,
putting one of her small fingers to her lips.
As if she knew something was about to happen but wouldn't tell me.
She didn't know how good I was at keeping secrets.
Dad caught us up on the roof.
He just sent Samantha to bed. He led me into the kitchen, fingers digging into my arm, cutting
off
the circulation.
He slammed me against the wall and held me there. The wall collided with the back of my head
while his hands clamped in a fierce death grip around upper arms.
When my vision cleared I saw his eyes. I saw the rage and it scared me.
I wanted to cry. But that would have just gotten him angrier.
Dad hated cry-babies.
He never really hurt me until Sam was gone.
Actually, that's a lie. He hurt me even when Sam was still around, just not to the degree that he
did when she disappeared.
His breath was evil smelling as he leaned in close.
Nose to nose almost.
He sounded exhausted, scared almost, but his tone was no less threatening.
"Don't you ever take your sister up there again! It's dangerous god dammit! You should be
taking care of her!"
The hands gripped tighter and I almost thought I'd lose it.
That I had lost it.
Desperate, "Do you understand?"
Then another shake and more bright colors behind my eyelids after I heard the sharp crack of my
head against the wall again.
Bleary confusion was all I felt as I nodded weakly and mumbled, "uh-huh." Before he let me go
back up to bed.
That was the first time I remember him acting scared. Though I didn't understand why.
Sam had heard everything.
She never asked me to take her up there again.
It hurt me to see the realization in her face, in her eyes the next day. She wasn't an invalid. She
knew what Dad did to me when I took my eyes off her for a second but she'd never believed it
until that night. She had always had this certain dissolution that all smaller kids have about their
parents. That they're invincible and incapable of any faults or wrong doing.
Of screaming at them.
Of hitting them.
Of hurting them.
It hurt me to see that she finally understood what Dad was capable of. But he never touched her.
Must have been that special father-daughter bond.
On the first anniversary of her abduction, I snuck back up onto the roof.
The nights can get really cold in Chilmark.
I stretched out and let the cold water from recent rains seep into my clothes. Pretty soon my teeth
began to chatter as I studied the stars, straining for a glimpse of that special thing or place Sam
liked to watch.
Angry, I stood up. My bare feet scraping along the damp roof material. A gust of wind sent chills
through me, a slight convulsion, but I kept my eyes upward, turning around in confused circles,
searching.
Before I knew it, I had tears running down my face.
She was lost.
Everything was gone.
There was nothing up there, just the fucking beautiful, dead stars.
What happens when you die?
It's all just black. Like the night sky only there's no stars. You just go down and down into the
dark and there's no one. There's nothing. Nothing. Just the fucking blackness, that's all. There's
no heaven. Heaven is a fairytale made up to help the little ones fall asleep.
Dad taught me that.
I didn't hear my Dad's drunken footsteps on our gravel driveway.
Mom was already sleeping off a Valium induced coma in the dinning room.
I didn't hear him the first time when he shouted my name.
"FOX!"
I was seduced by the twilight.
"FOX!"
My back was to his voice. I jumped at it, startled. I turned slowly, my feet dragging on the dirty
material beneath them. I climbed down and into the only accessible window.
Sam's window.
Big mistake.
He was waiting for me.
He grabbed the back of my neck and forced me downstairs. He squeezed my neck harder as we
passed the dining room, warning me. He used me to open the back screen door. I fell down the
four small stairs to the wet grass and just laid there waiting.
He yanked me back up by the back of my shirt and flung me forward again but held on to my
shirt, choking me.
"Walk."
"I'm sorry I went back up there. I'm sorry I went through Sam's room. I miss--," was as far as I
got.
He back-handed me hard. I spun around on my toes and went down. He started kicking me in the
shoulder blades and lower back.
"What did you just say!?!"
I yelled at him, "I miss her!"
That got me a fist to the face and a thick hand jerking me up off the ground by my arm.
I wasn't sure where he was taking me but I had a few ideas.
I tried yanking my arm away so I could turn and run, but he pulled me to his side in one quick
jerk. He got a better grip on my neck and arm, squeezing hard, forcing me to keep walking
forward towards the trees.
Images of him showing me Samantha's grave, making me dig her back up. Him saying I killed
her.
That I sent her down into the darkness and then he would kill me too because I killed his baby
girl
and I sent her down, all alone, into the dark.
"Please--"
His fingers dug harder into my skin.
I didn't think she was dead, but Dad always seemed to surprise me whenever I thought I knew
what was coming next.
We stopped after we were hidden in the small forested area behind our house.
I turned my head so I could look back at our house illuminated by only a few lights. He dug his
blunt fingernails into my neck and forced me to look straight ahead, further into the dark forest.
One hand let go of my arm. I quickly realized what he was doing when he pistoned his fist into
my
kidneys. I slammed into the ground, trying to catch my breath.
He gripped the bottom of my shirt and yanked it upward over my head. It slipped off and he
threw it to the side of him. I started kicking but he sat on my chest. My back was grinding into a
stray sticker bush beneath me.
I was so cold. My lips must have had a blue tinge to them.
He tore my sweats off. Then the weight on my chest was gone. His foot connected square with
my stomach and I couldn't breath. I couldn't think.
The world swam in front of my watery eyes. I thought he was going to kill me and send me into
the darkness, bury me with the maggots and the compact earth.
I heard the sleek sound of his belt slipping away from the belt loops of his slacks.
I didn't scream that first time.
I was too afraid he would kill me if I did.
He grabbed my wrists and belted them together. The other end of the belt was tied to the base of
a thin tree. While he kicked and beat me, I placed my head between my outstretched arms, trying
to conserve my body heat.
I was already numb by the time he finished. My skin was bluish and I realized my face stung.
There were scraps there from when I put my head between my arms. I was still laying on that
fucking sticker bush.
Dad was out of breath.
Every time he exhaled I could see his breath float up in a white cloud and disappear.
I looked away when he made direct eye contact with me.
Playing dead was not going to work this time.
Dad grabbed my chin and forced me to turn over on my back, digging into those stickers again.
He brushed my hair back from my forehead and sat down next to me.
I was so fucking cold.
My limbs were numb but I could still feel the cold and every time a gust of wind came along it
just
got worse.
My lower lip was trembling and the rest of my body was shivering, muscles frantically clenching
and unclenching.
When he spoke he got this far away look in his eyes as he stared at me.
He started talking about Sam, that it should have been me but that it was for the best.
I cried but he didn't hit me then. He just kept stroking my hair back from my forehead, muttering
small choppy sentences that didn't make sense.
He kept talking about how I was special and how I had to be kept in line or someone would
notice. The merchandise was sacred. Genetic codes were sacred. The project didn't care. This
was all for the best.
That I was needed again.
Needed?
Again?
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a syringe.
I started whispering for mom.
I was going into hypothermic shock and I was going to die out here.
Dad stroked my hair back one last time and turned me on my side, pulled my underwear down
then jabbed me with the needle.
I whimpered and closed my eyes.
"S'okay son. You won't remember."
Immediately, I opened them again.
I didn't want the dark.
I wanted light.
I wanted the stars.
I wanted Sam.
The edges of my vision were deteriorating with each passing thought and it kept getting darker
and darker.
That's when I screamed.
It was already to late.
I went back down into the darkness.
All alone.
~~~~~~~
And it counted, continuing on and leading no one but he into the forgetfulness of fear and pain.
He remembered. Count the broken whispers and you shall find the fear. Those eyes tell you
nothing but mirrored reflections of thy self, noting no more than the tired. Terror of the starless
sky disappeared into its own blackness, swallowing everything and leaving nothing but the dust.
And he remembered.
~~~~~~~
The harsh ticks of time beat out a muddled tune of pain, prying the awkward and insane from the
drugged depths of nothingness....
Dark eye lashes congealed together from tears struggled open.
The pain of yesterday lingered in his bones as he watched his toes sway back and forth. The
creak
and groan of the cuffs above him were of no interest. He could already feel old cuts on his wrists
splitting open under his weight. He was in a room similar to his own. White walls and a stunning
view through a chicken wire laced window. The cuffs that he hung from were the only new
accessory.
The haldol was wearing off. He could concentrate. Mulder tried interlocking his elbows,
managed
to lift his body half way, then gave up, collapsing and hanging by his wrists again.
He kept his eyes downward, not chancing a glance up at who he might see.
Shame made him grow weary. He had told Vinton. Not everything, but just enough to get him to
ease off the sulfizine. Dread was building in the pit of his stomach. Vinton wasn't stupid.
His father must have kept some kind of detailed record of the beatings...but why...
His mind wandered off, pushed along by the depressant and denial.
Mulder blinked hard, shook his head and tried unsuccessfully to focus tired eyes. Tilting his head
he forlornly rubbed his face against his forearm.
His body tensed as soon as he heard the soft creak of the door behind him. A soft breeze that
flicked across his back made his nerves sing and his back arch.
Soft footfalls bounced delicately off the walls, disturbing the dimly appreciated safety of silence.
Vinton appeared before him, taking his chin roughly in a hand before he had a chance to
shy away. Vinton examined Mulder's eyes carefully and barely noticed the crimson line crusted
over with tiny congealed clots of blood along his lower lip. Mulder's body was slack and
unmoving but his eyes shined with delirious rage. Darkened hazel didn't flinch at the bright light,
just stared and screamed and looked restlessly on as Vinton studied and smiled and leered at him
with those decayed blue eyes.
Mulder finally broke his gaze as he twisted his chin away from the hand. The hand's gentle grip
turned harsh and dug its bruising fingers into his jaw, holding him utterly still. Mulder gritted his
teeth and his eyebrows came down in a boyish slant as he sneered at Vinton .
"Don't test me boy." The smile was gone, but the words were sugar coated with a handsome
tone. "I've got plans for you."
Mulder glared hard, tried not to flinch, but couldn't help twitching as the words rattled in his
ears.
"I need more, Fox and I have a feeling you're not feeling up to it."
Mulder slowly shook his head and quickly glanced up at his aching arms.
"So quiet today?" Vinton's eyes deviated between him and somewhere off behind him.
Mulder heard a slight shuffle of feet from behind and his breath quickened.
Vinton saw rage and fear mixed in tiny swirls of green in Mulder's dark eyes. Mulder tried
desperately to turn his head and see what lay in store, but his chin was captured by Vinton's hand
again.
"What do you remember, Fox?"
Mulder pleaded with his eyes, looked back up at his wrists and found nothing but despair.
Vinton let his thumb caress the side of Mulder's cheek. "Don't make me ask you again."
Mulder's heart beat destructively in his chest, his breath worn and tired. "I don't remember
anything else. I-I told you every--"
Vinton's thumb moved and pressed against his lips--stopped his lies as they tumbled out
unconvincingly.
Mulder's eyes strained to look behind him but his shoulder blocked his view. "I swear." His eyes
turned lurid and frantic as he watched Vinton shake his head.
"I believe he used a wire once. An electrical one with the two sharp teeth...."
Mulder shook his head. His vocal cords knocked his voice up an octave or two. "I already
told you--"
Vinton nodded to the noise behind him and Mulder shouted, uselessly. He heard the object cut
through the air in a matter of moments before he felt the heart stopping sting that walked a
crooked path down his back. Mulder felt the pain and remembered so clearly and arched
violently
away. The cord floated through the air again and came crashing haphazardly across his shoulders
and caught his arms. Mulder grunted fiercely with each blow. The next one struck him perfectly
along the spine, the cords two metal teeth buried themselves into his flesh and ripped themselves
out again. He screamed--at Vinton.
His eyes held savage determination--to hold on. Mulder's back was ablaze. One fiery mass of
numbing pain. The cord slashed at his neck and he issued a moan through gritted teeth--Dad
wouldn't stop until he could only see red, dried and plastered to his horribly bruised skin. Dad
would let up soon. He had too.
Mulder lowered his gaze to his toes, watching the rhythmic sway of his body, rocking back and
forth as the cord smacked and slit his skin. He clenched his eyes shut as he felt the steady flow of
watery thin blood roll down the soles of his feet, puddling between his toes before they dripped
down to the floor beneath him--sounding like a leaky tap.
Beads of sweat graced his forehead and upper lip. The blows had long ago stopped coming and it
was only now that he noticed.
"Fox, you just don't seem to understand do you?"
Mulder looked up, eyes unseeing. Vocal cords unable to produce a recognizable string of words.
Vinton was close to him now--close enough to feel his breath.
"There are other ways about doing this..." Vinton produced a syringe that contained a syrupy
elixir of some kind.
Mulder swallowed hard and feebly shook his head--god no. Forced his tongue to move and
pushed the words out past his lips in a hurry, but didn't have the time to finish each one.
"I didn--plea--nn--doan--," finally choked out a single syllable that was discernable, "no!"
Logic and rationality were lost in the haze of panic and fear. Mulder couldn't breath. Couldn't
think. Could only watch in terror as Vinton fucked with him.
He watched as Vinton brought the needle down to rest on his shuddering chest.
"This is all a matter of choice, Fox." Vinton stared with cold indifferent eyes that held a bit of
false sadness in their watery depths.
Vinton slid the needle down across the plain of Mulder's abdomen and let it trace a lustful
path there.
Mulder breathed, cringed and tried to think of something useful--something to stop this as the
hands of pain played before him in a childlike manner.
Vinton waited for something, but didn't hear it.
Mulder lifted his head at Vinton's words. "Sulfizine it is."
He thrashed--still felt the vicious bite of the needle as it was jammed into his lower abdomen.
Vinton pushed the plunger down quickly, knowing it would bring a savage burn throughout
Mulder's belly soon--spreading like fire.
Mulder tried to bring his knees up, but didn't have the strength, just hung there swaying back and
forth--like a dead man.
~~~~~~~
I remember the gray static above--an endless terrain that could terrify--or confuse.
I laid on my back, hidden below the tall grass that swayed in a current of motion, orchestrated
masterfully by the wind.
I was hiding.
It was twilight and the last pale shades of light were slowly sinking back beyond towards a
horizon I could not see.
My gaze was outlined by the sinuous movements of the few blades of grass that surrounded me,
but my eyes were fixed on the sky. The clouds were a light gray--dull, almost invisible. They
held my gaze as I raked my eyes back and forth across them in a forlorn gesture of betrayal.
I was waiting.
My eyes ached, so I smothered them with my arms, blocking out the sharp light that reflected off
the clouds and down on me. The world was now black and I could feel the gentle breeze getting
colder as it caressed my arms--goose bumps. I listened to myself breath--feeling it on my forearm
that was just a few inches from my mouth, warm and wet before the wind carried it off into the
distance-- and wondered when it would stop hurting to do so.
Sam....
My breathe caught--pigtails and shrill laughter, water frothing forward and quicksand below,
splashing and racing away from the incoming tide.
I started humming and whispering words to a song I didn't remembering hearing. Empty words
forced out from my aching throat. The words got lost once they parted with my lips. The wind
was starting to pick up. They were taken from me as the scream of the wind filled my head and
let
the ache behind my eyes settle and harden.
I tried concentrating on the welts that were scattered across my back, the slow burn and throb
they were producing as I squirmed against the loose soil beneath me, aggravating them. They
were still a vicious red--the price of existence. The air had turned sharp and cut through my
t-shirt, running a painful chill down my spine. The pain helped my tears along as they ran down
my face--nice and warm before turning to an irritating cold that nestled on my ears and neck.
The sudden crack above and the startling boom that followed shook me. My arms flew from my
face and I peeled back my eyelids, sitting up halfway then flinching back as an intense white
light
silently struck down from of the sky. Hope gripped my chest while my vision was still blurred.
Samantha?
I stood quickly, violently wiping away the tears that obscured my sight.
The clouds had turned a menacingly decayed black. Rain started crashing to the ground as
another
collision of sound boomed over my head. I actually let out a disheartened whimper, my hands at
my sides clenched in tight balls of frustration and hopelessness.
I remember feeling gullible, stupid. She wasn't coming back.
I stared hard past the thrashing rain and up into those clouds, following with my eyes the blue
fire
of lightning as it struck the horizon. The wind was strong then. I swayed from side to side,
unsteady, though not because of the wind. My legs burned and itched with restlessness. My body
was tense and I felt like screaming.
"Fox!"
The wind sped past my face and I turned with it. I started running, sneakers pounding the dirt
with a steady thump. Dread. Futile anger. Needing to go, to run away. The wind would take me.
"FOX!"
A car engine roared off in the distance.
The blades of grass were whipping frantically now. They struck the sides of my arm as I raced
past, leaving small red lashes as they failed to hold me in place. My heart was beating hard and
the
mix of tears and rain screwed up my eyes. The shattering crack of thunder above my head
implored me to go faster. I was running with the wind, past it. Faster. I was the wind. I had to run
further. Decayed, dry leaves crunched beneath my feet as I sprinted over them in a dead fury.
Desperate. My mind cried. My face slack, eyes deadened. I would have kept going until I
collapsed if I hadn't heard the fierce blow of a car horn.
The screech of the horn and the abrupt squeal of tires on gravel hung heavy in the electrically
charged air. The black Crown Vic skidded to a stop on the loose gravel road a few yards in front
me, halting my escape.
The down pour of rain stopped suddenly, but the heavens still grumbled.
I stood tense, ready to bolt but didn't when Dad leaped out of the passenger side door in full
bureau gear. A huge gust of wind struck my back and I couldn't help stumbling forwards toward
the car.
"What the hell are you doing!?!"
"I--."
"--Get in the car, now."
Dad grabbed my arm, yanking me towards the car. He wasn't drunk, that much was for sure. His
eyes were sharp and focused and his words were viciously pointed with clarity.
I resisted but he clamped his other hand around my neck.
"Where are we going? What about Mom?"
We reached the car. He didn't look at me as he answered and yanked the back seat door open.
"She's sleeping and you've got another appointment." He tried pushing me into the back seat but
I braced onto the car door.
"I don't want--."
He flashed cold feral eyes at me, threatening. "--Get in the car, Fox."
Every so often Dad would take me to an "appointment," usually in the middle of the night, but I
never remembered what happened or where I went. I'd just wake up in bed feeling lousy. It only
happened a couple of times before Sam disappeared but it kept happening more and more
frequently.
I let my hands relax against the car door and he shoved me into the back seat. I hissed when the
padded leather rubbed up against my back. Dad strapped my seatbelt around me and yanked it
tight. I kept my eyes forward, drilling holes into the back of the driver's seat, clenched fists at my
side.
He crouched down next to me blocking my only exit and holding a juice can up to me. The seal
had already been broken.
"Drink."
I glanced up and found the eyes of the driver staring at me intently in the rear view mirror.
Dad forced the bottle into my lap, giving me another cold warning with his eyes. "Drink it."
Bursts of wind were moaning outside the car, behind Dad. I slowly twisted the cap off and
brought it up to my lips. Dad's hands joined mine and tipped the bottle back. I swallowed hard
and immediately tried to draw away, but he grasped the back of my head and forced the bottle
back further. I gulped furiously, trying to keep up with the liquid as it slid down my throat but
failed miserably, most of it spilling down my chin and neck, dripping onto my shirt. I finally got
enough leverage to yank the bottle away from my mouth.
Annoyed, "God dammit, Fox! Drink it!"
"No," I coughed and spit out the remaining contents in my mouth. "It tastes funny. Bitter."
He grabbed a fistful of my shirt and pushed me back, sandwiching me between him and the seat,
bringing the bottle back up to my mouth.
"Don't make me help you, Fox. I guarantee you won't like it much."
I twisted my head away but he snatched my chin with one hand and brought my eyes back to
face
his--fear and anger swirling around in the depths of their blackness.
An annoyed sigh from the driver, suddenly smelling of cigarettes. "Bill, just leave him be. We're
already late as it is."
Dad leaned in closer, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. "Don't move..." He
bore into me with that wicked stare. "...and be quiet."
I watched him ease off of me and out of the back seat. He slammed the door shut and chucked
the
juice bottle into the grass field.
The sound of another door slamming was faint and coated in a thick layer of soft fuzz. My
stomach rolled and I groped blindly for the door latch, finding it locked. The engine roared to a
start and I fumbled weakly for the lock, my vision split in two.
In front of the car, muttering. "It's not enough."
"It's enough for now. Look at him."
My eyelids were at half mast. I was struggling to keep them open, to plead with Dad to stop the
car.
"Dad, I doan feel s'good..."
The voice was far off. "Go to sleep, Fox."
"It should at least last him until we get to the centre." The voices were a distant murmur as I slid
down into a soundless sleep.
Dad was holding me up, walking me down a long corridor hidden in shadows, illuminated only
by
the emergency flood lights that lined the walls every ten feet. I was walking slow and my feet
were dragging, but he forced me to walk at his pace with a hand on my back.
"Dad, I'm tired."
"Just a little further." He urged me forward with the hand that was on my back. I
complied and tried to walk with him.
We turned down another corridor and I collapsed hard to my hands and knees, shaking. "Please,
I'm so...please." I felt him lift me up from the floor, gently by my arms.
"Alright son."
He crouched down next to me. I rested my head on his shoulders, arms wrapped loosely around
his neck while he let me lean all my weight on him. I could feel sleep tugging down on my
eyelids,
but I whispered into his ear before I let the darkness take me back down again.
Innocent and soft, "I'm sorry I lost her, Dad."
"Come on Fox. Help me out."
Someone was tugging my shirt up over my shoulders.
"Lift your arms up."
I lifted them meekly and felt my shirt taken off. Then there were hands at my jeans. They tugged
them down around my ankles. I felt cold tiles beneath my bare feet.
"Step out of them."
I did. Half asleep, arms limp and eyes open only a slit. Then there was cool cotton on my chest.
"Turn around."
The hands undressing me spun me around. They tied two ends of the gown together, protecting
me from the chill of the air.
I moaned in frustration, chin resting on my chest. "Where's Dad? I want my Dad."
"Let's get you back up onto the table."
My arms hung lifelessly at my side. A large hand reached down and took one of mine into its
own,
guiding me over to a large examination table. Two firm hands slipped under my arms and lifted
me up onto the table.
I looked around the room, lucidity trying to wrestle me from the incapacitating grasp that held
me.
"I want my Dad."
There was a loud snap and I flinched, then a cold hand in a rubber glove grasping my chin,
shining
a bright light in my eye.
"No!" I pulled away from the hand, shaking my head and not making sense of my surroundings.
"Leave me alone," stubbornly deflecting a hand away from my head, "I want my dad."
The hand tried to grasp my chin again but I scrambled backwards, slipping as I did so on the cold
table surface.
A fed up sigh, "Jesus."
I rubbed at my red, dry eyes.
"Jim! Can you get in here and help me?" Directed off somewhere to my right.
"Fox, he's coming but you'll have to be patient okay?"
The voice was controlled and soothing--lying.
Footsteps padded towards the table, but I couldn't distinguish a face through the foggy haze and
dim lighting.
A pair of hands grabbed each ankle, pulling me back towards them while the other clamped
onto the back of my neck and forced me forward.
The voice that lied said, "Hold his arm."
I resisted weakly. A pair of hands flexed my arm out so the inset of my elbow was exposed. The
crinkle of plastic packaging. The hand braced my arm harder before the sharp sting of a needle.
Crimson splashed up into the small vial, filling it completely.
Panicking, I thrashed. Crying out as the needle tore into my flesh.
"Dammit! Hold him down on the table!"
I retreated backwards, holding my arm. The two sets of hands lunged for me and pinned me
down
on my back.
"Where's my Dad?" I cried.
"I need him on his stomach."
I squirmed as they flipped me over onto my belly, the table surface cold and sterile. One pair of
hands dug its nails into my ankles forcing them to the sides of the table. Velcro restraints snaked
around my ankles, strapped down tightly at the corners of the table. I screamed for Dad, my
voice
hoarse and cracking. The man holding down my arms pulled them up past my head, spreading
them to each side of the table. The velcro straps were torn open, the loud sound grating in my
ears, then each wrist was captured.
The table was cold, it seeped through my gown and stole the fight out of me.
Cheek resting on the cold metal and eyes still glazed--quiet, "Please, I just want my Dad."
The back of my gown was ripped open harshly by rough hands.
The voice held no emotion."Stay still."
The snap of the over head light.
I tugged at the straps uselessly. Swallowing hard, my breathing panicked as the gloved hands
returned to my back, pausing for a moment. Then sharp pain tore its way up my back, drawing a
gouging red streak of agony straight up the middle. I screamed loud and hard.
"Dad!"
The fingers felt like spiders as they crept their way up my back, examining my spine, "Don't
move."
A long needle was inserted directly into sore red flesh.
Tears inched forward and down my face. I couldn't help but shriek at the pain racing up down
my
sides, throttling me.
"Please stop! Don't!" Swallowing the words whole.
A magnificent array of colors blossomed behind my eyelids, drowning out my screams. Pleading
out in choked sobs and whimpers but the fingers did not--would not stop. They kept touching
me,
shoving needles into me.
The probing mercifully stopped and I was left alone, shaking and straining as my muscles
contracted involuntarily. Beads of frigid sweat graced my upper lip. I tried to catch my breath,
heaving hot air in and out, feeling the terrible slickness of my back.
Off in the distance, beyond the disturbingly sharp fading ache was Dad's voice, "God dammit let
me in!"
He was standing a million miles away just barely heard over the din of the howling wind. Beside
me there was more arguing.
Then silence.
"You son of a bitch!"
"He didn't drink it all. You fucked up."
"Give him the sedative, Goodwin."
"Get out Mulder. I can't administer anything to him now. It's too late. It wouldn't do any good."
"Stop then."
"You know I can't do that. Now leave."
Drool lay beneath my cheek on the table as I pleaded for the unfocused figure beside me.
Sobbing,
"Dad please--make him stop--make it stop hurting."
Dad stared at the man named Goodwin. "Let me stay then."
Silence.
Goodwin must have finally caved in. Dad crouched down in front of me, brushing sweat soaked
hair from my fevered eyes. "Just hold on son. Just a little bit longer, I promise."
He nodded at Goodwin to start again and I howled. "No!" I tensed my muscles, clenching my
eyes shut and twisting my wrists until they were raw and sticky with red. "Don't let him do this to
me!" I screamed into his face, pleading. Tears spilling down my face unending as the agony of
the
needles--sinking deeper and deeper, started all over again.
A muted scream.
Dad was holding my hand, trying to quiet me down. His voice was shaking, "Sh--sh. Sshh. It's
almost over. Stop fighting it. Sshh. . ."
Sweat was dripping into my eyes as I bared my teeth at him, gasping. I ground my face into the
table and growled, wanting nothing more than that darkness that I was so afraid of.
"You--you won't remember..." He sounded as if he was comforting himself instead of me.
When Goodwin's hands finally left my back. I only felt the bluntness of the needle once more in
my backside and sank down into a swamp of haziness, nestled softly in between the gray and the
black.
~~~~~~~~
The drug spread through him, searching out his nerve endings ruthlessly. Intermixing with his
blood as it shoved and ripped its way through his tired veins.
Mulder lay sprawled out on the slick tile floor, breathing in harsh gasps of air. He had his back to
the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and his cold, bare feet lay crisscrossed over each other in a
pathetic attempt to conserve warmth.
Vinton had left. Left him in a whimpering mass of pain on the floor. Left him after he'd shot him
up with a huge dose of sulfizine. Left and said, "If you need anything just give us a holler--"
Mulder grunted as the drug gnawed at his gut, raking slimy claws over his intestines. The pulsing
in his ears got louder. He rolled onto his knees and exhaled anguish.
< Think lovely thoughts.' Isn't that what they always say?>
He sat there for awhile, getting use to the position with a hand clamped over his abdomen
< Give it the old college try...'?>
He finally raised himself to his feet and the sticky fluid rushed to his brain. He hit the floor,
holding his head, screaming bluntly. His voice broke in mid-wail, leaving the air empty and
alone.
The distorted sound of a door opening was far off. The noise of footsteps got nearer as it
drummed obnoxiously in his ear.
<Vinton?>
Mulder involuntarily cringed, but worked to defiantly raise his chin, staring up with cold, diluted
eyes. Not this time he told himself.
Cancerman eyed the vicious slits on Mulder's bruised side. "Treating you accordingly I hope?"
Mulder swallowed his anger whole and managed a simple and shaky, "Why are you doing this?"
Cancerman stared back with equally cold eyes, leveling Mulder's condition with a nasty smile.
"Come now, you don't think we're doing this for fun do you? Your options are simple, Fox.
Cooperate and end this."
Mulder didn't falter, just clenched his jaw and gritted through his teeth as another wave of
agonizing pain dug razor fingernails up his back. "Fuck you, what is this!?!" Mulder made a
move
to get up, but didn't exactly have the heart for it and settled back against the wall. "How do you
know what he did to me?"
"Records. You've--"
Snarled, "Why? How!?!"
The corners of Cancerman's mouth jittered in a half smile. "It was all part of the deal, Fox. It was
all arranged...." Cancerman let his tongue slide across the back of his teeth as memories ran
rampant.
Mulder's rage surfaced in his eyes, but he worked to regain their past impassivity. "Arranged?"
Cancerman crouched down and reached out to touch Mulder's forehead. Mulder flinched back, a
look of disgust wrinkling his brow. Impassive again, "Don't touch me."
"Bill was a sadist. He abused you....sexu--"
Mulder's face turned red and he spit his invective with a cruel and twisted tone--clear and
precisely, "No worse than you, you sick fuck!"
Just then another icy wave split him in two, gutting him open with a dull knife's edge--ripping
him
open, groin to sternum. He doubled over and moaned, curling into a tight ball at Cancerman's
feet.
"It was all part of the plan, my boy." Cancerman brushed back a few tendrils of hair from
Mulder's forehead.
Mulder stubbornly screwed his eyes shut at the pain. The hand on his head stroked his cheek
before sliding down to his chin. A finger placed below the hollow of his chin forced him to look
up.
"Bill was a very busy man..."
Mulder suddenly opened his fever-glazed eyes unbelieving, shaking his head in a feeble attempt
to
banish the thought.
"She was so lonely, Fox."
His eyes glistened for a moment--held in suspension by the glaring lights above. Then a few
lonely
tears slipped silently down his cheek. Voice cracked and broken, struggling past his split lips
"Nn--"
Cancerman's lips curved up. Mulder's eyes went black when he saw Cancerman's shit eating grin.
Cancerman lifted himself up and stood for a moment, curiously studying Mulder's prone
form--frozen tense. He made a move to speak again, but Mulder slipped sideways so that his face
was
turned to the wall.
His smile grew.
Mulder listened to the sound of the old man's receding steps. He blinked back tears and kept his
fists clenched--already knowing his nails would leave bloody crescent moons on his palm when
he
finally relaxed his hand.
Fury burned fast and hard. He flinched at something imagined--the lines of restraint and
tolerance
finally snapped and broken.
Sordid images cascaded down unending, fast--too fast. Mulder whimpered hatefully and
thankfully at knowledge lost so long ago. The memories assaulted his exhausted body
belligerently. Mulder finally screamed, pain and remembrance intertwining to become one.
<Sam--oh god she...>
Bright lights flashed as he watched the men hitting her, taking her away, and...Then fierce pain
again.
He cried out hoarsely--a voice that had long ago since given up. He let the tears spill down, fear
and pain and pain and more pain--just watched and let his eidetic memory cough up image after
horrifying image.
Men waiting with syringes and doctors hovering above, waiting and watching him with intent, all
eyes held fascination as his small chest shuddered...
He managed to stumble to his feet, hand placed awkwardly on the wall, balancing him. Head
bent
down he watched--slippery tile with a small maze of grout surrounding each square.
Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mothers back!
Mom upstairs and Dad touching him and telling him.....things...terrible, terrible things.
He slammed his fist against the wall, leaving small bloody marks on his knuckles and not even
so
much as a dent in the wall. His vision cleared for a moment before anguish swept a curtain of
despair over his conscious. Jittery eyes narrowed, wild red-green flecks concentrated on the
door.
He licked his lips in a disturbed manner. Fisting and unfisting his hands at his side--steadying
himself.
The feel of the tile floor slapping against the soles of his feet was a blur.
He slammed into the metal door at full force, his head glancing off one of the welded hinges on
the side. He sagged to the floor with his forehead resting against the cool metal, barely
conscious,
wanting more--needing more. He lifted his head and drove it back down, feeling the sound his
flesh made as it contacted with the immovable. He raised a limp fist, letting it pound with savage
strength against the door till his fist was slick with blood. Not thinking, just feeling--watching as
his beliefs were swept away. His hopes--torn ruthlessly away from his bloodied outstretched
fingers.
Darkness had robbed him of sight as he laid his ear against the rusted steel.
Hastened footfalls echoed off the damnable walls of hell.
And he smiled.
~~~~~~~~
Vinton ran the video back and watched a second time, smiling fiercely.
Cancerman's eyes dared not leave the monitor as he watched Mulder slam his head into the
heavy
door a few times. An audible thud just barely heard over his screaming.
They had found Mulder in a heap, lying in a pool of his own blood. Eyes fluttering as if confused
while his cracked lips parted, muttering nonsense.
Vinton turned back to Cancerman with eyes that danced. "I suggest we move quickly."
~~~~~~~
It was so dark.
The ground--smooth concrete--hurt. Pressed against his back, his bony shoulder blades dug into
it.
Tiny cracks of light filtered down from somewhere. The blackness seemed to shift before his
eyes.
Leaned to the left then...Fists rained down, slamming him back into the ground. Seasoned
knuckles cushioned by his soft skin.
He whimpered, wondering what this place was.
"Stop. Please...no."
He felt someone cut through the air, swift currents brushing past his face.
"Shut your little fucking mouth, Fox."
He tried to get up and fell back down again. Blood rushed to his head. And there was a crazy
laugh. A calloused palm smacked his face hard. Then hands grabbed the front of his shirt and a
hot labored breath was exhaled against his sweaty skin.
"You wanna know where she is Fox? You wanna know where? She's fucking dead. You just
remember that you little piece of shit. Just like you should be. She's gone. She's going to be gone
for a long time and its just going to be you and me for awhile."
The words were spit into his face--could feel the awful crazy sneer through the darkness.
Exhaled
quickly, his voice shaking, "D-dad. You're a--"
The crunch of bone then more pain and blood flying against the walls.
"I made a deal with him for you. A little trade off, you worthless little fuck. We were both in
trouble. Helped each other out. He got to do his tests and I get to have my fun. Ain't that right
little Fox? We're having fun now aren't we?"
A blunt object beat his tiny body into unconditional submission, laying slack in the angry hands
that dug fingernails into his chest.
"Tests Fox. She'll be in pain. You remember the tests don't you? With that little old photographic
memory of yours? We took care of that didn't we?"
Unaware that he was sobbing, his small body trembled under his father's tormenting fists.
Another blow and a deafening shout in his ear, "It should have been you! It should have been
you,
you little fucker. But it's too late. It's just you and me pal."
Fingernails slick with red and hands pulling him closer to the muddled sound of a belligerent
shout.
"I'm gonna see you through, boy. I'm going to make you pay. They can have you, but your ass is
mine, Fox. ..."
Fox lay limp.
~~~~~~~
My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.'
I think we are in rats' ally
Where the dead men lost their bones
What is that noise?'
The wind under the door.
What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'
Nothing again nothing.
Do you know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember nothing?'
I remember.
--A game Of Chess
~~~~~~~
Bile burned the back of his raw throat.
He lifted his head and everything was black, head pounding with disorientation.
The soft plastic end of a nozzle pressed against his parched lips and forced its way into his slack
mouth. At first he tried to draw back, but found he couldn't. As soon as he realized what the
object was he sucked furiously. Water cooled the back of his throat, sending shivers of icy
pleasure down his battered body. The nozzle started to draw back, but he held on, gripping its
end
with his teeth, trying to get just one more sip. The nozzle was ripped away from his mouth,
spilling water down his chin. He coughed, turned his head as some of the water came back up his
throat, but failed as the water spilled painfully out his nose
As his coughing fit subsided the black clouds of disorientation lifted to let the glaring white sun
shine through. It was bright but radiated no warmth. Nothing. Just cold light that held no
purpose...
"We wouldn't want Fox to get a tummy ache now do we?"
Mulder cracked an eyelid open to see if it was safe to come out and play.
His wrists were bound at his sides as were his ankles and thighs. Vinton was holding up a
syringe.
It certainly was not.
The table's surface ran a deathly cold chill up his bare back. His sweats were gone.
Vinton flicked the needle, examining its contents in the light. An old hand steadied Mulder's
arm,
running the pad of a finger menacingly down a thick engorged vein in his arm. The touch turned
his blood to ice.
He clenched his eyes shut and forced the whine building in the back of his throat to stay the fuck
down.
"Rise and shine."
Vinton turned away and Mulder closed his eyes, breathing deep.
The assistant on Vinton's left started sticking electrodes to his body. He didn't fight. Didn't try to
slip his hands out of the restraints. Knew it was useless, just let his hands lay lifeless at his side
except for an occasional twitch.
The assistant was holding the smooth probe in his hands. Mulder swallowed hard. The assistant
took Mulder's penis in his hand and began to slowly shove the probe up Mulder's cock, working
it back and forth, ramming forward then back. The silent ministrations of the assistant wrenched
a
series of grunts and moans from him. His abused cock was already a bruised dark purple.
The old man turned back, "I'm going to let you see just how good it can be..."
Mulder's brow furrowed at the comment--mouthed words with his lips but issued no sound.
Vinton slipped the needle into his vein and waited with a devious grin. "A taste of the forbidden
fruit, my boy." Then he pressed the plunger down--fast and hard. Mulder gritted his teeth,
exhaling harshly.
Once the slight sting of the needle died down....A delicious soothing warmth crept up his arm
and
flourished in his chest, sending bursts of colors across vision. A line of exquisite pleasure was
drawn down his abdomen to spill enrapturing heat into his groin, thickening his aching cock in
utter sublimity
The pain was pushed back into the past as he reveled in the present. No more pain. Just a sweet
and sticky now. His eyes were half-lidded, not really aware of anything--just the wonderful
sensations that rippled along and inside his body.
Vinton watched happily, letting his hand drift along Mulder's side. Stroking the welts and cuts
there, slid his hand up to Mulder's belly and ran a finger delicately down to the groin. He let his
fingers dance dangerously on the inside of a trembling thigh.
The boy let out a mindless groan.
He lightly brushed the tip of Mulder's penis. Dragging a fingernail across its head.
Mulder's traitorous hips bucked up towards the hand, straining. The young man on the table was
moaning, mouth slack, off someplace else, but obviously enjoying it.
Vinton turned away again and produced another needle.
The tap-tap-tap was magnified in Mulder's ear, furrowing his brow, but not quite comprehending
it meaning.
Vinton jammed the needle into Mulder's arm. Mulder grimaced. His eyes shot open wide and he
strained wildly, whimpering. The heat left his body--split-second--then the cool death-like pain
returned to his muscles, arousing the deep ache within his skull.
Vinton leaned down in his face. "I can give you either. Pain or pleasure. I know you know. Your
little fit' almost assures me."
Vinton held up a larger syringe. It's contents were unmistakable to him. "You know what this is,
don't you Fox?"
Mulder feebly nodded his head.
"I can make the pain go away. I've only given you a small dose. Nothing as bad as last time."
Mulder's breath trembled.
"Please Fox, let me give you freedom from this."
He wasn't sure which Vinton was referring to, the past or the pain. He glanced to his left. The
assistant was waiting for Vinton's nod.
Mulder licked his lips and forced himself to breath. To say it. Low, quiet, barely audible, "No."
Vinton stared at him hard, then reached beside his head, fisting a handful of his hair as a hand
strapped a restraint across his forehead, forcing his head to stay down. He knew what this meant,
and desperately jerked his head up and away from the hand. Fierce, "No!"
He tried to keep his eyes from watering. Tried not to scream. Wide tremulous gray watched in
silent terror. The harsh clinical lights above refracted off his sullen eyes.
Vinton injected a barrel full of the dreaded mixture, and Mulder finally screamed, thrashed as he
felt the needle sink into his flesh and dispense its contents into him.
Vinton spoke as he watched the young man sob, just letting the drug take affect before they
started again. "Tell me."
The sulfizine hit him full force, knocking his breath away. It bore down on him like a drill,
becoming worse and worse with each passing second until he couldn't stand it any longer. He
couldn't concentrate, not even on the pain.
Vinton nodded to the assistant.
Mulder dropped his mouth open and let out a terrifying shriek. Screaming at the top of his lungs,
no longer able to control anything as the electricity ripped fiercely through him.
His savage animal cries resonated in the air--hung there like the stench of a rotting corpse.
Vinton grimaced in frustration. Asked softly--false comfort, "Tell me, Fox."
Mulder shook his head as much as the tight strap across his forehead would permit. His eyes
were
red. Hot tears were slipping down the sides of his face. His voice was coarse and worn. Sobbed
as
the words left his lips, "I can't!"
Another nod.
Mulder couldn't scream, just made unhuman sounds of agony while his body strained and
arched.
Vinton gently placed his hand on Mulder's forehead, stroked. Voice devoid of sympathy. "Why
not?"
Mulder caught his breath. Breathed and sobbed. He couldn't tell the difference between the two.
Couldn't keep the whine in the back of his throat from sounding. Couldn't help the whimpers as
they broke past the back of his teeth.
His voice was that of a frightened child. Breathless, smoothed over with a cracked tone, just
about to break down for good. "Because!" Mulder cringed and tried to not to look at anything as
his voice shivered. "You'll take it from me...You'll take everything..."
Mulder growled at Vinton as he nodded.
Frantic screams begged Vinton to stop as Mulder's body jumped and his heart skipped a beat.
"Raise the current."
Mulder's heart pounded, his body slick with sweat and the horrible smell of burnt flesh assaulted
his senses.
Dread filled gray met with fierce blue. Gray saw blue nod and he sucked in a breath. The pain
slammed him up then back down on the table. Hot fire centered in his groin spread. Images of
pain caressed his eyes as a shriek tickled the back of his throat.
The next one did it. Cracked his mind in two, brain cells melting down. Body finally giving in,
the
pain no longer an option his body was willing to take. The words just fell from his mouth,
tumbled
down in a stream, barely coherent. His body lay limp, pushed beyond the limits of hell, the finer
points of his travels were apparent, flesh burned and bloodied, oozing pus.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
He sobbed, letting betrayal spill from his mouth. Told them everything. About The Project.
Samantha. What they did to her. What they were doing to her. What they would have done to
him. What they did do to him. The tests. The awful cocktail that was his DNA. His life blood. He
was special. So very special....
Vinton gave Mulder another injection of sulfizine, let him lay there, trembling. When he was
sure
Mulder had told him everything he finally smiled. Rested his hand on Mulder's sweat soaked hair
and brushed it back.
"Good boy."
~~~~~~~
-4 Days Later-
Empty space moved and shifted lazily. Cruelly laughing and toying with his collective memories.
Blank images that held no threat made his body quake. Skin--dark, bruised beyond
recognition--crawled, goose bumps rising as a draft of air pushed up against his side.
Once familiar smells seemed so foreign...
Mulder's eyes peeled back and he jolted awake, gasping for air. A cruel sound escaped his throat
as he awoke, a combination of dread, fear, and agony intertwined and twisted into a barbed wire
of noise that hurt his own ears.
His eyes were panicked as they tracked his apartment. It hurt to breath and he didn't know why
he was so scared. He sighed, placed his bare feet on the floor and sat up on the couch, shaking
his
head and rubbing the grit out of his eye with his palm. It was only then did he look down at his
hands and arms.
Mulder stared. Eyes wide with terror. Lost in some vague memory. His eyes smoothed over his
skin, observing harsh needle marks, bruised-raw skin, and scabbed cuts--blood encrusted flesh in
the place of his middle finger's cuticle.
He let out a splintered sound. It broke off, hanging there horribly in the air.
And the world was silent again.
He brought a hand up to his mouth and sobbed, his mind letting the sights come back to
him--needles and doctors and handcuffs and the smells...his own flesh--sizzling and crackling...
He knocked the coffee table over in a whirl of movement as he jumped to his feet. He raced to
the
toilet, violently retching into the bowl, his stomach heaving up its only contents--water. Nasty
shivers tap-danced up his back as his fingers reflexively curled and uncurled on the rounded
sides
of porcelain. The sound of his rough breathing echoed off the insides of the toilet as he rested his
head on its cool surface, not thinking at all. Just being.
His eyes got hot and the tears warmed his cold skin. His lower lip began to tremble. Everything
he
was feeling, everything inside him...all collided at once.
Suddenly, he rocked back on his heels. Outright terror had him tearing blindly through his
apartment. He paused in front of his couch, eyes searching for something. He bent down and
wrenched the coffee table back up right. Circled it and when he didn't find what he was looking
for he gripped the table again, flipping and shoving it away from himself at the same time. His
computer was a mound of junk after he finished sweeping the contents of his desk. It impacted
onto the floor, shattering into tiny little pieces. Mulder's fingers entangled themselves on a knob,
yanked the drawer open and slammed it back in.
He stood there, chest heaving, looking blindly around the room, eyes raging with sick fear.
Hazel glistened and he was moving again, storming into his room. He ripped a drawer out of his
clothes chest, spilling its contents all over the floor. An assortment of clothes and dirty
magazines
tumbled to the ground, scattered everywhere at his feet. He collapsed to his knees and started
rifling through them, eyes glazed over with a sudden yearning, needing so badly for it to be there.
He tore through them, picking up one of those magazines and throwing it to the other side of the
room with pure contempt. He fisted another one and immediately threw it to his side and froze.
Stared. Stared with tears in his eyes. Stared down at what had been hidden there, underneath it.
Mulder breathed quiet and licked his lips, slow, as if deciding what to do next. He reached down
carefully, hands shaking. The pads of his fingers pressed over the cool metal barrel sending
small
pangs of comfort through him. His hand finally grasped the gun whole heartedly. He checked the
magazine. Then shoved it back in, savoring the small click. A small whimper and he let his hand
rest in his lap
He forlornly raised his eyes to the ceiling, Adams apple bobbing up and down in an attempt to
keep the tears from falling. He tightened his grip on the solid metal and lowered his head, sitting
back on his haunches. The apartment was so quiet. The only sounds emanated from the gurgle of
the fish tank and the soft rumble of traffic outside.
He tried to lift the gun but his arm wouldn't comply. Wouldn't move at all. He leaned forward,
hunched over, head bet down between his sagging shoulders--and sobbed pitiably.
He grimaced with effort, lips peeling back to reveal clenched teeth. Stubborn tendrils of hair fell
into his eyes as he held the gun with both hands. He couldn't help the small rhythm his body had
set, rocking back and forth, letting the salty tears fall, hitting the cuts on his wrists.
He stayed that way.
~~~~~~~
Scully scratched her brow as she slipped past various doors situated along the hallway. Her eyes
reflected exhaustion as she kept them on the window at the end of the hall. The last remnants of
the day were slowly tumbling back to earth. Dusk frothed forward across the sky, stealing up the
last bits of light that inched along the horizon, refusing to die.
Quantico was over and done with. No more corpses and no more, "Dana, are you feeling
alright?"
She had gotten word from AD's superiors. They had informed her that Skinner was being treated
for injuries sustained during a mugging--
Her face turned red as she approached the door, her stomach turned wickedly and her throat
constricted as she remembered the blood on the floor and the way the couch had been left in
disarray.
She rocked back on her heals, then leaned slightly on her toes, willing herself to open the door,
to
at least check.
She unlocked the door and let her hand hover over the door knob, closing her eyes and
whispering, inaudibly, something that might have been a prayer.
Finally, she turned the knob quickly, walked calmly inside, and turned with the door so that her
back faced Mulder's apartment. She closed the door gently and turned with the keys jangling
between her fingers.
She walked into the apartment and dreaded what she saw. Everything lay in ruins... Papers were
strewn all over the floor. His computer lay in at thousand tiny pieces. She quickly surveyed the
living room and came to the bedroom.
The keys in her hand crashed to the floor as they slipped from her fingers that had suddenly gone
numb.
Mulder.
Scully smiled one of those brilliant smiles, "Mulder!".... and it died in an instant.
As she turned the corner she saw him, naked and bruised. His back was deceptively half hidden.
She gasped at the deep red welts that overwhelmed the flesh there. He was hunched over,
sobbing.
He jerked his head up when she called his name. His eyes glistened from the tears--desolate.
They
held nothing but despair....
~~~~~~~
Mulder broke his gaze from Scully and lowered his head, shaking it side to side--disquiet.
<nononononono>
Scully moved towards him. Mulder cringed at the crumple and tear of paper, gripped the gun
tighter in his sweaty hands. Uneasy, "Go away, Scully."
Scully ignored the pornography scattered beneath her, shredded it with the heel of her pump and
crouched a foot from Mulder. Finally noticing the soft glint of metal in his hands.
Mulder didn't budge, felt a shudder run down his body and whimpered again as he tried and tried
to raise the gun. It was more of a plea than a yell, "I said go away!"
She steadied her voice. "Mulder, you don't--"
Mulder stopped rocking and turned his head in such a way that ran shivers of fear down Scully's
spine.
His voice was ragged and barely recognizable. He shook his head side to side again, slowly,
staring at her, in disbelief that she could even utter such a ridiculous comment. "You don't know!
You don't know!"
Scully took a shaky breath and reached out to touch his shoulder.
Mulder flinched back violently, scooting a bit to his left away from her. He mouthed
words--liquid
tongue--but no sound would come. No voice came to tell Scully to fuck off.
Scully thought for a second about grabbing the gun, but killed that idea as soon as Mulder saw
her looking at it. He just gripped it harder, daring her. "Mulder--"
Mulder sobbed hard--his throat hurt so fucking bad. His voice returned but the words were not
his own. "I knew all along, Scully." Swallowed back the snot that clogged his nose. "I knew all
along..."
Scully inched forward, closer to Mulder than she was before.
Soft and soothing, "What are you talking about, Mulder?"
Mulder let out a manic giggle, tracking Scully from the corner of his eye. "All this time.." He
shook his head in disbelief. "All this time the truth was in here." He comically let a finger tap the
side of his head.
Oh god she couldn't look at his eyes, they weren't his own.
He bit his lower lip and rocked lethargically back and forth, setting a slower rhythm than before.
His voice cracked under new strain, "T-they did things, Scully..."
Pressure was building steadily behind her terrified eyes as she watched her partner break down.
He couldn't help the stutter. It only made him sob harder. "I-I told them and then they t-took it
from me. I knew, but they took it away." He made a half-hearted gesture towards his head again.
"T-they did something to m-me."
Scully scooted forward a bit, just a few inches from Mulder now. The tears in her eyes began to
fall, one by one. "Don't end it this way Mulder. Please. This isn't the way." Her voice became
strained over the last part, betraying her cool.
Mulder gritted his teeth and lifted the gun half-way. Admiring it for a moment, before he felt
Scully rip it out of his hands.
Scully tore the gun from Mulder's sweaty palm. She quickly emptied the magazine and slid it
along the floor into the other room.
Mulder lunged for the magazine as she slid it away. They both tumbled to the floor, atop his
magazines and clothes. He laid beside her panting with one arm outstretched. Scrambled to his
knees, but Scully was suddenly there, blocking his exit.
Scully crouched down and held Mulder still. She felt all of the tension and strength drain out of
his body as he went slack in her arms, but knew he was still reaching with his hand outstretched
behind her, sobbing hoarsely. "Please--Scully--just--please--let me..." His pleas became
unrecognizable as she held him tightly in her arms, not daring to let go. She rested her chin down
on his hair--sticky with sweat. Rubbed his back gently, trying to find a spot that wasn't marked,
and cooed words to him while she rocked him back and forth the way she'd seen him do it. "Not
like that Mulder. We're going to finish this. I promise you. We're going to finish this...."
~~~~~~~ The end
Wait! Before you guys all start throwing beer bottles and the likes, tell me what you thought. Oh
what the hell, please direct your projectiles and comments at the addy on the right.
Cody@hurricane.net
"..Let the obscure be explained by the more obscure, the unknown by the more unknown."
--The Great and Secret Show
NOTES: (The truth of the matter)
Most of the torture featured in the above is taken from literature and
various governments around the world.
I did not just pull sulfizine and its effects out of my ass. Sulfizine is
a form of purified sulfur that was used on Russian dissenters who opposed
their government in the mid 80's.
It can cause excruciating pain, fever, convulsions, disorientation....the list goes on.