*Ten*
Derrick Geffen was thirty-eight years old, single, and had been a Fort Dodge resident since birth. He was currently employed at Dini's Diner on the corner of Fifth Street and Kyle, and had confessed to killing Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Welling by lacing some ice cubes with the drug Rohypnol and then putting them in the victims' drinks, in order to render the Wellings incapable of defending themselves. I couldn't believe it. Scully could I mean, there was evidence. Precious, sacred evidence. I protested that the drug could have been injected after they died, possibly through the puncture wounds in their necks to conceal the needle mark, but Scully maintained that such meticulousness was highly unlikely for such an otherwise violent killing - besides, we had a confession fall right into our laps. Geffen described his method of draining them of blood, and placed the location of their bodies with perfect accuracy. Plus he did a pretty convincing impression of a psychopath. All of these things gave us cause to keep him in custody.
I should've believed it. I should've dropped it at that point, and gone home. This is just a town full of superstitious, gullible bumpkins. Leave them alone.
But no. There was something in the water so to speak and it wouldn't let me quit.
That evening Scully and I returned to our respective motel rooms and went to our respective beds. I fell into a fitful sleep, and awoke a couple of hours later in the blue. I felt a presence in the room. Then suddenly I was frozen, and the sheets were torn off the bed. It was like one of those dreams where your voice crawls up into your ears and you can't make it come out your mouth. I couldn't yell. I just lay there. And the presence floated over me before materialising at my side. It was a man all in black, with light coloured hair and a pitiful look on his face. This must be the other one Daniel.
"That's right. And you're Mulder," he said quietly. My voice still eluded me but I was able to nod a little.
"I'm not going to hurt you, in case you're worried. I really just wanted to meet you."
"What?" There we go. "You and this is how you ?" I stammered.
"Sorry. Feeling vulnerable?" Out of nowhere, a large iron shield appeared over me, and I found the strength to sit up and push it off of my arm. Daniel laughed deliriously. The shield disappeared. "You'd think after all these years, stupid gags like that would get old ... but they just don't."
"This is unbelievable." I blinked. "Why did you want to meet me?"
"I wanted to know what you looked like." Daniel moved a little closer and touched my face with his finger, the way a child touches a bubble. "What a big nose you have."
"All the better to smell you with."
He looked solemn for a moment, then broke into a smile. "That's cute," he said.
"I got a million of 'em." I tried to read intention in his eyes, but it was dark, and his eyes were empty. What does he want? Does he know about Geffen's confession? Is he going to tell me what happened that night at the mansion? Is he going to tell me he killed the Wellings? ... Is he going to seduce me? I tasted all different flavours of anticipation, from dread to hope, in no particular order.
A shyness crept into his grin, and then he looked away. "It's people like you who make me wish I was a poet."
"Excuse me?"
"It's rude of you to invade people's privacy like that."
"Pfft. This, coming from an FBI agent."
My eyebrows raised slightly. "Touchι."
Daniel looked satisfied, tilting his head back idly. "Fox ..." he sighed kind of purred, actually, but it was embarrassing to think my name could be purred. Why is he saying my first name? Why is he saying it like that? "Oh relax, Mulder, I'm just trying it out. It's a hell of a name, you know."
"Yeah. But the kids at school have stopped making fun of me now that I carry a gun."
Fox ...
Oh, shit. He can do it too. That echo thing, where his thoughts resonate in my bones. And what's resonating now ...?
I was immersed in lust and wonder, which he was associating with my name, and then I found it laced with pangs of sadness, an envy that wouldn't fully declare itself, which were directed at me. I didn't comprehend it, but commiserated, because I felt it. I thought it unnecessary, but couldn't explain that to him. If any rational part of me was functioning, it was flattered. And sorry.
"Is that what Darren called you? Fox?" He was standing opposite me, yet breathing down my neck at the same time.
"I don't remember ... yes. Yeah."
"What did it mean to you?"
"I don't understand."
"What were you thinking? About Darren?"
"I ... I wasn't thinking."
Suddenly Daniel sparked up, as he shoved a hand to my chest and dropped his head down in exertion. I had the sensation that he was searching my mind, infiltrating and extracting, but looking for a specific memory which I knew was not there. He drew back his hand and looked at me, his eyes glowing schizophrenic. Slowly, he said, "You are only a mortal." As if to reassure himself. Pause. Then, abruptly, the monster dropped from his face. Again, but as if only now realising it, he said, "You are only a mortal." His ironic human smile returned, and he began to ... laugh? Yes, albeit maniacal, it was laughter nonetheless.
Nervous relief washed over me. I exhaled, and was about to crack one of my inane jokes, when I realised, bewilderedly, that I was alone in the room.
and then ...