From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 14/21 Date: 28 Jul 1995 21:10:42 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (14/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/4//95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 14 Tuesday 1am Near Mount Vernon, Virginia Dana Scully heard the bolt slide back and a middle aged woman entered whom Dana instantly recognized from the courtroom. She was an West Indian woman with smooth coffee skin and dark on dark freckles across her cheek bones and nose. Her long dinner gown and string of natural pearls were elegant and expensive. Dana was relieved that at least her own suit was not too badly wrinkled. "I'm Pearl Graham, a friend of Mr. Prince's," the woman said in her lilting island accent, studying the younger woman as if she were some rare specimen. "I remember you. The prosecuting attorney spoke to you, as did Reti's parole officer, so you must be somebody." Dana made a gesture indicating that she wished to reach into the pocket of her suit for her ID. "I'm with the FBI," Dana said, noting that Pearl did not even flinch at the 'FBI' part. "Special Agent Dana Scully. My visit here tonight, however, is unofficial." The woman's eyes widened. "And you came unarmed. You are either brave or foolish, Ms. FBI. Why did you come?" "There is new information," Dana told her. "The FBI knows, as does the D.A.'s office by now, that Reti Frantilli did not murder his employer." "Reti has known that for a long time," the woman said, unimpressed. "Yes, I suppose he has," Dana agreed slowly. She had not expected gratitude, but she needed something with which to barter. "The new evidence came to light only this afternoon. I came to tell Mr. Prince that within the last two hours I made arrangements for the charges to be dropped and Reti to be released." The woman's chin came up. It was a firm chin, Dana thought, a formidable woman very much at home in the kingdom Hector Prince had created. "Hector, I think should hear this." She went to an intercom box on the wall, but paused and turned back to Dana before speaking. "Your statements can be easily verified. If what you say is true, and you would be a fool to say so if it were not, why is the FBI acting as a messenger boy, or girl in your case, for the D.A.'s office?" Dana looked unflinchingly into the woman's eyes and took a firmer grip around her impatience. As much as she wanted to hurry this, these people had every reason to be cautious. She must be logical, calm, and firm. At least for now, she would not beg, though she was prepared should that become necessary. "I think Mr. Prince may have information pertaining to the whereabouts of the real murderer. I *need* that information." Her emphasis on the word 'need' was not lost on the older woman. There were coals banked here, a fire barely controlled. Pearl turned to the intercom, putting her back to Dana to speak privately. After a few words, Pearl turned again to Dana. "Come with me," she said. The sections of the house Dana now passed were as beautifully decorated as she had expected from the foyer and the music room. The formal living room was decorated in blacks, whites and shades of grey with splashes of accent. A huge white marble mantle shot through with black veins gleamed as did the floors and all the wood. The woman's long dress swished in the stately silence. At the end of a long hall lined with excellent Afro-American art, Pearl opened two double doors to reveal an impressive dining room. The lights from two crystal chandeliers and many candles shone off the dining table's long expanse of dark mahogany. Sitting at the far end was a black man in tux and white tie, whom Dana recognized as Hector Prince. Although it was long past midnight, the table was set for two and dinner had been served. Now a maid was setting a third place. Pearl introduced Dana to the watchful man. "I hope you haven't eaten, Ms. FBI," Pearl Graham said, indicating the chair across from hers. Dana moved on startled feet and sat down gingerly like a child invited to sit at the head table at a wedding reception. "I'm really not hungry, Ms. Graham," she murmured. Pearl sat in her own chair and reached for her discarded napkin. "Call me Pearl, and eat or not as you wish, but talk is needed and we wish to go on with our dinner." The woman almost smiled then under her dark freckles. "You are lucky we keep a late house here." Unobtrusively, the maid set a bowl of soup in front of Dana and poured a sparkling red liquid into her wine glass. Hector leaned back in his chair and observed her eying her glass. "Cranberry juice and tonic, girl," he said in a deep, even voice. "I know the FBI does not like their agents to drink on duty, even if they are acting - in an unofficial capacity." Under his eyes, Dana lifted the expensive crystal goblet and tasted, finding it was as he said. His face took on an expression of coy satisfaction. "Now," the older man began, his grey eyebrows moving on his dark skin in the light of the candles and crystal, "Pearl says the charges on Reti have been dropped. You did this?" Dana set down her silver soup spoon. The soup she had tasted to be polite was delicious, but her stomach was not interested. "Evidence has come to light which shows that the murder was most likely committed by another. Releasing Reti under those circumstances is only appropriate." "And what about the eye witness?" the syndicate leader asked slyly. He never moved his unwavering predator eyes from her face. Dana's hesitation brought a thin smile to the man's face." Ah, that one," he commented. "Considering her past history, she would have been less than persuasive on the stand in any case." Dana was not surprised that Hector or his lawyer had probed into Angela's medical records. "I don't know why the D.A.'s office put such store by her." He cut his fish, put it in his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring, but the tension in his body had not relaxed. "And what was this evidence, if I may ask?" Dana straightened her posture imperceivably. "The evidence strongly suggests that Angela Larson either murdered Mitch Legget herself or arranged for it." The man stopped chewing, genuinely surprised. Dana's heart sped on a little faster. Maybe she had something to bargain with after all. "Amazing," he replied. "And," Dana continued, looking at him fearlessly, "I think you may have information which will help us find her." His surprise was even more pronounced this time. Recovering quickly, Prince smiled and made a soundless chuckle before going back to his dinner. "The woman is in the Witness Protection Program and you ask *me* where she is? Ask the D.A." Dana took a deep breath. "Her contact with the WPP has been murdered. We believe she arranged this also. By the time we were able to get the court order to release the location of the safe house, she had disappeared." "Together with her young, male body guard," Pearl added knowingly from across the table. Her eyes searched for Dana's reaction. Dana felt a warmth rising to her face and looked down at her plate. "I think," the older woman announced, "that we have just gotten to the 'unofficial' part of this very 'official' conversation. Ms. FBI, I saw you in the courtroom, as well as you saw us. I said to myself, that young woman is hurting, but I didn't know more. I saw your face when the judge announced that Angela Larson had phoned in ill. Your expression was not one concerned about some woman's welfare. There's a man involved for sure, I thought, and this one is worried." Dana moved uneasily in her chair. She had hoped to go through this without mentioning Mulder at all, but to concentrate on the need to find Angela. He was her weakness and she had not wanted to reveal any weakness to these people. "I've told you, we think she orchestrated two murders -" "- and you don't want to find out too late that she's added a third," continued the woman in her soft accent, her face beautiful and solemn in the light. A face, Dana noted, not altogether unsympathetic. During this exchange, Prince had finished his wine and signaled the maid to refill it. "Pearl, has always been perceptive," he said with, Dana thought, a gruff fondness and an appreciative glance in the elegent woman's direction. He turned back to Scully. "And what makes you think I know where she is? Keeping her location secret from us was rather the point, or so I thought." Dana took a deep breathe as imperceptibly as possible. This was the hard part. "Mr. Prince, you have a reputation as a man who does not let circumstances control him or his. Instead, you take the initiative to *control* circumstances. You also have infinite resources. I believe you made yourself ready to protect that boy from Angela's testimony. I also believe you are smart enough to know it is better not to act unless absolutely necessary. You would keep an eye on her. That is why I think you know where she went after she left the safe house." The man looked at Dana with respect. It took courage to say such things to his face and in his own house. "And if, as you say, I would 'control circumstances' what is to prevent me from exacting my own vengence on this woman?" "Because I would know and I have been a guest in your house." He let a ghost of a smile cross his lips. "So this is the information you want?" He was quiet and put down his napkin. "This is a capitalist country, girl. What do you have to trade?" Dana focused on him with cold eyes. "I have already delivered." "So you say, though I must have corroboration. Is Reti free in name only or in the flesh?" Dana's facade began to crumble just a little. Her heart was pounding. They *did* know. "The actual release may take time. Bureaucracies move slowly," she protested. The man raised his hand. "I have accepted the amount of payment, but I do not act until payment is delivered. No I.O.U.s." He stood and looked at Pearl. "Take this very tenacious person to a safe place of *our* own. I have calls to make." He turned to Dana. "When I hear from my lawyer that Reti is indeed free, we will talk again." *** Wednesday 4am Somewhere in Rappahannock County, Virginia Fox Mulder thought he was no longer capable of feeling, no longer capable even of consciousness. He had floated for hours on half formed dreams, half remembered images, sinking slowly, softly toward death. During the last hours, during his few moments of consciousness, he was always aware of the persistant fluttering of his heart. There had been little sensation other than that. But then feeling returned, not with a jolt, but insidiously, working in among his dreams, making them unpleasant. The forest, the God-awful forest... feeling the mites swarming all over his arms, his face, getting into his nose, down into his clothes. He had fought them, beat them back with his hands, fought to keep them out of his eyes - and hers. Now he felt them begin to crawl all over his body again, but he could not lift a hand this time to fight them. Someone, he forgot who, had loosened his bonds so he was free to move, but it did not matter for he no longer had the strength to try. He shivered. He had not shivered for a long time. The dream moved on, becoming consciousness. Sound returned, a low, low background hum that he felt more than heard. The subsonic vibrations were crawling over his skin, moving swiftly from irritation to pain. If he had been capable of caring he would have cried out for it to stop, but he no longer cared. What was a little more pain? At least he knew he was alive. Besides, there was screaming enough. Screaming over and over. Screaming his name. A bright light sprang up all around him, as bright with his eyes shut as open, as the dread subsonic hum etched itself into his bones. But the voice was not Samantha's voice this time, not like the voice in his nightmares. It was a woman's voice, not a child's, and she did not cry for 'Fox'. And this time there was wind, such a wind, which had begun small some time before, but had built steadily until now it seemed almost of hurricane strength. It pulled at him, sucked at him. If he had been standing, he would have been drawn to it, drawn into the maul of the maelstrom, but, as he lay on his back, its grasping tendrils could not get a hold. And there was a smell, a smell like hell. Sulfur so thick he could taste the foulness. It sickened him. His senses were overwhelmed by the light, the roar of the wind and the shrieks of the screaming, the taste and smell of death, the feel of the ants and the wind on his bare skin... he faded back into sweet blackness... ...till a woman's scream, inches from his ear, jolted him into painful consciousness. Angela had leaped onto the bed and began pulling cruelly at his nerveless body. "..der! Save me! Don't let them take me! I won't go back there!" She screamed, she cried, she clawed at him, completely hysterical. She hugged him to her, screaming for him to help her, to rescue her. Couldn't she understand, he could not help? He could barely breathe, could not move. Wearily, he opened two pale eyes and looked into her insane, horrified, terrified ones. Even though she was inches from his face, he could barely make her out in the blinding light. She was naked but not white. No, her skin was covered with dark splotches like his own. Protection... "From whom? From what?" he had asked. Now he knew. From whatever *this* was. This stinking storm. So she had told lies - about seeing a man killed, about being with Samantha. She had committed murder. She had deceived him in the most cruel and intimate way that one person can deceive another... and it was all to bring him to this place. She had told lies, because she felt he would not believe her, if she told the truth. But then, feeling the awesome strength of the storm, Mulder reconsidered. No, against this his gun would not have been any use at all. Then, if it were possible, the wind increased. Objects in the room, in the house, began to move, to fly, to be flung against wall and ceiling or dashed to the floor. The sound of the breaking and the crashing was deafening. Just as suddenly, he gasped, but there was no air. He felt as if a huge weight had settled on his chest. At the same moment, Angela also gagged, clutched at her chest, crumpled onto the bed beside him, borne down by a crushing weight. Their eyes were on fire. Blood poured from her nose; he had too little blood left to bleed. And at the point where they felt they could take no more, when the tension had become unbearable, the house exploded. Every window shattered. Deadly shards were flung outward in every direction into the night. With the explosion, the weight lifted. They both gulped for air, she with a mighty gasp like a swimmer who has stayed down too long and who has just broken free of the watery death, he with a whimper, feeling the blackness so very close again, sitting on his shoulder. Still the horrible vibration filled their bodies, the house, the very air. Able to move again she crept to him, whimpering, and lay on his chest, clinging and sobbing... terrified. Fox knew he should be frightened, too, but fear took too much energy and he had none to spare. It was as if he viewed all this from somewhere outside of himself, for all he could feel was a numbing paralysis. That was when the front door of the house burst open, slamming itself against the opposite wall. The woman started and then cowered as still as death, as if they would not be able to find her if she did not move. Over the sound of the wind beat the throb of a new vibration. They both heard... the sounds of movement. Heavy and light, fast and slow. The irregular, unmechanical sounds of many beings moving. Angela leaped from the bed like a great startled bird and slammed the door to the bedroom. Mulder could hear her screaming at the closed door from where she stood in the middle of the room, "GO AWAY! I WON'T GO! I'LL DIE FIRST!" The roaring of the wind and the crashing was muffled only a little by the closed door. She clawed her way back to the bed and grasped his limp hand. "I've failed," she moaned. "Didn't work... none of this worked... they've come for me, but ... I won't go... I'll never go with them." She looked at that moment upon his pale, bloody body, felt the coldness of his hand and realized, perhaps for the first time, even through her terror, the horrible act she had committed. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around him, and bent down and kissed him for the briefest moment on his cold lips. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. For a second time a door burst open, but this time it was the door to the bedroom she had just closed... and the storm descended directly upon them... and *they* were there around them, moving shadows against the brilliant light. Mulder tried to focus, but he was barely conscious. He saw only her, with her arms raised, and then with her hand against her throat. He reached out a hand stop her, or he meant to try, but he was too late. A warm spray fell against his cold skin, and the light, birdlike weight of her body dropped down upon him. Mulder sank into a great void where there was no more light or wind or thin, grey bodies moving around him like ghosts. *** Wednesday 4 am Near Mount Vernon, Virginia Dana heard a soft island accent waking her. She instantly remembered that she was curled up on the couch in the music room in Hector Prince's house, with a pillow and two blankets which a maid had delivered. Pearl had urged her to try to get some rest, reading in Dana's face how much stress the young woman had been under over the last week. Dana was surprised that she could sleep, but then she had done everything she could do. The rest was up to others. She only prayed that the D.A.'s office did their part and did not hold up Reti's release on some technicality. *** "Does this man you care about have a name?" Pearl had asked as she sat on the edge of the couch hours earlier, soothing Dana mother-fashion into sleep. Dana felt amazingly relaxed, still gripped in a wash of relief that Angela would be found and soon, while the uncertainty of what they would find had not yet asserted itself. "Mulder,"she replied. "Special Agent Fox Mulder." The woman nodded. "Lover?" Dana felt a pain in the pit of her stomach. How do you say not lover but more than lover, more than friend. "He's my partner, my best friend." She held a lip between her teeth. "We have been through 'hell' together." Pearl raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "You know, Ms. FBI, Hector and I have known each other for years and years. We are closer than siblings, closer than most lovers we know, but we have separate bedrooms. Always have. He has his women and I have - visitors. Most people think that odd. " "I understand," Dana told her. The woman patted her shoulder and rose to leave. "I think you do." She smiled. "Now get some rest. It is going to be a long night." Dana looked up at her, feeling somehow that, at least in this, she could trust this woman. "How long will it take until we can go?" "As long as it takes," the woman winked, "but I'll do what I can to move events along. Rest while you can." Now Pearl was stirring Dana to wakefulness, some urgency in her voice. She had changed from her evening gown to a tunic and leggings in the colors of the African savannah. "Ms. FBI, the car is out front. Now is the time." Dana was instantly on her feet, searching for her shoes, but Pearl already held them. "How long will it take to get there?" Dana asked, her heart in her stomach, the adrenalin rush beginning to make her tremble. The woman cocked her head, thinking. "Dicken can drive like the wind when he needs to. Two hours under most circumstances, but we'll make it in an hour and a half." "We'll?" Dana asked, startled, slipping into her coat. "I'm coming, my dear, and so is Hector. You may need some, what you call 'back up', and Hector doesn't want any more people knowing that he's dealing with the FBI than necessary." Pearl held the door open. "Just one more thing; Hector makes the rules here. The FBI means nothing. You're just a woman looking for her man. You understand? You're just along for the ride." Numbly, Dana nodded. =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: The Abductee 15/21 Date: 28 Jul 1995 21:10:44 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (15/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/27/95 This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 15 Wednesday 6am Rappahannock County, Virginia The car was a limo. A long, white stretch limo that gleamed like a ghost in the night and flew like a ghost, too, across a landscape rising gradually from gentle dips towards the ancient mountains. In the pre-dawn blackness, they flew on deserted roads, past harvested, autumn fields and small towns. Dana sat on the pull down seat by one of the long back doors and stared out the window. She was trying not to think about what they would find. She had questioned Pearl and Hector for information about what they knew, but the woman would not speak. "Later," Pearl had said softly, and then she and Hector had curled up on the two long leather bench seats and fallen asleep. After they had been on the road about an hour, the grey of dawn began to make itself known in the sky. Dana marveled, as always, at the return of light. This morning, especially, she accepted that she would need the peace she always derived from watching nature unfold this way. First, you could see only a hint that the objects before the sky sat in silhouette just a bit more clearly then before. Then they became more and more defined, but, so gradually that, if you blinked, the landscape seemed to jump into relief unnoticed. Only, when the grey of the sky changed to palest blue, could she begin to distinguish color. This was also when she could see that her hands were clutched bone white in her lap. Now in true dawn, with all objects clearly visible, the November-barren trees bent and swayed in a stiff wind. It would be one of those days when the sky is brilliant blue, but the wind blows steadily in advance of an approaching front. Even now Dana could see a bank of clouds, far to the west, where the mountains rose. Pearl and Hector stirred. Pearl pulled out a thermos of coffee and handed a cup to Hector, then one to the driver, Dicken, and finally one to Dana. Dana wrapped her hands around it, intent on steadying her hands, and her eyes must have been asking questions again, for Hector finally began to speak. "I don't have a lot to tell, girl." The white in his grizzled, grey beard seemed to glow like silver in the shadowed car. "Yes, we knew where the safe house was, but you will understand if I don't explain our methods. All was quiet until Monday afternoon, then the woman moved the car onto the lawn by the front door and began packing. It was obvious she did not plan to return." Pearl put her hand over Dana's. "Our *observer* reported that the officer assigned to her left with her but, the man was not well." Pearl looked down into Dana's eyes. "She had to help him to the car, laid him down in the back. Had to help him out again when they got to their destination." Dana felt her chest tightening. She remembered the discoloration on the fingers during the autopsy, the beginnings of similar color on Mulder's. She had proposed the theory, and they had found the poison at the house, but a theory was one thing, to have it substantiated was quite another. "That's all we knew until a few hours ago," Pearl reported. "Hector tried to call our observer, to double check that they hadn't moved again, but the man admitted he had left his post. Weird things were happening around the house, he said. Too much for him.... lights, sounds, wind." Pearl shrugged. "Good help is hard to find." Just then, as the first red-orange edge of sun peaked over the horizon, the car slowed and turned onto a gravel road. Speaking for the very first time from the front seat, the driver, Dicken, announced, "Mr. Prince, we're here, and you have to see this." Stomach churning, Dana peered out of the heavily tinted window. At the end of the long driveway sat a small isolated house, painted an undistinguished, faded green. Something odd about the look of the house though, even from this distance; the porch seemed to be tilted at an odd angle. As they negotiated a curve in the drive, Dana caught a glimpse of a single dark car parked in the rear that did look like Mulder's. She saw no other. Dana's fingers twitched. Her hands felt empty. She wanted her gun or her medical bag, but Hector had not allowed either. but she longed for the protective feel of the cool iron in her hand anyway. Then she heard the familiar sound of ammunition clips being inserted and turned to see Hector and Pearl checking out large and effective weapons. Dana swallowed and turned back towards the window. Maybe she did not need her gun after all. Probably, under the circumstances, she would be safer without it. She was suddenly acutely aware that she had deviated so far from standard FBI operational procedures that it was not funny. Skinner would certainly find nothing humorous about her going to Mulder's rescue with a crime syndicate boss, his body guard and his 'significant other'. She swallowed, steadying her breathing. No, the situation was not funny at all and her emotions were fluctuating faster than she feared she could deal with them. As they neared the house, Dicken slowed the limo cautiously and what Dana saw made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She was out the door before the car had even stopped moving. Having traveled west, the wind was stronger here and pulled at her clothes, whipped her hair into her eyes. Angrily, she pushed back the irritating strands. She did not need or want this distraction. She found herself standing and staring at the scene. And listening... Now was the time for caution, for the wariness that Mulder had taught her, for what she saw made no sense. The house *was* wrong, even more so close up than from the car. Not only was the porch askew, but the structure had the appearance of having been dropped from a height of about ten feet. Not a wall was at right angles to any other or to the ground or horizon or sky. And every window was broken. Not just broken, but shattered, and the shards had been flung out with a great force into the yard. Some lay glittering at her feet. Dana crept closer, squinting, as the wind tried to blow dust into her eyes and she listened, but the only sounds she heard were the ones the wind played. Leaves rustled in fits and starts like frightened animals. The shutters, hanging loosely, banged and creaked. The front door, perilously hanging on its hinges, creaked. There were no human sounds. Hector, Pearl and Dicken, were silent as they waited near the car for her to make the first move. Dana appreciated their restraint and respect for her training. Even while her heart urged her to rush in, to see, to know - the wrongness here held her back. Observe, Mulder always said. Observe what? That the house did not look habitable, but not at all old. Paint had peeled, but the wood underneath seemed fresh stripped. The splintered boards revealed exposed depths which were perfectly clean, without a trace of dirt or weathering. The shafts of nails that had worked themselves out of the wood were bright as new. Dana jerked her head around when the wind suddenly began singing, like some dying thing, as it sailed through the twisted gutters and down spouts. In the bends and creases, she saw only bare metal, no rust. For people who had seen their own share of riot and destruction, even the three standing by the car were subdued, almost shaken. Stepping softly, Pearl came up to her followed by the others. "This place looks as if it's been through a war." she whispered harshly. "Our 'source' would have reported this," Hector commented, frowning, his gun hand resting against his shoulder. "I've seen destruction like this after a 'demonstration' between, maybe, two dozen assault rifles, but nothing like that has happened here." At that moment, a gust of wind, stronger than the others, roared up. It pulled at Dana, even forcing her back a step. A cyclone of leaves lifted up higher than Dicken's head and the house groaned ominously, louder than before. They all saw the porch roof sway. "It's going to go," Pearl said warningly. "No!" Dana surged forward, all caution gone. Dicken and Hector, though, reached the steps before her, the older, bearded man catching her at the foot of the porch and throwing her into Pearl's arms. Dana struggled wildly as she watched the two men mount the steps. "Let them go!" Pearl commanded sharply, holding her with surprising ease. "That's men's work! Certainly that's what we pay Dicken for." "Mulder!" Dana cried, the cry ending with almost a snarl of frustration as the wind blew another blast against them and played more of its dangerous music on the house. Only the fear that there may still be someone there, someone with a gun, someone who could be frightened to panic, forced her to keep the sound of her call from reaching the house. With the wariness of a trained professional, his gun at the ready point, Dicken cautiously pushed the remnants of the front door open with his foot while Hector pressed against the porch wall beside him. After a moment, the body guard peered inside, then turned and motioned quickly for his employer. Dana tried again to break free, but Pearl's ring-studded fingers were like a vice on her arm. "Calm yourself. Won't do no good, Ms. FBI." They were gone too long in Dana's estimation. The house was so small. Were Mulder and Angela there or not? Would she have to begin the search all over again? Worse, was he...? She heard the wind coming this time, a gust driving down from a depression between the hills behind the house. When it finally drove against the walls, the screech of metal and moaning of the wood was terrible. As if propelled, Hector suddenly appeared at the front door, moving quickly. Placing his gun back into its holster, he called to her. "Come now!" he commanded. Dana tore from Pearl's grasp, forced herself to tred softly on the rickety steps. The house seemed so unstable she was a afraid any unnecessary movement would bring it down. Hector waited for her, touching her arm before she could pass over the sagging threshold. "I know you have courage," he told her in a tight voice. "Remember that." Shrugging off his hand, Dana moved into the front room. As she did, the new rising sun, still low on the horizon, sent slants of gold through the open door, illuminating large, dark splotches that covered the walls, ceiling and floor until they glowed like glowing red jewels. Amidst the surreal splendor, the contents of the room lay battered and broken. Every stick of furniture was so much trash, splintered and twisted almost beyond recognition. That was once a table, that a chair. On the floor by a ruined couch, the remains of an old rotary dial phone lay on its side, the cord pulled from the wall. Dana let it lay. She did not need to pick it up to see that on its edge was a spot of dried blood and a few short, dark hairs. On the floor by the wall nearby there were more spots of the same dark fluid, also dry now. From a doorway at the far end of the room, Hector held out his hand. Dana went to him, moving softly as if afraid to wake... whatever unnatural thing was there. She stood paralyzed. The bed was all she saw and that was enough... a double bed with a woman's bloody, naked body sprawled on it... and blood. Blood everywhere. Dark stains radiated from this central horror, far beyond the confines of the bed. Rivulets, dried now, had once dripped down every wall, around every door and window. The ceiling was splattered with it and the floor showed the bloody tracks of seemingly countless feet. And Angela, or what remained of Angela, lay in a pool of crimson in the center of the sagging mattress. Her dead eyes were open and staring; there was blood on her face and her thin ragged hair fanned about her head. Her naked body was covered with the smeared remnants of bloody tracks and whirls. Deep cuts were on her wrists and across her throat was a ragged gash. Hector and Dicken were preparing to lift the body. Hector had the thin shoulders, Dicken the small, slender feet. They began to move it to a fairly clean sheet one of them had laid out on the floor. Dana started to raise her hand, to protest, but, as they took the small woman's body away, Dana could finally see what lay beneath, what lay tangled among the sheets and blood and a single thin blanket. A man lay in the same pool of blood from which Angela's body had been removed. The deadly, grey pallor of his skin was almost indistinguishable from the deep shadows under the sheets. His face was turned away from her, but Dana recognized the long leanness of him. Some pale skin lay exposed to the house's chill air. Fine muscles defined one bare shoulder and the length of one long leg. And there was the too familiar way his hair stood up when he slept. Once the paralysis broke, Dana moved, but she never remembered afterward how she made it to the side of the bed towards which his face was turned. Heedless of the blood that covered the floor, she knelt down. Mulder's skin was chalky grey and too ghastly to be peaceful, as he usually appeared to her as he slept. His lips had a frightening bluish tint. She laid a hand gently on his chest. He breathed... very shallow and quick, unnatural, but he breathed. The left side of his face, the side turned up towards her, was bruised a dark and sinister color and swollen. His eyes were sunk deep and shadowed in his face. Dana reached for his wrist to take a pulse but found herself shocked into stillness, fighting down panic. His poor wrists were cruelly cut, and so extensively that she could find no place to hold him. Refusing to think about what had happened, much less why, she flipped back the sheet and blanket. She was prepared to see him naked as Angela had been, but not to see the numberous unbound cuts on his legs that oozed a pale, yellowish-pink fluid. Pulling down professional calm to block her despair, she groped for the femoral artery on his good leg, the one that had not been shot that horrible day on the docks. She felt a faint pulse, too faint. Hastily, she sought the carotid under his jaw, touching gently the swollen flesh. The pulse should be strongest here, but it was too fast and very weak. "H-Hector?" She knew she must sound like a person asleep; it was so hard to get any words out. "Please, call an ambulance." "Already done, Agent Scully," replied the deep voice. So, he remembered her name after all. Dana needed no time at all to deduce that he was not only in shock but also seriously dehydrated. His skin was dry and slack on his muscles. From the evidence of the house, he had also lost a lot of blood. His body was covered with smeared designs in, what she could only guess, was his own dried blood. She refused to think about how much of what covered the walls, ceiling and floor was also his. She put two pillows under his knees and found a slightly cleaner blanket to cover him. She touched the hair on his head, moving the lock that always hung down across his forehead. When he did not respond to her touch, her eyes began to burn with tears she had no time to shed. While her hand lay on his cheek, a new blast of wind struck the house, and it was as if every board screamed to break free of every other. Dana sprang to cover the injured man with her own body as plaster dust rained down from the ceiling. The house sang in a mad chorus of noises, none of them comforting. At that moment, Dana woke from one terrible dream and entered another. She had found him, now she realized it would be no simple matter to keep him. Hector was suddenly at her elbow. He took her wrists in his strong hands and lifted her to her feet. "No!" Uncomprehending, she fought him as he forced her the few steps towards the bathroom and thrust her hands and arms under the running water in the sink. "No! Hector... damn you, let me go!" Pearl was there, too, and roughly lathering Dana's arms with the soap. Dana twisted, tried to get away from them and back to Mulder. She could hear Dicken tearing a sheet into strips for bandages. She prayed it was a clean one. Odd, she had never asked anyone to do that. Even so, she fought because she should be there. "Do you want to get it, too?" Pearl asked her, tensely. "It's not pretty... do you want to get it?" That was when Dana noticed her own arms were covered in blood and realized they had been talking about AIDS. "Mulder doesn't have it - " she tried to explain. "You would know, I imagine," Pearl told her curtly, scrubbing quickly while Hector continued to hold her, "but *she* has been in an institution. A young woman like that? *She* probably did!" At that Dana's eyes went wide, dismayed. Angela had bled to death on that bed; her blood was everywhere mixed with his. And Mulder had so many open wounds... She flung herself back against Hector, raising her dripping fists in the air. Pearl held her with strong arms. "You hold on... We'll do for him..." Dana's eyes leaped towards the bedroom. Dicken had removed the blanket and loosened Mulder's long limbs from the last of the winding sheets. Now he and Hector were wrapping the torn strips of sheeting around the cuts on the injured man's arms and legs. "What do I care...." Dana shrank away, trying to slip from the woman's arms. "He needs me." Pearl held her tighter, with fury and determination. "You *care*," she ordered. "There is glass everywhere here. Dangerous for you and he'll need you healthy, do you hear?" Dana beckoned to the men. "But they..." Pearl shook her head. "Won't harm us, Ms. FBI." Only then did Dana understand. She looked from Pearl to Dicken to Hector and back and she knew. "All three of you?" Pearl nodded briskly. "Can't be helped now. We do well enough for the moment and we can't be more of a threat to him than he's been exposed to already." She thrust some car keys into Dana's hand. "You... you go out to the car. In the trunk you'll find some blankets, they'll be clean and warm. Get them and lay them on the porch. We'll bring him out to you." Dana looked back as Pearl shoved her towards the entrance. "He's in shock... he shouldn't be moved..." Hector glared at her. "Do you want him to stay here? This place could come down at any time! It will when the storm comes." Over the whistling of the wind, Dana heard, far off, a distant rumble of thunder. "Support his head and keep it low," she ordered and with one final backwards glance dashed outside to the car. The wind caught her as she crossed the yard. Dana raised her eyes and the black ridge of the approaching storm front reared above not so distant hills now. She fumbled with the large ring of keys Pearl had given her, finally finding the ones for the limo. She averted her eyes from seeing anything in the trunk but the blankets, and, if the truth be known, she never did remember what else was there. What Hector and his people transported as part of their normal 'business' dealings was no concern of hers, not today. She found three blankets and laid two on a spot on the porch which Dicken had swept free from the glass and where they had not tracked the blood. Then she ran inside with the third to find Pearl with a cloth and a basin of water. Hector and Dicken had moved Mulder to the edge of the mattress where it was cleaner and Pearl was just finishing washing the worst of the blood from Mulder's pale skin. "What are you doing?" Dana cried, grabbing a towel and trying to dry the thin arms and legs. He was already so cold, too cold. "That won't help." "With our people it does," Pearl answered, her hands moving quickly in a kind of desperation. "He'll get better care if he's clean." "No medical professional would deny treatment -" Dana began to protest, but then she saw Pearl's closed, hard face. Dana thought, And from the sorrow Dana saw on that face she knew Pearl had had someone close go into some inner city hospital... someone who did not come out. Maybe more than one... maybe many. Hector came and put his hand firmly on the older woman's arm. "That's enough, Pearl. There's no more time." He alone was able to capture his companion's attention. They gazed into each other's eyes with unfathomable understanding. Dana took the cloth and basin from her. "Thank you," she said and she meant that. "But it will be all right... " Dicken took the blanket Dana had brought in and, carefully, he and Hector made something of a litter. Dana supported Mulder's head as they lifted. For a few seconds she felt the strong muscles in his neck, the once soft hair, now dry and mattered with what she did not want to think about. At that moment, without warning this time, another wave of wind crashed like breakers on a beach against the house. Involuntarily, all huddled. The house stood, but when the worst had passed, they moved quickly. They carried the limp form out onto the porch and on the cleared area cocooned him in the thick grey blankets. Hector and Dicken bore him then into the lee of a potting shed, on the opposite side of the yard from where Angela's body lay on the dry grass shrouded in its stained, white sheet. Dana sat on the ground by the shed and found its walls blocked most of the wind. She could even feel a little warmth as the early morning sun reflected off the shed's peeling, white paint. It would be as warm here as anywhere. The house had been as cold as hell, anyway. It was ironic that the sun still shone at all with the black, piling clouds so near. Dicken ran once more into the house and brought out pillows to raise Mulder's legs. His head they laid in her lap. A further blast of wind suddenly made the house tremble. One of the porch supports began to fall. The porch roof twisted and crashed, sending up a cloud of rising dust. Hector and Dicken looked at the house for a moment. Hector shook his head, then he stood back and gave her a somber nod. That was when Dana knew they were leaving. Pearl crouched down beside her and put something into her hand. "I found these in the bedroom," she said, handing Dana two soiled envelopes. Dana paid little attention, noting merely that the top envelope was addressed in Mulder's scrawled script, before she slipped them into her pocket. Instead, she was looked up into Pearl's incredibly dark eyes. "Thank you," she said, sincerely. "Without you and Hector...." Pearl raised her hands. "I've had a man like him... and a son. I've felt like you do... and like you will. It's life." And waving slowly, she heading towards the car. Dana heard the sound of car doors opening and closing and the engine of the limo start up. She was not surprised that Hector and Pearl would want to be gone before the ambulance and, probably, the police came. She did not feel abandoned, however. She had what she wanted. Besides, she knew that they would wait somewhere, quietly, out of sight, and not leave the area until they knew she was being taken care of. They were good at watching. Finally, alone with him and having nothing further she could really do, Dana smoothed his brow and talked to him... about what, she did not remember. Just talked and held her grief as she held him close. She had been gazing up at the storm, a little apprehensive and wondering why the ambulance was taking so long, when she heard a sigh, a hoarse whisper, that might have been "Hey" spoken no louder than a breath. At first she thought that the barely audible sound was only an eddy in the wind. Dana looked down... and caught a glimmer under the eyelids, just a little, but enough to make her own words catch in her throat. "I'm here, Mulder." A dry voice spoke, a voice more like leaves rustling, than his own. "Scully..." He tried to smile then, but failed. "Sorry... picking up... pieces again." He struggled, took an exhausted, rattling breath. "You deserve ...better." "I don't want better," she told him, "just you." But she was afraid he had not heard. He seemed to have lost consciousness again. A moment later, she caught the flutter again. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, but even open they would not stay focused on her. "Save your strength," she soothed. "I won't leave you." His head moved imperceptibly. "Dana... kiss me ... good night." His soft words took her so by surprise that for a moment she thought she had not heard correctly. She did not understand. In some delirium, did he mistake her for his mother? Was that why he had asked her to kiss him good night? No, he had called her - 'Dana'. A wave of warmth ran through her and she bent down to do as he had bade her, but as her lips touched his, she found them cold and they did not respond to hers. Suddenly anxious, she swiftly sought for the pulse again. When she found it, throbbing like the heart of a bird, under her fingers, her relief was so great that the tears she had struggled so long to repress would no longer be held. She bowed her head and kissed him again on his cool lips, though she knew he was no longer conscious and, when she straightened again, two of her tears glistened on his cheek like pale stars. Five minutes after the last dust from the limo had settled, Dana saw the approach of lights, the red and white of the rescue squad and blue and red of the county police. End of Chapter 15: So ends Book I of The Abductee. The plot weaving, puzzle-solving, rescue part is done. From the post on EMXC, it's been suggested that I warn the action adventure crowd that Book II of the Abductee (Hope and Healing, chapters 16-21) is very different. It's partly a medical drama for you ER fans and there are many loose ends to tie up and emotional issues to deal with. Mostly it's about relationship destruction and rebuilding. =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: Abductee 16/21 Date: 30 Jul 1995 12:49:59 -0400 THE ABDUCTEE (16/21) by S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 7/29/95 ATTENTION: So begins Book II: Hell and Healing, chapters 16-21. "She had found him, now she realized it would be no simple matter to keep him." - Dana Scully, chapter 15. "Not all the effects of trauma are physical, as I'm sure you know." - Dr. Barbara Adams, chapter 17. This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys, for creating this marvelous stuff. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Copyright 1995 by S. Esty Chapter 16 Wednesday, 6:30am Rappahannock County, Virginia Weeks and Months later when Dana Scully remembered this time, she thought, ironically, about how completely life, as protrayed in novels and the movies, failed to mimic real life. Mulder did not get a transfusion and wake up an hour later and smile at her. They did not go back to work three days later as if nothing had happened... Dana was furious and frightened. The ambulance arrived with only a single, relatively inexperienced paramedic and a fireman with first aid training who functioned as driver and attendant. Why would anyone send so little help for a case which was so critical? Hector or Dicken surely reported the seriousness of the situation, but then Dana remembered that this was the rural South. Unkindly, she wondered if the 911 operator had placed the caller's speech pattern and sent just these two, who were so clearly out of their depth. Pearl's frantic need to clean away the blood began to make more sense. Dana swore. If only she had placed the call. If the dispatcher had been told that the victim was an FBI agent, the entire fire department probably would be here now, plus the emergency care supervisor and the county police would have sent more than a single patrolman. The young paramedic had been momentarily stunned. The patient's degree of blood loss and shock was clearly outside his experience, but he took hold of himself and tried to look optimistic. Obviously, the rescue squad did not carry blood, which in addition to colloids was what the patient needed, but they did carry a good substitute, a fluorocarbon-hemoglobin solution developed for emergency use by the military. Dana was acquainted with it and felt a modicum of reassurance. The young man informed her with crisp efficiency that they would start the IV first and then transport. There was nothing Dana wanted more than to stay with Mulder as the paramedic and his assistant completed their evaluation, but she knew she had another obligation, in its way as pressing as the first. Angela was dead and she did not want Mulder to be implicated in any way in her death. Though the very thought of leaving Mulder in the hands of these two was torture, she needed a witness to what Angela had done and how she had died. Flashing her ID, she demanded that the young patrolman accompany her to gather evidence. Looking at the obviously disintegrating house, the strapping, six foot four trooper thought her insane, but, as Fox Mulder had learned, it would take a better man than he to refuse Special Agent Scully. After insisting on a guarantee from the rescue squad crew that they would not budge an inch without her, Dana led the officer around the fallen porch roof and into the house. She was all too aware of the danger to which she and the officer were exposing themselves. There were long cracks in the ceiling and on the walls which had not been there even a few minutes before and multiple places where plaster had fallen. The house would not stand much longer. All the more reason this had to be done now. Once inside, the wide-eyed officer collected the razor and bowl which Dana had made certain that no one had touched. These would have Angela's fingerprints. As the officer rapidly photographed the scene, she searched the rooms. Behind the bed Dana found Mulder's blood-stained gun which she let the trooper take as evidence and under some broken furniture, Mulder's clothes. They smelled depressingly of sweat and vomit as she slowly folded them. Reluctantly, she handed them to the officer to bag and mark. Dana carefully pocketed Mulder's ID and wallet and his court-day tie. There was no time to look for more. The officer was nervously shifting from one foot to the other, eager to leave. Dana herself was torn between the desire to find Angela's purse or suitcase, either of which might supply valuable evidence, and anxiety over why the rescue squad staff had not announced that they were ready to leave. Concern for Mulder, her own safety and that of the patrolman won out. They fled the house as it groaned in protest under the assault from a fresh blast of wind. The accompanying clap of thunder indicated the storm had come much closer. The first huge drops of rain were falling as Dana raced across the open space to the waiting ambulance. As she wrenched open the door, the paramedic and attendant were shaking their heads, grave expressions on their faces. "What's the problem?" she asked, glaring from one to the other. The paramedic's brow glistened with the sweat of effort. "We haven't been successful getting a line in," he told her, with evident frustration. "Can't find a decent vein." "Oh course, you can't," she snapped. "He's badly dehydrated, hypovolemic and in shock. You'll probably have to do a cut down." The young man looked at his companion. "That's what we figured. 'Fraid, though, that's not something we have much call for. We've got the kit and I've got this," he said hefting an official-looking procedure binder. "I'm just waiting for someone to come on the horn to talk me through it. It'll be all right." But Dana did not like the look in the young man's eyes at all. He was scared. The attendant was estimating femoral pulse and blood pressure. Even with a blood pressure cuff he had not had any better luck than Dana in finding a pulse the traditional route. There was sweat on his brow as well. "I estimate 65 over 40," he reported gloomily. Seriously alarmed, but more furious still with their lack of experience, Dana pulled out the copy of her medical license which she kept behind her ID and thrust it into the paramedic's face. As he was warily examining the document, she pushed her way in beside the gurney and snatched the pair of clean latex gloves from his hands. Pulling back the blankets, she exposed the bone white thigh. "Get me the kit," she ordered. "I'll do it myself." "Lady, our liability doesn't allow - " the paramedic began. "I'll tell you what you can go with your liability. I have not gone through hell these last three days to let this man die either for your incompetence or for your liability. Now get me the damn kit!" Quailing before her credentials and the stormy fire in her eyes, and realistically recognizing his own limitations, the paramedic surrendered and handed her the items from the kit as she requested them. Mind and body anchored firmly in the professional detachment she had had to master over the years just to do her job, Dana made a firm deep cut with the scalpel above the femoral artery, fighting back tears only when she saw how little blood welled up. Grasping more tightly to a calm she barely felt, she smoothly inserted the large bore catheter and the blood substitute and volume expanders finally began flowing. She let out the breath which she had, unknowingly, been holding. "Let's get the hell out of here." As the ambulance flew threw what was now a full thunderstorm, Dana sat at Mulder's side and would not budge. Unfortunately, there was not much she could do; maintain the airway, keep an eye on the IV line to make sure it was running freely, track the vitals the paramedic collected. Within a few minutes, Mulder's blood pressure came up a little, but his heart rate continued to be too fast and too weak. His breath sounds were weak but clear which was the best anyone could expect. His color had improved a little because the paramedic had inserted an airway while Dana was in the house and put him on full oxygen. Dana sat as still as a stone, her hand on his, afraid that even her breathing would disrupt the delicate balance he was walking. She had no doubt it was that serious. At every pitch and roll of the cab over the ill-kept country roads, her heart caught in her throat as a flicker of discomfort passed like a shadow over Mulder's face. When they were still ten minutes from the local hospital, or so they told her when she inquired for the twentieth time, Mulder's breathing became more irregular and the paramedic reported that his blood pressure had dropped a little. Dana tore the stethoscope from the neck of the attendant and listened to Mulder's chest, swore that there must be a trick to learning to use these things in a moving vehicle. His breath sounds were no longer clear. They had gambled and lost, he had fluid in his lungs. Dan knew from the beginning that was a possible complication of low blood pressure and the suddenly increased intravascular volume, but they had had no choice but to treat the shock. He coughed weakly and Dana found a fine red spray dribbling from the corner of his mouth. She fought back her tears, as she cleaned the spot with a scrap of gauze. Her mind began spinning. If there was one complication, there could be others. Frantically, she pulled back the blankets he was wrapped in and found that the inner lining of sheets the ambulance crew had added was now stained in places with a mixture of tissue fluid and blood from his leaking wounds. Stomach constricting, Dana reported to the paramedic, "He's bleeding." There was no need to say more. The young man crawled over and spoke hastily through the cab window to the driver. A moment later Scully felt the ambulance leap forward, to tear over the pock- marked, narrow roads even more recklessly than before, the wailing of the siren harmonizing eerily with the constant rumbling thunder and the white-noise hiss of the tires on the wet road. With an efficiency of motion, the young paramedic rummaged in his drug box and pulled out a vial of epinephrine which he began drawing up into a syringe. Dana frantically shook her head. The vasodilator was contraindicated in problems such as Mulder's. Except to increase the percentage of oxygen he was receiving, there was really not much they could do or should do until they got to a better facility. And what they had done may not enough, Dana feared, not nearly enough. For they had started the IV and poured in fluid and dextran and electrolytes and the oxygen-carrying fluorocarbon molecules to correct the shock and hypotension and to deliver oxygen, but in the process they had diluted out his platelets and coagulation factors. So he bled and, with a pain deep and tearing, Dana knew that he was bleeding internally, just as surely as the soaked-through, jury-rigged bandages Hector and Dicken had put on over the cuts, showed that he was bleeding externally. Scully reached into her pocket and, pulling out Mulder's wallet, she flipped it open in front of the young paramedic's eyes. "Agent Mulder's blood type is AB," she shouted to him, raising her voice over the sound of the siren and the thunder and the pouring rain. "You have to inform the hospital. He's going to need platelets and fresh frozen plasma as soon as we get there." For these she knew they would need his type. For red cells he could use anything, but for plasma factors only his own type would do or risk a delayed transfusion reaction later with all of its liver complications. This added stress Mulder did not need in his current condition. The paramedic's expression was glum as he passed the word on to his companion who took the message. Distantly, she heard the driver speaking to someone over the radio as she looked down at the ID, at the picture of the serious young man on the official portrait, and then back at Mulder's face. She touched his hair, stiffened with sweat and blood. "Live, Mulder" she whispered. "Don't leave me." Dana calculated later that half of the staff of the small county hospital must have been waiting when the ambulance arrived. They were quick and efficient as they pulled the gurney into the single bay emergency room and began taking blood gases and setting up an additional IV, but Dana was appalled by the size of the place. She had been in clinics that were larger and better equipped. She positioned herself at his left side, held his hand, and obstinately refused to leave when they insisted. "I'm a doctor. I'll gown if you want, but I'm not leaving." They did not make her leave. A trim, grey-haired woman dressed in green scrubs appeared and hovered at her elbow. Both kept as still as possible in order to stay out of the way of the frantically working doctors and nurses. "I'm Anna Hastings, charge nurse here," the woman said, close to Dana's ear, though she still had to raise her voice to carry over the rapid issue of orders flying around them. "I need information. Are you family?" Dana shook her head. No matter how ill he was, *they* would never come. He might as well not have a family, the little they cared. She showed his ID and hers, wearily expecting this universal procedure. "We're FBI. I'm his partner. I can tell you everything you need to know." Wide-eyed, Nurse Hastings nodded. The patient's impossible injuries and the condition in which he had arrived beginning to make at least some sense. What could one expect from Feds and Washington-based ones at that? With practiced calm, she inquired about the patient's name and address, his insurance, existing medical conditions and drug allergies. Dana answered in a distracted monotone having answered the same questions too many times before. As the woman was writing an orderly came and said something to her which was too soft for Dana to hear. The older woman lightly touched Dana's arm to get her attention. "I've just been told they're requested a medivac. We'll stabilize him the best we can, but you can see the size of this place. We're not prepared to deal with conditions like his." Dana had known this, had wondered with a fear in the pit of her belly how this place would ever get him through. Best of intentions would not be enough. Give the staff credit, from the start they must have suspected this would be necessary, which was why they had never taken him off the gurney. Watching the dozens of packages being torn open, the bags and bottles, vials and ampules being opened and injected in muscle and heart, vein and IV line, she had no doubt Mulder was using up a six month supply of the clinic's hemostatic factors just on these initial stop-gap measures. About the transport, part of Dana was relieved that he would be going to a facility far better equipped to deal with his needs, part was terrified that his condition might become worse on route when he was far from help. "Where are you sending him?" "Washington Hospital Center. As you probably know, they have the best trauma center in the area." The woman shook her head. "We just don't have enough of the products he needs or may need. We could send for some, but in the same time frame he could be taken to a facility where they have more experience." At that moment someone activated the automatic doors and Dana could hear floating in the sound of approaching 'chopper' blades. A moment later a voice over an intercom announced the impending arrival. At least the storm front had passed so the medivac team had been able to come quickly. Dana looked into Mulder's face and held tightly to his limp hand. Skin was cold and clammy in shock, that was how the books described it. Cold and clammy was how his hand felt. She did not want to see him go, but knew he must. He had not regained consciousness, but at least he now had two IV's going and a drug store of chemicals in his system. She reached out and placed her other hand on his cool cheek. Even while she stood there, she felt a decided drop in the tempo of activity in the room. "That's all we can do now," the young doctor told his team. "Let's ship him." At that most of the doctors, nurses, and technicians stepped away, stripping off gowns and gloves, pulling monitors and other equipment away from the bed. Housekeeping staff moved around them, collecting discarded packaging which impeded traffic. Two nurses stayed, hurriedly completing preparations for his journey. They unplugged cardiac leads and temperature and respiration sensors. Those would be attached to identical equipment once he was situated in the medical helicopter. They began to wrap him again in blankets. "Wait." Dana's hand was in his. "He's so cold." Having handed his care over to others, she now felt numb, and damned her exhausted voice for its pleading tone. She saw the expression on the young doctor's face change from the dissociated professional he had to be, to the caring person he was. He smiled understandingly. "Doris," he called clearly to someone in the room, "get some of those heat packs we save for hypothermia cases." A woman in a blue smock hurried away. "I overheard you say he's FBI and you're his partner. I've informed the WHC staff about what we found here and what we've done. They'll be as ready as they can be, but I hope you know this is going to be tricky. Are you all right?" Dana realized, wearily, At that moment the orderly returned with the box of heat packs and Dana helped six other pairs of willing hands to break the seals. Massaging the packs mixed the chemicals which combined to release the welcome warmth. As they frantically worked, the attendants from the medivac entered the treatment area and talked in low tones to the doctor. Dana shut her eyes and willed her hands to work faster, refusing to hear the doctor inform these attendants about the possibility of their patient 'going sour' along the way. In the scant minutes they had before the medivac staff took the gurney in their hands and began pushing it towards the waiting copter, as many of the heat packs as could be prepared had been packed around his body between the sheets and the blankets. Less than two minutes later, when they had taken him from her so quickly that she had not even had a moment to say good bye, Dana found herself on the ground, feeling the wind furiously whipping her clothes and her hair. Powerlessly, she watched as the copter lifted into the sky without her. There was no room for passengers. They would not let her go. *** The ambulance driver dropped Dana off in front of, what he told her was, the only rental car agency in Spencerville. Dana ran up the steps to the door and when it would not open, helplessly pounded on the glass. As she leaned exasperated against the door, panting, she stared at her watch and was astounded that it was still so early. Tears of frustration threatened to overwhelm her enforced calm. She needed a car, needed one now. In her purse she had keys to Mulder's which was still parked behind the house where she had found him, but that was evidence and she had no way to get there anyway. The steering wheel would be covered with Angela's fingerprints and Dana needed those to help trace Angela's actions in this case. If she had been in D.C., Dana would have used her position and commandeered an official car. She could care less that this was not strictly a business emergency, but she knew this jurisdiction did not have any vehicles to spare. Despair made her begin to wonder if she remembered the procedure required to hot-wire a car. Mulder was not mechanically inclined, but he was still better at that sort of thing then she. The sound of screeching tires a block away caught her attention. A small, blue American-made car careened around a corner and flew up to an empty parking space in front of the rental office. A young woman jumped out, dressed in sweat pants and a huge tee shirt, her hair still wet from the shower. She fumbled with keys and opened the door of the building while Dana stood by open-mouthed. "I'm Nina Henderson. Anna, the charge nurse from the hospital, called and said you needed a car real fast. Hope I didn't keep you waiting." Dana felt the first tear of the morning trickle down her cheek. "No, not at all," she said, smiling at the woman, and thanked the God above for small towns. *** Wednesday 8am Route 66, Virginia How could she have forgotten about Washington rush hour traffic. Dana grumbled and fumed and swore with every word she had ever learned from her career-Naval father, but it did no good. The traffic crawled. At least she had her cellular phone though it took ages for the information desk at Washington Hospital Center to acknowledge that FBI Agent Fox Mulder had arrived and had been taken to the trauma center. No, they had no word on his condition. It was only then, when she was desperate to find some release for her blind frustration, that Dana remembered that she had not called Skinner. There would be a lot of people still looking for Mulder. Once she got him on the line, however, it was clear that Assistant Director Skinner was not very surprised to hear that his wayward agent had been found. "The D.A.'s office called me. Early this morning - *very* early this morning - Reti Frantilli's lawyer was at the jail demanding the boy's release. The officers had the verbal go ahead, but they didn't understand why everyone had to be pulled out of bed in the middle of the night to process the paperwork. The man seemed to think it was pretty important, though." Dana felt the familiar burning in her eyes. "Agent Scully, I gather you had something to do with this?" "It's a long story, sir." "I hope you'll tell it to me sometime." "Someday, sir, I promise," she said carefully. Then she added with some hesitation, "Sir, I'm sorry to inform you, but Angela Larson is dead. The Virginia State Police will be contacting you and the D.A.'s office." What a vastly inadequate message after what Dana had seen. "She committed suicide." She heard a sharp intake of breath from Skinner and then a pause. "Agent Mulder?" Dana steadied her breathing and her one-handed grip on the steering wheel, relieved for the moment that the traffic was still moving at only three miles an hour. She fought to keep her voice level. "Not good, sir. He's been airlifted to Washington Hospital Center. I estimate he's lost at least 30% of his blood volume. He's dehydrated and in severe shock. And following initial treatment, there were bleeding complications." Skinner's voice which came to her was more breath than words, rough and alarmed. "Dear God..." Was he remembering his part in the decisions which were made which led up to this tragedy? "Please keep me informed, Agent Scully." "You know I will, sir," she said, hoping her gratitude for his concern echoed in her voice. "I don't have a recent update, but I'm on my way there now." "Is there anything I can do?" What Dana needed even Skinner could not provide. She saw no pause in the solid line of cars in the lane ahead of her and on both sides. "Please, extend my thanks to everyone on the team for their hard work." "I'll do that." Then she remembered another obligation. Evan. "Sir... did Evan Byers call you this morning?" "No, Agent Scully," Skinner responded, surprised at the question. "Should he have?" So Evan had kept his promise, and waited till morning and, in fact, had given her more time then they had agreed on. "No, sir. No, I'll take care of it." *** Wednesday 8:45am Washington Hospital Center, Washington, D.C. Even Byers ran into the emergency room of the Hospital Center. The trip from his apartment in Bethesda had taken longer than expected. There was rush hour inside the city, too, but he estimated that he was still arriving at least forty-five minutes ahead of Dana. There were staff everywhere, but they all seemed to be in a hurry to be somewhere else. Evan was anxious, not for his own sake, but because of the mission Dana had sent him on and she was waiting for him to call her back. He was momentarily distracted by a body, abandoned and ignored, covered completely by a white sheet and lying on a gurney which was parked against the wall. These people and their crazy job. If he found out Mulder was dead, how could he possibly tell her. Out of frustration, he finally touched the sleeve of a young woman in green scrubs who was passing close by him with her head buried in a chart. "Excuse me..." His voice sounded as lost and uncertain as he felt. "Yes?" the young woman asked, abstractly. But then she really saw him and he, her. Evan looked down onto olive skin and the darkest brown eyes he had ever seen. Evan thought reading her ID, He certainly knew that a resident's life was hectic enough without having to help out frustrated wished-they-were-boyfriends of obsessed, female FBI agents who just happened to think they made fantastic big brothers. By the dark, limp curls that had escaped from her French braid and fallen across her forehead and the moisture on her brow and upper lip, this woman was not only busy, but exhausted. Her neutral stare shifted to one of interest as she took in the well-formed male body, blond hair and blue eyes of the man standing before her in the lab coat. Evan pressed on, having gotten her attention. He was used to exactly how well he had gotten her attention. "I'm Dr. Byers -" Her posture changed subtly. She was thinking, trying to place him. She reached out her hand. "Barbara Adams. I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name. Are you new on staff?" "Ah, no, I'm with the FDA - " Evan started to explain but took the proffered hand anyway. "Oh..." Her expression turned anxious, her handshake cool. "Not another inspection." "No, no, not at all. I'm actually here because a - friend - of mine was brought in here." Evan guessed he could consider Mulder a friend. At least a friend of a friend, which was close enough. She fixed her gaze disapprovingly on his lab coat. "Camouflage," he confessed. "Uh, huh." Her stare was withering. "Look, I'm in a hurry. Cut me some slack?" he begged. "I'm looking for Agent Fox Mulder, FBI. He was airlifted here less than an hour ago. It's important." Her eyes lit. Patients were something she could understand. "Mulder? I'm sorry I don't always get their names if they come in unconscious and it's been a busy morning; there was a bad accident west of the city. By medivac, you say? The bleeding disorder?" Evan shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't the faintest idea what he came in with." And he didn't, for he had rushed off too quickly after Dana's call to ask. "Agent Scully didn't tell me. I came on her behalf. I told you... he's FBI. She's his partner and she's going crazy with worry." "If he's law enforcement then he got the red carpet treatment." The woman started moving, sliding through the throngs of people with ease while Evan followed as best he could, barely able to keep her in sight even with his height. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, he had caught up. "If it's who I think it is," Adams was saying, "then we've done all we can here." Evan did not like the sound of that. " They are getting a bed ready for him in ICU." As Dr. Adams swung open the door to the ER bay, Evan Byers had an acute reminder of why he had gone into research.