ANCIENT MARINER - an X-File
PROLOGUE
Sunday, 9/24
Montauk, Long Island
11:30 p.m.
"Cut it out, Ray!"
"Aw, c'mon, Mal. It's me."
Mallory slaps the hand away from her knee and looks away from the boy beside her, down the strip of moonlit sand. The lighthouse at the jetty is a long way away, its single eye casting a steady beam over the waters around it. The sky is inky black and a large, honeyed moon sits low on the liquid horizon, spilling creamy velvet that undulates on the surface. Waves tumble headlong coating the flat, wet sand with a wash of foam that teases the edge of the frayed Army blanket the two are sharing only a few yards from the water's edge.
Ray's hand slides further up her thigh and under the edge of her cotton sun dress. Mallory knows she shouldn't encourage him, but he's cute. His brown eyes are gleaming and his buzz cut can't hide the fact that he's a hottie. And she does rather like the way his hand feels as it slides just a little higher up her leg. It's not like she's a virgin. She is 17 after all, and Ray did take her to a really nice restaurant. Not Wendy's or some crapola place like that. Still, it isn't like he owns her or anything. He isn't even officially her boyfriend.
"Stop it!" she declares at last, deciding she isn't ready to do this. She pushes Ray's hand away and hears his disappointed groan.
"Jesus, Mal. What's your problem, babe?"
"I don't have a problem, babe. Except you. You're a horn dog."
"You didn't seem to mind last weekend." The lanky teen reaches out and fingers the silky, blonde strands that cascade around the girl's face. Mallory pouts her prettiest.
"That was then. This is now. And I don't want to fool around right now." She leans over her legs and smooths the short skirt's fabric down over tanned thighs with two hands. Practicing the new stretch her gymnastics coach taught her, she reaches for the ocean.
The beach is beautiful at night. Day visitors never see it this way. They always leave by dusk. That's when the locals emerge to reclaim their territory. Locals and summer people. God, Mallory hates the summer people, especially their kids - bunch of stuck-up, citified, private school types who think the East End is designed just for them.
"Earth to Mallory. Whadya thinking about?" Ray's hand slides up her back and Mallory shrugs it off.
"Quit."
"Are you PMSing or something? My sister says girls get nuts when that's going on."
"Your sister is a freak show who wears black 24-7 and dyes her hair pink, Ray."
"Fuck you." She feels Ray rise to his feet beside her.
"Where ya goin'?"
"I gotta pee."
She watches him make his way down a hundred feet of sand before disappearing into the scrub pine edging the beach front. She sighs with exaggeration and shakes her head to herself. High school boys. Always thinking with their dicks.
A sudden chill raises the hair on the backs of her arms and her neck. Mallory looks back to the ocean and gasps. A tall, slim naked figure of a man is emerging from the waves in front of her. Where'd he come from? She tries to rise to her feet and discovers, much to her horror, that she's frozen in place. Her heartbeat accelerates. The guy approaching could be innocent, but naked? No, that isn't right. Anxiety rises cold in the pit of her stomach as the figure makes a slow beeline for the blanket. She calls towards the pines, "Ray? Ray! You better get out here. Fast!"
The naked figure now stands at the edge of the olive drab wool, looking down at her. Mallory breathes heavily, blood coursing through her veins, eyes wide. Where's Ray? Who is this guy? Why is this happening to her? Tears well up in her blue eyes and she starts to cry. Then she gets angry. Didn't Mrs. Dubin always tell them to be ready for anything? Shit. She didn't want to be raped. Or worse.
She finds a small bit of courage. "Please, Mister. Don't hurt me. My boyfriend has a gun. Please, mister. Leave me alone."
The figure says nothing. In the moonlight, Mallory can see his pale eyes blinking in a slow, rhythmic pattern that capture her attention. His eyes. They are gray and - old, somehow, although the man seems middle-aged. But his eyes.
Mallory finds herself relaxing as she watches them. What is he doing to her? Her mind battles to stay in touch with her surroundings, to find Ray, to remember to look for an escape route. She can't. Not with those eyes on her, calling to her...
"Har'n tu olmed," the figure chants in a monotone. "Har'n tu olmed."
Incredible as it seems, she understands the words, although she knows it isn't anything she's ever heard before. Come to me. That's what he's saying. That's when the light begins to peel open his chest, casting her in its brightness.
"Har'n tu olmed," the figure intones again and again.
And she cannot resist.
End ~ Prologue ~ Ancient Mariner
A/N: Back in 2000, the wailing and lamenting was long and loud over the end of the series; but then a few diehards began the Virtual Seasons. This story was my contribution to that first attempt at keeping the fandom alive. It's nice to know that the Virtual Seasons continue. ::pause as I wax nostalgic:: It's also my one and only full-length casefile. Five chapters total, to be posted over the next five consecutive days as Prologue, Act I, Act II, Act III, and Epilogue. Hard to believe it's been 20 years since "The Pilot," but it has. Happy Anniversary XF!