It was only then that he noticed tiny flakes in the air, globules of water suspended in animation, defying gravity altogether. The flickering lights burst into full brightness, humming loudly as they reached full capacity.
William's skin burned like fire and Skinner leapt off of him, almost tripping backwards in disbelief. He felt his clothes fall loose against his body along with an unnerving weightlessness that threatened to uproot him from the ground.
Computer appendages and lab equipment rose from their resting places and drifted ghostlike about the room. Mulder's attention had turned to William, whom was slowly approaching the creatures, lost in transcendence and with a rage building inside him.
A deafening sound resonated and both Mulder and Skinner dropped to their knees clutching at their ears in a desperate attempt to escape it. The creatures recoiled in distress as the clear glass burst into a thousand pieces before them scattering across the room.
Curled on his side and through distorted sight, Skinner watched as shards of glass crunched underfoot with each of William's steps. He didn't see what was to follow but some part of him told him he was not meant to, no one was. He felt his head lull to the side as his vision blurred and he blacked out.
From the control room, one of the smoking man's henchmen called through the line to Krycek. He'd just watched in dismay the events unfolding in the monitoring bay.
"Sir…" He stumbled down the coms.
"What?!" Krycek sneered back, clearly with more important things to be worrying about.
There was gunfire erupting in the background of wherever his superiors were residing.
"Sir, there's something happening in sector nine. Something…. remarkable."
The henchman paused and replayed the crackled footage of William shattering the glass and fearlessly approaching the creatures. The screen fizzed more static and eventually cut out all together. The man rewound once more, focusing on the final still before the connection dropped.
"What the..." He breathed.
The monsters were turning on one another; as if their bodies had been taken over by some unknown force they began violently ripping each other to shreds. The boy screamed in a sort of crazed anger, stumbling forwards as all of the air escaped his lungs. Between flashes of transmission, the suspended equipment fell abruptly to the floor and the boy wobbled on his feet.
The henchman saved the file and gulped as he quickly realized he could be killed for what he now knew.
….
Five Years Ago
He'd been counting the days since she'd left him. Usually so haphazard with his cell, he now kept in glued to him at all times praying for a call, even a message from his beloved Scully. He'd made a huge mistake, an irreversible one. He'd been such an asshole and it had cost him their entire life together.
So now, he lived each day just getting by, easing himself into the tedious routine of a single man who'd accepted retirement far sooner than he were mentally prepared for. The lack of social interaction concerned him, but what bothered him greater was the fact that he was more comfortable around the dead than the living. More accepting of the ghosts that haunted him every night then the women he'd made small talk with at the cash desk of the grocery store. The line between reality and the dream world was ever fading.
It wasn't uncommon to have the dead return to him during his dreams, he felt it a product of guilt for the many lives lost along the way. The gunmen in particular would appear regularly before him. They'd never speak a word but somehow he'd feel involved in the scene, be it an evening of hacking or Chinese take out and a heated game of dungeons and dragons. The extracts would pan out and he'd enjoy them for what they were, hopeful memories.
This time was different. He awoke sprawled on the coach; it was where he found himself most nights now having lapsed back into his usual sleeping habits. He couldn't bare the thought of waking up in that big empty bed feeling in the dark for her small frame that were no longer there.
A figure stood over him. His stunted reflexes had him reaching wildly for his weapon only to fall in a heap on the floor. He fumbled to his feet ready to fight the intruder.
"Fox" A voice spoke.
It was somehow familiar.
"Who are you?" He asked into the darkness.
He already knew who it was, it was impossible but it was happening.
"Fox, it's your father."
Mulder slumped back into the armchair, trying to remember if he'd caved earlier and taken a handful of drugs from the bathroom cabinet.
"You're dead," He mumbled, questioning his sanity, and not for the first time, "You're not real. I'm hallucinating again."
"Believe what you want to believe." His father shrugged. His hands in his pockets as though there were nothing unusual about the situation.
Mulder rubbed his bleary eyes and sprawled back on the coach covering his face with his arm. If he could drift back to sleep he wouldn't have to deal with his malfunctioning mind.
"Fox, I'm here with a message…"
"Fuck off."
He felt a sharp pinch on his ear as though someone was squeezing down hard.
"Ouch! Son of a…?!"
"You've stopped looking haven't you?" His father scorned.
"Looking for what?"
"Samantha."
It wasn't enough that he'd dedicated his life's work to finding her, but now after finally making peace, finally finding closure, the man he'd once called a father was dragging up the past.
"My sister is dead." He clarified through gritted teeth, "…And so are you."
He rose from the coach, making his way to the kitchen to get a glass of water and doing his best to ignore the ghostly figure before him.
He flicked the tap and watched the water run for a few seconds before holding the glass beneath it, vaguely acknowledging the figure leaning in the doorframe.
"Trust Samantha. There will come a time in the future when you will meet again. You must trust her, please."
Mulder finished his gulp of water, placed the glass on the side and turned around to warn the man to leave him alone but to his surprise he was met with an empty room. His father had vanished, nowhere to be seen and never to be met with again.
