Chapter Twenty-Six: Compulsion
Title: XII
Summary: Everything comes full circle and a truth is made known that leaves everyone reeling as well as second guessing what to do next to find their killer.
Post "Agua Mala" (Season 6 with mentions of "Rain King", "Two Fathers", and "One Son" Briefly and only for context purposes)
Note: Compulsion is an irresistible urge to behave in a certain way, especially against one's conscious wishes (bordering on obsession). "The Act of Love is a Confession" – Albert Camus
Disclaimer: Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, Agent Skinner, Agent Fowley, Margaret Scully, and the Lone Gunmen belong respectively to Chris Carter, FOX Productions, and TenThirteen Productions. All other characters are original and any likeness or named similarities to any real-life persons are purely coincidental (unless, well, you've been told, then you should've expected such things)
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Such a single-minded lust
To be there once is not enough
You change your point of view once stung
And this is where I want to be
No anxiety or fear
A quiet moment in your arms
"Compulsion" - Royksopp
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George Washington University Hospital
Trauma Center
Mulder felt a light squeeze on his wrist as he hesitated and slid forward, his eyes on her as he knew that she didn't necessarily want to let go. Bill Jr. hated Mulder and Scully knew it as her eyes were fixated on the man that had been agonizing to protect her. They were in a variation of hell and now she was worrying over what her brother could possibly have to discuss with Mulder alone. It wasn't something she wanted to think about but she also knew that Mulder would be ok—at least she hoped he would be. Even when she was in the most serious of her past relationships she had never been the possessive type by labeling the other half as "hers" but with Mulder it felt different as there wasn't a hesitation that he was, in fact, hers.
She didn't want anything to mess it up, not this time.
Mulder kissed the top of her hand as he gathered himself and stood, watching her for another moment longer, admiring the strength, the beauty, and yet, deciding between the gentle tremble behind her grip and the assurance in her eyes. It was entirely too poetic, he had determined, that she would be the source of his strength at this very moment before following Bill Jr. into the hallway to prepare for whatever earful Scully's brother had prepared for him to consume, however unwillingly. The atmosphere was already tense in the hallway as Bill Jr. didn't immediately make eye contact with Mulder, dragging out the silence like it was a form of torture that he had spent years perfecting.
He really was unbelievably good at it if that's what he was aiming at.
"So, should I be shielding my face from your fists or are you planning on going straight for the throat with a single blow to the jugular?" Mulder didn't like the extended awkward silences that Bill Scully seemed to be proficient at as he left a little breadth between them.
Bill Jr. rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and finally made eye contact with him. "It's really best that you just stay quiet and utilize your ability to listen, for once, before I change my mind entirely."
"What is it, then? Your long silences aren't going to weaken me long enough for you to sucker punch me—even in a verbal sense," Mulder realized how badly he needed to change his clothes as he glanced at his sleeves where Scully's blood was in small, brown patches and streaks along his wrists up to his elbows.
"If I wanted to sucker punch you, do you really think I'd remove the audience, Agent Mulder?" Bill Jr. knew that the frustration was validated from Mulder but he was just as antagonized as he shot him a fairly displeased look. "Giving you a shot to the chin in front of everyone is a little more effective."
"Subtle," Mulder crossed his arms. "Seriously, stop playing games, Bill…what did you want to discuss?"
It was a pretense and Bill Jr. wasn't eager to notice the stains as he couldn't help but look at Mulder's obvious, irritated twitching was becoming more than a little distracting for him. Pleasantries were not a possibility as everyone seemed to be forgetting that Scully had narrowly escaped being sliced open in sixty different ways and left for dead. Mulder didn't really understand the necessity for all of this when they could be in the room with her, planning for a recovery that wasn't going to be easy for her. The revelation of the change between Mulder and Scully was more than enough of a distraction for everyone that seemed to consume the focus and not necessarily in the most positive of ways. Bill Jr. was a little less than informed about the circumstances surrounding the treatment of his sister during her captivity and part of him was afraid to ask, afraid to know, and certainly more than a little afraid to be aware of just how close she had come to being destroyed in more ways than one.
"I don't know that I am ready to hear about what happened out there to her but I need to know something after the hell we went through with her cancer—are you just here to cause chaos and leave her broken all over again or are you prepared to be there for everything?" Bill Jr.'s voice was shaky and abnormally emotional as he looked at Mulder, his fists balling up, knuckles white.
"Maybe you should know what happened to her out there so you'll get a clue as to the small level of hell she just went through," Mulder could feel his blood pressure spiking, the aggravation elevating along with it. "Prepared? Are you really fucking asking me that?"
"Don't get it twisted, Mulder, I have every right to be concerned with the well-being of my sister since she seems more than bent on keeping you stapled to her side," Bill Jr. was ready to throttle him but knew that the emotional outburst was equivalent to his own.
Bill Jr. was not the greatest at showing that he was moved or affected in any capacity—he was too much like Scully's father in that way. The eternal soldier in him had put up well placed walls to block it out but losing Melissa bulldozed a section of the protection around his heart that let the flood of sadness in. He was completely stoic during his wedding, despite how beautiful Tara was on that day, and barely shed a single tear over the birth of his son, Matthew, despite how perfect that boy was at birth. He waited to show such intensity when no one was looking and often clouded the strongest emotions with the less intense ones such as pride. Family had kept him from completely feeling the effects of that sorrow but realizing that he was that close to losing his second sister had put him closer to the final blow that would've left his heart fully exposed to the loss, to the uncontrolled wracking of emotions. He didn't want it. He couldn't allow himself to be pulled in and drowned by worrying over her again.
"I have been at her side through everything; in the darkness, for every last breath that she spent battling those demons and these demons are just are real, maybe even worse than when she battled through the cancer…only this time, I'm not only doing the unspoken, fumbling in the dark to keep her safe," Mulder knew the consequences of taking the next step, the leap, with Scully and this was one of them as he looked at Bill Jr., the words contrite and assured. "I made a decision a long time ago that I'd be there for her in any capacity that she would allow me to be—and I meant every word of that."
Mulder's heartfelt words were falling a little on deaf ears as Bill Jr. stared at the man that he didn't approve of, that he wanted to hate with every fiber of his being and the words that angrily passed through his vocal cords almost weren't his own as he nearly failed to keep his volume down. "Why did this have to come out this way? You're sneaking around with my sister—looking every bit as though you're ashamed of it or scared it'll ruin your precious little search for little green men."
"Are you fucking kidding me right now? What do you expect either one of us to do? You've made it abundantly clear that you don't approve of me and when have you ever known her to shout ANYTHING from the rooftops unless it was to prove a point?" Mulder was frustrated but rightfully so as he had his fist balled, attempting to keep his volume down as he read Bill Jr. the riot act. "You tell me where the logic rests in you getting even a little pissed off about not knowing about us because I am just not seeing it."
Bill Jr. didn't know whether he should punch him or congratulate him for finally making a bold statement enough to show that he actually knew how to use his testicles. Mulder's stance had been clearly defined for a long time but his words had not quite taken that natural, definitive shape until now and it was in front of the one man that judged him the most harshly. Irony certainly was rearing her ugly head today and Mulder was standing squarely in front of her aim, ready to take the brunt of the hailstorm that was prepped for the bullseye at his chest.
"Don't act like you haven't been a colossal fuckup right straight along—it wouldn't be the first time that your motives needed to be questioned when it concerns the only sister that I have left," Bill Jr. was narrow minded at best and he hadn't even stopped to think about the effect on anyone other than the family. "I'm not going to lose her, too."
"Your self-righteous bullshit is unreal. You really think that you're the only one that understands loss?" Mulder's eyes nearly popped out of his head over the inclination that Bill Jr. could possibly think that no one else was suffering or could suffer the absence of Scully if something were to happen to her. "You really haven't got a clue how many lives have been touched by your sister—and how much it would kill each and every one of us inside to even think of losing her, do you?"
"Blood is a lot thicker than water, Mulder," Bill Jr. had the gall to utter the words that delivered a powerful punch to Mulder's gut.
"For a man who is so devoted to the military life you have no idea that that quote has nothing to do with family—it actually has to do soldiers in battle having stronger bonds than simple genetics but bravo for invalidating your own comment," Mulder continued, a stray tear running down his cheek. "Everything I lack, she has in spades—and every struggle she encounters, I will meet head on right along with her, without question. I'd battle every demon just to prove that I have her back regardless of the consequences."
Bill Jr. clenched his jaw at the correction, realizing that his own words had left him backed into a corner. "I had to watch her go through that battle and I can't do it again…not when you're out fucking it up worse. She deserves better than that."
"You weren't the only one that watched her suffer and you weren't the only one that felt every second of that pain," Mulder was battling tears as he remembered crying at her bedside in the middle of the night, followed by the elation when her cancer went into remission. "The only thing I'd change is I would've told her that I love her so much sooner than I—"
"Mulder…" Scully's voice coming from behind him sent a jolt down his spine and cut him off in mid-sentence but lured him in as he turned around slowly and saw her standing in the doorway with her fingers coiled around her IV stand, her other hand gripping the doorframe. She looked stunned and relieved all at the same time like she had waited to hear his words for so long despite the poor timing of it all.
How does she always manage to have the most impeccable timing? Mulder couldn't help himself as her voice left him defenseless all over again.
"Scully, what are you doing out of bed? You need to rest," Mulder's tone softened with an immediacy as he took a few steps in her direction but was met by her little, slightly wobbly frame as she dragged the squeaky wheeled stand toward him.
Scully shook her head, gathering her fingers around the hem of his shirt, using him for both balance and warmth as she let go of the stand and looked up at him. "What is it with you and me and this ridiculousness of telling everyone but each other that little, three-word phrase? Are we that scared of what it'll sound like if we know that the person really heard it?"
"Hey, at least I didn't say it in front of a serial killer…I'm just sayin'," Mulder tried to tease her a little bit as he leaned in, giving her a light, loving kiss on the center of her forehead before resting his chin on the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her. "I've been waiting for a right moment but I don't know that there's such a thing as the perfect moment other than the moment that the words leave your mouth."
Scully pulled her head back and looked up at him, gliding her fingers along his chin, completely ignoring her brother's presence in the hallway. "So, what in the hell are you waiting for?"
This wasn't exactly how Mulder pictured professing those three little words to Scully but the look on her face was more than enough as he could feel her heart beating close to his own. He could already feel her shaking but attributed the large majority of it to the breeziness at her backside that was most certainly hanging out for all to see. He gathered his hands along the gap in material, pulling it up and shut, coaxing a pretty shade of pink from her cheeks. Despite the visible embarrassment written in her coloration, she was beaming like a fourteen-year-old girl after her first kiss.
There was never going to be a more perfect time to say it and he knew it in his soul.
"Scully, waiting to say this to you has been one of the least well thought out things I've ever done in my entire life but I couldn't be more certain as I look at you that I love you with every beat of my heart and I will spend waking moment showing you exactly how much," Mulder's lips hung on the three most important words, his heart thudding into his throat as the nerves managed to take him with an intensity that he couldn't quite describe.
"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that and even in the physical state that I'm in, with everything happening around us, and the uncertainty surrounding this case—I couldn't be more exultant to hear you say it," Scully's balance was less than perfect as she teetered against her heels and brought both of her hands to his cheeks, rubbing her fingers along the space between his lips and his jaw despite the slight ache in her arm where the IV tugged just a little. "I love you more than I can even put into words, Mulder."
"Try," Mulder pressed his nose to hers, surrendering his heat to her as he felt the littlest of chills against her little nose.
"I will spend every waking moment marveling at the notion that I'm not still sleeping—that I didn't just create this moment in a dream," Scully knew that Bill Jr. was on the border of making obvious gagging sounds as they reveled in each other's affection.
Mulder smiled and continued to hold her gown closed, more besotted with her than he could've imagined he'd be. "I'm just be glad I'm an insomniac so I can be awake before you and know that you're mine…Each and every day, with every dawn, I get that reminder."
Nothing else needed to exist in the world as they gazed into one another for the umpteenth time, perfectly ok with the fact that neither of them were exactly good at romantic gestures, and more than ok with the ways in which they found to get there. They wanted each other's comfort almost more than they wanted air. It was in that moment that both of them remembered being in a similar position just over a year earlier after Mulder had found the journal that Scully had been keeping while she had been battling the worst of the cancer, when he thought he was about to lose her for good. It had been the biggest moment, of which, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fight for her…even before actually knowing that she wanted to do the same for him. It was the last, real moment that both of them had really craved that deviation from the course—and failed miserably to leap at one another, into one another.
It was the last time that it didn't matter who was watching them embrace.
"Do you think you can go get in bed, now, so I can let go of the back of your gown?" Mulder's fingers were occasionally dotting along her bare skin, sending little waves of chills along her skin.
Neither of them were very smart or good at love but the combination of each other's strengths to comingle with each of their weaknesses seemed to be the equalizer—the balancing act that they desperately needed. Mulder moved his right hand forward, slipping his fingers along the curve of her jaw, tilting her mouth up to meet his, lavishing her with a kiss that had been waiting to manifest. They were oblivious to the incredibly uncomfortable, overly masculine man off to one side with his arms crossed as they held on, lips warm and ready with cautious attention to the bruising left by the attack. This is what Scully had been waiting for and she needed Mulder's affection again, to be that delicious spark that sent more of her uneasiness into the wind, away from them.
"Well, I just vomited in my mouth a little," Bill Jr. had hoped that his words would put a stop to the mini-makeout session between his sister and Mulder but it wasn't quite having that effect as he continued to talk. "You can take your tongue out of my sister's mouth at any time, Mulder…really, I think I've seen more than enough."
Scully had half a mind to flip him off but she simply allowed the smallest of gaps to form, barely enough to get words out. "No one is forcing you to watch, Bill."
"Come on, I don't need to see that," Bill Jr. was already at a high level of irk as the distance between Mulder and Scully eclipsed again, the tonal quality of his voice going a smidgen higher as he made a face, wrinkling his nose. "Seriously, stop…I'm going to vomit all over the floor."
They both had their eyes closed as Mulder kept his voice low enough that only Scully could realistically hear him. "If I sock him in the nose just hard enough to piss him off do you think he'll walk away?"
"Mulder," Scully smirked and looked up at him, shaking her head just enough to get the point across. "You know that won't work."
"I really need you to get back into bed and rest, though, Scully," Mulder didn't want to say how much he adored this moment but he could feel her shaking a little more heavily and could see it in her eyes how exhausted she was. "We have all of the time in the world."
"You know how badly I needed to hear that after the day I've had?" Scully felt the twinge of tears nipping at her eyelids as she turned her body toward the door all the while allowing him to be the shield against her back as he instinctively pushed the IV stand toward the doorway.
"As if you needed to ask," Mulder had one hand on the back of her gown, holding it shut, and the other on the IV stand, following her lead back into the room.
There was something glorious about being unapologetic about allowing others to know exactly where they stood with one another as Scully made eye contact with her very proud Mother as she re-entered the room. The pride rested in witnessing her daughter being cared for so limitlessly by someone other than herself—other than family. It was a necessary turn in the midst of such terror and strife that a light, state of merriment was present and powerful. There wasn't anything that needed to be said as Scully neared the edge of the hospital bed and felt Mulder's warmth at her back as Maggie pulled back the covers for her, assisting just enough to refrain from hovering over her.
"Is everything okay?" Maggie's question was a little snide in the way she overlooked Bill Jr.'s presence entirely, eyes passing between Mulder and Scully as each syllable left her mouth with a certain level of irony.
Scully gathered up the front of the IV tubing, maneuvering the slack as she turned her body to climb back into the bed with the assistance of Mulder. "Yeah, Mom, everything's fine."
"How are the wounds on your feet doing, Scully?" Skinner had been quiet but his timing was everything as he watched Bill Jr.'s mouth start to move as though he were about to say something ill placed in front of everyone. "I notice you're not limping nearly as bad as you were earlier."
Skinner, who ordinarily was the hard-liner for the rules about consummate professionalism, had an air of dilution to his attitude as he regarded them with a considerably sheltering eye. He was like an absentee father for both of them in many ways even if he never asked for that cross to bear. He had witnessed exactly what it had done to Mulder during her abduction and the cancer that followed—watched the deterioration of her health before the resurgence like an awakening that couldn't have been foreseen. He witnessed all of it and even practiced restraint on himself as well as Agent Mulder during that time for the emotional upheaval that it had caused.
This may not have been the cancer but it was a shock to the system as he was witnessing the transformation of his team as they found that solace that no one else could possibly give—or understand that they needed.
"They just feel like tiny pinpricks now—the worst of it is my side and my face. The pain in my throat is even starting to dull a bit," Scully adjusted the blankets across her legs and felt the masses of bruises twitch in unison, reminding her of their presence. "The worst of the injuries are the bruises…deeper than I expected."
Skinner was terrible at small talk but his lack of gentle conversation was finally looking at Scully's face, realizing just how widespread her bruising was underneath the little gashes. "I don't think Miles anticipated the can of worms that he was letting loose when he set his sights on you, Scully…and I mean that with the deepest of respect."
"Way to kill everyone else's compliment in the room, Skinman…where'd that come from?" Mulder was half-joking as well as taken aback as the words seemed tentative while incredibly sincere at the same time.
Skinner was not easy to embarrass but the hints of red coursed through every capillary in his cheeks, searing little bits of his skin until his cheekbones became highlighted with color. "The compliment isn't just hers, you idiot. It's about all of this—the support system we've built and, for all intents and purposes, the family that has become, at times painfully, obvious to everyone that encounters this ridiculous little freak show."
"This sappy, lovey-dovey crap is starting to make my indigestion act up," Bill Jr. truly had it out for Mulder and his own sister in this situation as he popped off a comment like a bitter pill that had been left in his cheek for too long.
Skinner was the first to speak, his tone even less amused than he actually intended, putting Bill Jr. properly in his place. "You could shut the hell up or leave the room if it bothers you that much? Do you not even understand exactly what has happened here today? I think you could put your usual, pompous attitude in check for a little while so we can all absorb some of the rightful happiness that has come from the seriously fucked up turn of events that all of us have had."
Bill Jr. was feeling quite picked on but the sentiment couldn't have been further from actuality—it was more of a plea for understanding, to see, to feel something other than disdain and disgust.
"Bill, can't you just try to see this as exactly what it is?" Scully had been pretty reflective, quiet even, and yet, proud of the men around her as they stood up to her slight bully of a brother.
"I can be happy you're here but I don't have to be happy for the circumstances surrounding all of this," Bill Jr. still didn't get it as he approached her bedside while she adjusted her position, sliding another pillow behind her back.
Scully held back the urge to scream at him as he was refusing to see the reality of the situation as she finally let some of it out, unloading the baggage whether he wanted to hear it or not. "I don't know if you're ready to hear this but you're going to because you need to open your eyes and visualize reality. I almost died today. The hospital ran an assault—"
"Dana, stop it," Bill Jr. didn't want to let the emotions show but his eyes were glassing over, the little red lines dotting across both sclera as he blinked heavily, putting the emphasis on the word 'stop' as he refused to make eye contact.
"—Kit on me because I was unconscious long enough and wasn't wearing the same clothes from when I was taken to start with. I am in one piece because of the diligence of my team and the man that you have spent so long blindly putting your hatred toward. I wouldn't be here without him and I know that much is very certain," Scully shook her head, refusing to back down from the fight as she squeezed Mulder's hand, reminding herself of her own strength. "Was it worth it?"
Bill Jr. was motionless for what seemed like an eternity and everyone was, rightfully, staring at him as though he were the biggest ass in the room. He didn't want to look at her but he knew if he didn't the diatribe that came from her would only continue and likely get worse. Scully was good at the guilt trips almost as much as Maggie. He turned his head and gave in, but realized that her words were a direct result of the struggle as he allowed her state to be manifested. The guilt hit him right between the eyes like a direct headshot as the bruising along her arms, neck, and the sides of her face told the story and shined a bright light on the struggle still looming ahead. She was still his little sister at the end of the day and her fingers were white knuckled around the one man that seemed to be holding the pieces of her fragile state of mind together.
Mulder.
"I'm sure that you'd be more than content with hearing that I'm fine alone right now but it couldn't be further from the truth and I'm not going to run the risk of falling beyond normalcy, into a dark place that no one should venture to without someone to pull them back," Scully's strength was glowing as she stared her brother down, eyes burning with certainty and undeniable fierceness.
Maggie, Skinner, and even Mulder knew that interrupting her right now would not be the wisest of decisions and, given all consideration to the expression on her face, she needed to let it out and make Bill Jr. see exactly what was at stake. Scully didn't want to leave anything to chance anymore, even if it meant putting him through some discomfort – he could handle it and he knew it. Scully swallowed the mounting anxiety and breathed in another round of gumption as she made eye contact with Bill Jr., fully satisfied at the look of resignation and absorption written on his face.
"Stand down, Dana Katherine, I relent," Bill Jr. couldn't just simply state he had given in like a normal human being as he utilized the ever present military speech and crossed his arms, giving in. "You can stop with the interrogative posturing—we all know the Scully women excel at the majority of standard torture tactics."
"Dad would be awfully proud of that reference, Bill…and yes, we're very good at them," Scully's grin was apparent as she watched his shoulders slump down, humility setting into his psyche with a swiftness.
Janessa had stepped out of the room and peeked back in, a tired look on her face as she checked the monitors again and made eye contact with Scully. "I hate to be a Debbie Downer, here, but you really need to get some rest, Agent Scully."
"Mom and I will go get some coffee while you get a little rest," Bill Jr. leaned over, giving Scully his best effort of an embrace. "I won't pretend to like it, but I get it now."
"It's a start, Bill," Scully nodded and leaned against her pillow, glancing at Mulder, who had carefully adjusted his seated position to where he was almost all of the way on the bed with her. "Mulder, you can go get some coffee as well, if you need to."
"I'm right where I want to be, Scully."
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7:15 AM
Waterway Drive Lake House (Lake Barcroft)
Falls Church, VA
The sunlight streamed through the three, uniquely shaped skylights on the East end of the living room ceiling, facing toward the lake, casting a bright, almost stark light across Max's face as he slumbered in the middle of the living room floor. It wasn't significantly bright in the room but the misshapen light from the skylights did the trick to illuminate small sections of the room and give subtle hinting to the fresh, morning sunlight. He was comfortable and had been drooling, the little bits of moisture collecting against the curve of the corner of his mouth, waiting to harden and his eyes were a little watery from the fresh, morning light that made his instinctive reflex of squinting kick in, tangling his lashes together. He stirred, toes wiggling inside of his socks as he stretched his limbs outward, filling the space like a starfish, cracking his back in a wave of vertebral aligning motions, the groan louder than he had anticipated. It was a satisfying sound, nonetheless.
He hadn't slept this good since the case had begun.
He rolled onto his side, taking the blanket with him in a heap that had weaved through his legs, and squinted before rubbing his eyes, his ears taking note of the absence of the TV sound that had been replaced with the gentle rustling of newspaper, and the tapping and tinkering of glass and plastics. It reminded him of the sounds he used to hear from his Mother's crafting room from behind a closed door. He glanced behind him and only found Drea's pillow but it was absent of her warmth as he ran his hand along the center as he sat up. The room smelled like coffee and warm vanilla, the heat finally apparent as the crackle of burning wood brought his attention to the fire for the briefest of moments.
"Good morning, audible stretcher," Drea's voice came from the dining table as he started to climb to his feet, her face not fully visible to him yet.
Max knew his hair was likely a full on criminal offense and his breath would've been the equivalent to a kiss of death if anyone inhaled a breath that left his lips as he made his way toward the dining table. "Clearly, I slept so hard that I didn't even feel you get up."
"I'm notoriously quiet when I get up. I woke up shortly before dawn when a nightmare wouldn't let me go back to sleep so I got up and made some coffee—started working on this," Drea took a sip of her coffee and indicated the massive setup in front of her.
The table was barely visible underneath what could only be described as organized chaos. Drea was busy working with little coils of brass ribbons and had decorated an ornate candle stand in different strands of golds, silvers, and brass, with sections of black lace. It could hold at least nine, smaller pillar candles, each one with a section of glass at least 5 inches high that had been dusted in gold etching in a decorative, medieval sort of pattern. The newspapers were strewn about, some to the pages of some of the reports where she had hoped to find their names but had no such luck in doing so. The amount of work she had already put in was symbolic of having been awake for hours not just over an hour. It could not have been more apparent that she was good at hiding sorrow and frustration with busywork—and associated all of it with guilt in the same string of thoughts.
"What is this exactly?" Max had a feeling about what it was but he almost wanted to hear it from her lips as he went around to the interior of the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Drea had a streak of metallic etching powder across her chin as she kept her eyes down, still busily paying attention to the details in front of her, following the curve of the glass on the fifth candle holder. "I wanted to do something for them—I started looking for their names but I couldn't find them. I just feel helpless and lost, like I should've known or seen this coming…should've protected them somehow."
Max had a fairly large cup of coffee in his hands as he approached the table from behind her, glancing over her shoulder at the meticulous, beautiful work that she had been painstakingly working on out of a guilt-driven compulsion. "There was nothing you could've done that anyone would've been able to do anything about, Drea, and I know that it's hard to separate what has been done from what you have lived through but he's not even the same creature he was when you were children. We're beyond that now."
The words In Memoriam were boldly scrawled across the black metal stand in an Aphrodite style calligraphy, in bronze etching dust, each letter carefully drawn on with a slightly thick calligraphy brush, standing out above the black like a light in the dark. There was no denying that she had been preoccupied with the idea that any of it could be any part of her fault and Max felt his heart sinking at the inclination as he stood behind her. He placed his cup down on the table, gathering his hands along her sweater sleeves while his chin rested on the top of her head. She sighed softly as his warmth provided that softening of her posture while she allowed the container of bronzing dust to touch the table top with a gentleness.
Why couldn't I have met you a year ago? Both of them were thinking it in unison, like lost wanderers that had just felt that pang of belonging…a yearning to be part of another's life in a pivotal role.
"I wish I could tell their families that I'd give anything to fix this—anything to bring them back. I really hope that they don't blame me because I'm doing enough blaming of myself without anyone else's help," Drea felt the dull ache throughout her scarring, reminding her of the pain all over again as she sighed softly, scattering some of the luster into the air like dust in the wind. "Maybe if he had finished the job back then, they'd all be here today."
Max closed his eyes and stood straight, exhaling through his nose as he sat down in the chair next to her. "Meghan Falkner, Melissa Owens, Maggie Sciulara, Elizabeth Becker, Rebecca Elm, Emmalyn Cline, Angelique Thomas, Diana Willis, Kaya Little…those were their names. If he had finished the job, I wouldn't have gotten to meet you; that has to mean something, right?"
Drea had tears in her eyes as she set her brush aside and jotted each name down on a blank piece of paper, each one more powerful than the last until she placed the pen back on top of the table and looked over at Max, gently nodding at him. "It's easy for me to rest on my laurels and pretend like I'm ok but I'm not—Nine families lost a piece of their hearts and yet, I'm still here, breathing, living, and I wouldn't blame any of them if they think I'm the devil incarnate simply over my lineage."
Max was already proficient at reading the typical signals of others but Drea's stood above others as she almost had a hazy, crystalline glow about her with edges of soft blues and pinks. The chameleonic nature of auras, hers specifically, was striking and he was exceedingly grateful to the briefest of forays into chakras during year one of college with the influence of a very pretty, deeply spiritually connected individual who went by Sapphire. She was something else. Sapphire used to speak of healers having a clearer glow, like crystal around them. He wanted to blame it on dust but he found himself realizing it was part of her in some form as he made eye contact with her and saw the same soft glow in the center of her irises. Drea didn't quite know the depths at which he was studying her but it was enough to turn her cheeks nearly as red as her hair.
"What?" Drea pressed her lips together and bit down on her bottom lip just enough, her internal nervousness eating at her with every breath.
Max shook his head and tucked a stray tendril of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger just enough to send a chill down her neck and spine. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Maximus, you're making me nervous—almost to the point I've nearly leaped out of my skin twice in the last few moments alone," Drea wrinkled her eyebrows at him, the tone of her voice climbing into the higher registers as she felt the butterflies creeping back in. "You have an effect on women whether you see that or not…and if you're doing it unintentionally, well, damn."
They were a little clumsy in the endeavor but the rush was evident as Max allowed the less restrained part of himself emerge, leaning into her personal space with an intention that had a little bit of drive behind it. The only issue with catching Drea slightly off guard is that she was being pretty realistic when she said he was making her nervous as her elbow collided with a container of luster dust, knocking it onto her sleeve, down across her lap, and into the remaining distance between them. It was an instant cloud of silver shimmer as the light danced off each little speck, making the reality of just how much was in that container that much more obvious. Max's shirt was covered and when both of their eyes opened, their arms were splattered with sections like a little shimmer bomb had gone off literally between their bodies. The entire situation was topped off with a rather impressive sneeze from Drea that sent the rest of the luster dust forward, dotting Max all along his midsection and down his pants.
Max stared down at his crotch with a little bit of humility setting in and looked up at Drea, who had silver dust all over her face from a poor attempt at covering said sneeze. "Well, fuck me running."
"Oh, shit," Drea was laughing at the sight in front of her, half oblivious to the state of her own body as Max stayed semi still, unsure of whether or not he should move.
Max wiggled his fingers and winced, the clear taste of metal in his mouth as he made eye contact with her. "Would you think less of me if I told you that this doesn't taste at all appetizing and it's completely making my gag reflex kick in?"
"But, you're so, sparkly…and shimmering in all of the right spots," Drea glanced at his crotch with a certain level of instinctiveness despite the incredibly joking tone she had adopted.
"Stop objectifying me while I'm…shiny," Max furrowed his eyebrows, doing his best not to lick his lips as he realized that she definitely glanced at his pants to make that joke.
Drea gathered up the wet rag she kept for stray spots of glue and pressed her knees between his, scooting herself forward just enough to access his face a little easier, a giggle still creeping free from her lips. "Try not to move your mouth too much; I'll clean this up as much as I can."
Max grunted from behind the cool, wet cloth as she dragged it down and across the surface of his cheeks and lips, revealing the skin beneath. She was clever and gentle with the cloth, occasionally making eye contact with him as he looked at her with his more examining stare. Drea may have been more skilled at the game but she wasn't prepared for anyone quite like Max, who seemed to carefully toe the line between inexperienced and well trained. She wanted to be astute at being at least a half a step ahead of him but his gaze kept her well-grounded and nearly immobile in many ways. Drea took a look at his face, satisfied with the apparent lack of shimmer as she continued the motion onto his neck, making small circles with the damp rag to keep the luster dust from pooling and running down his skin even further.
"You're awfully good at that, short stack," Max watched her meticulously wipe the surface of his skin and fold the rag into sections, avoiding the heavily saturated sections of it in the process.
"I've spilled more glitter, paint, and glue than I'd care to recollect," Drea laughed and watched more of the luster dust rattle off of both of them with such similarity to Tinkerbell's ass in Peter Pan with less smack. "I get a little clumsy and messes are unavoidable when I suddenly cannot maneuver my hands or feet worth a damn."
"At least this stuff comes off fairly easily," Max smiled as she gathered the rag, setting it back onto the table so she could pull her sweater up and over her head, discarding it next to the pile of luster dust on the floor.
Drea wiped her own face with the rag after getting rid of the heavily saturated sweater, nearly inhaling what was left of the shimmery powder in the air. "Yeah, about that…"
"Please do not tell me I'm stuck with a sparkly crotch because I don't think I can handle that kind of terrible news right now," Max angled his head as Drea avoided his stare by carefully sliding her chair back to shake her warm ups until the loose shimmer was in a pile between them on the floor.
Drea stammered, staring at the floor for both a strategic method of avoiding his glance and to make sure she wasn't making the pile bigger by dragging her toes through it. "Luster dust tends to stick to denim because of the significantly tighter stitching—it will eventually come off but it takes washing or a lot of friction to get it off, sometimes both."
The look on Max's face was priceless at the conclusion that the solution lead to and where his brain immediately took it as he uncomfortably shifted his weight from one ass cheek to the other. He stared up at her as she used her foot to drag the wet rag along the floor, clearing away the luster dust from the floor, studying her rather amused expression with a slight level of irritation. Drea knew exactly where his brain went even though her meaning had several available options to choose from—and she was mildly tickled at the immediate recognition that he went straight into left field with little assistance. He was intrigued and stricken with nerves at the same time as he white knuckled the edge of his chair, lap full of silver shimmer.
"I'm not taking off my pants, Drea," Max waited until her back was turned to make the comment, his voice cracking just enough to cause the littlest of giggles to leave her lips as she carefully gathered the soiled rag and the glittery sweater from the floor.
"What? Did you decide not to wear underwear, Max?" Drea went to the sink and started running the hot water to rinse both items in, carefully setting them into the empty basin as she gave him a look from over the counter. "I'm not asking you to take off your pants or telling you to—but I'm not going to pat down your crotch with a duster or a wet rag for you, either. You have to wipe them off, stupid, and you can't be wimpy about it…Friction."
"So my options are take off my pants, wipe them off like a guy that just whizzed himself, or do a combination of column 'A' and 'B'? This doesn't sound like a complete cluster fuck at all," Max was bright pink as the thought crossed his mind to just strip down to his skivvies but part of him was grappling to control what was most certainly the onset of a future stamped hard on with her name written all over it.
"Or you can sit there looking like you've been banging Tinkerbell…you have options, Maximus," Drea was digging through a utility drawer until she pulled a lint roller from the middle drawer. "Either way, I'm highly amused."
Max groaned and looked over at her. "Well, fuck."
"That was not one of your options, babe," Drea walked around the counter with the lint roller perched between her fingers, waving it at him almost tauntingly. "You will probably need this for your shirt, though…minimize the damage."
Max started to move his legs while he reached for the lint roller and inadvertently knocked into Drea's kneecaps just hard enough that she started to tumble backwards. Max was quick enough, just not the most graceful in his movements, as he managed to snag her by her wrists, pulling her forward just enough to keep her from going all of the way backwards. They had set off a chain reaction of directional ineptitude as Drea stumbled again, dropping the lint roller as she tumbled forward and half straddled him in the process. It was the least attractive thing that they could've experienced despite the bodily position that they ended up in. The mutual grunt as she landed in his lap was loud and both were less than prepared to collide with such maladroitness.
"Oh, you did that on purpose, Mister 'I don't want to take my pants off'," Drea's eyes were wide, her fingers wrapped carefully around his belt loops after dragging them down his shimmer covered shirt while also beckoning another cloud of silver luster dust into the air by way of her ass smacking against his jeans.
Max's hands had slid to her mid-thigh area and were gripping her just enough that the palms of his hands were now covered in shimmer again and the position looked even more awkward than it had before when he noticed that his own reflexes drove her further up his lap. "I did not do it on purpose, Drea, but um…your thumbs are not in the right spot."
Her lip was between her teeth before she could fully grasp the actuality of the positioning of her fingers, her thumbs precariously pressed against the denim over the top of his zipper, just below the button. "Could we be any more ridiculous looking?"
Drea moved her hands away from his belt loops and heard the grunt as her thumbs left the space below his fly button, making her eyes nearly pop out of her head. She had meant what she said when she told him she didn't want to screw it up but here she was, straddling him even if it were accidental. It was her bad habit, making a mess of everything, and the last thing on her mind was making him yet another casualty of her lack of self-control. Inhibitions were sometimes a necessity and she was resting uncomfortably on the ledge of yet another bad decision.
"Stop thinking so hard, I can see the smoke signals," Drea hadn't even noticed that Max's fingers had found hers and the tenor in his voice was just enough that she snapped back to reality with a rapid blink of her eyes.
"Let me go get another wet rag to get rid of this mess," Drea's driven need to keep it friendly had been overwhelming as she lowered her eyes and started to stand up, the guilt in her belly rising as she felt like her proclivities were going to cause nothing more than a disaster again.
Max didn't live with those kinds of regrets but he also rarely went after anything without so much as a thought—and he was doing exactly that as he held on, refusing to allow her to stand. Her backside met his lap again, sending another silvery cloud into the air between them. They made eye contact and the electricity was real, unmistakable even, as Drea could feel her heart beating up in her throat as Max incited the reduction of the distance between them, inviting the physical contact. It was intoxicating, he was enthralling, as she could see his fingerprint traces along her arms leading up to her shoulders in silver, each little mark merely a reminder of a spark, generating heat in their wake.
Max's mouth was no more than an inch from Drea's when his cell phone started to ring, bringing the most severe of halts to what should have been an elated moment for both of them. Drea sighed softly and had a moment of panic pass over where running to drown herself in the lake seemed like a great option before standing fully upright. Max looked up at her as the incessant, annoying ringtone chimed again, a little smirk perched on his lips despite the completely inappropriate timing of it all. Max stood up and tiptoed across the floor, leaving little pockets of silver luster dust across the floor in the process and snatched the phone out of his coat pocket, answering it without looking at the caller ID.
"This is Max," Max was standing next to the chair in the dining area, his eye glancing back at the trail of silver powder all over the floor.
"Geez, Maximus, don't sound so thrilled to talk to me," Mulder was entirely too cheerful for Max's liking as the sound of his voice incited an immediate rolling of the eyes.
Max sighed softly and had the desire to hang up on him right there but he resisted as he channeled his energy into a less irritated voice. "I haven't been awake all that long, sorry, Mulder…is everything ok?"
Drea shook off the nervous energy as she felt her cheeks flushed with heat, the obvious redness developing across her neck and toward her ears. She went back into the kitchen and slipped out of the warm ups, revealing a pair of jogging shorts underneath of it. She tossed the fully saturated pair of pants into the sink with the other clothes and gathered a fresh rag to mop up the rest of the mess on the floor before maneuvering around Max in the dining area. She was quiet and he barely even realized she was in there as the conversation with Mulder was continuing.
"I meant to call after the sweep finished but everyone here was more than a little bit exhausted so we opted to get some rest and start fresh," Mulder was talking over the top of Maggie and Skinner in the background, who were chatting away about breakfast food. "They didn't find Miles but he killed one of our Agents during the sweep so he was here for part of it. We are so close to getting this mother fucker."
Max turned his head and Drea's entire body registered in his brain as he noticed the absence of her pants, seeing bare legs as she was cleaning up some of her crafting mess. "Damn, well, what are…where are your pants?"
Drea jerked her head up from paying more attention to the crafting material than she was to him, her eyes widening along with a grin that she had been holding in all morning. "Did you just say that out loud? Classic."
"Max, we had this talk about going over there last night and you assured me that best behavior was going to be had on both sides of this little coin—do we need to have an intervention?" Mulder chuckled as Max's voice was quite literally bordering on a full stutter.
"I'm wearing shorts, Maximus, get a grip," Drea smirked and said it just loud enough that Mulder certainly would be able to hear her as she continued to busily put away the loose powders to avoid any more messes.
"Did she just call you Maximus? It must've been a very good night, you sly puppy dog," Mulder was in full torture mode as he poked the bear on purpose, much to the chagrin of Max, who was awkwardly fidgeting in the middle of the dining room.
"Oh, you're not fucking right in the head, Mulder, was there something else you needed or did you just call to let me know about last night?" Max shook his head and wished he could flip Mulder off through the phone but that kind of technology wasn't around to utilize, much to his dismay.
Mulder knew he was about to really shove Max a little further toward a breaking point as he started to speak again. "Wait, wait, wait! Put me on speaker, that's not an option…"
"That just seems like a really dangerous idea and I don't think I like it," Max's interaction with Mulder had a way of teetering into sibling quibbling rather than professional conversations as he did his best to maintain a level of composure in front of Drea as she had her hands on her hips.
"Have some faith in me, Max, I won't embarrass you…that much," Mulder was full on laughing and his voice went half muffled for a second as he was talking to Scully. "I'm not being mean to Maximums."
"Yes you are, Mulder…and having faith in you not embarrassing me is like straining with an enflamed hemorrhoid, just not a good idea," Max could feel the shimmer dust on his hands as he did his best not to touch his own face, desperate to rub the spot between his eyes.
"Maximus, what does Agent Mulder want?" Drea rolled her eyes as she heard only one side of the banter, neatly gathering the last bits of lids after sliding the incomplete memorial piece onto the top of a section of newspaper.
Max looked over at her, his hand across the bottom of the receiver in a rough attempt to muffle the sound from going through. "He wants me to put him on speaker."
"It isn't like it could possibly do any more harm than I already have," Drea had a little peek of a smile curving on her lips as she pulled the band out of her hair and let all of her curls cascade down in a massive mess that desperately needed to be brushed.
Max pressed the speaker phone button and held the phone out in front of him, the worry written on his face plainly as he made eye contact with the very precocious woman in front of him. "I reluctantly have you on speaker phone since another, somewhat feisty redhead seems to have it in her head that it won't hurt anything—leading me to the logical conclusion that all redheads are officially into peer pressure."
"Should I put YOU on speaker so you can repeat that last part for the other redhead that usually carries a gun?" Mulder was clearly joking but he loved hearing Max scramble audibly, the gasp real. "Has he been behaving himself, Drea?"
"Other than looking like he's been molesting a fairy, yes—we both got into a fight with a container of luster dust and most of it is on Max's pants," Drea was incredibly matter-of-fact about the topic as she beamed up at Max, who simply shook his head in response.
"I'm pretty sure that he didn't need to know that little bit of information," Max sighed, the phone teetering in his hand just a little bit as he stared down at Drea, who was more than a little amused. "You don't need to be involving Scully in this – I already am considerably outnumbered, as per usual."
"Oh, but it compliments your eyes so well," Drea winked at him and watched his bottom lip go straight between his teeth in response.
Mulder was laughing almost too loudly before Max could even respond. "The level of sarcasm in this conversation is ripe and I couldn't be more, fucking, pleased."
"Are you done?" Max was embarrassed but the feeling was moot as Drea gathered the phone out of his hand and ushered him into a chair, setting the phone on the table top next to him. "I know you've been probably dying to give me a decent shellacking since I left last night."
"Wouldn't flick copious amounts of shit at you, Maximus, if I didn't care about your nerd ass," Mulder took a breath and continued. "Scully just made the suggestion that you should both come down here—she'd like to meet Drea."
Drea was nodding but was more focused on the state of Max's clothes as she reached across his midsection and, rather clinically, pulled the hem of his shirt up, effectively disrobing the top half of him in a fraction of a second. The action left Max with his mouth hanging open staring at her as she stood a couple of feet from him and shook his shirt until it left a pile of luster dust all over the floor, inciting the silly faces along with it as it went up into her field of vision.
"Um…I lost my train of thought…what did you just say, Mulder?" Max realized that Drea hadn't actually done anything lasciviously by pulling off his shirt but all of his musculature was reacting, twitching at the mere introduction to the air.
"Try to listen carefully this time—Scully would like you both to come down here. She wants to meet Drea, if she's up for that," Mulder's audible sigh was evident as the distraction from Drea was enough to fully take Max off kilter as his masculinity was completely at stake in front of her. "Got it this time?"
"Hey, can you give that back, please?" Max was looking at Drea this time as he reached for the shirt she was rolling the lint brush over. "Yes, I heard you this time—and as long as it didn't snow a bunch overnight, I don't think that will be an issue."
"Damn, you're impatient—Agent Mulder is he always impatient? Trying to get rid of the shiny shit off of his shirt and he's getting all antsy like a six year old," Drea bumped his hands away with her hip and backside, knocking him against the back of the chair in the process.
"Drea, here's the thing about our Maximus, he's a delicate little flower and he's very modest so if there's nudity involved regarding himself, or anyone else for that matter, he's probably getting a little shy and wants to hide," Mulder was worse than a mean older brother as he tapped into part of Max's actual insecurities while Drea's eyes went from the lint roller to the incredibly chiseled, yet pale features of Max's midsection.
"Oh, both of you can just eat me," Max was too sheepish to realize that she was actually gawking at him a little bit, admiring his features. "Mulder, you know I'm never going to forget this and just when you think I couldn't possibly get any snider—I'm going to rise to the occasion."
"Just finish whatever you are doing, we'll see you in a bit," Mulder wasn't the least bit intimidated by Max's threat of a game of wits since he was pretty good at his own.
Max took the phone off of the speaker setting, his still very bare chest gathering goosebumps as he raised the phone to his ear. "Ok—I'll let you know if the terrain is bad but we'll be there. Bye."
Drea turned around from the table with Max's clean shirt and a dust brush in the other hand as he hung up the phone. "I almost don't want to give this back to you…"
"I can't really drive in the snow without my shirt, Drea, it's very cold," Max stood, putting emphasis on the last three words as he was close enough to her that his pectorals purposely twitched against her shoulder as he leaned into her to retrieve his shirt from her hand.
She willingly let go of the shirt as the seductive little maneuver caught her completely off guard enough that she nearly forgot to hand him the brush. "You'll need this for the pants…I should, um, go get dressed…"
Drea half stumbled around him after he took the brush from her hand, watching her clumsily leave the room like a slightly incapable child, nearly taking a tumble over her own feet in the process before disappearing into her bedroom. Max shook his head, smiling at the mere inclination of such an idea of enchanting a woman like her. It was unreal but stranger things had happened as he gathered himself up, readying what would undoubtedly be one of the more trying parts of Drea's life outside of her childhood. The fear of taking a leap into something unknown with any woman, especially one who had a complicated story, was high but Max saw something in Drea that felt real and right in a world filled with so many unknowns. She was bold, strong, and honest—and she struck a nerve within him that made him feel more alive than he had in his entire life. He was drawn in, like a moth to a flame, and wanted to fight for her.
It was a thought that was both thrilling and frightening for someone like Max who never liked to open his heart so willingly, so quickly, to a nearly perfect stranger.
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Undisclosed Warehouse
Washington DC
One day I'm going to hurt you.
I promise.
-Unknown
Everyone looking for him had essentially driven Miles into a corner, like a rat that had spotted the poison and was wise to it—armed with the dead FBI Agent's side arm and his walkie that he could peruse through the channels whenever he pleased, just in case. Miles stunk of motor oil, heavy sandalwood from the oils that had spilled all over the back of the van prior to abandoning it in the hospital garage, and copious amounts of blood. He was, by in large, in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes as he found a cracked mirror in a bathroom marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY" across the squeaky door. He had stains down the front of his clothes and his face was worse for the wear after multiple fights in the past 24 hours had left his nose a little crooked and one of his bottom, front teeth missing. The hit to the chin from the back of Scully's head was the one that likely started it and the multiple punches from Mulder finished the job, leaving him looking like a wrecked boxer after a fight.
"Mother fucker," Miles splashed himself in the face with cool water from the faucet and wiped away his own blood as best he could without re-ripping open the sliced open section of his lip that was still incredibly tender. "Bitch is going to pay for this."
Miles pondered the man in the mirror as he undid the coveralls all the way to his waist and pulled his arms free of the sleeves, the clanging of the cuffs freely banging against the side of the sink as he lowered his naked arms back down to his sides. He sneered at the wrist that Max managed to cuff, the deeply red ring around it where he had been yanking at it for hours without avail pulsing with every flinch of his body. One way or another, it was coming off. Miles was discontent with his surroundings as he angrily pressed the powdered soap dispenser at least six times until his palms were filled with pinkish powder that stunk of Borax despite being "unscented". He stared at his pale, dirty figure hiding beneath a blood stained wife beater that he used for an undershirt, before gathering the dampened, gritty Borax powder along his arms.
He had no interest in the cleansing of sins or any such religious implications as he was contesting the image of which woman he had the desire to strangle more in his head, Scully or Drea, and which of them had been pushing his buttons the most. He had a nearly equivalent abhorrence for both of them and for similar reasoning as he was now picturing Drea getting correspondingly as physical with Max as Scully had with Mulder. To further his rage against her, his recollection of a child version of his sister was more than enough to enrage him beyond reason as he remembered, with a strange vividness, her hysterically sobbing for him to stop after he made the first slice of her pretty, pristine skin.
"Little sister, little sister, little sister…I'm going to put an end to that sweet, angelic grin, little sister," Miles was scrubbing so hard that the flesh on his arms were becoming irritated and red, his epidermis sloughing away with each rough pass of the water and soap.
The wrath that Scully had pulled from Miles was rooted in his bitterness over her refusal of his advances—even when her life was at stake. His reality was that she fought him the hardest and made it blatant that she would not be willingly allowing him anywhere near her. Miles wanted the conquest of Scully and to take something that didn't belong to him, make another feel the kind of pain that he had always felt was inflicted upon him in his warped sensibilities. He had watched her for so long and for what, exactly? A sore set of testicles, a missing tooth, and a sour taste in his mouth from knowing rejection's full extent. She was going to know what suffering felt like and he had every intention of making Mulder watch every last second of it.
"Cry for me, Dana…Make those pretty eyes sparkle for me again, Dana…Tell me you're so very sorry, Dana," Miles was making a terrible mess of the floor as he gathered the now scalding water across his arms to rinse away the Borax, barely wincing over the little wounds he had made in the curve of his elbow from rubbing the grit too hard across his skin.
Miles adjusted the water once his skin was cleared of the residue from the Borax soap, gathering some of the colder water into his hands to wet his face again, clearing away the last of the blood. He needed more than a haphazard, poor excuse for a wipe down in an abandoned bathroom but the soap left the most soiled parts of his skin cleaner than he had felt in the past two days. He turned off the water and gathered the dirty sleeves back around his shoulders, awkwardly positioning the coveralls back on with the front undone and open. He took another long, hard look at himself in the mirror and smirked, refusing to show the new gap between his bottom teeth, then flicked the light above the sink off. He had to plan it all out and this was a perfect place to do all of that perfect planning in. He paced the narrow, poorly lit hallway, evading what was left of the windows, peering into each little room until he knew that he was completely alone in the warehouse space.
There would be time to think.
There would be time to contemplate every little action and reaction for a reprisal. He already knew how he was going to subdue and restrain them, watch the horror over knowing that this was their end and no one was going to be able to stop it this time. Miles was formidable and he would have so much more to contemplate about the staying power of keeping them docile without utilizing drugs since he wanted them to feel everything. Perhaps a slow, painstaking bleed like a tap of a muscle just below the back of the knee. He knew how he wanted to flay each little section of skin from the center down and outward like a butterfly then watch each muscle twitch involuntarily. The screams would be unbearable but worth it just to see the undeniable infliction of pain that he was destined to create—to bestow on them. It wasn't simply a need for him, it was a compulsory action. An obsession.
Miles inhaled a deep breath, almost cleansing breath to hold back the groan from deep in his belly as he pictured every moment in detail while the walkie started to squelch in his pocket. He gathered it with a swiftness, hearing the repetition as he twisted the volume a little higher while he set it on a ledge and backed up against the wall.
"…10-59 Edward Tom Adam 20 Minutes. 10-59 Edward Tom Adam 20 Minutes. Dispatch. Confirm Destination. 10-59 Edward Tom Adam 20 Minutes…" The squelch followed a distinctly male voice that preceded a set of tones for the DC Metro police division.
"…10-59. Destination George William Union Henry. Dispatch confirms…10-59. Destination George William Union Henry. Dispatch confirms…10-36…Repeat…10-36," the dispatcher's more feminine voice came through, confirming the message that preceded her set of tones.
Miles almost couldn't hold in the insane level of laughter, nearly drowning out the dispatch's confirmation call as he realized what they were doing. His timetable, while suddenly shorter, was within his reach and attainable. His mind had taken a trip completely off of the deep end and, whether he knew it or not, he was dipping into a place that even he had not ventured—a place where only the darkest of nightmares dwelled.
It was a place where terror lived, thrived, and made hosts of the weak minded and easily corrupted—and he was already halfway there.
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End Chapter
I apologize for the lengthiness in getting this one out, I have been experiencing a few health issues and it has been a little bit difficult to overcome. Thank you for your patience in this endeavor.
Notes for the references below:
Peter Pan – don't be mad at me for desecrating Tinkerbell – she likes it
10-59 – Police Escort
Edward Tom Adam – ETA
10-36 – Confidential Message/Do Not Repeat
George William Union Henry – GWUH – Hospital's Call Sign
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Extra thank you as usual to Monika Michelle Cross, Vicky Williams, Jun Mai, Megan Kelly, and Lee Hughes as always for the little tidbits that you are so gracious in giving a read to or indulging in…