The only thing that stood between Mulder and Sternwood castle was a rain-saturated clearing. His journey from the tree-line to the castle proved to be a difficult one; several times ruts, divots and potholes caused from the drenching rain impeded his journey. He fell, over and over and over again; the pain from the injuries he sustained from the car crash were a constant reminder that he needed medical help, but he didn't care.
Scully was his only concern, and he felt, he knew that time was growing short.
A lightening burst reveled to him what he had feared most when he reached the gates of the castle. The drawbridge that had been lowered before for the party, and now the drawbridge that was down the first time he and his wife had ever entered the castle, was up. A great, yawing gulf separated him from the castle, and Mulder looked down, down, down into the moat that surrounded the castle on all sides. He had no way of knowing how deep the moat was, but suspected water levels in it had risen considerably during the storm. He had no way of knowing, if he jumped into the moat and crossed to the other side, how he would get inside the castle walls. And then the answer came to him, fueled by as much a sense of desperation as it was by a sense of urgency. He would claw his way in. He would scale the walls. He would do whatever he needed to do to get inside, come hell or high water.
"Well," he thought, "I've already been through hell; and the high water had already reached its mark."
With the next flash of lightening, Mulder was able to see where land ended and the moat began. By the time the thunder caught up with the speed of light, Mulder was in the water.
He dragged his battered and beaten body through the murky waters towards the castle, each stroke causing him pain just as each stroke brought him closer to the castle walls. Mulder fought as hard as he could, blocking out the pain. Thinking only about Scully.
But something was wrong.
Mulder suddenly found himself struggling in the water. His mind raced with questions; it was as if he were swimming upstream against a current. But that was impossible; how could there be a current in a still body of water? As the current became stronger, he suddenly realized what it was.
There was a run-off drain in the moat, and the force was pulling him in.
The roar of rushing water grew stronger as Mulder got closer to the drain. He fought against the current with every ounce of his remaining strength, but it was no use.
He took a frantic, last gulp of air before the force of the runoff sucked him below the water's surface.
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The man with the curly, salt-and-pepper hair took a moment to enjoy the image of a tortured Mulder; a man crushed under the weight of his own agony and despair. A smile creped across his face, almost cracking it. Smiling wasn't something he did on a regular basis. "Ah yes," he said aloud. "A well executed, well thought out plan is an absolute joy when it works. And this one has worked oh so very well. But it's not over with yet."
Spender, the man with the curly, salt and pepper hair walked up to Scully, his face inches away from hers. The sight of his nicotine-stained teeth and the smell of his tobacco laden breath almost made her stomach turn. But his next comment would make the bile rise in her throat.
"And what of young Meena, my dear half-sister-in-law? Don't tell me you've forgotten the child you carried for so long; the child you risked your life to have?"
Scully hadn't forgotten about her child; forgetting about the one she loved more than live itself was impossible. She had simply hoped beyond hope that Meena had gotten away; that somehow her father was able to get to her and save her. She didn't ask, didn't say anything because some part of her hoped that by not uttering her name, whatever evil fate awaited her would pass her by. But it was not to be.
"Maybe it's best that you forget her," Spender said in a harsh whisper. "Because I can assure you she's forgotten you. She is as dead to you as you are to her. The two injections removing all traces, all memories of her life with you and my dear, half-witted half-brother Mulder have already been given. It's as if you never existed- but it was like that before the injections. Poor thing is - what did the doctors say? Catatonic. Yes; that's it. Her mind snapped just like that." Spender snapped his fingers within an inch of her eyes, and it took every ounce of willpower for Scully not to blink.
Or cry.
"The drugs will just make certain that she never comes back," Spender continued. "Either that, or kill her - one of the two. Kill her dead as the proverbial doornail."
Spender took a few steps back so that his three hostages could get a good look at him, and make certain his next words would sink in.
"A state which the three of you should be experiencing shortly."
****************************************************************************
"So, this is what it's like," he thought.
Mulder floated in the moat, buffet hither and yon like a rag doll through the dark and murky waters. The current bat him from side to side as if he were a soccker ball being kicked by a great, giant foot. He had seen death before in his work, stared it down like a bully after him and those less able to defend themselves with the sole purpose of stealing their milk money. He had been mistaken for dead himself - even to the point that there was a funeral where he was the guest of honor. But he had managed to beat death, to cheat it at its own game. And he knew why.
Scully. He lived for her, would sacrifice his life for her. There were times he was asked to do so, and he did it gladly, all for her.
Scully.
"This must be it," he thought.
He found his mind racing through the proverbial moments of his life; the ones people spoke of that happen, that come to you just before you slough off this mortal coil. The first time he met Scully. The first time he told her he loved her, and she told him she loved him back. The first time he looked at his daughter. Their wedding. So many moments...
He remembered a party they had attended once. He had not wanted to go, but Scully persuaded him to go, and as it was with the most loved and most important women in his life, he could not refuse them something they really, truly wanted. And so he went, starched tuxedo, stiff neck and all to this party. At some point in the evening, the discussion turned to literature - more specifically, to the members of the famous Algonqiun Round Table. At the evening's particular moment, conversation turned to Dorothy Parker and her poem outlining the arguments against suicide. As one of the dinner guests recited the poem and got to the line about drowning, someone who'd had a bit too much champagne called out,
"Drowning?! Drowning's easy! All you have to do is stop struggling, and breathe in! Deep!"
Breathe in. Deep.
Mulder's lungs had used up the allotment of air he had given them shortly before his head wal pulled under. His chest was about to burst, and it was as if his whole being were crying out for air, for the chance for his lungs to expand and contract. His lungs ached. His muscles ached. He was tired. And the fight was so hard.
But drowning was easy. All he had to do was to stop struggling, and breathe in deep. And at that moment, he let go. He stopped. He made his peace with the fate that awaited him, and there was just one more step.
But he couldn't take it.
He remembered the argument he made at the dinner party in response to the comment from the inebriated dinner guest. "It seems to me," he remembered saying, "that the only way it would be easy for someone to do that was if they had lost the will to live. If there was nothing for them to live for. No one for them to live for. I think it stands to reason that if you had those two things that yes, indeed, it would be very hard to stop struggling."
And such was the case now. He had people to live for, he had a reason to fight. And that was all he needed. No matter how week his body got.
As Mulder struggled against the currents, he saw a light pierce the dark water. Was it the light that signaled his departure from this veil of tears? It called to him, it beckoned him, and Mulder did the only thing he could do.
He followed it.
*******************************************************************************
The man with the curly, black, salt-and -pepper hair let the smoke from his cigarette trail upwards through the air before he spoke again. It didn't matter to him that he was prolonging the agony of his hostages; in fact, he rather enjoyed it. The fact that each of them grappled with the possibility that the last thing they would see was this room and that the next breath they took could be their last didn't matter to him at all. The only way that would have mattered would have required compassion and humanity - two things which he did not have. In order to possess those qualities, one would have to possess a soul. And he had lost his soul the moment the bullet from his father's gun pierced it.
"I never realized how brilliant my father was until recently," he finally said. Krycek smirked at his comment. "You mean how evil, don't you?" he asked sarcastically. Spender held up the PDA and forcefully brought the stylus down on the screen. Krycek's screams echoed over the sound of the running water that came from somewhere deep within the castle. "I trust this means I won't have to tell you again to SHUT UP," Spender replied once Krycek's pain subsided. The display of abject cruelty was too much for Drew, Krycek's son, to bear.
"How can you do this?!" he demanded. "Just what kind of monster are you?!" Spender moved to within inches of the young man's face. "Let this be my last bit of so-called fatherly advice," he hissed. "My father once told me, long before I fully and completely knew who he was, that I should take care to watch the board; to know which men to sacrifice, and when. As I discovered later, he didn't have the faith to believe that I would ever understand what he meant. But he was wrong. I understood then, and I understand now all too well."
Spender turned his attention to Scully. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek as though he were a lover memorizing the intimate details of her face. "I was curious, my dear half-sister-in-law, just how good your knowledge was of British history ..." Scully jerked her head to the side, repulsed and revolted by his touch. Satisfied that he got the response from her that he wanted, he backed away and stood where the three hostages could see him.
"You know, it's amazing. Everybody calls Mary, Queen of Scots 'Bloody Mary' in reference to her alleged persecution of Protestants during her reign, but it wasn't her but Mary Tudor who implemented ingenious torture methods all in the interests of bringing them back to the one true church. You see, Mary Tudor was a bit of a Roman Catholic zealot..."
"`Zealot's' a term you should know well, I would think," Krycek interrupted.
"SHUT UP OR I WILL KILL YOU NOW!" Spender yelled.
After Spender's outburst, Scully truly began to believe for the first time that she would not leave the dungeon alive.
"Mary Tudor," Spender continued after a moment, "devised many a clever little way to, shall we say, convince wayward Protestants to see the error of their ways. This castle dungeon was one of many used by Mary Tudor and her supporters in their gentle yet firm persuation. It has it's standards, of course - the rack, the iron maiden.... But it's my particular adaptaion of an old favorite I think you'll most enjoy."
Suddenly, the tables that held each of the hostages rotated so that each of them was upside down. The sound of a large winch caught Scully's attention, and she struggled to see where it was. Then, just as quickly as their tables had been up-ended, each of the hostages felt themselves jerked upward. Three great, giant hooks had descended from the ceiling, lifting them up and away from the tables, which lowered into a pit below them. The three hostages hung in mid-air much like meat suspended from meat hooks.
As the blood rushed to their heads, Spender continued his macabre lecture on how they were to die.
"You see, Mary Tudor loved to start with this particular torture," Spender began, "thinking that the sudden blood rush to the head would instantly convince weaker Protestants to come back to the arms of the Catholic Church. Effective, yes; but too simple for my needs." He paused a minute to listen to the roar of the running water. "Water; such a cleansing thing. Such an integral part of religious ceremonies. The water of life; the water of rebirth. So powerful and yet so deadly." Scully could feel herself getting lightheaded, and she fought for some ounce of control. "So what's your plan, Spender?" she shouted out, "to bore us to death?"
"No," he coolly replied. "To drown you. Or maybe electrocute you. I really haven't decided."
Spender continued to outline his diabolical plan. "While the three of you were otherwise disposed and oh, unconscious, we've had quite a bit of rain. Rain on the land, rain on the castle, rain in the moat.... And all that water's got to go somewhere. As soon as I leave, a switch will be activated that will open a floodgate in this room. I suppose I should also tell you that there is an electrical transformer built into the wall halfway up it. Since we all know how well water mixes with electricity, I trust I won't have to tell you what will happen when your heads are underwater and the water touches the live transformer. I don't know how long each of you can hold your breath, nor do I care. I only care that either way it happens, you will be dead. Thus proving I know which men to sacrifice, and when."
Spender turned to leave, lighting another cigarette as he made his exit. He stopped, and turned to face his condemned hostages one last time. "I suppose there is a very remote possibility of escape and the improbability of a rescue from the outside, but I doubt it. Besides," he said as he opened the door, "the room is booby-trapped."
He left, slamming the door behind him. Two seconds afterward, the floodgates were opened, and the water began to rush in.
******************************************************************
They had to drive five miles back from the accident site in order to find a clearing in the woods. As Scotland Yard's S-Class BMW SUV made its way through the woods, Phoebe was glad she was able to convince the powers that be of its necessity. There was no way a fleet car would have made it through the underbrush and over the rocks and other obstacles. The Yard had a number of the SUVs, equipped with a number of rescue devices and equipment necessary to protect and save the innocent and the employees of the Yard.
"The innocent and the employees of the Yard," Phoebe thought as she drove through the night.
She hated to admit it, but one of the things that had drawn her to Mulder when they were at Oxford was his innocence, his naivetee. She had lost hers so many years ago then, and in her early twenties she was as jaded and pessimistic as people who were twice her age. Truth? What was that? Integrity? A characteristic she and others like her paid in passing lip service. Yet here he was, this beautiful, brilliant man, this Yank who trusted her. And she took his innocence: once on the tombstone of one of the world's most famous authors and again when she cast off a gift he had given her from his heart.
It had been hard for her, but not as hard as it was for Mulder, she had imagined.
Hard? How had it been hard for her? This is what she did. She preyed upon the innocent; sucking them dry like a dying man sucking the liquid out of a cactus. She did it because she was searching for her own lost innocence. She finally realized, especially when she ended her relationship with Mulder, that she would never find it.
Mulder in his own way made her realize that. And she owed him for that insight.
The lightening flash illuminated an exit from the woods into a clearing. The next bolt of lightening showed Phoebe and Lieutenant Quick exactly where they were.
Sternwood Castle.
As they approached their target, both realized that the drawbridge was up. Phoebe stopped just short of the gap separating them from the building, and got out of the vehicle. She paced back and forth on the shore, deciding what she had to do.
Suddenly, it came to her, and she realized she knew what she had to do all along.
She was drenched when she came back to the vehicle. Lieutenant Quick opened the door as Phoebe made her way to the hatchback and gate. "What shall we do, Chief Inspector?" Quick asked. "Shall I radio for back up?" Phoebe did not answer until she inspected what supplies there were on hand. When she placed her requisition for the SUVs, she'd requested that each vehicle have at least one pair of all necessary equipment for land, air or sea rescue. The only thing this vehicle was missing was the extra Scuba/deep water diving gear.
It left her with no other choice.
"Get back into the car, Lieutenant," Phoebe barked, "I want you to call for back-up. Tell dispatch of our location - use the compass on the dashboard- and tell them to bring two teams with SUVs to this location. I will be attempting an amphibious rescue before their arrival."
"Very well then, 'mam," Lieutenant Quick replied, "I'll come change into my wet suit when you are done."
"That won't be necessary, Lieutenant," Phoebe replied. "There's only one in this vehicle. Seems like I will need to issue a memo to all personnell that all SUVs must be fully stocked at all times after this mission." Lieutenant Quick hesitated for a moment. "Chief Inspector Montague, you issued strict orders that diving was only to take place in teams...."
"And if I issued the rules," Phoebe said curtly, "I can bloody well break them, Lieutenant." Phoebe took a moment before she spoke again. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for actually paying attention to my orders. If you do not hear from me within an hour, please proceed."
With that, Phoebe lowered her face mask, inserted her oxygen supply mask, and ran towards the water. In a few seconds, she was gone.
**********************************************************************
An inexplicable buoyancy forced Mulder's body up through the water, and as his head broke the surface, his mouth opened on reflex, taking in huge gulps of much-needed air. He floated for a second on the surface, half-conscious, his lungs fully expanding and contracting after being unable to do so for so long. As his body began to sink back down into the watery abyss, Mulder came to and fought back, forcing himself to keep his head above the surface.
He was alive, and alive he was going to stay.
Mulder turned in the water, trying to survey his surroundings. There wasn't much that he could see. A small worklight protruded from the wall across from him, and the small circle of light it provided wasn't enough to give him a sense of where he was. He suspected it was some kind of cave or hiding place in the bowels of the castle; he wasn't sure. But he knew there was only one way to find out.
Mulder dragged his beaten and battered body through the water to what looked like a landing. He knew he was hurt, but he didn't know the extent of his injuries until he tried to lift himself out of the water with both arms and almost couldn't support his weight. The pain in his left arm was excruciating, radiating from his lower arm and up to his shoulder. It knocked the wind out of him as he fell face down on the landing. He had fractured his arm, most likely in the accident that wrecked Phoebe's car. He rolled over onto his back, and tried to look at his arm in the dim light. Mulder guessed he had a hairline fracture somewhere in the arm - it didn't look like there had been a clean and complete break. But break, fracture or otherwise, it wasn't going to stop him from what he needed to do. He would just have to suck it up, and deal with it.
Mulder got his legs under him, and pushed himself off the ground with his good arm. As he moved in closer, he got a better look at the walls and saw they were cobblestone. This could only mean that he had surfaced somewhere below the castle. But where? And how was he going to get out? Going back the way he came wasn't the answer; he didn't know if he would be so lucky. And what resources did he have? He didn't have a flashlight; that was in the car. He didn't have matches or wood to light a torch, and if he did have the wood, the matches wouldn't have survived the water.
"So rely on your senses," his subconscious said.
Mulder tried to see what lay beyond the circle of light cast by the naked light bulb. It looked as though a ledge extended beyond where he stood. Maybe it was a walkway.
Or maybe it was the path back into the water and to certain doom.
Not knowing how wide the ledge was, Mulder pressed his back against the wall, and inched his way along it in the darkness. The journey was painstakingly slow as he felt along the wall, looking for an opening, a door, a way out. He didn't dare stick his foot out for fear they might be nothing there; he didn't dare go faster for fear his haste to get to Scully would result in tragic circumstances. Yet as began to fall into despair, he thought of Scully, his constant, his touchstone. It kept him sane. It kept him going.
Finally, Mulder saw something. He squinted, then opened his eyes again in an effort to focus. Was it a light?
Yes. And it looked like it was coming from under a door.
He moved quicker now, pressing hard against the wall. The light got closer and closer as he moved along, and his hopes grew with each inching step he took. He was two feet away from the door when it happened.
The wall gave way.
Despite his best efforts, Mulder shut his eyes, and cried out more in surprise than fear. He felt himself spun forward in a different direction. He turned in an effort to go back the way he thought he came and discovered he couldn't. He was facing a wall; that he could plainly see.
It was at that moment he realized he could see everything around him, and quite clearly.
He wasn't in the watery cave anymore, but in a well-lit corridor. The corridor looked as if it was a recent addition to the castle, or at least a refurbished part of the maze that probably existed throughout out the edifice. Mulder walked carefully down the long passageway, his eyes alert for any differences or indentations in the walls. There was a door at the end of the corridor - a door without a doorknob, as he soon found out. Undaunted, Mulder felt around the molding, looking for a latch or a spring or something....
As soon as he found it, the door sprung open. He cautiously stepped to the other side.
He knew where he was immediately as soon as he entered the room. He was in the great room that stood between the courtyard and the dining hall. He remembered he and Scully had stood in this room, waiting to be seated for the dinner that had been held in Phoebe's honor. Had it really only been a matter of days since then? It felt as though it had been years, but Mulder knew better. And he knew he didn't have time to reminisce.
The hallway he had left must have been some kind of service exit or servant corridor, and where there was one, there was bound to be another. Mulder scanned the room, looking for a door, any door, that would lead him further in his quest, and he found one.
He opened it, and stepped inside.