Julia Thomas Residence
696 Massachusetts Ave.
Washington, D.C.
2:12 P.M.
Twenty men in blue suits and badges were
stationed about the room. Some held evidence
kits in their hands, dusting for fingerprints,
while others meticulously fingered through
various documents andbooks. Two men in
jackets that read "Coroner" on the back
stood in the corner of the room taking
photographs of the dead woman. Langly,Byers,
and Frohike were seated on the couch as Scully
entered theapartment, weariness draining the
color from her face. Frohike jumpedto his
feet as soon as he saw her.
"Agent Scully," he greeted her, "how are you
feeling?" Concern wasevident through his
plastered smile of familiarity. "How do you
think she's doing," he kicked himself, "what
kind of stupid question is that?"
"Fine, thanks," she answered solemnly, forcing
a smile to her lips in gratitude for his
compassion. "How long have you guys been here?"
"We left right after we talked with you," Byers
informed her, standingup next to Frohike, "we
found Ms. Thomas' apartment as you now see it
when we arrived." He gestured to the disarray
on the carpet and furniture.
"We've been here since then," Langly said, now
standing, as well. He motioned with his thumb to
a short, stocky gentleman in the corner of the room
with a gleaming badge on the lapel of his jacket and
a notebook in his hand, "Chubby over there held us
here for questioning. He said we looked 'suspicious'."
Langly appeared highly offended.
"Can you believe that?" Frohike asked, bearing the
same astounded impression. Scully smiled sheepishly.
"Hard to believe," she said dryly. She nodded towards
the sofa. "Why don't you guys sit down and I'll get
this all sorted out," she said. They did as she
commanded and she turned to face the officer in charge.
He grinned at her as she approached.
"Well, hi there," he said, placing a hand on his hip and leaning
against a table with the other hand, "what's a lovely lady like you
doin' in a nasty place like this?"
"Avon calling," Scully said sardonically, pulling the badge from her
pocket and raising it to the detective's eye level.
He sighed loudly. "So you're from the Bureau, huh?"
he said, "Who the hell called you all out here?"
She folded her identification and replaced it in her jacket. "I have
reason to believe that the events which transpired here are connected
to a series of murders that my partner and I are investigating," she
said.
"And why isn't your partner here to ask all the important questions?
Are you sure you'll be able to handle this investigation all by
yourself?" He continued on after receiving no response but the
crossed arms and sullen stare of the angry agent. "Anyway, we didn't
find anyone here, no one except those three jokers over there," he
said, pointing to the Gunmen.
"Those three are harmless," she told him, "colleagues of mine, and my
partner's. I believe that he was here, investigating the
case I spoke of before."
"The only trace of anyone being here at all is that woman
on the floor and that blood on the wall," he replied.
Scully's heart leapt to her throat as she ruminated over the
possibilities. Regaining her composure, she looked at him and
demanded, "I want every piece of evidence to go through my hands, I
want to see everything. If the body of a male was not found, then
that means that Agent Mulder is still alive."
"Either that or they carried him off to dump the body."
"He's alive," she said forcefully, as if the strength of her words
would ensure his safety, "And I'm going to find him."
J. Edgar Hoover Building
5:45 P.M.
Dana Scully greeted Skinner's secretary, Holly, and seated herself in
one of the waiting chairs outside his office, folding the edge of her
skirt beneath her. She smoothed out the hem, then crossed her legs
and folded her hands on her lap.
"The Assistant Director will be with you momentarily," Holly informed
Scully, who nodded in response and twiddled her thumbs. "What the
hell am I going to tell him?" she thought to herself, the anxiety
clearly evident through her uneasy body language,
"That we were unsuccessful in tracking down the murderer
and now she's not only killed the twelve women that she
created from cloning experimentation with alien DNA, but
now she absconded with the Mulder, too?"
Scully glanced at her watch. "Quarter till," she thought
to herself. She had been following every lead possible
for the last three hours but every tip had turned up
another dead end. The A.P.B. proved useless. No one had
seen or heard from Lauren since noon the previous day, and
now Mulder was missing, possibly dead. "No," she told
herself, "you can't think like that, Dana." She drew
the golden cross at her throat back and forth between her
fingers, "He needs optimism right now. He would never
give up on you, you can't give up on him either."
Skinner's voice brought her back into consciousness, "Agent Scully,
please come in."
Scully awoke sharply from her daydream and glanced up at the man who
she had come to trust as a friend after nearly seven long years of
trials by fire. "Yes, sir," she answered, leaping gracefully to her
feet and walking into his office with the dignity befitting a queen.
"Please have a seat, Agent Scully," he said formally,
gesturing to the chairs that were situated in front of
his desk.
"Thank you, sir," she responded in kind. He seated himself in a
half-lounge, half-professional manner, one leg crossed over the other
and his arms folded neatly over his lap. He leaned back in
the chair. His blue eyes sparkled through his wire-frame
glasses, an odd paradox to the cold, thinly-drawn mouth
that she had hardly ever seen smile.
"I'm sure you're aware of why I've called you here today, Agent
Scully," he initiated the conversation. The pleasantries were now
officially terminated.
"I have my suspicions, sir," she responded, her face bearing no sign
of any knowledge that would be detrimental if placed "on the record,"
"It has come to my attention that Mulder has been officially deemed
'missing' as a result of this case that you and he are pursuing."
"That is correct, sir," she replied, adding, "but I am working in
conjunction with the Bureau and local authorities in an attempt to
find him. There is an A.P.B. out on the woman who I strongly suspect
to be his abductor. Within a few short hours, I will have scientific
proof that I believe will connect her genetically to the victims that
she has murdered."
"You mean you found her blood at the crime scenes?" he asked.
"No, sir," she said unfalteringly, "there were no samples collected
from the scenes other than that of the victims'. However, we were
able to confiscate a hair sample from the suspect's home, and another
blonde hair from the latest crime scene. I believe it could lead us
to her and her accomplice."
"And what are you comparing the strands to in order to gather your
'genetic connection?'"
Scully hesitated briefly, biting her lower lip. She pondered whether
or not she should answer the question truthfully before
she had all of the lab results back. Why make claims
that could turn out to be unfounded?
"Agent Scully?" Skinner questioned, the corners of his
eyes drawing up into a look of suspicious curiosity,
"Is there something else you're not telling me?"
"No, sir," she answered quickly and seemingly forthright, "of course
not."
"And you will let me know the instant that the
results are confirmed?"
"Yes, sir," she said stoically.
"Good," he replied, "then I suggest that you expend the rest of your
efforts on tracking down your partner."
"Thank you, sir," she stated more for formality's
sake rather than due to the fact that he had been
entirely helpful. She rose from the chair and walked
towards the door. Her hand was on the knob as he
called to her, "Agent Scully?"
She looked back. "Yes, sir?" she asked.
He swiveled towards her in his chair, leaning forward with both feet
on the ground. His body language conveyed the serious nature of what
he was saying. "I don't want you to worry. I will put every
available man on the streets. You have the Bureau's full resources.
We will find him."
"I know, sir," she said, sounding very tired, "thank you."
She smiled as best she could, but it was obvious that her
heart was not in it. She would not feel the tremendous
weight lifted from her soul until he was back, safe and
sound, and throwing pencils into the ceiling. She opened
the door and closed it behind her, leaving Skinner alone
feeling the twin agonies of anxiety for him and compassion for her.
"You better get your ass back here, Mulder," he said aloud, worry
apparent on his weathered features. He leaned back in the chair and
gazed toward the door after Scully. "Good luck, Dana," he said, "I
hope to God that you find him in time."
Quantico Medical Facility
8:29 P.M.
"There's still no sign of him? Well, she couldn't have
very well walked out of there with a body without anyone
seeing! They can't be far. I know the witness said that
it was a man with blonde hair, but I'm sure that the woman
fitting the description I gave you is the brains behind the
operation. I want every building within a five mile
radius searched tooth and comb. I want him found
alive. Call me if there are any new developments."
Scully closed her phone and placed it in her jacket
as Dr. Sykes approached her, still wearing her
safety goggles.
"The results are in," Dr. Sykes informed her, holding up the
transparent P.C.R. that was in her hand and pulling the
goggles on top of her head with the other.
"What's the verdict?" Scully asked, as Sykes stepped next to her to
show her the results.
"This was taken from the strand of hair that was found in
Philadelphia," she said, holding the results in her left hand to the
light so that Scully could see more clearly, "and this was taken from
the sample that you gave me from Ms. Thomas' apartment."
"They're identical," Scully said matter-of-factly.
"You don't seem too astounded, Agent Scully," Sykes told her, "I, on
the other hand, am a little taken aback. I was under the impression
that the person believed to be the owner of the blonde strand was a
male accomplice."
"He was."
She arched her eyebrows and shot Scully a look of
incomprehensibility, "But the sample that you took
in Philadelphia was from Maria's home, was it not?"
"It was."
"So what are you suggesting, Agent Scully?" she asked, "How do you
account for the fact that a man and a woman have the exact genetic
composition?"
Scully put a hand to her hip as she contemplated the medical training
that had taught her that such an occurrence was possible.
"Well," she said, craning her neck to one side, "I suppose
that the most likely explanation is that the Yellow-Haired
Man and the woman you know as Maria are identical twins.
Perhaps he is working in conjunction with his sister to
carry out the murders of the women that she created."
"Agent Scully, they do not exactly contain the similarity of
appearance inherent in family members, let alone that found in
identical twins."
"Well, that could be determined by running some more
tests," she said, "Besides, there are other possibilities,
as well. Maybe the body-snatcher was invited into Maria's
home, exposing his hair and DNA to that which was
obtained."
Dr. Sykes looked extremely doubtful. "There's another possibility,"
she said softly, eyes looking downward.
"What is that?" Scully asked through questioning eyes, wondering if,
once again, Sykes knew more than what she was telling.
"I happened upon something while going over these latest
results," she began, "I placed the transparencies down
on my desk, which had the files pertaining to the murder
victims of the Project strewn about. It was then that I
noticed the similarity." She looked at Scully, unsure
of whether or not the notoriously skeptical agent would
even listen to her admittedly obscure hypothesis.
"What similarity, Agent Sykes?" Scully prodded.
"The genetic similarity between Maria and the clones," she said
quickly, brushing her hair back behind her ear, "Although Maria's DNA
is not identical to that of the Twelve, it is somewhat comparable, a
quarter, to be exact."
"What are you saying?" Scully asked.
"I'm saying that Maria is three-quarters Purity Control and
one-quarter human, and that this genetic mixture gives her
capabilities altogether different from regular human beings, healing
capabilities, immunity to diseases and bullets," she permitted a
lengthy pause to ensue before she completed the thought, "the ability
to change physical appearance at will."
Scully appeared incredulous. "Dr. Sykes," she said, voice full of
professional distaste, "I believe that I do not have inform
you of the corporeal impossibilities of what you have just
said."
"It would account for the fact that the body-snatcher had easy access
into the building. Maria worked here for a period of time.
She would know her way through these halls like the back of
her hand. She could easily phone you from down the hall,
take the body, and make off with it before you even
realized that it was gone."
Scully scoffed loudly.
"It would also explain how a sample taken from Washington, D.C. would
match exactly with a sample taken from Maria's home in Philadelphia."
Scully suddenly remembered the reports of the arson incidents at
Chimera. She had initially believed that Lauren was
responsible, that she was attempting to do away with
the bodies that she had created out of some feelings
of guilt or a desire to do right. "What if it's
true?" she thought, eyeing the woman before her
uneasily. What if Sykes was right and the
Yellow-Haired Man was Lauren? Mulder had believed
that the Yellow-Haired Man had morphed into the
Black-Haired Man at Quantico. What if Lauren was
also another product of this morphing capability,
a sort of multiple personalities present in one
physical body?
She shrugged herself away from her reverie. "What are you thinking,
Dana?" she thought, "You know that this is an absurd notion."
"Thank you for your input," she said to Sykes, "and for your speedy
examination of the hair samples, but now I need to go find my partner
before the Morphing Ms. Maria destroys him before I can reach him."
She turned on her heels and departed before Sykes could convince her
of the truth in her words.
Dana Scully Residence
8:49 P.M.
Fox Mulder awoke groggily from his forcibly-imposed unconsciousness.
The first thing he became aware of after coming-to was not the odd
position in which he was situated, but instead the painfully present
throbbing that traveled from the back of his head all the way to the
top of his eyebrows. He cringed in absolute pain as he attempted to
open his eyes and adjust them to the darkness of the room. He opened
them slowly, seeing, at first, only the floor through his half-closed
eyelids. He shut them quickly after a sudden flash of burning ache
shot across his forehead. After a minute, he had the
presence of mind to have another go at it. His eyelids
fluttered once, and again, as the black and gray objects
in front of him began to take form, a comfortable,
lightly-colored couch, an elegant-looking lamp, a
familiar kitchen. It hit him like a bolt of lightning:
he was in Scully's home.
"Scully," he said aloud with apprehension in his voice. He wondered
where she was, if Lauren had gotten to her yet. He looked left and
right, all about for her, but she was not there. In his mind's eye,
though, he could see her as clearly as if she were standing right in
front of him. Experiencing a momentary stream-of-consciousness, he
saw her seated on the bed next to him. He was bearing his soul, and
she reached out to him, like he always knew she would, placing her
tiny, soft, milky hand over his. He had been surprised then by the
strength that seemed to emanate from her, but now he knew the
power of which she was capable.
Thinking of her face now seemed to give him strength and in a moment
of extreme clarity, he saw fully for the first time the danger to
which he was exposed. As he lifted his head from the floor,
he became aware that his previous leaning condition was due
to the fact that his hands were tied to some sort of wooden
shelf against the wall. His arms were spread wide and his
feet were tied together. The rope which bound them hung
tightly about his ankles and was fastened to the wall with
a single nail. His body shook violently as he tried to free
himself from his constraints.
"Stop your struggling," a male voice called from the other
side of the room, "It won't do you any good." Mulder
attempted to fix his eyes on the figure as he approached,
closer and closer, step by step. He squinted as the figure
stepped into the sliver of moonlight that was projecting
from the eastern window. It was the Black-Haired Man from
the surveillance photos.
"I guess now wouldn't be the best time to read you your Miranda
rights, would it?" Mulder quipped.
"The Day of Reckoning is at hand, Agent Mulder," the Black-Haired Man
told him, "You have been judged."
"Okay," Mulder said, "I admit it. I was the one who tore
the tags off of those pillows, but I had every intention
of putting them back."
"You have been judged," the Black-Haired Man said again,
"and you have been found guilty."
"Well then, would you mind telling me what crime I committed?" he
asked.
"Murder, Agent Mulder," the man answered stoically, "murder."
"That's horseshit," Mulder replied angrily, "I didn't kill anyone."
He glanced at the binding about his arms and feet and then glanced
into the face of the Black-Haired Man. "Well, not yet anyway," he
said.
"You have been found responsible for the murders of many men, Agent
Mulder. The one you called 'Deep Throat.' It was your hand that
brought about the premature death of one that would have been able to
stop it all before it starts."
Mulder felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He looked
once more at the floor. The death of the informant, rather,
the man, who had come to play such a fatherly role in his
life had always played heavily upon his conscience. It was
his youthful impetuosity that got him captured in the first
place, which resulted in the ultimate of sacrifices: Deep
Throat's life for his.
"Before what starts?" he asked angrily, "Why are you doing this?"
When he looked back up, he was staring into the face of the
Yellow-Haired Man.
"There were others, were there not?" he asked Mulder, more of a
statement than a question.
"You know, this whole 'This Is Your Life' scenario is all nice and
good fun, but why don't you shut the hell up and answer some of my
questions for a change?" Venom filled every word.
The Yellow-Haired Man continued, "Your tireless quest to find 'The
Truth' got your partner's sister killed, did it not? Not to mention
the fates of your father and the infamous 'Mr. X', too."
"Why don't you untie these ropes and I'll add another to the list."
"And then there's the matter of your sister," he said, "You were
unable to save her when you were a child for the pure fear of facing
the same harm. And then as an adult, you could not find her in time,
to save her from the tests, and ultimately from her mercy-killing.
That death, too, is on your hands, Agent Mulder."
Mulder watched as the Yellow-Haired Man changed shape into the woman
he thought he knew so well so long ago. "I'm sorry, Fox," she said,
"but you have been found guilty. There's nothing that anyone can do
about it now, not even me."
"Lauren," he said, his voice full of emotion, "You can't do this. I
know you won't let them hurt me. It's not in you." His face
contorted, his inner pain reflected by his outer features.
"I can't stop them, Fox," she said, sounding truly sorrowful, "He has
decided. I must follow through with His orders."
"Whose orders?" he demanded.
"The Father's," she answered, "the one you know as the man with the
black hair. He is the Creator, and the ultimate judge to whom we all
must answer. It was through my spirit that He was able to
fashion the Twelve. It was His inspiration in my lowly
hands."
"What kind of Creator would desire to destroy the product of His
work?" Mulder questioned.
"When mankind desires to place himself above the Father, He must
strike them down, lest they destroy His vision for the world."
"So that is the point of all this, then?" Mulder asked her, "A modern
day Sodom and Gamorrah? He will destroy them before they destroy His
vision? Where is the free will in choosing man's destiny for him?"
"Some must be sacrificed to save the fate of the whole,"
she answered, "The Twelve were initially meant to be the
Noah of the New Order. They would survive the coming
flood and live to usher in a new world of peace and
prosperity. Humanity would not just live on, but thrive.
Yet, the Father, in His infinite wisdom, decreed that man
must not be tampered with, that he must live as he is. If
he survives the onslaught, he was meant to live on. If not,
then he shall languish forever in eternal life. Therefore,
the Twelve had to be destroyed and the Son, who carries out
the desires of the Father, removed the mistakes that my
science created."
"So then, as the Holy Spirit, it was your job to carry out the
creation that the father was unable of performing himself?"
Lauren nodded her head in agreement.
Mulder arched his eyebrows and smirked thinly through his despair.
"Do you honestly believe all that theological bullshit you just
espoused?" he asked.
"That was always your problem, Fox," she said, returning the same sad
smile, "You never could believe in anything greater than the
extraterrestrial. How do you think our life began? With the Big
Bang? There are some things for which science cannot mandate." Her
smile turned into a frown as she informed him, "Your lack of faith is
your undoing." She leaned in towards him and kissed him
gently on the cheek.
"Would you betray me with a kiss, Judas?" he asked, her lips still
fresh on his face.
Her face backed away from his, inch by inch. Her dark
eyes penetrated his. It was as though she was attempting
to catch a final glimpse of his soul before he departed
from the Earth. "Don't be afraid, Fox," she said finally,
"Your death will usher in the Second Coming. The Kingdom
of God will reign free on Earth. Your sacrifice will never
be forgotten."
9:02 P.M.
Scully watched as the brown doors opened, revealing a
single passenger in an overtly neat pinstripe suit and
carrying a leather brief case. She walked in, turned
around, and pushed the button for the appropriate floor.
She stepped away from the doors and settled herself in
the left corner of the elevator, grossly aware of the
unabashed eyes that followed her from her hair to her
legs, and back up again.
As the doors opened, she instructed him rather abruptly to "Take a
picture." The doors closed again on the man with the pinstripes,
whose frown, which betrayed the guilt of a caught man, was evident
even though his gaze was fixed to the floor.
Scully grabbed the ring in her pocket and fumbled for her apartment
key as she advanced through the dimly-lit hallway. She thumbed
sorrowfully past the one that read "Mulder" with marker on taped-on
white paper. Her tired eyes contained a sadness reserved for those
occasions when their separation generated the consequential period of
anxiety until their inevitable reunion. She speculated if this time
it would be different. The possibilities had played in her mind all
day - while she was in Skinner's office, while she listened to Dr.
Sykes, and on the road home when the radio deejay served as her only
companion. She wondered if he was safe, if he was still alive. "He
has to be," she thought, "I can feel his presence. He feels so near
to me. He can't be dead, not before I get to tell him how I really
feel."
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice the
small scratches on the door lock, evidence of forced entry. She
applied the key to her lock, the force of which was great enough to
open the door seemingly of its own will, as if she were
being beckoned into a childhood haunted house. Sensing
the danger beyond the doorway, Scully moved her coat
deftly with one hand and grabbed for the gun at her hip.
She pointed it skyward with the right hand as she slowly
opened the door the rest of the way with her left. She
placed her left hand on the gun, straightened it in front
of her, and proceeded into her home.
She walked straight into her living room, caution guiding her every
movement. Seeing no one, she turned to the left towards the hall to
her bedroom and advanced. Through the moonlight pervading
in from the window, Scully noticed the dark figure of
someone spread-eagle against the wall.
"Federal Agent," she yelled, "stay where you are." She walked closer
and closer, and the shape began to take form. The first thing she
noticed was the height, followed by the broad shoulders, and lanky
form. Next, his dark hair, and the familiar outline of his
silhouette. It was him.
"Mulder," she cried, placing the gun back in its holster and rushing
hurriedly to his side, "You're alive!" She noticed
for the first time the gag in his mouth, and proceeded
to remove it. As she worked with the bonds in the back
of the gag, she saw a look of fear roll over his beautiful
eyes. Grabbing once more for her gun, she turned just in
time to see a man with blonde hair come upon her with a
look of rage in his eyes and a large object raised above
his head. The object came down quickly, glimmering in the
light of the moon. She barely felt the intense pain on the
base of her head before she crumpled into a massive heap on
the floor. The last thing she saw before the darkness took
her was the face of Mulder, ever present in her mind and in
her heart.
"Scully, are you okay? Can you hear me? Dana, it's me, please wake
up." The sound of his voice stirred her into consciousness.
"Ow," she whined in response, followed by a series of
lethargic moans. She instinctively grabbed for the
shooting pain in her head, but her arms would not move
in response to her voluntary commands. She lifted her
head slowly and gazed towards her arms. They were
spread about as if she were about to embrace someone,
tied to the wall in the same manner as Mulder's. She
turned to the right and looked at Mulder. The concern
on his face had given way to a broad smile as an
oddly-placed chuckle rolled off of his body.
"Mulder, what the hell is so funny?" she asked him angrily.
"I'm sorry," he said between bursts of laughter, "but I'm just so
relieved." The chuckling quieted down as his voice became serious.
"You were out a long time, you know. You had me worried there for
awhile."
"My head feels like shit," she said, "It's like someone's playing
tug-of-war with my brain and center of the rope is
beginning to fray."
Mulder's face squinched up in disgust. "Thanks for the graphic
imagery," he replied.
She shot him an angry warning look as he continued, "What were you
thinking running at me like that, anyway?"
"I was rescuing you," she answered truthfully.
"Good work," he replied.
She ignored the comment. "Mulder, we have to get out of here," she
said, looking about her once safe home to see if her abuser was still
present.
"If you have any ideas, Scully, I'm more than willing to hear them
out."
Scully bit her lip. She didn't say a word. What could they possibly
do?
"Well, maybe if you use that nail to saw through your ropes, you can
free your hand and rip that shelf above you off the wall
and use it to knock the phone from my jacket to call
someone and get help." She looked at him hopefully.
Mulder returned her gaze with one of dubious cynicism.
"Who do I look like," he asked, "MacGyver? Maybe for
my next trick I can create a makeshift gun out of
paperclips."
If she were able to cross her arms, she would have done so. "You
know," she said, "that's not helping. Why don't you try coming up
with an idea to get us out of this mess?"
"You're the brains of the operation, Scully," he replied, "I'm just
the beauty."
"Neither of you are going anywhere," a deep, throaty baritone
interrupted the nervous repertoire, "Your services are still
required."
"What services?" Scully asked the man with the blonde hair angrily,
"By whose authority do you keep us here?"
Mulder nodded his head towards the ceiling. "The Head Authority,
Scully," he informed her.
"What are you talking about, Mulder?" she questioned. She was
honestly confused, having missed out on Lauren's briefing about the
Trinity's upcoming plans.
Scully's mouth widened in terror and surprise as the man's hair
changed from blonde to jet-black. "I am the Father,"
the Black-Haired Man said, "I have found Fox Mulder
guilty of murder, and you shall share his fate as
punishment for working in collusion with him."
"Found guilty of murdering whom?" Scully asked, as the man's hair
changed once more to blonde.
"I am the Son," the Yellow-Haired Man introduced
himself, "I have come to hasten the coming of the
Second Kingdom by cleansing the Earth of
those that would attempt to fight the future."
"What does that have to do with Mulder being accused of murder?"
Scully asked.
The blonde hair grew longer and changed to black again as Lauren's
face appeared before her own. "You and Mulder have not only
contributed to the murders of Deep Throat, Melissa Scully, Mr. X,
William Mulder, and Samantha Mulder, but your defiance in the face of
the plans of the Father will generate the murder of free will if you
continue on your current path."
Scully's eyes hardened into two impenetrable sapphires as she
practically spit out the words, "And how, exactly, are we capable of
committing such an act?"
"The future is not predestined, Agent Scully," Lauren told her, "We
cannot hope to know how we will act when the future becomes present.
If you expose the Truth you so desperately seek to know, you will
bring about hopelessness and despair upon the Earth. When They come
for colonization, there will be no resistance. Unless man discovers
the Truth for himself, and desires to fight to maintain his right to
exist, he will roll over and die. That is why you cannot expose the
Truth. That is why you must pay for your sins, past, present, and
future."
Scully glared at the woman that she had distrusted from
the beginning. "That is positively the most ridiculous,
convoluted assessment of religion to which I have had the
extreme displeasure of being privy," she fumed, "If there is
no predestination, as you claim, then how can you possibly
know for certain how man will react if the Truth is laid at
his feet? As one who espouses the belief that God created us
all to choose our own path in life, I am offended by the fact
that you think that we could generate mass despair if people
knew the Truth, or that you are willing to destroy the path we
have carved for ourselves in order to prevent what you fear the
most. How can you blame us for defending our right to live as
one of God's creations?"
"The Bible warns of false prophets, Agent Scully," Lauren replied
curtly, "Your entire existence at the Bureau has been manufactured, a
carefully thought out plan to perpetuate the lies that They want the
public to believe. After all you've experienced over the years,
after the complete absence of proof that has been your fondest,
yet most elusive of goals, I should think that by now you'd begin
to at least question whether what you think you know is the most
complete and inalienable of Truths. What good would it be to
expose what you've discovered if it turns out to be nothing but
lies?"
"I came into the X-Files believing that all unexplained phenomena had
some discernible cause, that everything could be explained by simply
unearthing the scientific reasoning behind the matter. When my
religion faltered, my science kept me grounded. I relied on it, and
my hope for a better life in the next world to dictate what I thought
was right and true. Now I know the real truth. Man cannot live
without faith, the faith that Mulder has in his desperate quest for
what lies behind the unexplained. I have faith in him and his
beliefs, and others will, too."
The Spirit transformed once more into the Son. His yellow hair shone
wildly in the moonlight and a hollow deadness collapsed over his
crazed eyes. "There will be no others," he said softly, slowly
drawing out each and every word, "You will never again see the light
of day. You shall pay for the sins committed in the eyes of the
Father with the most supreme of sacrifices. 'A life for a life!
Anyone who inflicts an injury on his neighbor shall receive the same
in return. Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth'."
The Yellow-Haired Man picked up a silver, cylinder-shaped object from
a nearby table. Pushing a button on the side, a deathly "swoosh"
filled the silent room as a thin, sharp blade appeared from the
center. His eyes gleamed in the darkness as he advanced towards the
two partners, "Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Limb for
limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."
Scully's cerulean eyes widened in fear. He came closer
and closer, his footsteps thumping softly on the off-white
carpet. He carried the weapon in his right hand, which was
raised with a menacing intent. He advanced towards Scully,
the glistening point shone deadly in the moonlight.
"Take me," Mulder yelled unexpectedly, "I'm the one you want, I'm the
murderer, take me!"
"Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."
"Take me, you fucking bastard! She has nothing to do with this! I'm
the reason that she got mixed up in all of this, take me!"
"Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."
"Answer me you sadistic piece of half-bred alien shit!"
The Yellow-Haired Man turned towards Mulder. "You shall both die," he
said, smiling coldly, "But I'll grant your request. You shall be the
first to be reunited with the Father."
Scully's blood turned cold. "Please, don't," she cried, "don't do it,
I can't lose him!"
The Yellow-Haired Man placed his left hand on the weapon,
interlocking it over his right. He raised the weapon above
his head.
"By the sweat of your face shall you get bread to eat, Until you
return to the ground, from which you were taken; For you are
dirt, and to dirt you shall return..."
Scully screamed as he lunged at Mulder.
"No, Mulder!"
Scully watched helplessly as the weapon began its descent. Mulder
closed his eyes tightly as he prepared to make his peace with the
world. It was as though time had stopped short altogether. He
cherished his final seconds with Scully, but wished desperately for
the end, so that his reunion with her in the next life might be
hastened.
It was strange feeling. He felt no pain, and the seconds ticked away
slowly, slowly, as if each minute was drawn out into the span of a
century.
And then it came. He felt the sharp, searing pain, but it
was somehow different than what he had imagined. He let out
a cry of anguish, and he felt his eyes roll back into his head.
What was it that was so strange? It was not registering. All
that he felt was the pain running through his head, down to his
chest, and through his arm. He could not concentrate, to think
clearly enough to reason out the problem.
He gazed up through his half-closed eyelids, expecting to see the
Yellow-Haired Man glowering over him with the contented expression of
a fresh kill gleaming in his eyes. The shapes fuzzed over, became
clear, and became fuzzy once again. He narrowed his lids and focused
his eyes through the throbbing in his arm. It was the Son's crazed
visage into which he was staring, but there was something different.
He couldn't figure it out. What was different? He concentrated
again. This time he understood. It was the eyes. It wasn't the
crazed, blue eyes of a madman into which he was looking, but the
soft, warm, chocolate eyes of the woman he once loved.
The Yellow-Haired Man's face was distorted in anguish and confusion.
"What are you doing?" he asked aloud, "You're going to ruin
everything!"
His face changed over into that of Lauren's. "I won't let you," she
said, "I can't let you do this. I love him, I won't let you hurt
him." Her left hand grasped her right wrist fervently, pulling the
weapon back from Mulder as much as possible.
Mulder was once again staring into the face of the Yellow-Haired
Man. "You can't stop me," the Son said, pushing with all his might
against the inner force holding him back, "We won't be defeated."
Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder noticed Scully struggling with
her binds. She glanced at him.
"Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked, wondering how much longer the
mental battle within the Trinity would rage.
He looked at the source of his pain. His arm was bleeding profusely,
but he had no other injuries. He nodded his head in assent.
"She stopped him," Scully explained to the best of her ability, still
tugging at the ropes, "He tried to get your neck, but then he pulled
back at the last moment and struck your arm."
"We can play catch-up later, Scully," he told her, gesturing towards
the binding, "For now, how's it going with those ropes?"
"I think I can, yes, if I can just." She wriggled beneath
the knot as the Yellow-Haired Man approached her.
"No you don't," he said, "You're not getting away that easily." But
once again, some internal force pulled him back against his will.
Mulder shot her an anxious look. "Clock's ticking," he informed her.
"Thanks," she answered wryly as the ropes on her left hand
simultaneously frayed and gave way. "There!" she said exuberantly.
She glanced over at him. "Couldn't have done it without you," she
told him, reaching to untie the ropes on her right.
"How'd you do it, Scully?" he asked amazed as she continued to work
away.
"Oh, I just sawed through the ropes with the rusty nail that was
holding them," she answered, "Remember, my plan from before that you
thought was destined to fail?"
Her right hand was now free and she bent down to work at the ropes on
her feet.
"You can gloat later," he said, "Just get me the hell out of these
things." He shook his hands violently through the ropes.
She pulled her legs free from the constraints and gave a quick
look in Lauren's direction. She and the Yellow-Haired Man were
still battling it out. She debated whether she should attempt
to disarm Lauren or free Mulder first. She ultimately decided
upon Mulder.
She ran towards him, keeping a careful eye on their assailant.
As she worked on his ropes, she informed him, "They took my gun."
"It won't do any good anyway," he replied, "I tried shooting them
already. Nothing doing. The only thing that will stop them is a jab
to the back of the neck. Somehow, we've got to get that weapon
out of her hands."
"That won't be necessary," a throaty voice answered. Mulder, still
tied up, looked towards the direction from which the voice had come.
Lauren was gazing back at him, a sad look in her eye. "It's okay,
Fox," she told him, "I'm in full control, now." It was true. The
struggling had ceased and it appeared that all traces of the
Yellow-Haired Man were gone.
696 Massachusetts Ave.
Washington, D.C.
2:12 P.M.
Twenty men in blue suits and badges were
stationed about the room. Some held evidence
kits in their hands, dusting for fingerprints,
while others meticulously fingered through
various documents andbooks. Two men in
jackets that read "Coroner" on the back
stood in the corner of the room taking
photographs of the dead woman. Langly,Byers,
and Frohike were seated on the couch as Scully
entered theapartment, weariness draining the
color from her face. Frohike jumpedto his
feet as soon as he saw her.
"Agent Scully," he greeted her, "how are you
feeling?" Concern wasevident through his
plastered smile of familiarity. "How do you
think she's doing," he kicked himself, "what
kind of stupid question is that?"
"Fine, thanks," she answered solemnly, forcing
a smile to her lips in gratitude for his
compassion. "How long have you guys been here?"
"We left right after we talked with you," Byers
informed her, standingup next to Frohike, "we
found Ms. Thomas' apartment as you now see it
when we arrived." He gestured to the disarray
on the carpet and furniture.
"We've been here since then," Langly said, now
standing, as well. He motioned with his thumb to
a short, stocky gentleman in the corner of the room
with a gleaming badge on the lapel of his jacket and
a notebook in his hand, "Chubby over there held us
here for questioning. He said we looked 'suspicious'."
Langly appeared highly offended.
"Can you believe that?" Frohike asked, bearing the
same astounded impression. Scully smiled sheepishly.
"Hard to believe," she said dryly. She nodded towards
the sofa. "Why don't you guys sit down and I'll get
this all sorted out," she said. They did as she
commanded and she turned to face the officer in charge.
He grinned at her as she approached.
"Well, hi there," he said, placing a hand on his hip and leaning
against a table with the other hand, "what's a lovely lady like you
doin' in a nasty place like this?"
"Avon calling," Scully said sardonically, pulling the badge from her
pocket and raising it to the detective's eye level.
He sighed loudly. "So you're from the Bureau, huh?"
he said, "Who the hell called you all out here?"
She folded her identification and replaced it in her jacket. "I have
reason to believe that the events which transpired here are connected
to a series of murders that my partner and I are investigating," she
said.
"And why isn't your partner here to ask all the important questions?
Are you sure you'll be able to handle this investigation all by
yourself?" He continued on after receiving no response but the
crossed arms and sullen stare of the angry agent. "Anyway, we didn't
find anyone here, no one except those three jokers over there," he
said, pointing to the Gunmen.
"Those three are harmless," she told him, "colleagues of mine, and my
partner's. I believe that he was here, investigating the
case I spoke of before."
"The only trace of anyone being here at all is that woman
on the floor and that blood on the wall," he replied.
Scully's heart leapt to her throat as she ruminated over the
possibilities. Regaining her composure, she looked at him and
demanded, "I want every piece of evidence to go through my hands, I
want to see everything. If the body of a male was not found, then
that means that Agent Mulder is still alive."
"Either that or they carried him off to dump the body."
"He's alive," she said forcefully, as if the strength of her words
would ensure his safety, "And I'm going to find him."
J. Edgar Hoover Building
5:45 P.M.
Dana Scully greeted Skinner's secretary, Holly, and seated herself in
one of the waiting chairs outside his office, folding the edge of her
skirt beneath her. She smoothed out the hem, then crossed her legs
and folded her hands on her lap.
"The Assistant Director will be with you momentarily," Holly informed
Scully, who nodded in response and twiddled her thumbs. "What the
hell am I going to tell him?" she thought to herself, the anxiety
clearly evident through her uneasy body language,
"That we were unsuccessful in tracking down the murderer
and now she's not only killed the twelve women that she
created from cloning experimentation with alien DNA, but
now she absconded with the Mulder, too?"
Scully glanced at her watch. "Quarter till," she thought
to herself. She had been following every lead possible
for the last three hours but every tip had turned up
another dead end. The A.P.B. proved useless. No one had
seen or heard from Lauren since noon the previous day, and
now Mulder was missing, possibly dead. "No," she told
herself, "you can't think like that, Dana." She drew
the golden cross at her throat back and forth between her
fingers, "He needs optimism right now. He would never
give up on you, you can't give up on him either."
Skinner's voice brought her back into consciousness, "Agent Scully,
please come in."
Scully awoke sharply from her daydream and glanced up at the man who
she had come to trust as a friend after nearly seven long years of
trials by fire. "Yes, sir," she answered, leaping gracefully to her
feet and walking into his office with the dignity befitting a queen.
"Please have a seat, Agent Scully," he said formally,
gesturing to the chairs that were situated in front of
his desk.
"Thank you, sir," she responded in kind. He seated himself in a
half-lounge, half-professional manner, one leg crossed over the other
and his arms folded neatly over his lap. He leaned back in
the chair. His blue eyes sparkled through his wire-frame
glasses, an odd paradox to the cold, thinly-drawn mouth
that she had hardly ever seen smile.
"I'm sure you're aware of why I've called you here today, Agent
Scully," he initiated the conversation. The pleasantries were now
officially terminated.
"I have my suspicions, sir," she responded, her face bearing no sign
of any knowledge that would be detrimental if placed "on the record,"
"It has come to my attention that Mulder has been officially deemed
'missing' as a result of this case that you and he are pursuing."
"That is correct, sir," she replied, adding, "but I am working in
conjunction with the Bureau and local authorities in an attempt to
find him. There is an A.P.B. out on the woman who I strongly suspect
to be his abductor. Within a few short hours, I will have scientific
proof that I believe will connect her genetically to the victims that
she has murdered."
"You mean you found her blood at the crime scenes?" he asked.
"No, sir," she said unfalteringly, "there were no samples collected
from the scenes other than that of the victims'. However, we were
able to confiscate a hair sample from the suspect's home, and another
blonde hair from the latest crime scene. I believe it could lead us
to her and her accomplice."
"And what are you comparing the strands to in order to gather your
'genetic connection?'"
Scully hesitated briefly, biting her lower lip. She pondered whether
or not she should answer the question truthfully before
she had all of the lab results back. Why make claims
that could turn out to be unfounded?
"Agent Scully?" Skinner questioned, the corners of his
eyes drawing up into a look of suspicious curiosity,
"Is there something else you're not telling me?"
"No, sir," she answered quickly and seemingly forthright, "of course
not."
"And you will let me know the instant that the
results are confirmed?"
"Yes, sir," she said stoically.
"Good," he replied, "then I suggest that you expend the rest of your
efforts on tracking down your partner."
"Thank you, sir," she stated more for formality's
sake rather than due to the fact that he had been
entirely helpful. She rose from the chair and walked
towards the door. Her hand was on the knob as he
called to her, "Agent Scully?"
She looked back. "Yes, sir?" she asked.
He swiveled towards her in his chair, leaning forward with both feet
on the ground. His body language conveyed the serious nature of what
he was saying. "I don't want you to worry. I will put every
available man on the streets. You have the Bureau's full resources.
We will find him."
"I know, sir," she said, sounding very tired, "thank you."
She smiled as best she could, but it was obvious that her
heart was not in it. She would not feel the tremendous
weight lifted from her soul until he was back, safe and
sound, and throwing pencils into the ceiling. She opened
the door and closed it behind her, leaving Skinner alone
feeling the twin agonies of anxiety for him and compassion for her.
"You better get your ass back here, Mulder," he said aloud, worry
apparent on his weathered features. He leaned back in the chair and
gazed toward the door after Scully. "Good luck, Dana," he said, "I
hope to God that you find him in time."
Quantico Medical Facility
8:29 P.M.
"There's still no sign of him? Well, she couldn't have
very well walked out of there with a body without anyone
seeing! They can't be far. I know the witness said that
it was a man with blonde hair, but I'm sure that the woman
fitting the description I gave you is the brains behind the
operation. I want every building within a five mile
radius searched tooth and comb. I want him found
alive. Call me if there are any new developments."
Scully closed her phone and placed it in her jacket
as Dr. Sykes approached her, still wearing her
safety goggles.
"The results are in," Dr. Sykes informed her, holding up the
transparent P.C.R. that was in her hand and pulling the
goggles on top of her head with the other.
"What's the verdict?" Scully asked, as Sykes stepped next to her to
show her the results.
"This was taken from the strand of hair that was found in
Philadelphia," she said, holding the results in her left hand to the
light so that Scully could see more clearly, "and this was taken from
the sample that you gave me from Ms. Thomas' apartment."
"They're identical," Scully said matter-of-factly.
"You don't seem too astounded, Agent Scully," Sykes told her, "I, on
the other hand, am a little taken aback. I was under the impression
that the person believed to be the owner of the blonde strand was a
male accomplice."
"He was."
She arched her eyebrows and shot Scully a look of
incomprehensibility, "But the sample that you took
in Philadelphia was from Maria's home, was it not?"
"It was."
"So what are you suggesting, Agent Scully?" she asked, "How do you
account for the fact that a man and a woman have the exact genetic
composition?"
Scully put a hand to her hip as she contemplated the medical training
that had taught her that such an occurrence was possible.
"Well," she said, craning her neck to one side, "I suppose
that the most likely explanation is that the Yellow-Haired
Man and the woman you know as Maria are identical twins.
Perhaps he is working in conjunction with his sister to
carry out the murders of the women that she created."
"Agent Scully, they do not exactly contain the similarity of
appearance inherent in family members, let alone that found in
identical twins."
"Well, that could be determined by running some more
tests," she said, "Besides, there are other possibilities,
as well. Maybe the body-snatcher was invited into Maria's
home, exposing his hair and DNA to that which was
obtained."
Dr. Sykes looked extremely doubtful. "There's another possibility,"
she said softly, eyes looking downward.
"What is that?" Scully asked through questioning eyes, wondering if,
once again, Sykes knew more than what she was telling.
"I happened upon something while going over these latest
results," she began, "I placed the transparencies down
on my desk, which had the files pertaining to the murder
victims of the Project strewn about. It was then that I
noticed the similarity." She looked at Scully, unsure
of whether or not the notoriously skeptical agent would
even listen to her admittedly obscure hypothesis.
"What similarity, Agent Sykes?" Scully prodded.
"The genetic similarity between Maria and the clones," she said
quickly, brushing her hair back behind her ear, "Although Maria's DNA
is not identical to that of the Twelve, it is somewhat comparable, a
quarter, to be exact."
"What are you saying?" Scully asked.
"I'm saying that Maria is three-quarters Purity Control and
one-quarter human, and that this genetic mixture gives her
capabilities altogether different from regular human beings, healing
capabilities, immunity to diseases and bullets," she permitted a
lengthy pause to ensue before she completed the thought, "the ability
to change physical appearance at will."
Scully appeared incredulous. "Dr. Sykes," she said, voice full of
professional distaste, "I believe that I do not have inform
you of the corporeal impossibilities of what you have just
said."
"It would account for the fact that the body-snatcher had easy access
into the building. Maria worked here for a period of time.
She would know her way through these halls like the back of
her hand. She could easily phone you from down the hall,
take the body, and make off with it before you even
realized that it was gone."
Scully scoffed loudly.
"It would also explain how a sample taken from Washington, D.C. would
match exactly with a sample taken from Maria's home in Philadelphia."
Scully suddenly remembered the reports of the arson incidents at
Chimera. She had initially believed that Lauren was
responsible, that she was attempting to do away with
the bodies that she had created out of some feelings
of guilt or a desire to do right. "What if it's
true?" she thought, eyeing the woman before her
uneasily. What if Sykes was right and the
Yellow-Haired Man was Lauren? Mulder had believed
that the Yellow-Haired Man had morphed into the
Black-Haired Man at Quantico. What if Lauren was
also another product of this morphing capability,
a sort of multiple personalities present in one
physical body?
She shrugged herself away from her reverie. "What are you thinking,
Dana?" she thought, "You know that this is an absurd notion."
"Thank you for your input," she said to Sykes, "and for your speedy
examination of the hair samples, but now I need to go find my partner
before the Morphing Ms. Maria destroys him before I can reach him."
She turned on her heels and departed before Sykes could convince her
of the truth in her words.
Dana Scully Residence
8:49 P.M.
Fox Mulder awoke groggily from his forcibly-imposed unconsciousness.
The first thing he became aware of after coming-to was not the odd
position in which he was situated, but instead the painfully present
throbbing that traveled from the back of his head all the way to the
top of his eyebrows. He cringed in absolute pain as he attempted to
open his eyes and adjust them to the darkness of the room. He opened
them slowly, seeing, at first, only the floor through his half-closed
eyelids. He shut them quickly after a sudden flash of burning ache
shot across his forehead. After a minute, he had the
presence of mind to have another go at it. His eyelids
fluttered once, and again, as the black and gray objects
in front of him began to take form, a comfortable,
lightly-colored couch, an elegant-looking lamp, a
familiar kitchen. It hit him like a bolt of lightning:
he was in Scully's home.
"Scully," he said aloud with apprehension in his voice. He wondered
where she was, if Lauren had gotten to her yet. He looked left and
right, all about for her, but she was not there. In his mind's eye,
though, he could see her as clearly as if she were standing right in
front of him. Experiencing a momentary stream-of-consciousness, he
saw her seated on the bed next to him. He was bearing his soul, and
she reached out to him, like he always knew she would, placing her
tiny, soft, milky hand over his. He had been surprised then by the
strength that seemed to emanate from her, but now he knew the
power of which she was capable.
Thinking of her face now seemed to give him strength and in a moment
of extreme clarity, he saw fully for the first time the danger to
which he was exposed. As he lifted his head from the floor,
he became aware that his previous leaning condition was due
to the fact that his hands were tied to some sort of wooden
shelf against the wall. His arms were spread wide and his
feet were tied together. The rope which bound them hung
tightly about his ankles and was fastened to the wall with
a single nail. His body shook violently as he tried to free
himself from his constraints.
"Stop your struggling," a male voice called from the other
side of the room, "It won't do you any good." Mulder
attempted to fix his eyes on the figure as he approached,
closer and closer, step by step. He squinted as the figure
stepped into the sliver of moonlight that was projecting
from the eastern window. It was the Black-Haired Man from
the surveillance photos.
"I guess now wouldn't be the best time to read you your Miranda
rights, would it?" Mulder quipped.
"The Day of Reckoning is at hand, Agent Mulder," the Black-Haired Man
told him, "You have been judged."
"Okay," Mulder said, "I admit it. I was the one who tore
the tags off of those pillows, but I had every intention
of putting them back."
"You have been judged," the Black-Haired Man said again,
"and you have been found guilty."
"Well then, would you mind telling me what crime I committed?" he
asked.
"Murder, Agent Mulder," the man answered stoically, "murder."
"That's horseshit," Mulder replied angrily, "I didn't kill anyone."
He glanced at the binding about his arms and feet and then glanced
into the face of the Black-Haired Man. "Well, not yet anyway," he
said.
"You have been found responsible for the murders of many men, Agent
Mulder. The one you called 'Deep Throat.' It was your hand that
brought about the premature death of one that would have been able to
stop it all before it starts."
Mulder felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He looked
once more at the floor. The death of the informant, rather,
the man, who had come to play such a fatherly role in his
life had always played heavily upon his conscience. It was
his youthful impetuosity that got him captured in the first
place, which resulted in the ultimate of sacrifices: Deep
Throat's life for his.
"Before what starts?" he asked angrily, "Why are you doing this?"
When he looked back up, he was staring into the face of the
Yellow-Haired Man.
"There were others, were there not?" he asked Mulder, more of a
statement than a question.
"You know, this whole 'This Is Your Life' scenario is all nice and
good fun, but why don't you shut the hell up and answer some of my
questions for a change?" Venom filled every word.
The Yellow-Haired Man continued, "Your tireless quest to find 'The
Truth' got your partner's sister killed, did it not? Not to mention
the fates of your father and the infamous 'Mr. X', too."
"Why don't you untie these ropes and I'll add another to the list."
"And then there's the matter of your sister," he said, "You were
unable to save her when you were a child for the pure fear of facing
the same harm. And then as an adult, you could not find her in time,
to save her from the tests, and ultimately from her mercy-killing.
That death, too, is on your hands, Agent Mulder."
Mulder watched as the Yellow-Haired Man changed shape into the woman
he thought he knew so well so long ago. "I'm sorry, Fox," she said,
"but you have been found guilty. There's nothing that anyone can do
about it now, not even me."
"Lauren," he said, his voice full of emotion, "You can't do this. I
know you won't let them hurt me. It's not in you." His face
contorted, his inner pain reflected by his outer features.
"I can't stop them, Fox," she said, sounding truly sorrowful, "He has
decided. I must follow through with His orders."
"Whose orders?" he demanded.
"The Father's," she answered, "the one you know as the man with the
black hair. He is the Creator, and the ultimate judge to whom we all
must answer. It was through my spirit that He was able to
fashion the Twelve. It was His inspiration in my lowly
hands."
"What kind of Creator would desire to destroy the product of His
work?" Mulder questioned.
"When mankind desires to place himself above the Father, He must
strike them down, lest they destroy His vision for the world."
"So that is the point of all this, then?" Mulder asked her, "A modern
day Sodom and Gamorrah? He will destroy them before they destroy His
vision? Where is the free will in choosing man's destiny for him?"
"Some must be sacrificed to save the fate of the whole,"
she answered, "The Twelve were initially meant to be the
Noah of the New Order. They would survive the coming
flood and live to usher in a new world of peace and
prosperity. Humanity would not just live on, but thrive.
Yet, the Father, in His infinite wisdom, decreed that man
must not be tampered with, that he must live as he is. If
he survives the onslaught, he was meant to live on. If not,
then he shall languish forever in eternal life. Therefore,
the Twelve had to be destroyed and the Son, who carries out
the desires of the Father, removed the mistakes that my
science created."
"So then, as the Holy Spirit, it was your job to carry out the
creation that the father was unable of performing himself?"
Lauren nodded her head in agreement.
Mulder arched his eyebrows and smirked thinly through his despair.
"Do you honestly believe all that theological bullshit you just
espoused?" he asked.
"That was always your problem, Fox," she said, returning the same sad
smile, "You never could believe in anything greater than the
extraterrestrial. How do you think our life began? With the Big
Bang? There are some things for which science cannot mandate." Her
smile turned into a frown as she informed him, "Your lack of faith is
your undoing." She leaned in towards him and kissed him
gently on the cheek.
"Would you betray me with a kiss, Judas?" he asked, her lips still
fresh on his face.
Her face backed away from his, inch by inch. Her dark
eyes penetrated his. It was as though she was attempting
to catch a final glimpse of his soul before he departed
from the Earth. "Don't be afraid, Fox," she said finally,
"Your death will usher in the Second Coming. The Kingdom
of God will reign free on Earth. Your sacrifice will never
be forgotten."
9:02 P.M.
Scully watched as the brown doors opened, revealing a
single passenger in an overtly neat pinstripe suit and
carrying a leather brief case. She walked in, turned
around, and pushed the button for the appropriate floor.
She stepped away from the doors and settled herself in
the left corner of the elevator, grossly aware of the
unabashed eyes that followed her from her hair to her
legs, and back up again.
As the doors opened, she instructed him rather abruptly to "Take a
picture." The doors closed again on the man with the pinstripes,
whose frown, which betrayed the guilt of a caught man, was evident
even though his gaze was fixed to the floor.
Scully grabbed the ring in her pocket and fumbled for her apartment
key as she advanced through the dimly-lit hallway. She thumbed
sorrowfully past the one that read "Mulder" with marker on taped-on
white paper. Her tired eyes contained a sadness reserved for those
occasions when their separation generated the consequential period of
anxiety until their inevitable reunion. She speculated if this time
it would be different. The possibilities had played in her mind all
day - while she was in Skinner's office, while she listened to Dr.
Sykes, and on the road home when the radio deejay served as her only
companion. She wondered if he was safe, if he was still alive. "He
has to be," she thought, "I can feel his presence. He feels so near
to me. He can't be dead, not before I get to tell him how I really
feel."
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice the
small scratches on the door lock, evidence of forced entry. She
applied the key to her lock, the force of which was great enough to
open the door seemingly of its own will, as if she were
being beckoned into a childhood haunted house. Sensing
the danger beyond the doorway, Scully moved her coat
deftly with one hand and grabbed for the gun at her hip.
She pointed it skyward with the right hand as she slowly
opened the door the rest of the way with her left. She
placed her left hand on the gun, straightened it in front
of her, and proceeded into her home.
She walked straight into her living room, caution guiding her every
movement. Seeing no one, she turned to the left towards the hall to
her bedroom and advanced. Through the moonlight pervading
in from the window, Scully noticed the dark figure of
someone spread-eagle against the wall.
"Federal Agent," she yelled, "stay where you are." She walked closer
and closer, and the shape began to take form. The first thing she
noticed was the height, followed by the broad shoulders, and lanky
form. Next, his dark hair, and the familiar outline of his
silhouette. It was him.
"Mulder," she cried, placing the gun back in its holster and rushing
hurriedly to his side, "You're alive!" She noticed
for the first time the gag in his mouth, and proceeded
to remove it. As she worked with the bonds in the back
of the gag, she saw a look of fear roll over his beautiful
eyes. Grabbing once more for her gun, she turned just in
time to see a man with blonde hair come upon her with a
look of rage in his eyes and a large object raised above
his head. The object came down quickly, glimmering in the
light of the moon. She barely felt the intense pain on the
base of her head before she crumpled into a massive heap on
the floor. The last thing she saw before the darkness took
her was the face of Mulder, ever present in her mind and in
her heart.
"Scully, are you okay? Can you hear me? Dana, it's me, please wake
up." The sound of his voice stirred her into consciousness.
"Ow," she whined in response, followed by a series of
lethargic moans. She instinctively grabbed for the
shooting pain in her head, but her arms would not move
in response to her voluntary commands. She lifted her
head slowly and gazed towards her arms. They were
spread about as if she were about to embrace someone,
tied to the wall in the same manner as Mulder's. She
turned to the right and looked at Mulder. The concern
on his face had given way to a broad smile as an
oddly-placed chuckle rolled off of his body.
"Mulder, what the hell is so funny?" she asked him angrily.
"I'm sorry," he said between bursts of laughter, "but I'm just so
relieved." The chuckling quieted down as his voice became serious.
"You were out a long time, you know. You had me worried there for
awhile."
"My head feels like shit," she said, "It's like someone's playing
tug-of-war with my brain and center of the rope is
beginning to fray."
Mulder's face squinched up in disgust. "Thanks for the graphic
imagery," he replied.
She shot him an angry warning look as he continued, "What were you
thinking running at me like that, anyway?"
"I was rescuing you," she answered truthfully.
"Good work," he replied.
She ignored the comment. "Mulder, we have to get out of here," she
said, looking about her once safe home to see if her abuser was still
present.
"If you have any ideas, Scully, I'm more than willing to hear them
out."
Scully bit her lip. She didn't say a word. What could they possibly
do?
"Well, maybe if you use that nail to saw through your ropes, you can
free your hand and rip that shelf above you off the wall
and use it to knock the phone from my jacket to call
someone and get help." She looked at him hopefully.
Mulder returned her gaze with one of dubious cynicism.
"Who do I look like," he asked, "MacGyver? Maybe for
my next trick I can create a makeshift gun out of
paperclips."
If she were able to cross her arms, she would have done so. "You
know," she said, "that's not helping. Why don't you try coming up
with an idea to get us out of this mess?"
"You're the brains of the operation, Scully," he replied, "I'm just
the beauty."
"Neither of you are going anywhere," a deep, throaty baritone
interrupted the nervous repertoire, "Your services are still
required."
"What services?" Scully asked the man with the blonde hair angrily,
"By whose authority do you keep us here?"
Mulder nodded his head towards the ceiling. "The Head Authority,
Scully," he informed her.
"What are you talking about, Mulder?" she questioned. She was
honestly confused, having missed out on Lauren's briefing about the
Trinity's upcoming plans.
Scully's mouth widened in terror and surprise as the man's hair
changed from blonde to jet-black. "I am the Father,"
the Black-Haired Man said, "I have found Fox Mulder
guilty of murder, and you shall share his fate as
punishment for working in collusion with him."
"Found guilty of murdering whom?" Scully asked, as the man's hair
changed once more to blonde.
"I am the Son," the Yellow-Haired Man introduced
himself, "I have come to hasten the coming of the
Second Kingdom by cleansing the Earth of
those that would attempt to fight the future."
"What does that have to do with Mulder being accused of murder?"
Scully asked.
The blonde hair grew longer and changed to black again as Lauren's
face appeared before her own. "You and Mulder have not only
contributed to the murders of Deep Throat, Melissa Scully, Mr. X,
William Mulder, and Samantha Mulder, but your defiance in the face of
the plans of the Father will generate the murder of free will if you
continue on your current path."
Scully's eyes hardened into two impenetrable sapphires as she
practically spit out the words, "And how, exactly, are we capable of
committing such an act?"
"The future is not predestined, Agent Scully," Lauren told her, "We
cannot hope to know how we will act when the future becomes present.
If you expose the Truth you so desperately seek to know, you will
bring about hopelessness and despair upon the Earth. When They come
for colonization, there will be no resistance. Unless man discovers
the Truth for himself, and desires to fight to maintain his right to
exist, he will roll over and die. That is why you cannot expose the
Truth. That is why you must pay for your sins, past, present, and
future."
Scully glared at the woman that she had distrusted from
the beginning. "That is positively the most ridiculous,
convoluted assessment of religion to which I have had the
extreme displeasure of being privy," she fumed, "If there is
no predestination, as you claim, then how can you possibly
know for certain how man will react if the Truth is laid at
his feet? As one who espouses the belief that God created us
all to choose our own path in life, I am offended by the fact
that you think that we could generate mass despair if people
knew the Truth, or that you are willing to destroy the path we
have carved for ourselves in order to prevent what you fear the
most. How can you blame us for defending our right to live as
one of God's creations?"
"The Bible warns of false prophets, Agent Scully," Lauren replied
curtly, "Your entire existence at the Bureau has been manufactured, a
carefully thought out plan to perpetuate the lies that They want the
public to believe. After all you've experienced over the years,
after the complete absence of proof that has been your fondest,
yet most elusive of goals, I should think that by now you'd begin
to at least question whether what you think you know is the most
complete and inalienable of Truths. What good would it be to
expose what you've discovered if it turns out to be nothing but
lies?"
"I came into the X-Files believing that all unexplained phenomena had
some discernible cause, that everything could be explained by simply
unearthing the scientific reasoning behind the matter. When my
religion faltered, my science kept me grounded. I relied on it, and
my hope for a better life in the next world to dictate what I thought
was right and true. Now I know the real truth. Man cannot live
without faith, the faith that Mulder has in his desperate quest for
what lies behind the unexplained. I have faith in him and his
beliefs, and others will, too."
The Spirit transformed once more into the Son. His yellow hair shone
wildly in the moonlight and a hollow deadness collapsed over his
crazed eyes. "There will be no others," he said softly, slowly
drawing out each and every word, "You will never again see the light
of day. You shall pay for the sins committed in the eyes of the
Father with the most supreme of sacrifices. 'A life for a life!
Anyone who inflicts an injury on his neighbor shall receive the same
in return. Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth'."
The Yellow-Haired Man picked up a silver, cylinder-shaped object from
a nearby table. Pushing a button on the side, a deathly "swoosh"
filled the silent room as a thin, sharp blade appeared from the
center. His eyes gleamed in the darkness as he advanced towards the
two partners, "Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Limb for
limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."
Scully's cerulean eyes widened in fear. He came closer
and closer, his footsteps thumping softly on the off-white
carpet. He carried the weapon in his right hand, which was
raised with a menacing intent. He advanced towards Scully,
the glistening point shone deadly in the moonlight.
"Take me," Mulder yelled unexpectedly, "I'm the one you want, I'm the
murderer, take me!"
"Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."
"Take me, you fucking bastard! She has nothing to do with this! I'm
the reason that she got mixed up in all of this, take me!"
"Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."
"Answer me you sadistic piece of half-bred alien shit!"
The Yellow-Haired Man turned towards Mulder. "You shall both die," he
said, smiling coldly, "But I'll grant your request. You shall be the
first to be reunited with the Father."
Scully's blood turned cold. "Please, don't," she cried, "don't do it,
I can't lose him!"
The Yellow-Haired Man placed his left hand on the weapon,
interlocking it over his right. He raised the weapon above
his head.
"By the sweat of your face shall you get bread to eat, Until you
return to the ground, from which you were taken; For you are
dirt, and to dirt you shall return..."
Scully screamed as he lunged at Mulder.
"No, Mulder!"
Scully watched helplessly as the weapon began its descent. Mulder
closed his eyes tightly as he prepared to make his peace with the
world. It was as though time had stopped short altogether. He
cherished his final seconds with Scully, but wished desperately for
the end, so that his reunion with her in the next life might be
hastened.
It was strange feeling. He felt no pain, and the seconds ticked away
slowly, slowly, as if each minute was drawn out into the span of a
century.
And then it came. He felt the sharp, searing pain, but it
was somehow different than what he had imagined. He let out
a cry of anguish, and he felt his eyes roll back into his head.
What was it that was so strange? It was not registering. All
that he felt was the pain running through his head, down to his
chest, and through his arm. He could not concentrate, to think
clearly enough to reason out the problem.
He gazed up through his half-closed eyelids, expecting to see the
Yellow-Haired Man glowering over him with the contented expression of
a fresh kill gleaming in his eyes. The shapes fuzzed over, became
clear, and became fuzzy once again. He narrowed his lids and focused
his eyes through the throbbing in his arm. It was the Son's crazed
visage into which he was staring, but there was something different.
He couldn't figure it out. What was different? He concentrated
again. This time he understood. It was the eyes. It wasn't the
crazed, blue eyes of a madman into which he was looking, but the
soft, warm, chocolate eyes of the woman he once loved.
The Yellow-Haired Man's face was distorted in anguish and confusion.
"What are you doing?" he asked aloud, "You're going to ruin
everything!"
His face changed over into that of Lauren's. "I won't let you," she
said, "I can't let you do this. I love him, I won't let you hurt
him." Her left hand grasped her right wrist fervently, pulling the
weapon back from Mulder as much as possible.
Mulder was once again staring into the face of the Yellow-Haired
Man. "You can't stop me," the Son said, pushing with all his might
against the inner force holding him back, "We won't be defeated."
Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder noticed Scully struggling with
her binds. She glanced at him.
"Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked, wondering how much longer the
mental battle within the Trinity would rage.
He looked at the source of his pain. His arm was bleeding profusely,
but he had no other injuries. He nodded his head in assent.
"She stopped him," Scully explained to the best of her ability, still
tugging at the ropes, "He tried to get your neck, but then he pulled
back at the last moment and struck your arm."
"We can play catch-up later, Scully," he told her, gesturing towards
the binding, "For now, how's it going with those ropes?"
"I think I can, yes, if I can just." She wriggled beneath
the knot as the Yellow-Haired Man approached her.
"No you don't," he said, "You're not getting away that easily." But
once again, some internal force pulled him back against his will.
Mulder shot her an anxious look. "Clock's ticking," he informed her.
"Thanks," she answered wryly as the ropes on her left hand
simultaneously frayed and gave way. "There!" she said exuberantly.
She glanced over at him. "Couldn't have done it without you," she
told him, reaching to untie the ropes on her right.
"How'd you do it, Scully?" he asked amazed as she continued to work
away.
"Oh, I just sawed through the ropes with the rusty nail that was
holding them," she answered, "Remember, my plan from before that you
thought was destined to fail?"
Her right hand was now free and she bent down to work at the ropes on
her feet.
"You can gloat later," he said, "Just get me the hell out of these
things." He shook his hands violently through the ropes.
She pulled her legs free from the constraints and gave a quick
look in Lauren's direction. She and the Yellow-Haired Man were
still battling it out. She debated whether she should attempt
to disarm Lauren or free Mulder first. She ultimately decided
upon Mulder.
She ran towards him, keeping a careful eye on their assailant.
As she worked on his ropes, she informed him, "They took my gun."
"It won't do any good anyway," he replied, "I tried shooting them
already. Nothing doing. The only thing that will stop them is a jab
to the back of the neck. Somehow, we've got to get that weapon
out of her hands."
"That won't be necessary," a throaty voice answered. Mulder, still
tied up, looked towards the direction from which the voice had come.
Lauren was gazing back at him, a sad look in her eye. "It's okay,
Fox," she told him, "I'm in full control, now." It was true. The
struggling had ceased and it appeared that all traces of the
Yellow-Haired Man were gone.