"Agent Doggett, why don't you find Sheriff Hutchins to take Jason to a cell?" Scully suggested.
"Sure thing," Doggett said. As he exited the room, Doggett's eyes lingered on Jason, sending a cold chill down the boy's spine. After the door was closed, Jason felt the sting of Scully's glare.
"All right," Scully said, pulling a chair out and sitting down across from Jason. She looked him in the eye to show she meant business. "I know who you're protecting."
"R-really?" Jason stammered.
"Yes, and as hard as it is to pin these crimes on you, it'll be harder to pin them on him. Why did Bobby kill those kids?"
Jason sighed. "Bobby didn't kill them," he said meekly.
"Don't lie to me, Jason. I understand you want to protect your little brother, but I don't want you lying to me. Why did he kill them? Did he see how much she hurt you by turning you down? And then he figured it was because she was with the football player, so he just killed them both? Is that it?"
Jason sighed, the air taking a lifetime to exit his lungs. "More or less," he said. "The day she turned me down…God, I don't know what I was thinking when I asked her in the first place. But the night she turned me down, I was pretty torn up, and I thought if I locked myself in my room nobody would notice, but I guess Bobby did. And since he's got to take care of his big brother…"
"I see. And then he blamed Caitlin for saying that it was you that killed them, and since he didn't like her anyway, he decided to get a little bit of sick revenge."
"Yeah. I didn't…I didn't know about any of this until I caught him sneaking back in the house this morning. I made him tell me everything."
"Even how he did all this?"
"He showed me. I…I didn't believe it at first."
"What can he do?"
"He…he calls it Awesome Mind Funk." Jason chuckled, but Scully wasn't laughing. Jason cleared his throat and continued. "He can like make a person see an illusion, and though it's not really happening at all, you think it is. I mean, you can smell and see and feel every part of it. He…he made me feel like I was singing with Bruce Springsteen. It was…unbelievable. He says he can't do anything too big or grand, just small scale stuff and one person at a time."
"I wouldn't call two murders and a rape small scale. How did he keep this hidden so long?"
"I have no idea," Jason said. "He usually has such a big mouth."
There was a knock on the interrogation room door, and Scully's eyes snapped to it. "Who's there?" she called.
Nobody answered her, but there was a second round of knocking. She knew—she just knew--it wasn't Doggett or the Sheriff. Scully's heart fluttered like the butterflies in her stomach. It was a sick feeling, and her instincts told her to stay put as walked towards the door. Her hand reached behind her back until she felt the handle of her gun, and she cautiously put her hand on the doorknob. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned it and opened the door.
"Why hello, Clarice," the man, the neatly groomed, evil man on the other side of the door said. He grabbed her by the hand and throat and pushed her back against the wall, bouncing her head off the concrete. She groaned and struggled. His grip was a vise, and her gun fell to the floor as she choked for air.
"Bobby, stop!" Jason said, standing to his feet.
"Shut up, Jay," Hannibal Lector shouted at him. "I'm trying to save your ass. Now," he turned to Scully, "tell me, Clarice. Would you ever say to me 'Stop. If you love me, you'd stop'?"
"Stop the game, Bobby," Scully said sternly. She kept cool, though her lungs twisted and turned as the hand tightened around her neck. It felt like a train was pounding through her blood vessels. "Stop this. You're only going to complicate things further and make it harder on yourself."
"You ignore my question, Clarice, how very impolite. Quid pro quo. Would you ever tell me to stop? That if I really loved you, I'd stop?"
His breath was like dragon fire on her neck, and his mouth was so close to her face that she could see his teeth, dripping like fangs. Lack of sleep and fear rattled her brain, yet in this moment, one scene became clear in her head. It was a perfect image, and she could see every detail. She could hear the words that a man, a man that knew her better than anyone else, had spoken to her not long ago on one lonely, quiet night. "Scully," he had said, "would you ever tell me to stop? That if I truly cared about you as a partner, a friend, or something more, that I would stop chasing after shadows, that I would give up this foolish quest that seems to lose me everything?" He was a broken man at the time, looking for assurance. She had smiled, placed her hand gently on his cheek, and spoken the words she now said: "Not in a thousand years."
The fangs moved in for her neck, aiming to tear out a chunk of her flesh, and Scully closed her eyes and waited for the wrenching pain to start. His breath was hot and wet, and she knew the end would be any moment. "That's my girl," Hannibal said suddenly, and he pulled back. He let her go, and he looked down sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he said gently, and for a moment he sounded more like the little boy than a Hollywood icon. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, and Scully could smell the fumes on it. "I'm really really sorry, Agent Scully," he said again, and pressed the rag to her face.
Scully fought and held her breath as long as she could, but eventually she had to inhale. Then everything went black as Scully collapsed to the floor at the feet of Dr. Hannibal Lector.
…