~ Chapter Two ~
Scully tossed in her unfamiliar bed. Scenes
unfolded all around her, red and terrible and
teeming with screams:
Jonathan, Sabrina and Clarissa Talbot all standing
in the kitchen. The smell of burning sage fills the
air. Their mouths move, but no sound can be heard
over the rushing noise in Scully's ears. The three
figures clasp hands, forming a circle. Rosaries
dangle from each joint pair; one made of rose
petals, one made of sandalwood. The newest one is
white, its young owner possessing it since First
Communion. They are precious little protection for
what they have unwittingly invoked.
Swirling, swirling. There's more anger in this room
than Scully thought possible, more concentrated
malevolence than could be imagined. So much the
room seems to pulse red with it.
But no, it isn't the house. It is the house, but
the red...the hot, screaming red...
It's blood. And they're dying.
~*~
She woke with a scream strangling in her throat, so
desperate to escape it felt like her heart was
going to explode. Sweating and panicked as she was,
she almost didn't see the misty figure at the foot
of the bed, fading into the darkness of the room.
Almost.
"It's nothing," she told herself. "It was just a
bad dream."
Unbeknownst to her, three doors down, her partner
was having the exact same nightmare.
~*~
By 5:28 in the morning, it was obvious that Scully
wasn't going to be getting back to sleep. She
groaned in frustration and sat up, deciding a dip
in the heated pool downstairs would be just the
thing to clear her muzzy head. Mulder should have
still been asleep, so there was little chance of
him walking into the poolroom to see her swimming
in a makeshift bikini of bra and panties. She
wrapped herself in a bath robe and headed
downstairs.
Scully looked up at the glass ceiling making up the
recent enclosure, noting the faintest light coming
through. The effect was like being in a greenhouse
-- an exceptionally nice greenhouse, with the
clearest jewel of a swimming pool situated in the
middle and wicker furniture surrounding it.
Ignoring the video camera set up in one corner of
the room, she disrobed and made a clean dive into
the pool. The water was invigorating. She thought
about the dream, wondered what it meant, then
chided herself for being silly. It didn't have to
mean anything -- it was a dream; a product of
investigating this case, seeing the crime photos,
familiarizing herself with the facts relating to
the family and their deaths.
Just one more lap to go. She was almost finished,
contemplating the coroner's notes she'd read on the
way up from DC as she swam when something from
beneath her pulled at her waist. Startled, she made
an instinctive gasp before being pulled under.
Blackness. That's all she could comprehend. And the
tight, suffocating pain in her air-deprived lungs
as she twisted and flipped beneath the surface. It
still had her, holding her under. The pain in her
chest became so great, she thought it would explode
from the force of it. She tried to keep her head
(how long can a person live without air? How long
before their lungs collapse?), but the longer she
went without air, the longer she felt the invisible
force tugging at her with unbelievable strength,
the more panicked she became.
And then, for no reason at all, it let her go.
She struggled to the edge of the pool and pulled
herself up with trembling arms. Oh my God, oh my
God, she thought. What the hell was that? She
pulled her legs out of the water like it burned her
and grabbed her robe.
Scully left the room backwards, never letting her
eyes leave the pool. Not even a ripple betrayed its
calm now. It was as if the thing had turned to
glass. Shivering, she rushed out into the hall. Was
someone in there with her and she just didn't know
it? It was possible -- her thoughts were all over
the place and maybe she just wasn't as observant as
she could've been. But who could be in the house
besides Mulder?
Mulder. No, she wouldn't even think about it. It
was crazy! Mulder would never hurt her.
Regardless of her thoughts, or perhaps because of
them, she yelped when she came in contact with a
solid form in the hallway.
"Scully? What's wrong?"
She backed away from her partner. "What?"
He stepped closer, a concerned look on his face. "I
asked what's wrong? What happened?" He looked over
her shoulder in the direction she just came from.
She didn't answer, just stood there shaking. He's
dry, she thought. It couldn't have been him because
he's dry. Mulder's eyes narrowed. "Did you just
come from the pool?"
She nodded.
"Was something in there with you?"
She shivered involuntarily. It was nothing, she
told herself. Lack of sleep and an imagination
fueled by ghost stories. She'd lost her
orientation, that's all. Nothing more.
"No," she answered in a cracking voice. Clearing her
throat, she forced her voice to sound normal. "I was
just swimming and got disoriented."
He looked dubious. "Scully, it's okay. You can tell
me--"
"Look, Mulder, I really need to take a shower and
get to the coroner's office."
He said nothing more, letting her pass without
comment. As soon as she was out of sight, he made
his way toward the poolroom.