~ Chapter Three ~
Scully pulled the surgical gloves off and sat on
the stool beside the last corpse, frowning. Before,
she'd hoped the ME on the case had made a mistake.
It just wasn't likely that three healthy people of
varying ages could die of heart failure on the same
night at about the same time. The odds of it
happening were astronomical.
And yet, that's exactly what it appeared happened.
Jonathan Talbot, aged 46, Sabrina Talbot, aged 42
and Clarissa Talbot, aged sixteen -- all showed
signs of massive heart failure. It was astounding.
Scully was grateful the youngest of the Talbot
family, the six year-old named Megan, hadn't been
present at the time of the murders.
She stood, head reeling from her discoveries, and
covered Clarissa's mangled remains.
~*~
Mulder greeted her at the door later that night,
eyes flashing and hair in disarray. "Scully, you
have to see this."
Bang, bang, bang"How long has that been going on?" she asked.
He shook his head. "It started as soon as you
pulled into the driveway. Everything was quiet
while you were gone."
He led her into the living room and instructed her
to sit down on the couch. "Watch this," he said,
and his words were punctuated by the sound of
someone running upstairs. Mulder looked up at the
ceiling, then back at Scully. "I got this out of
the camcorder in the poolroom after you left.
Thought you might want to see for yourself."
He pressed play. The first few seconds of lead were
nothing but the room itself. When she saw herself
enter the room, take off her robe and dive in, she
still saw nothing out of the ordinary. Half-
expecting some flirty comment about her choice of
swimwear, she glanced over at him.
His face was grave.
After about three minutes of watching herself swim,
Scully started to wonder what it was she was
supposed to see. The tape didn't disappoint;
suddenly, there were tiny orbs of light flitting
lazily around the poolroom. She swam on, oblivious
to her visitors.
"That can't be what it looks like," she breathed
out. "It's impossible. A trick of the light."
The number of orbs increased, moved around as if
agitated. Then, she watched herself go under. She
stayed below the surface for what seemed like
forever, but it was a short time compared to how it
felt to experience it.
"It's real, Scully," he said in answer to her
denial. "I went in to take the tape out and replace
it with a new one. While I was there, I took some
readings. They were off the chart. Didn't you
notice the room was freezing? The foul odor?"
She shook her head. "It's impossible." She didn't
sound so convinced this time.
They were silent a moment. "What did you find out?"
he asked.
She sighed. "They were a mess, Mulder. I'm more
inclined to think they died of blood loss from the
numerous gashes in their bodies, but I can't deny
the ME's original findings were accurate."
"Their hearts?"
She nodded. "I've never seen anything like it. I'm
not even sure what to think. There has to be some
sort of rational explan---" She was cut off by the
sound of banging on the walls, followed by furious
whispers coming from nowhere. A family picture flew
off the wall, the glass scattering across the wood
floor.
"Mulder?"
He crossed the room and stood next to her, eyes
narrowed. "Just be still," he whispered to her.
"Daaay-naaa," a voice in an obscene imitation of
her sister's wailed above them. "Helllp meee." This
was followed by an evil cackling, still in a
disgusting parody of Melissa's sweet voice.
Scully shook hard, tears welling in her eyes. How
could it know about Missy? "What the hell is this
thing, Mulder?"
He wrapped his arms around her possessively,
glaring up at the ceiling.
"Get your stuff, Scully," he ground out. "We're
getting out of here."
Another cackle. Scully trembled uncontrollably;
Mulder guided her up the stairs as fast as they
could climb. The air seemed to thin and grow colder
with each step. When they reached the top, Mulder
turned to face his shaken partner. "You go on and
pack. I'll meet you in five minutes."
"Mulder don't!"
"It'll be faster. I have all that equipment--"
"No," she said flatly.
He searched her face; saw her wide, haunted eyes.
He'd never seen her so terrified. "Okay. But we
need to hurry." She gave him a half-hearted snort
as if to say, "Are you kidding me?"
They started down the hall, trying to ignore the
chill in the air settling itself deep inside their
bones. With no other warning, doors began slamming
shut up and down the corridor, one at a time.
It knew they were leaving.
"Mulder?" Scully gripped his arm.
"Just keep going, Scully," he said. She wasn't
comforted by the uncertainty in his voice. They
reached the darkened doorway to her room, the sweet
guest room with its floral wallpaper and sage-
colored sheets. She liked it so much just
yesterday. The fact that this was the only door
left standing open was not lost on either of them.
They looked at the open room, then at each other.
Something wasn't right.
Before anyone could comment, she felt strong arms
wrench her away from Mulder, the same strong
invisible force that had pulled her under the water
this morning. It threw her into the room and
slammed the door behind her.
"Scully!" Mulder yanked at the door, pounding into
it, doing anything to try to get it open.
"No. No!" he heard her shout. And then, there was
nothing but the sound of her screams. It was worse
than a nightmare. He bellowed her name again,
throwing all of his weight against the door.
Inside, it swirled around her, striking at her from
all sides. She was powerless against it; all she
could do was guard her face from the attack as best
she could. Wet trails chilling on her cheeks and
forehead told her she wasn't doing such a great
job. Slicing, ripping, scratching. It seemed the
torment would never end.
And then just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
She rolled into a ball on the floor, breath
hitching in pain and terror. How could any of this
happen? Tears streaked down her face, mingling with
fresh blood. Two days ago, she'd laughed at
Mulder's crazy ghost theory. Then again, two days
ago this sort of thing was a scientific
impossibility in her world. Her body shook with the
force of her tears. Somewhere in the back of her
mind she realized she was even more vulnerable in
this position.
"Oh my God. Scully." Mulder's voice sounded a
thousand miles away. She was vaguely aware of him
pulling her into his arms, warm arms, safe arms,
rocking her in the cold darkness. How could they be
warm? She wondered if she herself would ever be
warm again.
"It'll never let us leave," she mumbled in a shaky
voice that sounded foreign to her ears. "It'll
never let us go."
"Shh," he said, still rocking her. He stretched up
to the nightstand and flipped on the lamp,
upsetting their position for a moment. The room was
bathed in golden light. He twisted back to their
original arrangement and brushed her hair away from
her face. "Look at me for a minute."
She did. And her bottom lip trembled seeing the
look on his face. "That bad?" she asked.
Fury flashed in his eyes. "I've read about cases
like this, but I never thought... Jesus, Scully."
Cuts and scratches littered her face and arms. Her
clothes were ripped in places, blood from the
shallow abrasions coloring the fabric. He gathered
her into a tight embrace.
All was silent. They wondered how long it would
last.
It was Mulder who moved first. "Hey," he probed
gently. "Go ahead and grab your stuff. We can't
stay here."
She nodded and stood on shaky legs. He watched as
she threw clothes and toiletries into the suitcase
in a haphazard fashion, even leaving some things
behind in her wake. He picked up those items and
tossed them in.
"That's the last of it," she announced and shut the
case.
"Good. Let's go."
She followed him down the hall, noting that he
passed by his own room. "What about your--"
"Forget it. There's nothing in that room that
matters to me." He was already wearing his favorite
Knicks t-shirt, but would gladly have left it
behind if it were still in his bag. Clothes could
be bought again. There was no way he was subjecting
either of them to this house of horrors for another
moment -- not after it almost killed Scully.
Investigation be damned.
"We'll still have to gather the equipment, Mulder.
You might as well go back and get your things."
The EM meter, such a constant companion to him now,
felt heavy in his pocket. It was to be all he would
take with him. "To hell with the equipment," he
growled. "I'll replace it."
But when they reached the door, it was locked shut.
From the inside. They yanked and wriggled the
handle, but nothing budged. Mulder threw a chair
against the windowpanes lining the front door. The
chair's leg broke off; the windows remained intact.
Desperately, they attempted to smash every window
in the front of the house.
Scully rammed a statuette against the last window
they hadn't tried. It wasn't working. She pummeled
the window, each blow weaker than the last. All the
emotions she'd been holding inside, all the
desperate need to deny what was really going on,
all the failure, failing Mulder, failing herself --
they broke inside her. Melissa. It knew about
Melissa.
She stopped. Then she hit the ground hard, dropping
the statuette to the ground as she went. It didn't
exist anymore. "It won't let us leave," she said in
a broken whisper.
He turned around so she couldn't see his face.
"No," he said.
"Do they do this, Mulder?"
"I don't know. I've never heard of anything
like...this."
What else was there to say?
~ * ~
"I think I know why there's so much concentrated,
psychic activity in the kitchen," he said, idly
flipping a small, leather book back and forth in
his hands.
Scully sat up on the floor. "Why?"
"It's all the blood. It's attracted to it. I think
it's drawing strength from it."
The thought made her stomach flip. "Do you think
it's a coincidence that the family was murdered in
the kitchen?"
He thought about it a moment. "I wish I could say
it was, but I don't think so."
"What's that in your hand?"
"Not sure. I haven't had a chance to look at
it."
"Where'd it come from?"
"I tracked some energy from the kitchen to the
dining room just before you got back. Once I got
there, the energy just seemed to -- hover -- over a
small chest in there. I looked inside and found
this, but all that noise started up again and I was
distracted, so I put it in my pocket." He scowled.
"I don't like that this thing acts up around you.
It's like it's attaching itself to you or
something."
"Mulder, I think maybe we've both overreacted
here--"
"Are you kidding? Do you think you almost drowned
yourself? Do you think all these disturbances the
neighbors have reported --these murders -- are
imagined? Everything was fine until you got back,
Scully. It's like your presence provokes the damn
thing."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, I don't
know any more than you do, okay? I just want to go
home."
He reached out to touch her hand. "I know." After a
few moments of silence, save for the distant
rattles and bangs in the house, he spoke again.
"It's a journal."
He held the book up for her inspection, opened to
the first page.
Written in a clear, tight hand were the words,
'Journal of Sabrina Talbot'.
He turned the page and read aloud.