Title: Disciple
Author: CeilidhO
Summary: What if Scully had accepted the transfer to Salt Lake City? Five years later, a horrifying murder case reunites her with Mulder, even as it threatens to rip apart her life.
Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
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George Hoffman sat in an interviewing room at the FBI building, quiet and impassive behind the worn wooden desk, idly swivelling in the understated chair. Scully watched him from the narrow room behind the one-way mirror, her jaw set, arms crossed over her chest, her mouth turned down. Mulder stood beside her.
"What do you think Scully?"
"I don't know yet. I just don't." She sighed. On her other side, Dan leaned forward and put his forehead right to the glass.
"He looks so normal. He didn't make a fuss at all when we brought him in, just seemed confused."
"They always look so normal…" Paring mused. He was sifting through some notes behind them, his brow furrowed in concentration, one eye constantly on the man in the semi-dark room facing toward them. He shook his head, and then changed the subject. "Who's going in first?"
"I have to." Mulder said intensely, his voice barely above a whisper. "If it is him, I have to know if I'm right. I have to meet him."
On an impulse Scully gently reached over and took his hand. He looked down in confusion, his eyes clouded with absorption. She flicked her eyes away from him; a slight guilty churning in her stomach, then spoke quietly.
"I want to go in too." She knew that the raw memory of Jamie's room would not let her do otherwise. It screamed out to her, in a deep, pressing silence like water, like drowning. She gripped Mulder's hand a little more tightly.
They all watched through the mirror for a few moments longer, and then Mulder and Scully left the narrow room, squeezing out through the door and into the glaring, fluorescent brightness of the hallway, and from there into the slitted darkness of the interviewing room.
As they opened the door, Scully found herself fascinated by the narrow beam of early morning light falling on her shoe. As she dragged her eyes up, she saw that the man's face itself was clothed in darkness. The pale sunlight slipped through the slats of the blinds and illuminated only his delicate hands, folded neatly in front of him.
Scully crossed to the desk, Mulder only a few steps behind her, and seated herself across it. She felt suddenly, acutely, aware of the mirror behind her, and she fought the creeping sensation that inched up her spine at the sensation of the eyes on her back. She heard Mulder clear his throat.
The man across from her leaned forward slowly, letting the thin light slide across his face. He was about fifty years old, his hair salt-and-pepper grey, his face strong but lined, his nose almost aquiline. And then he shifted his gaze from Mulder to her.
His eyes shot out at her. They were almost black, deep and penetrating, glittering sharply like dark jewels, gleaming like black pearls. His gaze hit her like a slap, like a knife to the stomach, and she was paralysed, pinned to her seat like a rabbit, like a child. She understood in that moment that he saw everything, and she saw nothing. His eyes were the mirror behind her, a slick, lacquered surface, one-way blind. To her, they were blank, impenetrable; to him, a vantage point from which he could see everything, watching, silent and invisible.
Fear filled her, sweeping and final.
And then he blinked, slowly and softly.
With a jolt Scully was freed, shaking slightly. He was still watching her, but now his eyes were clouded and soft, merely a very dark brown, gentle, almost confused. He smiled slowly. She felt sick.
"Good morning," he said. "I trust you have an explanation for my late night journey here." His voice was quiet, measured, very faintly tinged with a desert lilt.
Mulder seemed shaky too, but he collected himself quickly. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Before I go any further, I'd like you to acknowledge on record that you have declined to have lawyer present here."
"I rather hoped I wouldn't need one."
Scully pried her cold fingers apart and pressed the 'record' button on the tape recorder sitting on the desk. She drew in a breath, and opened her mouth. It was dry.
"Nevertheless, Mr. Hoffman, we'd like you to state in on record." There. She'd done it; she'd talked to him.
"Very well." He leaned forward, and spoke very close to the speaker on the machine. "I, George Nathaniel Hoffman, have denied the offer of a lawyer while being questioned by the FBI, on this the eighth of June, 2003. I was not coerced in any way." He looked up slowly, his eyes rising lazily to fix Scully in their gaze. "Will that do?"
Mulder frowned. "Mr. Hoffman, you sound as if you've done this before."
Hoffman blinked and looked at him from the corner of his eye, almost coyly. "My ex-wife is a lawyer. You pick up these things."
"So you've never been arrested before?"
He laughed quietly, but there was a steel undertone to it. "I understood that I wasn't being arrested now."
"You're not, Mr. Hoffman. It's just a standard question." Scully managed to say. It was easier this time.
"Of course, Agent…"
"Scully."
"Agent Scully. I just thought you would already have all that information, right there in that nice little file." He raised his eyebrow slightly, but Mulder cut in.
"Mr. Hoffman, have you ever been to a town called Morgan, Idaho?"
"Yes, I believe I have."
"On what business?"
"Employment."
Scully forced herself to ask a question. "What is it exactly that you do, sir?"
"I am a travelling religious teacher."
"Could you elaborate on that?"
"It's almost like a bard for our own century, Agent Scully. I travel to different towns, different parishes, and preach the word of God to the children. I am doing my best to further their education in the Bible, and in the teachings of God."
"Why children, Mr. Hoffman?"
He smiled slightly, his eyes half closing lazily as he looked at her. "Because most adults will not allow themselves to learn anything new," he began. "And most of them gave up on religious education after they reached adulthood. I would very much like to see more adults in my classes, but they never come." He eyed Scully's neck, his gaze sliding down to the small golden cross glittering in the curve of her throat. "I hope you haven't given up, Agent Scully."
Mulder interrupted, his voice pushing into the silence that had followed.
"We are talking about you, Mr. Hoffman, not Agent Scully. Have you ever been to the town of Cranden, Montana?"
"Yes."
"When was that? Why were you there?"
"April of this year. For employment. I worked at a church called 'Our Lord' or 'Our Lady', maybe. Lutheran, if I remember correctly."
"And when were you in Idaho?"
"The following month. May. There I taught a First Communion Catechism class at an Anglican church."
"Please, Mr. Hoffman, search your memory. Do you remember two boys, one in each town: Jamie Holtz and Thomas Kent?"
"Thomas in Idaho, and James in Montana?" The James shot through Scully like a current. She knew Mulder had noticed it too, although he gave no outward sign.
"That's correct." He said.
"Yes, I do remember them. Both very pious, devoted. I do hope Thomas passed Communion. Why are you asking?"
"Because they're both dead. They were murdered." Mulder's tone was flat. Hoffman's eyes widened. Scully looked away.
"Sweet Mary…" He crossed himself slowly. Scully felt a rush of anger.
"Don't you think that's awfully convenient? You visit both these towns, both these boys die?"
"Agent Scully, you can't be suggesting…"
"Think back, Mr. Hoffman. Scipio, Utah. Polson, Montana. Leamington, Utah. Dillon, Montana." Her voice rose as she continued the list. "Salt Lake City, Monticello, Vernon. Rangley, Colorado. Think, Mr. Hoffman. Do you remember teaching in these places?"
Mulder narrowed his eyes and added. "Because I know that it will only be a matter of time before we find out that you taught in those towns too. I think it would be better if you told us now. What do you think, Mr. Hoffman?"
"I think," he said smoothly. "That I had better take you up on that lawyer."
A few hours later the sun was streaming in through the blinds of the interviewing room, real summer gold, not the pale imitation of earlier. Hoffman was winding up his talk with the government lawyer, and Scully hadn't left the narrow room behind the mirror yet. The door opened with a soft squeal.
"Hey," Mulder said gently. "I've brought you some coffee."
Scully turned and took the steaming cup between her hands, feeling the warmth radiating through the cheap Styrofoam, doing little to dispel the clammy chill of her hands. She took a deep breath, then opened her mouth.
"It's him, Mulder. I know it's him. My god, did you see, did you feel his eyes?"
"That sort of reasoning is supposed to come from me, Scully." His eyes were warm, but clouded with concern. "Things aren't looking so good out there. The lawyer's been out talking with Chilton and some of the SSAs, and they're not very happy at all. They feel we've taken 'unsubstantiated leaps'."
She laughed hollowly. "They think this is a leap? Mulder, do they remember who you are?" She turned back to the room, her eyes fixed on the man inside. Mulder shifted uncomfortably.
"I think that they're just happy I haven't reverted to saying aliens did it, a relapse brought on by proximity to you." He was trying to keep his tone light. Scully sighed and shook her head, then rubbed her forehead wearily.
"Mulder, what's happening to me?" Her voice cracked, and she put a hand to her mouth. "Why do I feel so consumed?" She was almost whispering now. "Why do I feel so afraid?"
He was in front of her in an instant, gathering her into his arms, coffee and all, holding her like a child. He held onto her, and she held onto him like a lifeline, drawing comfort from his familiarity. As her eyes fogged up she closed them, resting her head on his shoulder. He tucked his face into her hair, and whispered in her ear:
"Welcome to my world." She laughed quietly, and then reached up and took his head in her hands, kissing his forehead softly.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I needed that."
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity in the interviewing room, and Scully whirled around to see the lawyer packing up his briefcase and Hoffman putting on his jacket.
"Mulder…" she breathed. He was already halfway to the door, sprinting off down the hallway. The fluorescent light hurt her eyes. She could see Hoffman hovering at the doorway in the opposite room, the golden slits of light falling across his back. After an eternity, Mulder was back, his face flushed, his eyes over bright with anger.
"Shit, Scully, they're letting him go."
"What? How can they…"
"They say we've got evidence, but it's all circumstantial and not enough to keep him here. He's signed an affidavit that he won't leave the county without contacting us or the police, 'merely for our peace of mind of course'." He imitated the cadence of Hoffman's voice. "Chilton told me off the record that the lawyer found a clause that basically invalidates everything we used to bring him in, even though it'll still hold up in court." He slammed his fist down on the little table. "Damn it!"
Scully's heart was pounding, and breath came tightly in her chest. "They can't." she said, and then again, louder: "They can't just let him walk out of here!"
Mulder was grim, restrained fury etched in his face. "There's nothing we can do."
"How can there be nothing?" Scully's tone was almost plaintive. Mulder didn't answer.
Through the mirror, they watched Chilton come to the door of the other room, and hold it open. The lawyer walked through, but Hoffman paused. He turned and gazed straight at them, straight at Scully. She felt herself go cold, fear washing over her in freezing waves. His eyes were sharp again, glittering, glowing black again, piercing her down to her soul, pinning her in place, paralysing her. She couldn't look away.
He tilted his head slightly, half-smiling lazily. He raised his hand and waved slowly, childishly, his gaze fixed on her. He mouthed something, inaudible through the glass, but Scully knew exactly what he had said:
"See you around, Agent Scully."
That afternoon, Scully sat with the others in their basement office. No one had spoken in almost half an hour, each person wrapped up in their own melancholy. They had been so sure that they'd ended it…
The harsh buzzing of the phone interrupted their reverie. Mulder stared at it for a second before picking up.
"Mulder. Yes, sir. Yes, sir, we're on our way." He hung up the phone slowly, and then turned to the others, his eyes shadowed. "That was Chilton. They want us upstairs."
The elevator ride up to the fifth floor, the executive floor, was thick with anticipation, each of the agents shuffling nervously, trying not to look at anyone else. Scully could faintly see her smudged reflection out of the corner of her eye. She wished she couldn't.
They got off at the fifth floor and trooped in silence down the gleaming hallway. Chilton's secretary let them in right away. Mulder's tie was crooked. Their steps were soundless on the thick carpet, and each took a seat in one of the four chairs squeezed in on the far side of Chilton's desk. The Assistant Director himself had his back turned as they entered. He turned around gradually, finally stopping with his hands on the desk, leaning on them as if for support. He began after a moment.
"I'd like an explanation for today. I would have liked an explanation before now, before you brought in a suspect without authorization. Damn it, do you realise how stupid that was? You could have had a chance, but instead you blew it on unsubstantiated leaps and circumstantial evidence. If you'd waited…"
Scully sat forward. "With all due respect, sir, we felt we didn't have any time to wait. If he is the killer, then we didn't have any time to wait-"
"That was not your call!" Chilton thundered. "Agent Scully, I'm disappointed. I thought you had better sense. I thought you were a better agent than this." Scully's ears rang. Mulder opened his mouth, beginning to speak, but Chilton cut him off. "I'm not interested, Agent Mulder. I'm not interested in anything any of you have to say anymore. This happy little Dream Team thing is over. You're all off the case."
"Sir!" Dan cried. "Chilton, you can't be serious!"
"Just watch me."
Mulder shot out: "This isn't right! More boys are allowed to die because of a legal loophole? How can-"
"Enough!" roared Chilton. Mulder's eyes flashed, but Scully gently put her hand on his knee, stopping him.
Paring leaned toward him, eyes pained. "Please, Assistant Director, we're so close. Just a little longer…"
"Correction, Agent Paring. You were so close. You and Agent Mulder will have to answer to your direct superiors. They want you back in Washington right now." The bottom fell out of Scully's world. Washington? Mulder stared at Chilton, speechless. The Assistant Director hardened his stare.
"Give it up, Agents." His voice was as cold as iron. "It's over."
The man was back Inside at last, and the Canvas was attempting to speak with him. He tuned out its pathetic mumblings and collected his materials. All Outside distractions over with, he set himself down to his task: preparing to finish the Canvas.
Already it was weak, and the days without food and water were taking their toll on it. Its skin was soft, malleable, hanging off its feeble skeleton, perfect for new inscription.
He lit the candles and the Canvas began to shriek, realising somewhere in its inner machinery what was to come. The man stripped off his clothing, relishing the feeling of the cloth slipping down him, tantalising his flesh.
He picked up his favorite knife, and, stepping towards the Canvas, he opened himself to his Art, settling the knifepoint into the Canvas, watching the welling black Holiness slip out into the air.
He stood in the golden light, as close as he could be to the Canvas, and felt the river of the Holiness flow across his own skin, falling in perfect droplets to the cold, hard floor.
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A/N: I'm so sorry about the delay. I completely ran out of creative juices before yesterday, so I wrote this all in one sitting. (But don't worry, it's been Beta'd).
Keep on reviewing, please! Big hugs to all my reviewers, and once again to Maverick Point: especially because you don't usually review; and to Amber: because you are so sweet, and your reviews always make me feel so warm and fuzzy… (I've got to stop doing this thanking people personnally stuff: it's only going to get me in trouble with the rest of you. *hug*)
Also, I'm shamelessly pimping my other story, Ardet Evanescit. I know it's a songfic (I couldn't help myself), but I don't think it's that bad. Please R&R it, pleeease?
Until next time,
Ceilidh