Disclaimer: The following characters and concepts are property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. To sum it up, there's no money being made off the thinking, writing, and posting of this story, and it's for entertainment purposes only.
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"Nothing's fine I'm torn,
I'm all out of faith. This is how I feel,
I'm cold and I'm ashamed, bound and broken on the floor."
~Natalie Imbruglia, Torn from Left in the Middle
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Chapter 4: The Technical Term is Super Soldier
There was the sound of footsteps moving over the mosaic tiles outside the front door. Then they disappeared into the night. Monica couldn't breathe, watching the eyes of her ex staring at her, eating her alive. John had the same feelings it seemed, but he moved quickly to the bedroom and grabbed the extra guns they had in the chest of drawers. Monica darted after him.
"Jesus Christ, John." She said, catching the firearm he tossed to her. He was already on the phone to the police.
"Close all the blinds, Monica." He said, putting his hand over the mouth piece. She did so, shutting the curtains and the blinds, running down the hall and following suit with the other rooms.
She was on the landing, at the rail, when she heard the back door being kicked in and the glass shattering from the windows. Her heart skipped a beat, listening to the silence that followed. Silence, she thought to herself. Whoever was coming inside obviously had no intention of being seen or heard.
John peeked out of the bedroom, his gun in his right hand.
"They're in the house." Monica said quietly, her voice a shaky whisper. John nodded, looking over the rail and stepped back a few steps, pressing his back against the wall. She followed suit, back against the wall. They kept quiet, listening for the sound of anything. Eventually, the person had to give themselves away, right?
And in any case, they couldn't make it up the stairs without being shot.
"Meredith." John said quickly. Monica nodded, sliding down the wall to the TV room, finding Meredith asleep on the couch, curls spilled over the pillows like an angel. She turned back into the hall, looking into the foyer as it filled with light. John nodded to her, moving after her.
"One of us stays up here." He said. Monica nodded. "I'll go downstairs and try to get a shot at them. Whatever you hear…"
"I can't promise that John."
"Well you're about to."
"No." She said to him. "I will not stand hear and wait for you to die."
He knew she wasn't lying.
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She didn't know why she felt another presence in the house. There was the man and the woman that was true. But there was something else, something…
She couldn't verbalize it, or maybe didn't want to or feel the need to. But she did feel like she was missing something as she planned out the deaths of two of the house's residents.
The man would be injured first. She could see his pain, how much his family meant to him. He would watch the woman die, and then he would die but decapitation. She opted against the use of a gun. It was too quick and too painless. He needed to die painfully, in pure agony.
Like you are.
You got us shot you stupid bitch!
You're losing your touch.
I bet you won't even kill them.
FUCK OFF. She made it perfectly clear now that they should be quiet, but the ringing in her ears persisted.
Ignoring it now with the drugs in her system flushed out, she moved to the drawers and snatched up a sharp knife, the handle fitting in her hand like it was made for her.
She could smell the blood already. It would have made her smile.
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John was very cautious as he moved down the stairs, back facing the wall, gun extending towards the archways into the kitchen and living room. His eyes traced through the darkness, softly illuminated by the sliver of sunlight that had peaked its head out from the horizon. The white tiles in the kitchen gleamed with a dull light, the pieces of glass twinkling like stars near the back door. He kept his guard up, however, remembering how quick she had been to attack in the street, assuming that it was she who was breaking and entering.
He stepped past the head, looking from door to door. Cockily, the woman strode in front of the kitchen door, standing still, a knife in one hand dangerously hanging at her leg. She looked so deadly now, cruel and beautiful, ear dripping blood down her red locks of now short hair. She looked familiar somehow, like John was having deja vu.
But he didn't have time to think about who she reminded him of. She stepped towards him, boots connecting with the floor and echoing into the vast room that lay before her. John was still aiming his gun eyes not moving.
His finger pulled the trigger. The bullet hit her in the left shoulder, throwing her off balance for a moment. While recoiling, she lifted up her own weapon. It never fired, as John had fired again.
This time she was ready, and with inhuman speed she dropped, the bullet zooming over her head. The action caused her ear to bleed green fluid down her skin, making long lines of burned flesh. She ignored the pain again and ran straight for him.
The two bullets he fired had no effect, and with a crack, she disappeared, reappearing behind him. She spun around, kicking him to the ground and landing with the knife to his throat. Green blood streamed out now, making her head spin. Just as quickly she felt her heart pound and the woman opened fire on her in the foyer.
She slashed John's chest with the knife, jumping over him and running out behind the house, taking off quickly.
Monica forgot about John momentarily and ran to the windows, breaking through the screen and landing two more shots before the woman was into the woods behind the house.
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~STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! THAT WAS PATHETICALLY STUPID! You could have killed them both.~
*I could not have. You're injured you moron and you're bleeding all over me.*
~Oh, I see, just blame us will you? You are so juvenile sometimes.~
*Shut up! Jesus I didn't ask for this.*
~No, but you did require our help. We provided a service, so you must in return provide us with a service.~
*I couldn't have killed those two.*
~You were so bold in the kitchen. You were so sure of yourself. What happened to you? You're thinking about those people again aren't you?~
*No.*
~We can see everything you think of, silly. What's this? You have been trying to remember those two, haven't you? You're trying to remember your mother.~
*Get out of my head!*
~Too late really, we're already here. Let's look through some of these other memories. Oh! Look what we've found: Your first kill. It seems as though you were bound to be a killer. But now look at you, running from those Agents like you're afraid of them or something.~
*I'M NOT AFRAID OF THEM.*
~So kill them. Go back there and shoot them dead.~
*GET OUT OF MY HEAD!*
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William Scully was shy around other people. He was a small redheaded boy with large green eyes and freckles, cute and kind. He was a year older than Meredith, even though he had less self-confidence. Meredith was bubbly with a lot of boy and girl friends. He was sullen and withdrawn, preferring to be on his own rather than with other people.
"Will?" His mother called him, alerting him from watching the small Japanese fighter fish swim in the tank by his bed. He looked to the doorway as she stepped inside. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing." He replied simply, turning back to the fish as he dropped a few flakes of fish food onto the water's surface. William wished he was a fish. Sometimes, if he imagined hard enough, he could be inside that fish tank. Unfortunately, he came to his senses before long.
"Monica's bringing Meredith over for a while and Phoebe's going to baby sit, okay?" William nodded without complaint, not questioning where his parents were off to, understanding that it was probably personal business with his aunt and uncle. He would be stuck with Meredith all afternoon. At times it was fun to have someone younger around. The problem with Meredith was that she was a girl, and that she wasn't about to be bossed around.
And she probably has cooties, he thought childishly, smiling to himself as the fish swam around in the tank.
He had once been taunted about Meredith. Some of his friends had decided it would be hilarious to belt out "William and Meredith, Sitting in a tree!" It had gotten considerably worse when they found more sexually orientated variations, including, "William and Meredith, sitting in a bar. Are they humping, yes they are!"
Peter had paid dearly for that. William had punched him, and it had hurt.
It was his first display of violence. Other than that William was a lover, not a fighter. Meredith had joked with him, saying that he was Will from Pirates of the Caribbean and she was Captain Jack Sparrow, taking it upon her self to mock him as a eunuch whenever she could.
"What is a eunuch anyway?" He asked her one day. Meredith tapped her chin, deep in thought for a moment.
"I dunno. It can't be too good though, can it?" She laughed out loud.
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Police were swarming the house. There wasn't much she could do but watch, perched in a tree like a wild animal, watching the people move below, speaking in code and ordering the woods to be checked with a fine tooth comb.
The blood had stopped dripping by now. It didn't matter anyways. The dogs couldn't pick up the scent on her blood. It was far too smartly designed to be followed by mangy dogs.
She had only killed two police officers, this she admitted without pride. She could have taken on two precincts at that point with how much anger she was feeling. She failed two missions that day. She failed not one but two missions.
~You're pathetic. Get out of this god damn tree and kill them.~
She lowered herself onto a branch, hidden, by the thick leaves. It didn't take long for her to lose consciousness.
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By the time the police had left, there were still two cars parked on the street in front of the house. John hated the idea of them watching his family through the night, but there were really no other options he had left. It was obvious that the woman, whoever she was, was ready to kill them. It was also clear that she was not entirely human. It made him feel like a traitor as he neglected the sensible beliefs of a soldier and turn to the far fetched escapades of a man like Fox Mulder.
And why should he? Simply because the woman displayed some physical traits that made her slightly inhuman?
No, it was because he had seen all this before and heard this song and dance so many times before. It was because he had nearly been killed by several of these 'super soldiers' before hand.
And he knew it was triggered by Follmer. It had to be. They were the one who interfered in her assassination of Brad Follmer. She had a reason to be angry.
But then why did she kill Follmer? The thought made him frustrated with how he couldn't determine why Follmer was a target. It would take a little digging for information, and files that he still had access to.
He took Monica with him, dropping Meredith off at Phoebe's apartment for what he said would be a couple of hours.
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Sorry, it's a little short. Please review!