Chapter 11: Stroll in the Woods
107 Marilyn Drive
May 8th
3:13am
The predawn air was wet and chilly. Tiny droplets of moisture trickled down Scully's neck as she crouched behind the rose bush. She stared intently into the grime-encrusted window, making sure that the Cigarette-Smoking Man slept in his chair.
It was now or never.
She crept slowly to the backyard gate and climbed over effortlessly. Dropping down to the other side, she squinted in the darkness and surveyed what little could be seen by the light from the street. Her eyes traveled up the trunk of an enormous oak tree in the center of the yard. It would work just fine.
Like a cat she scrambled nimbly up into the leaves of the tree, crawling out along a branch that reached to a second floor window. Cautiously, trying to maintain her balance and her silence, Scully moved to sit astride the limb, fingers probing the screen of the window. She produced a knife and several other tools from her jacket pocket, and set to work on the point of entry.
In a few minutes she was done. Letting the screen hang loose against the brick, she slid up the windowpane and allowed herself to slide down the branch and into the room. A flashlight clicked on, illuminating the barren floors, the blank walls. Scully reached back for her gun.
Click.
She jumped a little. But it was just the safety.
Scully held both the gun and the flashlight in front of her and sidled out into the hall. She paused, listening hard for any sounds of life. When nothing reached her ears except the whisper of the breeze outside, she proceeded down the hallway, peering into every room. They were all empty.
The attic was the only likely place. Casey had known nothing about his aunt.
She climbed the stairs, back pressed against the wall. Thankfully, the wood did not creak. The motes that had been caught in the morning sun were now caught in the silvery moon. She stared at the streaks. The dust swirled and swam, flashing, beckoning. Like dreams.
Scully shook her head.
At the door at the top of the stairs she paused again, juggling with her gun and her flashlight for her thieves' playthings. She waited to hear voices—but all was silent. Swiftly she worked at the lock, and soon she stood back, one hand on the doorknob.
She clutched her gun tightly in the other hand. Slowly, agonizingly, Scully pushed open the door.
"Jesus," she gasped. The lights of the medical bay were blinding after the blackness she had become accustomed to. She stared in surprise at the bed and its occupant, at the shiny, state-of-the-art equipment.
"Cassandra…" Blinking rapidly, Scully hurried to the bedside. Cassandra slept deeply, as the result of some bedtime sedatives. Scully checked the pulse and the contents of the nearest steel tray. Satisfied, she moved over to the counter at the far end of the room and inspected the row of dishes and flasks. They were all labeled "Mulder."
In the freezer Scully found a plastic bag. With pieces of brain frozen inside. She tried not to gag.
She placed the bag, the dishes, and the flasks inside a paper sack she'd taken from a drawer. Then, finally, she turned to Cassandra. She had to get her out of there.
After the restraining straps were undone, Scully braced herself and hoisted the frail woman into her arms. She looked past Cassandra's feet at the bulging paper sack.
"This is going to be difficult."
State Department
May 8th
3:52am
"Sir! Sir!"
Ronald Davidson shied in the sudden light. "What the hell do you want?" he roared when he caught sight of Michael.
His assistant trembled. "A-Agent Scully is taking the woman, sir…"
"WHAT?"
"We only have cameras in the basement and the attic, an-and, she just came out of nowhere!"
"No shit! Get me the senator!"
The ungainly young man scuttled over to the phone and dialed a long number. "Here, sir," he said a moment later, handing Davidson the receiver.
"Roberts!" Davidson barked. "Spender's got Scully in on it, too?"
He waited only a second before he burst out again. "No? No? You don't know? Well, then, what the f— hell is she doing taking the woman? What—Michael!"
"S-sir?"
"What else did she do?"
"Y-your c-cultures, sir…" Michael watched in fear as his boss's face blew up like a red balloon.
"Roberts, take care of it!" Davidson shouted into the phone. "Kill her, him, anything! I want my cells!"
107 Marilyn Drive
May 8th
4:11am
The Cigarette-Smoking Man woke abruptly to the insistent ring of his cell phone. He answered it sullenly.
"What?"
The steely voice of Senator Pat Roberts greeted him on the other end. "You seem to be losing your touch."
"What?" The Smoking Man's tone changed from irritable to alarmed.
"Agent Scully has been inside your house."
The Smoking Man blinked. As realization dawned, he hastened to the defense.
"Nothing has gone wrong. I assure you," he said, running up the stairs and through the house.
"Mulder has been shot."
"That was not my doing. In any case, he is no longer useful to us."
"No. But a much more serious matter is hand."
The Smoking Man burst through the attic door. He looked in shock at the empty bed, the bare counter.
"No?" said the senator on the end of his phone.
"Yes. Yes, of course."
For perhaps the first time in his life, the Smoking Man was afraid.
A/N: Our vilest villain is human after all! :0)