Mores Bruja
Chapter Two: By the Fire
Disclaimer: See last chapter
:No spoilers:
!PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU PAY ATTENTION TO DATES!
October 29, 1692
Unknown location
He had planned on taking her out today, but it rained. He hated the rain, the rain ruined everything. The raid could douse the fire, and he could not have that happen. He would have to wait. And wait he shall, for the precise moment. He grabbed another sheet of parchment, and a pen. He carefully dipped it in the small bottle of ink, then began writing. The light from the candles casting odd shapes on the opposite wall.
It will happen tomorrow night, at midnight. I will take her to the field and tie her to the post using the old rope from the wagon. The blaze will light up the dark, bleak sky. They will try and rescue her, but will be too late. Too late to save their only daughter, what a shame that will be. I wish I could see the look on is face when they find out that she's pregnant. Of course, with no way of knowing the baby was his. They don't understand, that baby cannot live. It has to die, that . . . thing has got to die. And if she has to die with her child, then so be it . . . tomorrow . . . the field will glow with the sound of death October 29, 1692
October 27th 1995
11:35pm
Scully's apartment
She locked the door and put the chain on. The rain hammering the window mercilessly. Hanging up her soaked coat on the hook beside the door, she toes off her high heels. Walking into the kitchen, she grabs the tea kettle, fills it with water, then sets it on the stove. After turning the knob high enough to boil, she wandered to her white cordless phone and hit the flashing button.
"Five new messages. First message received at 7:36pm . . . beeeeeeeeep." Silence, click. This made her roll azure eyes as she falls onto the over-stuffed chair.
"Second message, received at 9:05pm . . . beeeeeeeeep. Hello Dana, this is Mrs. Willow from downstairs, I was wondering if you could help me pick out a color fabric for a quilt I'm making you for you birthday. Call me." Scully chuckled while browsing uninterested through the muted channels on her medium sized TV set.
"Third message received at 10:36pm . . . beeeeeeeeep." There's a silence for about five seconds, then the click. Hair now pulled back in a messy pony tail, she walks past the machine into the kitchen as the whistle goes off, signaling that her water is done.
"Fourth message, received at 11:26pm . . . beeeeeeeeep. Hey Scully, I guess you're not home yet. I know this sounds desperate and cliché, but I'm lonely . . . you know one is the loneliest number . . . sorry, I'm not quite sure where that came from, anyways . . ." She snorts as she places the tea bag in the mug. "Do you realize I always end up leaving you a long drawn out message where I'm rambling like an idiot?" Pause, her eyebrows rise slowly. ". . . like now huh? Oh well, I'll shut up now seeya." She smiles, taking a sip of tea.
"Fifth message, received at 11:45pm . . . beeeeeeeeep." Her eyebrows furrow, that meant the person called while I'll was listening to . . .
" . . . you know one is the loneliest number . . . sorry, I'm not quite sure where that came from, anyways . . . snort Do you realize I always end up leaving you a long drawn out message where I'm rambling like an idiot? Like now huh? Oh well, I'll shut up now, seeya . . .click." Her eyes are wide as she backs into the counter, realizing too late that she's dropping her mug until it has shattered at her feet. Whipping out her gun, not having removed her holster like usual, she stands still. Completely still, shaking.
I'm shaking, I can't believe I'm shaking. Come on, I can handle this. Maybe . . .
Mulder was just relaxing against his couch as the phone rings. Sighting in defeat of his need for quietness, he reaches over and picks it up.
"Mulder." Nothing.
"Hello?" Then her timid voice.
"Mulder, I need help."
He barely manages to miss the car parked adjacent to hers as he races into her parking lot. Getting out, and taking out his gun, he sprints into her building. She can barely move, and cannot believe she is this scared, and that she called Mulder sounding that pitiful. 'Wimp!' She scolds herself. Jeez, can't even take care of a psychotic maniac who has broken into you apartment. Horrible, just hor-what was that? She inches closer to her bedroom door, about to push it open, her hand poised to push when something moved behind her. Before thinking rationally, she's spinning around, and hits the figure in the arm with her gun. About to ask just what the hell are you doing, she hears a groan followed by a voice.
"Damn Scully, what's your gun made out of, bricks?" Eyes widen in horror at what she just did.
He carefully eases the ice pack to the forming bruise as he peers at her in the dim light her desk lamp provides. Even though they searched her apartment, she still feels shaken. And the feeling doesn't plan on leaving for a while. Mulder can tell, she's pale, really pale, and is trying to act like she isn't. It doesn't fool him one bit.
"Scully? You okay?" She meets his eyes. Yep, she's shaken all right.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He just stares at her.
"Because when you called me, it sounded like Freddy Krueger and Chucky teamed up with Barney and were threatening to sing a melody of the Barney, Sesame Street and the Teletubbie song." Scully's turn to stare.
"You were scared to hell." He clarifies. She clears her throat, then looks down in shame.
"I didn't even know why, but I was so frightened." Mulder, shocked that she had confessed feelings that she had been in fact afraid, kneels down in front of her, and gently takes both her hands in his.
"Hey, look at me." His red-haired partner closes her eyes for a second, then looks up into his concerned-bright green ones.
"It's okay, shit, I would have peed my pants." She smiles shyly, but seems a little relieved. He stands up and pulls her with him.
"Come here." Under normal circumstances, she would have declined, but she didn't right now, because she needs some comfort. Inhaling deeply, Scully wraps her arms around his middle, Mulder's arms around her back. Feeling so much better and safe, and warm, she closes her light azure eyes. Thunder booms causing her to jump. He just holds her tighter, so she relaxes again. They stay this way for several minutes, until lightning cracks outside the window. She raises her head off his chest to gaze at him.
"Mulder, can I-"
"-stay over, sure." With a gulp, she buries her face again in his jacket, that smells like rain.
Unknown location
Same night, the 27th
Her once lively hair hangs ever limply to her slumping shoulders as she leans against the hard, damp wall. The bounce that was once in her curly locks is gone, along with the spark that was always present in her eyes. Eyes closed, she slowly strokes her soon to be protruding stomach while humming lowly. She has no idea how long she has been here. All she remembers is being attacked in that alley, then waking up here. Finally, without any more tears to be shed, she just sits, stroking, dreaming. She has already accepted death, knowing it will probably be inevitable. The man, her abductor, has only shown himself to her a total of three times; once for food and water, next just to stare at her, and the last time, when he touched her. Shuddering at the thought, she stops her movement to listen. The floor boards above her are creaking, she must be in a basement. Gathering some courage, she slowly and shakily stands. About to inspect the room she stops as a door near the end opens. She quickly sits back down, trying to resume the position she was in.
His footsteps get closer gradually, and she can feel herself shaking, sinking back against the wall. He reaches her, and she can make out the outline of his body in the darkness. He pauses, before resuming his agonizingly slow pace. She weakly pulls her shirt down and pushes herself backwards, although there is no space left to move into. Gulping, she freezes as he stops, inches from her. Silence ensues as he slowly squats down, staring at her through the darkness; a darkness that she cannot see through enough to make out his face. She stares at him for a few seconds when she suddenly feels something on her stomach, a hand. She jerks looking down at his hand. He recoils, his voice finally breaking into her.
"It's a girl." Her mouth opens and she coughs dryly.
"Ho-how do you know that?" He eyes her critically, not moving.
"It tis the reason." Her forehead crinkles as she squints.
"What is?" Her whisper dies as it reaches him. He slowly stands, hovering over her cowering figure.
"You shall know soon enough, chico poco. Luego . . . ." Her eyes close as he retreats, the door finally slams shut and she's left alone, well, not completely alone. Ignoring the tears running down her cheeks, she tilts her head down to look sadly down at her stomach.
"It's going to be okay Margaret Asha, it's going to be okay." She smiles as another cough escapes her, and she leans back against the wall, succumbing to her exhausted body. Two dark gray eyes slowly blink as her chest rises and falls in shaky breaths.
FBI Headquarters
Washington D.C.
October 28th, the next day.
Scully leans back in her chair, staring at the front of the postcard, thinking. There's something about it that she just can't figure out. She twists it around and reads the note for about the hundredth time.
"There's something . . ." She trails off, looking up as Mulder enters with their dinner. She has already looked back and began studying it again by the time Mulder could even set the food down. Sighing, he walks over to her and squats down next to her chair. She doesn't move.
"Scully?" She tiredly looks over to him and she seems kinda out of it to him.
"You need to eat something." She nods and sets the postcard down. He stands up to retrieve her food, and brings it over, along with his chair so he can sit opposite her. They eat in silence for about ten minutes, until he finally finishes his sandwich and toss the wrapper away.
"What do you think it means?" She leans back with a deep sigh, the rest of her salad forgotten. She's about to shake her head when it hits her, and her eyes light up.
"What?" Mulder asks worriedly, leaning forward. She flips the lamp on next to her and leans forward holding the postcard.
"These last two lines, 'So give up while watching the sunset glow, we are the dead.' What does that sound like?" He thinks for a minute before answering.
"Poetry, maybe a story?" She nods and stands, pushing the rollie(for lack of a better word shrug) chair out of the way before searching through the small bookcase she keeps next to her desk. Mulder just watches her, not wanting to break her concentration. Finally she pulls out a book and sits back down and flips through it.
"Not so Famous Poetry by Not so Famous Poets?" Mulder asks, reading the title, she pauses to glare at him before continuing.
"Got it." She finally states, before turning the book around and showing Mulder the page that she opened. He takes it from her.
"In 'Flanders Fields' by John McCrae?" She nods, "Read the second verse." His eyes move down the page.
"We are the dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn and saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie in Flanders fields." His eyebrows furrowing, Mulder read down, finishing the poem.
"It must be a clue, but why would he leave clues. Does he want us to find her?" Scully thinks for a minute, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Maybe he does, or maybe he's taunting us." He nods, sitting back in the chair, holding the book in front of him. Grabbing the photo, he stares at, then the poem. Scully watches her partner do this for a few minutes until he finally speaks up without looking at her.
"This poem, Flanders Fields, and there's a picture of field on the postcard." She walks around behind him to look between the two.
"Their clues . . . and the picture is of a field at sunset."
"Felt dawn and saw sunset glow." After he finished her thought, she looked up to him.
"Is he leading us to her?" Mulder sighs, scratching his chin.
"If this is a game to him, he's winning."
TBC . . .