Chapter 5
Earlier, Mulder had hung up the phone in utter disbelief.
Shocked. Stunned.
Actually, words failed him. As he waited for Skinner's fax to come through, he reviewed what he'd been told. The investigation was complete. The responsible party identified. The motive revealed. He was barely able to acknowledge Skinner's praise for a job well done. He hadn't done anything. But now, everyone was being shipped out in the morning to rest and recover. Everyone else was being sent home.
"Mulder," Skinner had said, "I'm sending you and Agent Scully to Lake Tahoe for a brief consult before you return home. The police chief needs a little direction and rather than sending the case file to you here, I'm sending you to him. You're not on the team - just read the reports, offer your views, and then check into the Embassy Suites on the South Shore - Government's expense. You've got 4 days to get some well-deserved rest and relaxation. I don't want to see you or Agent Scully back here for 1 week. Understood?"
"Yes sir," Mulder mumbled, still shell-shocked.
"A rental car is being brought in for you tonight. Take your time driving out there. Enjoy the scenery," Skinner told him.
"Yes sir," Mulder repeated dully. "Thank you, sir."
"Take care, Fox," Skinner said before hanging up.
Walter Skinner removed his glasses and stared vacantly across his desk. He was thankful this case was over but he was deeply concerned about Mulder and Scully. They were beaten - physically and mentally. He knew the whole team out there had been through hell, but only Mulder and Scully had the emotional entanglement to intensify the effect. It was obvious. He saw it every time he read one of their field reports. The true extent of just how hard these 2 agents pushed themselves left him in awe. They would definitely need time to recover from this case: the ending was just too horrific. And it hit way too close to home.
He stared down at the evidence bag on his desk. There wasn't any way he was going to tell Mulder that they had found the implants at Spender's house. He thought it indicative of the shock that Mulder was experiencing that he didn't ask about them. (It could wait,) he thought despondently. He was right: Spender wasn't going anywhere.
Mulder planted himself in front of the fax machine waiting for the transmission to complete. Finally he gathered the papers and returned to his tent, grateful that his roommates were out. He settled back to read the diary of Jeffrey Spender.
Since Cassandra Spender's disappearance at Ruskin Dam, Mulder had surreptitiously and sporadically been keeping tabs on the man who gave up his job in the FBI. The disappearance of his mother under such mysterious conditions left him too emotionally handicapped to continue as an agent. Mulder berated himself for losing track of Spender, allowing him to be lulled by the younger man's apparent inactivity. He compared the dates with his own activities. To his dismay, he realized that it had been almost 4 months since he'd checked on Spender.
The week before the anniversary of his mother's disappearance he and Scully had been on assignment in North Texas. Immediately upon their return to Washington he had been subpoenaed as an expert witness.
That damn trial. Time spent on research and preparation and testimony. (How could I let the anniversary of Cassandra's probable abduction go by without checking on him?)
The diary before him gave a gruesome, graphic and explicit description of every aspect of Spender's operation. Reading the diary, Mulder knew he was reading one man's descent into insanity. Luring the MUFON members, going through his mother's files and obtaining member addresses, the how, the why, and his own personal thoughts as he slaughtered and mutilated 44 innocent people.
On the surface, Mulder knew he wasn't responsible. But deep down he knew that he would always feel guilty for letting Spender slip through the cracks. And now the former agent was dead. Skinner had said the body was found at his mother's house, probably cyanide.
"No note," Skinner reported, obviously shaken, "Just the diary."
Mulder finished reading the diary and carefully packed it away. All his psychological expertise was failing him right now, just when he needed it most. After speaking with so many grief-stricken families, seeing the decaying, butchered bodies and knowing he had worked with the son-of-a-bitch
that did it...
Abruptly he stormed out of the tent and was about to barge into Scully's when common sense reigned him in. It was 10:45. Her tent was dark. (Oh, God,) he thought helplessly. Scully's exhausted - she needed to sleep. But he needed her. Right now. He needed her comfort. He needed her reassurance. He felt powerless to help himself. He was weak right now. He knew it. He knew he just couldn't do this alone.
He stepped into her tent and by the light of the space heater, turned on the lantern. The sight before him brought him to his knees. Mesmerized, he stared down at the ethereal vision that was his partner. Her sleep seemed peaceful tonight. Breathlessly, he ran his fingers through the silken strands of hair fanned across the pillow then caressed her smooth cheek. Without warning, a sob escaped his lips, causing Scully to stir. Mulder struggled to get his emotions under control, but his weakened defenses would not let him hold back the tears.
Scully moaned softly. Sleep beckoned her seductively with sweet promises of serenity. But something was calling her away from slumber. Something urged her from that safe haven. Something...someone...
"Mulder?" she whispered in confusion.
Mulder looked over as Scully's blue eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the soft light. The sight of Mulder's tear-stained face startled her and she was instantly fully awake.
"What's wrong? Mulder - what's happened?" she asked as she pulled herself to a sitting position. "Did you have another nightmare?"
He shook his head. "Scully -," he floundered, not really knowing how to proceed.
Scully watched him, not understanding what was wrong and as a result, not knowing what to say. So she waited; offering him silent encouragement and support.
Mulder sensed it and gathered his courage to continue. "Look, I'm really, really sorry to wake you, but I thought you should know that we're done. We know who killed these people."
Scully steeled herself because, judging by Mulder's face and tone, this was going to be bad. Really bad. She swallowed hard and set her jaw. "Who, Mulder?" she asked quietly, taking his hands in hers. "Who was it?"
"Jeffrey Spender," he said, nearly choking on his words.
Scully's hands clenched convulsively and other than a sharp intake of breath, she remained still. A voice in her head would not be silent though, and kept repeating (no no no no no no no...)
Mulder swallowed. "When Skinner told me I just – I couldn't - " Unable to go on, he simply shook his head, unwilling to release Scully's hands.
Scully, too, was at a loss for words to express the utter disbelief, and Mulder watched her reaction that surely mirrored his own. She struggled to comprehend what Mulder told her. That a former colleague had lured 44 people to their deaths and mutilated them and dumped their bodies in the middle of nowhere! It just was NOT possible! Not only that - it wasn't even conceivable! Her brain was absolutely refusing to process this information.
"I - I - just can't believe this. Why?" she implored Mulder, "Why?"
He could only shrug. "What it boils down to is that he blames MUFON for Cassandra's disappearance. He committed suicide. They found his body at his mother's. Skinner faxed me a copy of Spender's diary. It really goes into a lot of graphic detail but if you want to read it...," his voice trailed away.
Scully shuddered. "I don't know," she said, her voice low and barely audible. "Maybe later." She looked nauseated. (This was just incomprehensible.)
"Yeah," he muttered, then paused, still holding Scully's hands. "Listen, Scully, I - I have to ask you to do something for me."
Scully cocked an inquiring eye at her partner, who again was having difficulty meeting her gaze. "What is it, Mulder?" (Now what?) she thought trying to prepare herself for whatever he might say.
"I really need you to tell me that this isn't my fault," he stammered.
(That did it) Scully thought desperately. (I can't deal with this. I can't. How could this possibly be Mulder's fault? How?) She felt her over-stressed sanity threatening to mutiny. "Mulder, please," she moaned painfully. "What
are you talking about?" (This was too much,) she thought helplessly, (I just can't handle this, too. Not after everything that's happened here.)
"I had been keeping tabs on Spender," Mulder admitted. "You know, nothing too deep, nothing illegal. Anyway, maybe I should have seen this coming; maybe I could have done something... anything."
Scully simply stared up at him, her thoughts reeling. She felt positively dizzy. Mulder remained silent, shoulders slumped, head bowed, awaiting punishment. He wondered what was going through his partner's mind and part of him was afraid to find out.
After several minutes of silence, Scully jumped to her feet, dragging Mulder with her. She released his hands and grabbed the front of his T-shirt, pulling him down so that his startled face was inches from hers.
"No way, Mulder," she hissed, furiously, "No way. Absolutely NOT. I am telling you right here and right now that I am NOT letting you blame yourself in any way, shape or form. I am not about to let you torture yourself with what-if and what might have been. Why don't you just blame me for not disappearing at Ruskin Dam and then maybe Cassandra would be safe and none of this would have happened?"
Mulder flinched; his heart nearly stopped at the thought of that scenario, but Scully barreled on. "So you just drop it, Fox Mulder. Do you hear me? If I mean anything at all to you- anything at all - let - it - go." She paused to take a breath. "I mean it, Mulder," she warned him, her voice losing its strength. "Let it go."
Mulder stared down at his petite partner, glaring up at him, her blue eyes blazing, her mouth set in a determined line. He was totally taken aback by the vehemence in her voice and it effectively managed to assuage the guilt that threatened to permeate his thoughts.
"Gee, thanks, Scully," he said faintly. "I guess I needed that." He shook his head. "So would this be your version of 'tough love'?" he asked with just the barest hint of amusement.
Through a roaring in her ears, Scully felt her knees give out as she sank slowly to the ground, her hands releasing Mulder's shirt to fall limply to her side. Mulder caught her easily and before she could protest, scooped her up and sat her back on her cot.
"Scully?" he asked concerned, his chest tight, keeping one arm around her. "Are you all right?" (What have I done?) he thought fearfully.
Scully bent forward, her head in her hands. "Oh God, Mulder," she groaned, her voice slightly muffled. "Don't you ever scare me like that again. I honestly thought you were going to blame yourself for this. I - I just couldn't deal with that, too. I couldn't. I already feel like a trip to a psych ward wouldn't be half bad right now." She choked back a sob, her head spinning.
Mulder felt lower than low as he sat down next to her. She allowed him to pull her close, cradling her head on his chest.
"I'm sorry, Scully, really I am. I'll be okay. I promise," he whispered, his lips in her hair, the strands tickling his nose. "I know it's not really my fault. I just wish I could have seen something - anything to have prevented this. And for your information, you mean everything to me. You know that."
Scully just wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. The minutes ticked by as Mulder let the soothing sensations of her touch heal his tortured psyche.
How long they stayed that way, neither could say. Instead they just reveled in the unfamiliar sensations that washed over them, being in each other's arms.
"I do have some good news," he said lightly, continuing to hold her close. "Skinner is sending us to Lake Tahoe to consult briefly on some case out there - you know, review notes, offer opinions but that's it. After that, he said, we're to spend 4 days recuperating at the government's expense.
Scully's head snapped up. "You're kidding," she breathed, dumbstruck.
"Nope. 4 days paid vacation at Lake Tahoe. Well, room and board anyway," he said with a grin.
"Doesn't matter," Scully retorted happily, savoring the news. "A real bed," she said dreamily, "a real shower, real food." (Their salvation,) she prayed.
Mulder couldn't help but smile at the way her whole face seemed to light up, as if she was already there. (This is going to be perfect,) he couldn't help but think.
"I checked the map. It's about an eight-hour trip, with a town halfway. I thought that maybe we could split the drive. Skinner's having a car brought up," he said.
"That would be great," Scully said, thinking how relaxing it would be: a chance to unwind; put this case behind them, the open road, beautiful fall scenery, no real deadline. In fact, just what the doctor ordered.
"Can I drive first?" she asked eagerly.
"Whatever you want," Mulder replied and pulled out the map he had gotten from Major Thompson and set it on the small table. He gently eased her back and tucked her in. "But first get some sleep." He leaned over and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Scully," he whispered. He turned off the lantern and backed out.
"Good night, Mulder," Scully called groggily after him. She snuggled under the covers, refusing to think about Jeffrey Spender. She'd deal with that later. Instead she thought about Lake Tahoe...and Mulder.
Mulder crawled in to his own cot. (A disaster averted,) he thought distantly as he drifted off to sleep.
