The Hallowed Compound
Sherman Oaks, California
6:02 P.M. Sunday
Mulder still felt his heart hammering in his chest in sympathy for Scully and fury at the situation even as he was filing out of the Great Hall with the other men. That had been degrading and redundant, clearly Victor was mad she'd spoken 'out of turn' earlier and he'd wanted to embarrass her. In true Scully fashion, she hadn't let on how furious she was, and he hoped by the time he got back to her that she'd be open with him.
He still wished they didn't have to be separated, especially right after that. She had looked at him once with what he recognized as indignant irritation before succumbing to the rules and looking at the floor, her hand slipping out of his as he had to walk away and leave her.
"This way fellas, let's show him the ropes," Victor boasted, cocking his head to indicate everyone should follow him.
"That was quite the welcome ceremony," Mulder said with an awkward laugh.
A man with long black hair turned to him with a smirk and said, "That was just part one, you still have the night ceremony."
"Night ceremony?" Mulder repeated.
"Everyone goes through the welcome ritual on their first night," another man replied. "It's better than any high."
Mulder felt his brow furrow as he looked around. He wasn't sure if this day was just out of the ordinary, or if the men were always this riled up. All around him as they were walking, men would mess with each other, knocking into one another, punching each other in the arm. It was like watching a bunch of neanderthals communicate before the evolution of speech.
"Better than any high, huh?" Mulder asked, trying to mimic how the others were speaking.
"Yeah, I mean, Victor's the man. I mean, he's like God. The place he can take you to, damn, I'd cut off my own arm to keep going back. Ya know what I mean?" the nameless man jostled.
Mulder didn't know what he meant, but before he had a chance to clarify, Victor spoke from up ahead.
"That's enough, Freddie," he stated lowly. Freddie nodded and started scratching his arm aggressively, moving forward without another word, completely silenced by the older man.
They were walking up a hill, away from the homes and towards what he presumed was the work area. Off in the distance, Mulder saw something that made his blood run cold. Approximately seventy or so bumps in the land, as if something had been buried and the soil was never pushed down to lay flat again. There was grass covering most, but a few were still spotty and there was one that still had fresh soil standing out starkly.
It was a graveyard.
Feigning ignorance. Mulder pointed it out and asked, "Hey, what's that?"
"Composting," Victor stated automatically.
"All of them?" Mulder asked.
"Yes," he replied shortly.
Mulder didn't know what to say in response and decided to just pretend to accept the ridiculous cover story. The Hallowed had been around since the 80s, but even with that in mind, that was a lot of dead people. The case report had indicated that all deaths in the cult were either months into someone being ritualized over and over or people who betrayed the cult in some way. He didn't feel in danger yet, but it was an ominous, unsettling sight nonetheless.
"Hey, kid killer," someone behind him sneered. He didn't have a chance to look behind him before someone shoved him as hard in the back as they could, resulting in him falling onto his hands and knees.
"Jason, come on. He's new," someone else shouted.
"What? He tripped," the man shrugged while walking passed him carelessly. Mulder had to quickly move his hand to avoid the man's attempt to step directly onto his fingers.
Mulder looked up and saw, arguably, the largest man there walk past him. He was probably at least six foot five, and, unless there was another Jason, this was one of the men Isaac had warned about.
"Sorry about that, he doesn't like people," a nasally voice called from beside him. He turned his head and saw a red headed man with thick glasses looking at him, extending his hand.
Mulder took it and got up to his knees. "Thanks,"
"No problem. My name's Randy, nice to meet you," he exclaimed, offering Mulder his hand again, this time to shake.
"Rob," Mulder replied.
Mulder noticed a few men turned to look at Randy in what appeared to be irritation.
"How long have you been here?" Mulder asked, making small talk.
"About two years now," the shorter man replied.
He wanted to ask how Randy had ended up here, since it seemed to either be a last resort or something people were born into, but he wasn't sure if that was a rude question. Randy seemed to pick up on the curiosity and answered anyway. "In my early twenties I got drunk one night, and when I was walking home, I stepped off to the side to take a leak. A cop saw me and turns out I was peeing on a swing set. Or, in the words of the court, exposing myself at a kid's playground," he admitted.
"That's rough," Mulder replied sympathetically.
Randy shrugged, "A misunderstanding, but now everywhere I would apply to saw me as a sex offender and didn't want me. I don't blame them, but it just sucks ya know? That's how I found this place."
Mulder nodded and resisted the urge to clench his jaw. Even though Randy's circumstances were different, that meant there could easily be people here who were real sex offenders and were let in.
"Can I ask what happened with the bus?" Randy asked.
"I was distracted. I thought I saw something coming out of a field and I didn't notice the curve in the road," Mulder regurgitated.
"How many-"
"Five," Mulder replied instantly, acting forlorn.
"Well," Randy said, clapping him on the back. "You might be able to see them tonight and apologize."
Mulder felt his brow furrow as he turned to the man, but he noticed everyone around them was stopping. Looking up, he saw everyone was gathering around Victor. "Robert, when you look around, what do you see?"
Mulder glanced around, taking in the scenery. "Um, an acreage?"
The men laughed and Mulder resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the group's need to belittle every single thing. "Close," he replied. "It is a vineyard, but it's something more."
"A nice view?" Mulder tried again.
"No, opportunity," Victor boasted. "There are many jobs here, tending to the animals, mending fences, but picking grapes for wine is an honor, for we are participating vicariously through the celebrations of others when they drink our wine."
Mulder felt his brow furrow in confusion at the impromptu infomercial. Something about it felt so absolutely inauthentic that it was glaring. He felt like he was watching the spiel given to outsiders coming in. They aren't a cult, they're just kind village people who pick grapes for the greater good. The whole thing was diametrically opposed to the behavior of the men from moments ago and the weird rituals they seemed to have.
"The Hallowed doesn't allow alcohol, but yet we make it. Isn't that a bit ironic?" he chuckled, stopping when no one joined him.
"It's our mission," Victor reiterated.
"Our duties here at the Hallowed are to worship that which is greater than ourselves and give back to the community, our own and beyond. All men are expected to arrive on the field to receive their daily tasks at approximately seven in the morning. Being we have the luxury of being so close to our homes, at noon you are allowed to go and eat the lunch your wife prepared with the expectation that you will be back by one. Then you will come back and finish work until five. What you do in your spare time is your business, but you need to be back here by eight for the nightly gatherings," he explained.
"Um, okay. Will do," Mulder nodded.
"Excellent," Victor replied with a widening smile. "It's a little early, but we figured we would start the ceremony a little early tonight since we don't have much else going on."
Mulder nodded, walking presumably in the direction of the meeting spot. He scanned the horizon and perked up when he saw a hollowed out tree a few meters away near the fence. That was where Halloran said he would stash the phone and where they would be able to leave evidence for him to collect. He knew he couldn't retrieve it now with all the eyes on him, so he made a mental note of where he'd have to come back to later.
"Your wife can't cook, can she?" another large man, walking side by side with Jason, asked.
Mulder was confused by the question, unsure of where it was going, and replied, "She can. How come?"
"She's fucking hot," the man replied tactlessly. "Usually the hot ones know they don't have to try as hard."
Mulder made no acknowledgement of that because, even though he knew fitting in was important, he wasn't going to laugh along with the misogynistic drivel of some asshole.
However, he couldn't help but react to what another man had to add. "I heard she has a tramp stamp."
He turned and saw a thin, older man with long, stringy hair. Mulder didn't recall seeing him at the initial welcome ceremony, but as far as he was aware no one had seen Scully and him changing except Victor and his wife.
"When were you looking at my wife?" he seethed, stopping in his tracks to look at the man.
The old guy held up his hands in mock-surrender and stated, "What? Doesn't she want people to look? Why else did she get it?"
Mulder felt his jaw clench as his fists tightened at his side.
"Oh is that right? Is your wife a tramp? You always hear redheads are great in the sack," Jason's buddy remarked.
"Careful, I'm gonna get nervous you're making a move on me, Tobe," Randy replied, stepping next to Mulder and trying to defuse the situation - clearly noting Mulder's discomfort.
In a sudden flash, the man named Tobe grabbed Randy by clutching a fistful of his shirt and lifting him off the ground. "Shut your fucking mouth," he seethed before throwing Randy to the ground.
Jason started walking forward as if they were going to do more, but Victor's call of "Enough, gentlemen," stopped them in their tracks, resulting in them just spitting on the ground near Randy and walking away.
Mulder hadn't felt this way since he was in a school locker room, everyone high on new testosterone and pent up anger. Except, it seemed these guys had never grown out of the phase. There appeared to be some exception, but it was like a spectrum of aggression. Some men looked hyped up on something, taking out their aggression on anything near them, whereas others seemed normal but there was something steely and cold in their gaze, like danger was lurking beneath the surface. He wasn't sure which to be more concerned about.
He extended his own hand out to the man to help him up before muttering, "Thanks."
"No problem," he replied. "That's just how they are."
Mulder felt his mouth purse into a straight line. So male violence was not only a common occurrence here, but something accepted as a norm. Toxic masculinity at its worst.
They walked another couple of yards without incident before they were stopped in the middle of the field. "This here, Robert, is where we meet."
Mulder looked around, trying to see what was so special about this section of trees until he saw a wooden board at Victor's feet. The man opened the flap before walking down some steps into what Mulder was assuming to be a wine cellar turned cult activity room.
When it was Mulder's turn to walk down the steps, he was met with the smell of damp soil and the illuminating glow of candle light. The bunker was far larger than Mulder had anticipated. As if it was built to hold hundreds instead of just thirty-ish men.
There was a strange white noise sound happening, but Mulder couldn't find where it was coming from. The men all gathered around, setting up as if it was a tailgate instead of… whatever this was going to end up being. "Nice set up you got here," Mulder remarked with a whistle.
"It was built by the chosen few," Victor boasted, running his hand up and down one of the support beams. "Everyone who is allowed in the Hallowed must come down here and experience the other side on their first night."
"What happens if people don't?" Mulder asked, resulting in all of the ambient chatter to grind to a halt.
Victor just stared at him, unblinking, "That doesn't happen. A person who refuses, well," he paused, looking over at Tobe and Jason who were smiling sadistically. "They are stuck with compost duty," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk.
Participate or die, got it.
If the case weren't so high-stakes, he was curious if he'd be more of an instigator: asking more questions, prying when he knew he was being too risky. But after hearing Neil's story, he didn't want to do anything that would result in him being killed and Scully being trapped here, especially before he was able to get the phone from Halloran.
He watched as the men set up what appeared to be a punch bowl on a grimy table, mixing a communal cocktail before dishing it out. He watched the process rather than go up himself, but his newfound friend decided to take it upon himself to get Mulder a drink.
"No thank you, I don't imbibe," he replied, putting a hand up in polite refusal.
"It's not alcohol," Randy assured with the shake of his head. "It helps, I promise," he added, shoving the goblet in Mulder's hands.
Mulder was about to refuse again when he saw Randy down the contents with the backwards tilt of his head. Looking around at the rest of the men, he saw an even mix of people following through and people watching him with judgemental curiosity. Neil had made it seem like the harm came from an extended period of time, they never killed anyone right off the bat. He didn't want to drink whatever this was, but it seemed he had no choice.
"Cheers," he joked, lifting the goblet in a mock toast towards the other men before downing the glass.
It was tasteless, but the sensation of syrup coating his throat made him cough in revulsion, making a few of the men chuckle. "Very good, Rob," Victor beamed, seemingly satisfied he didn't put up a fight.
Mulder turned his head as he heard the men in the room begin to make sounds, as if one person would hum closely followed by another. They were continuing to culminate, one voice growing off the other until it sounded like a beehive of humming. As odd as it was, it was slightly comforting.
Turning his head to the side, he saw a lot of the men were doing mundane activities, sitting in chairs along the perimeter of the room, reclining against the wall, squabbling with each other, it was all a lot less creepy than he'd anticipated.
He felt calm, but like he still had his senses about him. From the looks on the faces of the people around him, that seemed to be the consensus, whatever this drink was only just made them wind down a bit. He just wasn't sure what for.
Mulder looked over at Randy and watched as the cup tumbled from his hands, only, instead of falling immediately to the floor, it seemed to slip one inch at a time, the liquid almost pouring out in slow motion. Mulder blinked rapidly, trying to correct his vision, and it was as if doing that sped up time again.
What the was that?
"Do you want to play?" Victor asked from next to Mulder. How did he get there so fast? Mulder was about to ask what he meant when he saw Victor was holding out a board game to him.
Stratego.
How did he know? Mulder felt his brows furrow in confusion. There was no way anyone could have known about that. He looked up to ask Victor why he was offering this to him when he was shocked to see Victor wasn't there. No one was. The room had gone completely dark, yet… he could see.
He could perfectly see Samantha holding out Stratego, her curly brown hair pulled back with two little bows - something she'd painstakingly had him do for her after their parents had left.
"Sam," he whispered, not trusting his own eyes. His voice sounded garbled, like he was speaking underwater, yet he felt no constraint.
"I've missed you, Fox," she replied with a melancholy smile. The game was suddenly gone and he shuddered as her freezing hand slid into his.
"I-I've missed you," he responded shyly, his voice trembling slightly. He wasn't sure what was going on. No one in the Hallowed knew his past to be able to replicate this. Was he still in his body, or was this a dream?
No. It was too real to be a dream. Too visceral. He could see the wetness of Sam's eyes as she stared at him, he could smell the Prell shampoo from her bath earlier that night, and he could feel his own heart racing in his chest.
"Where are we?" he asked, his pitch heightening. It felt weird, slightly unnatural. He'd never spoken to Samantha like that in his entire life, but now she was standing in front of him, not even five feet tall, her hand dwarfed in his own, and he felt his brotherly protectiveness surge into the protectiveness of an adult over a child.
"I feel like I've always been here," she shrugged, lifting his hand up and playing with it. She pressed her palm against his and giggled. "You're a giant," she smiled and he couldn't help but smile back, a lump forming in his throat and threatening to choke him.
"You're tiny," he replied, his voice coming out strangled. She narrowed her eyes at him and stuck out her tongue and he felt a sense of nostalgia so overwhelming that he couldn't resist the urge - he fell to his knees and drew her into a hug. "I've been looking for you," he murmured into her hair, placing a kiss onto her shoulder and noting how cold her whole body was.
"I know," she replied sweetly, petting his head.
He pulled away, keeping his hands on her arms, and took a good look at her. She was pale, paler than he'd ever seen her, yet she looked the same. "What do you mean?" he asked, lifting a hand to brush her hair behind her ear so he could look at her better before returning it to her arm. He was too afraid to let go.
"I saw you, Fox. You're so close," she replied. "I can see lots from up here."
He shook his head slightly and stammered, "Sam, y-you're not making sense. I don't understand."
"Dad said you're going to stress yourself to death," she replied, pinching his nose like she used to do when she wanted to rile him up.
"Dad's here too?" He asked, glancing around only to see darkness.
She nodded in that exaggerated way kids did. "Mhm."
"Are you-" he began, only to be interrupted by her spontaneously emitting a blood-curdling scream that pierced his senses like a dagger.
He started and blinked, only for everything to change. He was back in the basement, only this time he was face down on the floor with his shirt tangled under his arms. He realized in that moment that it was he who was screaming as he felt a hot burning searing the flesh of his lower back.
He scrambled onto his feet, falling to the ground on his first attempt. Turning around, he was met with the sight of Victor holding a branding iron as the other men stood in a circle.
"Welcome, Robert, to the Hallowed," he bellowed, lifting his arms up in a grandiose gesture.
"I wasn't done," Mulder rasped, his throat feeling as raw as if he'd been screaming for hours.
"That's all for tonight, Robert," Victor replied.
Mulder lunged forward and invaded the man's space, uncaring of the men bristling at the action. "How did you know about her?" He seethed.
Victor bared his teeth with a crocodile grin and shrugged. "I know nothing about what you see when you visit the other side."
"Did you drug me?" he barked. "Was that a hallucination?"
The men around him laughed and it only fueled his aggravation. "That was no hallucination, Robert. That was the real thing."
"The real what?" Mulder rasped, his breathing labored as sweat beaded at his brow. The searing pain in his back was becoming hard to ignore.
"Like he said man, the other side," a nameless crony repeated, as if talking to an insolent child.
"I-I wasn't done," Mulder stated again, swaying on his feet. "I need- I need to talk to her."
"All in due time, Robert," Victor stated with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Men, take him back to his little wifey."
Mulder felt his eyes roll to the back of his head slightly with the sudden movement of two men wrapping their arms around either side of him, his arms dangling lifelessly around their necks as his feet dragged against the ground.
"L-lemme see 'er," he slurred, his head lolling onto his shoulder.
"That was easier than expected," he heard someone boast before everything went black.