Freedom of the Trapped Soul Chapter 3: Bindings
Mulder doesn't return for nearly two weeks, and when he does, it's simply to grab a case file from her computer. He could have emailed her through a safe server. The fact that he decides to instead knock on the back door and slip inside without a word, silently climbing the stairs to where he knows she keeps her laptop hurts much more than she expected.
"Mulder," she questions, following him up the stairs. "Mulder, I was worried," he takes the stairs two at a time and her voice comes out as a huff because she's trying to at least stay on his heels. "You didn't call and-
"Seems like the lack of communication is mutual, Dana." She pauses at the top of the stairs as if she's been slapped.
"Mulder, I tried to tell you but," she's surprised by how quickly he turns around on his heels, his eyes furious. She'd hoped that their weeks apart would help him cool down. Instead, his anger has festered.
"Listen, I get it," he says with a tone that tells her that he most certainly does not get it. He jams his personal thumb-drive into the port of her Mac and quickly finds his file, downloading it and hastily removing it. If he looked closely around their shared bedroom he would notice that the covers are turned up on his side; that she'd been sleeping there for nearly a week. The ever observant Fox Mulder sees nothing. "This isn't only about me, Scully; you've given up."
"Mulder," she nearly screams, the sound surprising herself as well. She clamps her hand over her mouth, and closes her eyes tightly. She feels tears brimming on her lashes, but she will not let them overflow. She wishes she could give up. How she desires to just stop. But she can't. Her life is not in her control. Once upon a time she told Mulder that this was "her life." She's not sure this life has ever been hers. Scully takes two deep breathes, knowing that her next words will not be easy, that he may hate her for the rest of his life-not that his seething eyes don't indicate that already. She can't keep this from him too. She has to let him know the bigger picture.
"They know where William is, Mulder."
He brushes past her in a fury, nearly knocking her down with his heavy body. She catches herself on the bedside table, and turns to see that his eyes are on her as well. He hadn't meant to push her. But his concerned eyes are gone in an instant, replaced with seething anger. She doesn't follow him as he stomps down the stairs or slams her door so hard she's sure a picture frame fell after it.
There was no use in following him. He was disgusted with her; she was disgusted with herself. She wasn't of any use to him anymore- a pawn, just as he had always feared.
Padding the few steps across the carpeted floor, Scully climbs into her bed, pulling her laptop with her. She opens her latest project on stem cell research and types away at the meaningless words of her next journal article. The mind-numbing work will help her forget. But soon she'll have to leave the prison-like home and see her clients.
Scully visibly shivers, fear creeping up on her like the tide before a tsunami.
She didn't have the words to tell Mulder that she's seeing violent tendencies from her referred patient, Jeremy Thomas. That Hannibal Lector sent her an easily-triggered patient to test her. That she's terrified.
He wouldn't have listened, anyway.
Not that she could blame him.
Fox Mulder is furious as he peels away from the resident of Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier. Not Dana Scully. The woman inside that house was not the Scully he knew. He feels sick to his stomach, his body alerting him to his blatant lies. The woman in that house, although blonde, was his fiery redhead.
"I buried you, Mulder," he hears her words echoed in his head as she sobs, her voice cracking with each syllable.
"I gave him up; I gave up our son," he pulls over the car.
"You didn't think your freedom came with stipulations, Mulder?"
He's done so much to her, and she's fought alongside him. He knows he's truly not made at her, just at what he's made her become. She's their pawn, playing into their demands simply for his life, as if his life was worth her own.
But William's-
He can't think about how he's treated her, how he's rejected her for nearly 14 days for keeping a secret when he kept secrets their whole partnership. He knows that it isn't about trust, but that she knew he would run off immediately, guns ablaze, if he knew from the start. She knew he would be purposely reckless and probably lose his life for her if she'd let him. And that hurts.
Mainly because she was right.
What keeps him from running to fight now is that she's already in their clutches; he couldn't risk her life again. He ponders the word and thinks of his years playing video games with the gunman. She was in the "clutches of the enemy," Langley would say, pushing buttons at lightning speed. Frohike would chime in with a comment that would make Mulder slap the remaining hair off his head. "Don't know why you're complaining-It would be a pleasure to rescue the scrumptious Agent Scully."
It's Byers' voice that he finally hears, and he isn't talking about video games or clutches or scrumptiousness. "you were being an ass," he says, and Mulder swerves, his car nearly falling into a ditch on the side of the road. He turns in the seat to see the eyes of his decade-dead friend fixing his tie as if he had an interview shortly "She wants you alive."
"Not like us, man" Langley whispers, suddenly appearing in the back seat, shifting the black-framed glasses up his nose.
Frohike appears last and Mulder expects his friend to provide his comic relief. C'mon, say something about Scully being hot, he thinks, or about how I'm so whipped. Instead, his oldest friend looks into the mirror, meeting eyes with Mulder, his words solemn. "You know if the roles were reversed, you would have done the same thing for Agent Scully." He sighs deeply, knowing that they were right. He misses the Gunman holding him accountable, telling him when he was wrong, even when he knew it but refused to accept it.
Before they disappear into oblivion, Byers' last words are clear: "She's in danger, Mulder. She needs you."
She's already lost her identity. She's lost her freedom twice for him. He won't abandon her; he will not make her carry the world on her shoulders alone.
They would get through this; they would find a way out: together
When Mulder returns to the world of the living, he curses loudly noticing the analogue clock. 4 o'clock? He'd been sitting on this road imagining the dead from his sick consciousness for 4 fucking hours? He looks down at his phone he notices that he has 4 missed calls, all from Scully.
The first three come from her personal phone, one that she solely uses to take calls from him. It stays locked in her vanity when she leaves her home to practice. The last is from her office, which surprises him. She shouldn't be making personal calls on that phone, especially to him.
"Mulder, I know you're angry, but please," she pauses "please call me. They won't help me."
He should call her right now, but the next, newer message begins to play.
"Mulder it's me. There's a patient and I need your help."
A patient? How could he help, he's never technically practiced. His brain puts together the pieces. Profiling. He can't help but recognize the quiver in her voice when she said the word 'patient.' She was afraid. Dammit! He knew she needed to tell him something before he stormed off. The phone is pressed to his ear as he speeds down the highway.
"He just left and I'm scared, Mulder," she's whispering into the phone. Her voice sounds so little he's terrified himself. "He's exhibiting symptoms of-"
The phone line goes dead.
"Fuck," Mulder shouts, pushing his whole size 13 foot on the gas. He tried to make himself believe that he was simply exaggerating. Scully was a trained federal agent. She could take care of herself. She had cameras monitoring her every move. There was a panic button in her office.
The absolute fear in her voice is what worries him the most. Scully didn't scare easily and her terror wasn't to be taken lightly. He feels tears pinprick in his eyes and brushes them away. She needed his help and he'd pushed her away.
She's fine was his mantra the whole way to her office. She said it enough that it must always be true, even when it wasn't. He shouldn't be driving to her office when she's fine. He could ruin her whole investigation when she's fine. Nosey Agents probably followed her home. She was home: fine. He makes a left turn and thinks about doubling back. She was fine, there was no need to get her in trouble. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.
His self-assurance is shattered when he sees emergency vehicles lined outside her office building.
Scully calls Mulder's line twice from her cell phone. She knew he didn't want to talk to her; knew he didn't want to hear her voice. But she also knew that Mulder had a threshold for anger and that he would eventually answer. It had been nearly an hour since he left and she was hoping that he'd calmed down. When her first call goes unanswered she sighs and begins to dress for her appointments. Today she only had two, although the second made her blood run cold.
Once she's finished dressing, she calls him again.
She needed to hear Mulder's profile of her patient, needed him to tell her that she was "exaggerating," even though secretly she knew what he would say. She hopes mentioning the patient will make him call her back.
When he doesn't answer she closes her personal phone and locks it in her bedroom safe. She wishes she could lock herself inside as well
"Are you married, Dr. Du Maurier?"
"This session is about you, Jeremy," she responds coolly.
"Stop deflecting my questions," he snaps. She doesn't jump when he bangs his fist on the side-table. When Jeremy looks up he is hoping to see terror register her features, but his eyes harden when she is staring back at him, impassive.
"Why would you like to know if I'm married, Jeremy?" Scully is cautious as she speaks, but her voice is unwavering. She knows that her patient feeds off of the terror of others. His record was extensive, and she immediately thinks back to her work with the FBI. In another life, Mulder would be creating a case around Jeremy Thomas, telling the jury that he should not be kept with the general population.
"Y'know, my wife had this way of spinning things so they always were my fault when she called the police" He says, twirling a coin in his hand. She waits for him to continue, keeping her eyes on him.
"You're just like her, y'know" he laughs half-heartily, his eyes sinister. Scully swallows the lump in her throat and continues as if his words hadn't just terrified. "I think that's why Doctor Lecter referred me to you."
"Why do you make comparisons between your wife and me, Jeremy?"
"You're an ice-cold bitch, just like her, Bedelia."
"Dr. Du Maurier," she corrects. "I think it would be best for us to end our session for today Jeremy.
"What're you, gonna report me now to my officer." She rises from her seat and crosses the room to open the door for him."Now you're really like my wife," he's laughing as he picks up his jacket and saunters across the room, his heavy steps echoing. When he reaches the door, he looks down at the petite blonde. "Except she's dead." His hazel eyes are menacing and hold hers for seconds that feel like years. He laughs again, before walking through the threshold. When she hears him whisper "but what are differences anyway?" She's terrified.
Her patient was exhibiting symptoms of an impending break. When she dialed out minutes before calling to alert the authorities, the call was immediately halted by the agents monitoring her line.
"Listen Agent Scully, an abusive husband really is no business of the FBI-"
"You're not listening. The patient made a threat on my life.
"The patients you received in this investigation were specifically chosen for their non-violent tendencies."
"Jeremy Thomas is a referral from-"
The line went dead. She slammed the phone in frustration.
They didn't care that he was a danger. That he could kill someone. Her heart started to beat faster. Hannibal Lecter wouldn't lay a hand on her. His patient would kill her. She picked up the receiver, needing to hear a reassuring voice and surprisingly, the call went through to Mulder.
Her hands are shaking Please pick up. Please, Please, Please, the words are like a mantra. Instead, she gets his voicemail
"He just left and I'm scared, Mulder," Scully whispers into the phone. "He's exhibiting symptoms of-"
The phone line goes dead. This time there is no dial-tone, only nothingness. Eerie silence.
Scully's pupils dilate like an animal anticipating combat. Her instincts kick in immediately, and she pushes the thought from her head that it was a coincidence. Mulder's voice echoes in her head: "If coincidences are just coincidences, why do they feel so contrived?" When the lights go out with a loud surge, she knows that her assumptions are right.
Mulder was right.
Scully reaches out blindly for her desk. At one point, she could argue that late night chases with Mulder had given her perfect night vision. But as her hands reach and feel for the desk drawers, Scully is reminded that she is sorely out of practice- or just old. Maybe a mixture of the two?
Her office door was still locked-she had time.
She blinks at the sudden blinding light, and shields her eyes momentarily. She wants to believe that it was just a circuit trip, that the many other offices in downtown Baltimore were simply using too much power. But the feeling in the pit of her stomach won't abate.
"Miranda?" she calls to the receptionist, unlocking her office door. She'd forgotten all about her in her fluster, a young girl in her early 20's working her way through business school. Scully couldn't leave her outside, she needed to get behind the locked oak door with her.
While the brunette was slightly ditzy at times, she had potential- and she was kind. Seeing Miranda every day, and knowing that she wasn't part of any hidden agenda behind her smiles, or her Christmas cookies gave Scully comfort. She personally picked Miranda, mulling over names and doing background checks with Mulder. 'Look here, Scully,' Mulder said, bringing up the girl's facebook page. She really should have updated privacy settings, but there she saw a profile picture of a young woman kissing a cup of Starbucks. As Mulder continued to peruse, they saw pictures of 'nights out' mingled with office pictures. 'Throwback Thursdays' with landscape quote of the day photos. She was a young woman, simply living her life. Scully was that woman once upon a time in Medical school. Miranda had grown on her.
As Scully opens her office door fully and steps into her waiting room, prepared to laugh off her terrible fright with Miranda, she instead slides, grabbing the doorjamb for support. The lights flip back on and Scully immediately feels bile rise from her stomach when she looks down to see what she's slipped on.
She chose Miranda, personally.
The young woman now laid dead on the floor, her eyes staring up at the ceiling; face stuck in terror.
Scully immediately hates herself for turning on her heels and running back into her office. For locking the door. For not checking to see if she had a pulse, though she knew Miranda couldn't be saved.
Her breath is coming out in short puffs, and she reaches for the phone, hoping it came on with the electricity. She simultaneously pushes the panic button under her desk repeatedly. It had to work. They wouldn't leave her without a panic button.
He wouldn't kill her, she'd sacrificed too much, had too much to lose to simply die.
The phone is unresponsive, and although she's pushed the panic button nearly 10 times, no one has come running. She was just a pawn. Scully pulls the first drawer of her desk open with force, yanking the whole thing off the track and out of the desk. The contents spill haphazardly and she bends, reaching easily through the pens and notebook for the shining keys. She'd have to save herself. She'd already been trapped; she wouldn't let them have the satisfaction of her death, and subsequently, Mulder's.
She would kill this man if she had to.
Jamming the key into the locked drawer, she yanks the handle prepared to grab her gun.
Except it's not there.
"Hannibal,"she whispers harshly.
Her heart is beating fast as she weighs her options. No one was in her office yet. She could try to leave through her office door. No! Her eyes scanned the room and she briefly thinks about climbing out the window and dropping down two your luck you'd break your neck. Her final option is to find a weapon and wait. Just as she reaches down to grab the letter opener, lying on the floor from the violent pull of the drawer moments earlier; the office door is abruptly kicked in.
"Oh my God," she shouts as the man smiles, stomping into her office, his body covered in Miranda's blood.
"So I started thinking," the man proclaims. "When my wife died I was angry," her eyes are locked on his, as she stands rigid behind her desk. It is the only barrier she has, and Scully knows all too well that it won't last long. "You see, when she was hit by a drunk driver one year ago, I didn't get closure." From the unexpected silence in the room, she realizes that he wants,expects her to respond.
"You are still able to receive closure, Jeremy," her voice shakes momentarily.
"You're right," he smiles and closes the distance between them. She takes a step back, and gasps as he jumps her desk, plunging the letter opener into what should be his heart. His last minute movement lands the opener into his bicep and he howls in pain, looking down at his bleeding arm. Scully takes the opportunity to run, getting just to the door when his fist clenches around her hair and yanks. She screams as he rips out strands and hurls her across the room like a ragdoll. Scully falls face-first into the glass table, and it shatters, her head smashing on the floor.
Scully moans in pain, as she attempts to get to her hands and knees. Her vision is spotted with black dots and her hands sink into shards of glass. When her left eye clouds with red, she reaches her hand up and presses it to her head. Head wounds bleed a lot, Dana. You'll be fine. She hears a deep laugh as she wobbles to her feet, and doesn't have time to register anything else, before she starts coughing. Her brows quirk in confusion when her right hand returns bloodied from her coughs, and she looks down. Scully's eyes widen and she stumbles toward her desk.
"Got yourself into quite the predicament, Bedelia," he deadpans, taking slow steps across the room. It's a game for him, hunting prey that can no longer escape. Her hands press as tightly as they can, hoping to slow the bleeding of the wound, a large glass shard now embedded into her stomach.
"I-I" she stumbles, as blood pools around her lips. Haematemesis. She staggers, still attempting to get away from him when his hands wrap around her neck.
"When Jessica died, I was most angry because I didn't get to kill her," His spit splatters across her face. She feels so cold. Scully feels her blood pulsing in her neck, as he squeezes the life form her. He lifts her small body and she kicks her feet in futile protest, her eyes bulging from her skull as he exerts more pressure on her windpipe. The world is spinning, but she reaches her hands up and grabs for his face, pushing her manicured thumbs into his eye sockets with all the strength she can muster. He screams in agony and releases her.
Her breath comes out in gasps as she tries to get to her feet, holding her stomach as her precious lifeblood seeps. She can faintly still hear his words as her world begins to blacken. Blood Loss, She tells herself. Or death. "Fucking bitch!" she hears from behind as her legs give out and she falls to her knees, then to her side. Her hands are still against the pooling blood of her stomach, but she can't collect any more energy to compress the wound. She'd let him down. She promised to never leave him again.
"Dr. Du Maurier," she hears.
"Mul-ler," she rasps, barely a whisper. Her eyebrows raise, confused as she comes in and out of consciousness. Scully's eyes hazily open and she sees a large, black figure looming over her with the face of Hannibal Lecter. Large, black antlers sit atop the figures head and its eyes glow red. "Don't speak, Bedelia. Paramedics are on the way."
She wants to scream for death to take her.