Your eyes do not deceive you - this is indeed a new chapter *grin*. Apologies for the long delay - my real life decided to raise its head and take over...
"Closet of Eternal Sorrow, Part Nine"
"You know, it's OK to do seventy here," Mulder told the cab driver from his seating position in the back of the car.
"You in some kind of a hurry, mister?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," Mulder answered impatiently.
"Why, somebody gonna die?"
At this rate, you will be dying, Mulder wanted to tell him, but that would have definitely not gone down well. "Look, just drive faster," he tried to somehow convince the pesky driver.
"So, nobody dying, eh?"
Mulder rolled his eyes. These were times when he knew he didn't miss civilization.
"Thought so," the driver answered his own question and continued doing his fifty miles per hour, all the while making Mulder want to strangle him.
Despite knowing it was futile, he tried calling Scully again for the umpteenth time. Sure enough, his call was directed to her voicemail. He snapped the phone shut with a tad extra force, and shoved it back into his jacket pocket as he clenched his jaw in frustration. What possessed her to dump him and rush to that stupid board meeting after he'd specifically told her it was a bad idea, God only knew. She was so all over the place, it was freaking him out. One moment calm and rational, the next on the verge of a breakdown; panicking, shaking violently, self-mutilating, lashing out physically. He'd rarely seen her so out of control. He was scared this was escalating and that if he couldn't stop whatever or whoever was causing this, that it would cost Scully her life.
He stared out of the window as the cab passed by farmland and small villages and let his thoughts wander further.
And what if he won't make it on time?
He mused about his life and hers; They were finally out of harm's way. Nobody was chasing them, and they weren't chasing anybody and he had let his guard down. They didn't carry a gun anymore and he never really used the phone and even if he did, he stopped thinking about surveillance after a while. He was lulled into this easy life where he did nothing and he assumed the same about everybody else. It was so ridiculously stupid and he knew it, but it was just so easy to go there. He desperately needed to feel safe and by carving this semi-normal life of theirs, he'd built this fantastic belief that if he was away from his kind of madness then the madness won't reach them. He couldn't have been more wrong. The madness clung to them and knew how to locate them even if they were to hide in the most desolate part of the world. Now it came in the most innocent of forms; the mother of a child; presumably the most normal thing of all. So of course, in their case she had to be the monster, for they attracted monsters. Yes they did.
He wanted to shout out at the invisible power that tormented and tortured both of them. Haven't we paid enough? Why won't it leave them in peace and let them enjoy what the rest of the world did: normalcy. Weren't they allowed this indulgence? Why was this happening to them? To her? Look at her! Whoever you are out there, just look at her! What has she ever done wrong? She has done nothing wrong. On the contrary; she was always doing it right. She cared for sick children yet she had lost hers. She fought for justice and she only gave it up to keep him safe. She didn't care for herself at all. She was selfless. She was a saint! Maybe whoever that power was just wanted her back by his side, but why did she have to suffer so much for this?
And he wasn't feeling selfless at all at that moment. No. He was feeling selfish as hell. Well, to a degree, he added as an afterthought. She could be living in this world without him or she could live in this world and hate him even. He wouldn't mind it as long as he knew that she was alive. But if she were to die… No. He would not let this happen. He could not.
"Driver, I need you to step on it. If I won't get to the hospital on time, she might die."
"So... You are a doctor. Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
Mulder decided to play along since it suited his needs. "I didn't want to play this card when it wasn't necessary."
"So, is your patient dying now?"
"There's a good chance of that," he lied through his teeth.
"Okie dokie then," the driver responded and Mulder looked out and noted that the trees and tiny wooden houses were moving much faster than before.
As Scully walked down the hallway, the emotional toll of the meeting came rushing back at her, or so she was lead to believe. All of a sudden she felt so tired and drained. Her legs felt like two giant rocks and she could barely walk. She lifted her gaze from the floor. She hadn't even realized it was pointing there. Raising her head also felt tedious but she had to find some place to rest, or she'd collapse.
To her right a threesome of chairs had been placed and Scully heaved a deep breath and trudged towards them. She just about crashed into the chairs and her handbag dropped to the ground with a resounding boom. She didn't care. She let her back reach the seat rest, stretched her legs out and just lay there, breathing heavily, as if she had just finished running a marathon.
The back of her mind registered that even though the meeting had exhausted her emotionally, and she did feel somewhat spent, her current situation took things quite further than that. She was doing everything in her power not to pass out and that was definitely out of the ordinary.
As she lay there, too weak to move, the only thing she had going for her were her thoughts and they started playing havoc with her mind. Father Ybarra's words came back to haunt her. Brooks had basically lied to her when he told her the vote to keep her on board was unanimous. Obviously at least one person had voted against her and that said person mentioned he wasn't the only one. Why would Brooks tell her otherwise? She felt there was an ulterior motive behind her transfer. Maybe this whole genetics team thing was just a smoke screen for something completely different? When she came to thinking about it, this was the first time she'd heard of those cutbacks Brooks had mentioned. Maybe there weren't any cutbacks at all. Maybe it was all fabricated to let her think this wasn't something specifically against her? They would make her believe this was just routine, the normal behavior of such bodies as they tried to reorganize the system. She won't put up a fight if they told her it wasn't intentionally against her. Maybe just like in her dream, all they wanted was to get her out of the Oncology ward because they weren't happy with her performance, only they were a lot more covert about it. First she'd willingly remove herself from the scene of the crime, then they'd find some excuse to remove her off hospital grounds altogether.
As she delved deeper and deeper into the world of paranoia and despair, she began to strongly believe her conjured ideas. She wanted to go over to Brooks and give him a piece of her mind. The only thing keeping her from it was her physical weakness.
She remained plopped on the hallway chairs, waiting for some respite, and then her mind began to wonder about her paranoid feelings. Why am I so sure Brooks' intentions are bad? What is going on with me? Everything he said was logical. She was the last to join the Oncology team; it's plausible that if they have cutbacks, she'd be the first to go, and it's amazing that they have such good faith in her medical skills that they'd make the effort to find her a new position within the hospital. It's not something she should put off lightly. It says a lot and in a positive way. Even if Brooks concealed the fact that some were opposed to this decision, it could have been just out of the kindness of his heart. What's the point in letting her know some disapproved? Just because Ybarra was a shithead didn't mean that everybody else was.
She realized that she had totally dismissed her previous ideas and all she could think of was why she'd even stooped so low as to think so badly about everybody.
She bent down and brought her handbag to her lap. As she did that she noted to herself that her strength was returning. Once again she felt that something was totally wrong with her body's reaction and yet, she now knew for a fact that she was in good health. Maybe it was time she addressed the big white elephant in the room. It was hard, though, to admit this to herself. She'd always thought of herself as mentally invincible. It's not like she didn't have hard times and bad days; especially when she was battling her cancer and after she'd been abducted. It was quite expected for her to have issues to deal with, but considering all that she'd gone through, she had come out of it mentally unscabbed, relatively speaking. She was able to function and in the best sense of the way.
She remembered how she was badly affected when she was on the Donnie Pfaster case. It was a short while after her abduction. She knew that in some way her coping mechanism was affected by her ordeal and she decided to go and talk to the FBI counselor. She also realized that whenever she went to see the counselor, somehow Mulder's name always came up. She hated feeling helpless and needing help. She hated feeling out of control, and she hated how her pain affected Mulder. It was always that same vicious circle.
She sighed, feeling extremely weary.
OK, maybe she should find some professional help. There was just so much she could drop on Mulder's shoulders, especially since he was already beginning to show the tell-tale signs of over protectiveness boarding on mass hysteria and she found this pretty unbearable to say the least. There was a workers' counselor's office on the second floor. The only obstacle she saw was the possibility of bumping into work colleagues just as she was about to enter that office, since said office was located was on the same floor as Peds Oncology. She brushed the silly feeling away. The logical part of her pushed its emotional counterpart aside and told her that there was nothing wrong in seeking professional help in this day and age. Everybody who worked in the medical profession had to cope with hard feelings as they watched long-term patients slowly demise until they succumbed to the inevitable. It was no coincidence that the counselor was located just next to the Pediatric Cancer ward. The emotional toll on the professionals working in that ward was the highest. Nobody would think any less of her if she sought help.
But despite her ability to analyze the logic of it all, as she began her journey to the second floor, Scully felt as if a horrid incubus was taking over her mind and telling her that should she enter the psychologist's office, she would be marked for good and ridiculed as a professional. She rode down the elevator and as she eyed the descending floor numbers, a strong feeling of nausea began to encompass her. She gulped heavily, trying to prevent herself from emitting her stomach contents onto the elevator floor. She bit her lower lip hard until she felt a faint metallic taste, letting her know that she had broken through her skin as her anxiety kept rising. What the Fuck is wrong with me?! She wondered in horror, unable to control the escalating fear she suddenly felt as the elevator chimed and its doors parted. It was absurd, and yet it was happening and she felt utterly helpless fighting herself.
She forced herself out of the elevator, sending anguished glances at the surrounding crowd, suddenly certain they could all see right through her. Did that man just send her a vicious sneer? She hurriedly avoided his glance, only to find herself being stared at from below by a child; A little boy, about three years of age. She had pointed her gaze downwards and the child's piercing eyes made her startle. She lost her balance and crumpled to the floor.
She outstretched her arm in a futile attempt to break her fall, but to no avail. Her knee crashed first and she winced hard as pain shot through her body. She had no time to collect herself. Her hand met the ground with much more pressure than she had intended. She had lost her equilibrium the moment she felt the harsh pain from her leg, and her hand, protruded in order to assist her in preventing additional physical disaster, suffered the consequences.
The whole ordeal took a mere fraction of a second at most, but to Scully it felt as if time had slowed down. She heard her own voice as it switched from shock to fear to a frightening gasp and finally to a loud howl as she screamed in agony. Then she heard the shrill wailing of the little boy from above her and the worried cries of a woman, most probably his mother, as she rushed to his assistance.
She scrambled and tried to get up. As she put her hand down to push herself from the ground, piercing pain attacked her senses and she slammed back onto the ground. "Fuck!"
She felt somebody touch her arm. "Are you alright?" It was an unfamiliar feminine voice.
"Yes. I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" The woman insisted. "You took a nasty fall."
Leave me alone! Was what she wanted to say but instead she just persisted with her usual mantra. "I'm fine," she affirmed and this time she used her other arm to push herself back to an erect position in order to prove her point.
"OK," the woman said with a somewhat doubtful tone to her voice. "Here," she offered Scully her bag. "You dropped this."
Scully took her handbag with her uninjured arm and tried to walk away with whatever dignity she still had left, but it was not to be. As she took the first step, her knee screamed bloody murder and as she closed her eyes, she was certain she could see stars. The pain was excruciating, to the level that she knew demanded some serious attention, but she swallowed hard and tried to ignore the tears that had formed at the corners of her eyes. She would not offer anybody a grand performance to make their day. She would not cry in pain, even though she truly wanted to. The only thing she could not mask was the limp she was now sporting as she walked away from the scene of her disaster.
She didn't look to her sides. She knew a small crowd had converged and she didn't want to see the expressions of pity she was convinced they all wore. She crudely hobbled onwards, until she caught site of a familiar door. She heaved a deep breath. The tiny closet door felt as if it were her only friend in the entire world at that very moment. She pushed it gently and it obediently opened.
She used what miniscule strength she had left to walk inside, shut the door slowly, put the broom into its regular handle socket and then she finally dropped down to the ground sobbing in the closet's silence.
Walter Skinner knocked on the cheap looking door and waited for a response. "Miranda Sanders! FBI! Please open the door."
He was greeted with silence so he continued with the normal procedure. "FBI!" He banged harder on the door. "Miranda Sanders, Open the door!"
Still no response. He put his ear against the door, trying to make out any sounds coming from within. He heard nothing. He heaved a deep breath, readying himself for his final bellow when he suddenly heard a clicking sound. He looked behind him and a young girl of about twelve years of age popped her head from the opposing apartment.
"She ain't home." The girl told him.
"I know." Skinner told her.
"So why you banging so loud if y'know dat?"
Skinner breathed hard. "It's my job. You go back inside now."
The teenager let out an unimpressed huff, slid back into her apartment and shut the door, leaving Skinner to his FBI dealings. He proceeded with the final major pummeling on Miranda's door, called her name out loud for the last time and then released his gun holster clip.
"I'm coming in!" he announced, and then retrieved a lock pick from his pocket and expertly unlocked the door. He pulled his gun from its holster, and slowly pushed the door handle down. From the tiny crack in the entrance Skinner's nostrils were accosted by the stale whiff of a home that hadn't been aired in quite a while. His face contorted in response. Skinner slowly widened the opening until he was able to pass through the door freely. He was confronted by darkness and all the while keeping his gaze to the front of him, he sent his right arm behind him, feeling to the side of the door sill for a light switch. Luckily the switch was right where he'd expected it to be and he quickly flicked it on, bracing himself against the blinding light.
With light now flowing through Miranda Sanders' tiny condo, he could finally look around and assess the place. The miniscule apartment had no lobby. The main living hall consisted of a tiny living room and a kitchenette. There was an all nice and tidy sofa bed in the living room area and beside it a recliner that was completely covered with dolls. The only additional door in the petite abode led to a bathroom. The apartment was empty and from the smell of things it hadn't really been lived in. He assumed Miranda had only come to the condo for very short periods of time and spent most of her hours beside her daughter's bed.
Skinner had no idea what to look for. He assumed it had something to do with the dolls based on what Mulder had told him, but what exactly? He holstered his gun and plucked his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Out of old habit he almost pressed the number three speed dial button and then remembered that it had been quite some time since Mulder's number had been there. He sighed and searched the list of latest calls received, found the number he needed and called it.
"Mulder," answered the familiar voice on the other side of the line. Skinner noted that he was obviously travelling somewhere. "Are you in the apartment?"
Skinner heard the slight edge in Mulder's voice and wondered if he should ask him what was wrong, then decided to let it go for now. "I'm here."
"Is Miranda there with you?"
"No."
"OK. Do you see anything out of the ordinary?"
"Should I?"
"I don't know."
"Well, Mulder, if you don't know what I should look for, why the hell did you send me here in the first place?" He was beginning to lose his patience with his former agent. In the good old days Mulder could crack a case as he sat at his desk, miles away from the actual events. Maybe he'd lost his touch being out of the bureau for so long, or maybe the fact that Scully was involved was inhibiting his abilities.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Skinner could hear the sound of car movement and faint music playing in the background. Mulder wasn't known to listen to too much music when he drove so Skinner assumed he was in somebody else's car, probably a cab. "Mulder?"
A few more seconds passed and finally Mulder responded. "Can you describe the apartment?"
Skinner quickly went through the condo's description, trying his best to elaborate as much as possible. Finally he waited for Mulder to offer him some guidance.
"Look at the recliner with the dolls. Tell me more about them," Mulder demanded.
Skinner shrugged. "They're just plain home-made dolls."
Mulder snorted. "These ain't your usual run of the mill dolls, sir. I want a detailed description. I want you to pick them up and turn them over, each and every one of them. These dolls are the key."
Mulder's request popped an idea into Skinner's head. He moved closer to the recliner and using the phone's camera, he snapped a shot of the dolls and sent it over to Mulder. "I think you can get started with this; A lot faster than me describing them."
On the other end of the line Mulder chuckled. "Imagine how our life would have been if we could have done this some ten years ago."
"Yeah," Skinner let out wearily and waited patiently for Mulder to try and analyze the photo he had sent him. After a couple of minutes his patience ebbed. "Figured anything out?"
"I think so," Mulder's voice sounded more distant now. He must've put him on speaker. "Can you get me a few close-ups of the first row?"
"Sure," Skinner confirmed and set his phone camera closer to the first row of dolls. As he shot the photos, he peered closely at the phone's screen, trying to figure out what had caught the younger man's eye and then he saw it and he slapped himself inwardly for not realizing it beforehand. Amongst the bunch of yellow haired dolls, three dolls had long orange hair. Walter, you old fool, too many years of pushing paper have dulled your senses. He took an even closer look at the orange-haired dolls and he realized all those dolls wore what resembled a white lab coat and the lab coat material was made out of a real lab coat. On the doll most to the right a person's name had been embroidered but parts of the name were missing as he doll's lab coat was made out of cuttings from a real one. The embroidered name was split in two – part of it appeared on the coat's breast while the other part was on the sleeve. Skinner picked the doll up and brought it closer to his eyes for a better view. The letters on the coat breast spelled 'Dr. Da' and on the sleeve he read 'cully'. His eyes widened with shock. Dammit, Mulder! As usual, Fox Mulder had been right!
He hurriedly put the doll back in its place and took a few additional snaps and sent them over to Mulder who quickly picked up the important details Skinner had previously missed.
"Sir, I need additional snaps of all the red-haired dolls; I want snaps of each limb and close-ups of their faces and then I'd like you to turn them face down and snap each of their bodies from the back – full body snaps and then each body part on its own. I will look at these on my way to the hospital."
"Hospital?" Skinner was both worried and confused.
Mulder let out a miserable snort. "Usually I'd say not to worry since Scully works at a hospital, but right now… I'm not so sure about that."
Skinner caught on. "I see. I'll finish here and I'll meet you there."
"I need you to check something about those dolls." Mulder continued, ignoring Skinner's last sentence.
Skinner didn't like the way Mulder had avoided responding to his last statement. Usually that meant he was going to do something rash. "Mulder, did you hear what I had just said?"
"Yeah," Mulder replied, impatience tinging his voice. "Can you check another thing for me?"
Fuck. He was blatantly deflecting the subject. This meant nothing good. "What?"
"I'm looking for the final nail in my theory's coffin. I need you to cut into each of the 'Scully' dolls and see what's inside. If my assumption is correct, you will find the smoking gun. Then you can come join me at the hospital."
"OK," Skinner agreed as he padded towards the condo's scanty kitchen and rummaged through its drawers until he found a pair of scissors. He walked back to the recliner and he realized he would need both hands free for this assignment. "Mulder, I'll call you back when I'm done."
"OK," Mulder replied and ended the conversation.
Skinner pocketed his cell and then grabbed the nearest 'Scully' doll, turned it around and pinched the doll-head's cloth with the scissors until he cut a tiny hole in it. He then stuck the scissors in the hole and made a cut wide enough for him to fit his fist. He took one step back, dropped to a sitting position on the nearby sofa bed, put the scissors down and dug into the doll.
At first all he got was foamy pillow stuffing. He plucked it out and set it beside him in a tiny, organized mound. He kept at it until suddenly something sharp pricked his finger. "Fuck!" he blurted out and winced. He pulled his hand out and noted the blood now marring his finger. "What the hell?!"
He stuck his hand back into the doll's head, being far more cautious this time. He slowly felt around the doll's innards until he once again met with the sharp item within. This time his prudence helped prevent further injury. He took hold of the object and slowly retrieved it from the doll's body. His eyes widened with surprise once he saw what it was.
"M… Mom..my…" Brylee Sanders whispered faintly.
Miranda sanders almost jumped out of her chair with shock. Brylee hadn't spoken a single word for the past two days. Her morphine dosage was on maximum now and she slept through the day as the drug concealed the pain from her brain. Miranda and the nurses provided all her needed care. They turned her frail body over to prevent bed sores, gave her gentle sponge baths and changed her clothes and diapers. The child was oblivious and despite the fact that Miranda knew sleep was the best thing for Brylee right now, she still longed to hear her child's voice.
She prayed in her mind for a miracle. She didn't know what she would do if she lost her precious baby. She didn't dare say 'once she lost' about Brylee. She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't accept it.
Dr. Scully's words to her just a few days earlier, telling her that Brylee was going to die, still sliced through her heart and she still couldn't conceive that these were her daughter's final days amongst the living. She had never prepared for this and for that she blamed Dr. Scully all the way. Had she known this would be Brylee's fate all along, she would have made the effort to make her last few months more meaningful. She would have never let her dwindle and die in a pitiful hospital bed, far away from her friends and family. Never.
Miranda pulled her chair closer to her daughter's bedside, leaned forward and grabbed her hand. "Brylee sweetie, Mommy's here."
The child released a weak breath as Miranda watched her with fear and worry. She wanted to grab hold of her daughter and not let go but the child's body was so emaciated, there wasn't much to grab anymore. Her tiny hand just about disappeared in her mother's grasp and Miranda was scared that just a teeny bit more pressure and it would crumble to bits.
"Baby, Mommy's here," she pleaded, hoping Brylee would speak again but the child didn't respond and Miranda believed she had fallen back to sleep. She was about to relax back into her seat and continue her vigil when the monitors began to beep and chirp in loud protest. "No! Baby! No! Don't leave me!"
The bedroom door behind her burst open and Miranda could hear rushing footsteps as medical staff poured into the room. She couldn't look at them. She knew what this meant yet she couldn't believe it. She refused to believe.
Somebody put a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Sanders, Miranda, Brylee's heart has arrested, do you want us to try and revive her?"
Without turning to face Dr. Slater who had just addressed her, she immediately responded. "Yes! You've got to save her!"
"OK. I'll need you to step back while we do this."
Reluctantly, Miranda pushed herself off of her chair and released Brylee's hand. She moved to the nearest corner of the room and watched with pain and horror as the doctors connected Brylee to a defibrillator and zapped her over and over as they tried to get her heart back into a steady rhythm.
After what seemed like an eternity to Miranda, Dr. Slater turned to face her and the expression he wore told her what he was about to say.
"NO!" she cried out, unable to accept what he was going to tell her. "It's too soon. Don't give up on her now! Please," she begged in despair.
"I'm very sorry, Miranda. We have been trying to get her heart steadied for more than thirty minutes. She is too weak. Her body just isn't capable of sustaining itself anymore."
"No!" Miranda cried and collapsed onto Dr. Slater's shoulder, burying her face in it.
The doctor patted her back in sympathy. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Sanders."
Miranda didn't know what to do with all the grief she was feeling. It welled in her heart and bubbled slowly out of her, gradually turning into frustration and anger, first at the unfairness of the world and then slowly focusing on one single person. She felt her hands curling into fists as she bit by bit channeled all her rage into a vengeful wish.
She moved away from Dr. Slater and uttered quietly. "I want to be alone with my daughter."
"Of course," the doctor didn't argue. "OK, let's give Mrs. Sanders some time alone with her child."
Mumbled agreement came from all the medical staff and they all shuffled hurriedly out of the room, blurting out apologies as they passed Miranda. She just wanted the door to shut behind them. She had something to do and for that she needed privacy.
Finally, the last staff member had left the room. Miranda moved next to her daughter's bed and drew the curtain around it. She didn't want anybody peeping at her from the room's window. "Brylee my lovely, Mommy is going to punish the doctor who lied to us. Mommy will make her suffer for what she did!"
Mulder wanted to fall to the ground and kiss it as he exited the cab. The ride to the hospital seemed like a never ending torture. He had stopped counting the number of times he'd tried to reach Scully's cell and the numerous curses he hurled at the contraption when he was once again confronted with the dull tone of the generic answering service.
He ungraciously shut the cab's door with his butt and hurried inward. A sudden purr resonating from his jacket pocket almost made him jump out of his shoes. He shook his head as he realized just how tense he was and pulled his cell from his pocket. He quickly checked the name on the phone's screen and groaned in frustration. It was Skinner. Not that he had an issue with the AD's call; he'd just hoped to see a different name.
He flipped the cell open and answered dully, "One unsatisfied customer speaking."
"Excuse me?" Skinner oozed bafflement.
Mulder chuckled, "Sorry Walter, just one of those days."
"I see," Skinner remarked. "Well, I don't know if this will brighten your day or just add to your burden, but I thought you might like to know that I found your smoking gun."
Mulder grimaced and braced himself for what Skinner was going to say next. "Give it to me."
"I did as you asked and cut a hole in each of the red-haired dolls and removed their stuffing. I found slices of Scully's nametag inside each and every one of them, along with a list of words scribbled on paper."
Mulder wasn't too surprised as he heard Skinner's findings. He'd expected as much. "What words? Can you give me the entire list?"
In the background Skinner released a sigh. "OK. The words are "doubt", "self-destruction", "self-loathing", "panic", "fear", "emotional pain", "insecurity", "loss of control", "hysteria", "dysfunction", "depression", "mania", "distrust", "irritability" and "paranoia". That's it."
Mulder wanted to go and shove his fist into somebody. He knew it! He sort of even expected it, but to have his notions confirmed and to know that the target of these words was Scully made him feel like a fully loaded gun about to be discharged. "FUCK!" he hurled at nobody in particular and accompanied his curse with a shaking fist. "Fuck!" he cursed again, and an unsuspecting passer-by stopped at his tracks and looked at him with shock in his eyes. Mulder waved him away with his hand. The guy gave Mulder a rather pissed-looking expression accompanied with 'the finger', grumbled under his breath and left the scene.
"Mulder, I think you should calm yourself down," Skinner almost demanded.
Mulder let out a miserable snort. "This is me, calm, Walter, believe you me."
"Right," Skinner sounded doubtful. "Anyway, I'm packing the dolls and their… innards, and taking them with me as evidence. What say I meet you at the hospital and we can discuss this further?"
"Discuss…." Mulder laughed cynically. "There's no time for discussion here! Didn't you understand what's going on here?!" Mulder was incredulous. Skinner seemed to be totally clueless as to the severity of his findings. "While I wait for you to come over so we can 'discuss things further', Scully could possibly be dying!"
"Now, I think you might be jumping the gun here, Mulder—"
"I don't have time for this—"
"Mulder…" Skinner said, his voice a warning, "You betta not do anything rash—"
"Like what?" Mulder jeered sardonically.
"Like barging uninvited into Brylee Sanders' room."
Mulder smiled. Skinner knew him all too well. "What makes you think I'd do that?" he asked with mock innocence.
"Dammit, Mulder!" Skinner had lost what little patience he had left.
"What?" he continued with the innocent boy attitude.
"If you do anything stupid, I won't be able to save your butt this time."
"You don't have to worry 'bout me, Walter," Mulder sing-sang to the AD. "I'm a big boy, y'know."
"MUL—"
Mulder snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. There was no point in continuing the endless song-and-dance with Skinner. Both of them knew what the other's position was and none intended on budging any time soon. Besides, he wasn't his subordinate anymore.
He began walking across the hospital's entrance lobby and his phone buzzed again. He grimaced and considered ignoring it, then realized it could be Scully. He snatched it from his pocket, took a peek at the number on the screen and huffed. "Fuck off, Skinner!" he spat at the number on the screen. If it weren't for the fact that he was still hoping Scully would come to her senses and call him, he would've turned the damned thing off altogether. As it were, he was forced to endure several more attempts of Skinner trying to get a hold of him.
After the sixth call Skinner sent him a text message. 'Mulder, wait for me!'
Mulder took in the message and glared at the phone's screen. By then he was already exiting the elevator on the second floor and heading towards the Pediatric Oncology ward where he hoped for his and Miranda Sanders' sake that he would find Scully safe and sound.
He was about to follow somebody into the ward when he received another text message, then another and another and they kept on coming. Skinner must've lost it, he thought and with disgruntlement, once again his fingers fished the communication device out of his pocket. He peered at the screen in disbelief and blinked. Thirty Seven new messages. Hello? He hadn't realized Skinner cared so much about him. He flipped the phone open and clicked on the first message. It read: 'I hope you have come to your senses. I'm sending you those close-ups of the dolls that you asked for. I think you'd like to take a look at them.'
Brilliant stalling technique, Walter, I'll give you that, Mulder thought to himself as he began analyzing the photos Skinner had sent him. He looked at each and every photograph with extreme scrutiny, using his eidetic memory to scan them into his brain for future reference as well as for cross-reference. The more he stared at the photos, the tighter the knot, that had begun forming in his belly, became. It was hard to notice in the photos he had first received from Skinner as they were taken inside Miranda's condo and the lighting there wasn't great, but the new close-ups were taken outside, in broad daylight and Mulder could now see what the bad lighting had covered up.
Each of the dolls' limbs was riddled with tiny drawings and scribbles, all done with a very fine pen with a color that almost resembled the dolls' body color, thus making those doodles and letterings barely discernable, especially under bad lighting conditions.
From the looks of things, the sketches on the limbs were meant to resemble various skin ailments. Some were just drawings, yet others were specific written terms like 'puss', 'scabies', 'rash', 'bedsores' and 'blisters'. Mulder knew Scully had none of those, so he wasn't quite clear how they were used against her, but what was worse were the etchings on the dolls' heads: 'blurriness', 'blindness', 'hallucinations', 'nightmares'. Mulder's heart began to beat faster. Scully was already being afflicted with some of those conditions. He didn't want to know what else Miranda had in store for her.
At least the dolls were currently stashed in Skinner's car, not to mention they'd all been disarmed. Then Mulder had a shuddering thought. He quickly scrolled down through Skinner's messages until he found the very first photo the AD had sent him; the one of the dolls all sitting in an orderly fashion on Miranda's living room recliner. He stared at it and released a harrowing curse, "Goddammit!"
He slapped his face in anger and disbelief. He'd missed the most important item of all; the gaping hole in the line of dolls, the one between the first 'Scully' doll and the second. The hole where a forth doll should have been; a doll that was probably being used at that very moment by Miranda Sanders against the only person who mattered in his life.