Distracted.
Glasgow, Kentucky.
May 18, 2010.
Mulder was running through a forest, passing old cabins and skeletal cars in the gray homogeny of a nightmare. His only sensation was a cold breeze pursuing him, nipping at his elbows, kissing the back of his neck. He could only hear the sound of something monstrous racing behind him. Every now and then the air was pierced by its eerie laughter. Every now and then he slowed just enough to feel its arms closing around him, and then it hung back, toying with him.
Finally he found a place to hide. It was a cabin, as rundown as everything else in this forest. Beyond it there was an old streambed, its shore bearing like teeth prepared to consume him if he dared to cross it. He charged through the cabin door instead, the frame crumbling away in his hand.
She was lying across the floor, the only splash of color in this desolate place. Something had gotten to her back. Blood, as unnaturally bright as red paint, rolled across the carpet and framed his shoes. She was wearing a silky white gown, now stretched, torn, and streaked with blood. Her face stared back at him, as if she had expected him to come through this door. Her eyes were wide open. Her hand clenched her old service weapon.
"Scully…" he breathed, unable to comprehend the devastation that overcame him. His monster was approaching, making the walls tremble, making the room colder, but it no longer mattered to him. He tasted sulfur mixing with blood in the air.
It was coming for him with all of its malice sharpened into a blade. He could feel it entering his back, sliding effortlessly into his spine.
And then he was awake again.
He sat straight up, flinging the dog from his chest and almost falling off of the couch. His heart raced and sweat dripped down his forehead. His body felt cold, like his brush with death had been much more than a dream. He even felt a twinge in his back, like the ghostly blade was resting there, waiting for its wielder to finish the job.
When the chill finally left him, he retrieved his tablet from the floor and sunk back into the couch, pulling up what he had been reading before he fell asleep. He rolled his eyes, partly amused and partly disturbed by the passage that was highlighted.
I saw my love on the floor, back slit open, her life draining away, as the beast closed in on me. Our childhood home shook, taken by its rage, and I fell to its knife. When I awakened I was overtaken by such a fear that my colleagues worried for my sanity. For hours I was taken with the notion that I had truly lost her, and that the monster had finally succeeded in its hunt.
He sat up, skimming the paragraph over and over again. It was exactly what he had dreamt of. He must have projected it into his own dreams after reading the passage. But even while he reasoned it away, he couldn't quite remember if he was reading before the highlighted sections, or after them. It was possible he hadn't even looked at this section yet. He didn't really remember reading about it. He was left with the possibilities that it was a coincidence, a case of forgetfulness, or a dark omen of what was to come. Could the cave already be messing with his head?
He flipped to the back of the journal, waiting impatiently as the translation loaded in a little side screen. It was far from perfect, but it conveyed the text clearly enough. He read it twice, just to be sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
I came home to find my nightmares had become my reality.
It stopped there. It was scrawled across the last page in rough handwriting, similar to the beginning, but much sloppier. He had pressed so hard while writing it that the original document showed a hole beneath the last letter. Mulder even wondered if those dark spots in the scanned document were tearstains. It could have been a series of grease spots.
He dialed her number anyway, leaning one arm heavily over the side of the couch to keep himself upright. His stomach was doing flips. He felt like he hadn't slept at all.
"Mulder?"
Hearing her voice was enough to alleviate some of his anxiety. He knew it was silly to be so afraid of a dream, but seeing her lying on the floor like that was the culmination of his greatest fears. He knew he was centuries away from the tragedy that had befallen Rousseau and his companions, and yet he felt hunted as well, like the haunting was bleeding through the page.
"Hey, sorry. Did I wake you? I was just calling to check in."
"Is everything okay? You sound… What happened?"
He cleared his throat, forcing the fear out of his voice. "Nothing. I was just seeing if everything was okay out there. I saw some rough weather headed that way."
"I'm watching the forecast right now. It looks fine."
"Oh, must have mistaken it."
"Mulder, what's wrong?"
He scratched his head, trying to shake the ghostly cobwebs hanging all around him. He shut the tablet off and shoved it between the couch cushions. "I just had a nightmare, and it was about you, so I called. But you're fine, so it's fine. Everything is fine."
Every few nights his dreams would awaken him, forcing him to remember the details of his abduction, his career, and losing her. She always pulled his head against her chest and stroked his hair, whispering nonsense about starting up an herb garden or shaving the dog like a poodle. She excelled at distracting him.
But right now, her tone was something of a mystery. "Oh. I had one of those last night. We have a tiny houseguest, by the way."
"Iden is back already?"
"Deloris dropped her on our doorstep last night and drove off."
"What did she say?"
"Deloris said nothing. Iden said Deloris doesn't want her any more. I'm going to see her soon to try and clear this up. I'm just waiting for Iden to wake up. She had a rough night."
"I bet." He imagined the lively little girl, hurt by the notion of her pain. "Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come back? I could explain it to Gene. I'm sure he would understand. We could just postpone the trip."
There was a pause, and Mulder suspected it was full of something he couldn't hope to understand. "No, Mulder, stay there. I can handle this. We just… we had a rough night. Iden is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine." Her voice got a little softer. "So are you leaving soon?"
He stood, stretching to try and ease the tension in his back. It still felt like he had been stabbed. He ran his hands over it, making sure they didn't come back bloody. "We're not going into the cave today. Gene set up some interviews with local witnesses. Maybe they have some information they were too scared to put in the police reports."
"Like a ghost carrying their loved ones away?"
"Poltergeist, and no. Like smells or sounds that they didn't pay attention to at the time. Scully, are you sure everything is fine? You sound exhausted. Did you sleep at all?"
"I have to go. Promise me you'll stay out of trouble."
His words came out in a rush. "I promise. Scully… you would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you? I think we have that kind of relationship."
She sighed on the other end. "I can handle this. Keep in touch."
He stared at the phone after she had hung up, curious about what was going on in his house. He didn't want to antagonize her by calling back, and his interest in the caves was only fueled by the nightmare, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He would find out when he got home.
He went downstairs and found his host in the kitchen, moving between the toaster and the tiny dining table in the corner. He was preparing frozen walls and reading a scientific journal at the same time. Mulder took one of the two chairs and positioned it against the wall, knowing that both of their knees would not fit under the table at the same time. It was a small room, but it had a seventies feel to it, with its crackly linoleum floors, outdated machinery, and tacky hand towels. It was just as warm and homey as the upstairs bedroom.
When Gene finished the waffle, he deposited it on the table and took his journal to the refrigerator, setting it where the butter was and safely storing the butter in the magazine rack near the door. Mulder tried to point out the blunder, but Gene just hummed in agreement, absorbed in his own thoughts.
"Good morning to you, too," Mulder muttered, switching the two items and returning to sit with the scientist. He grimaced at the charred waffles. "I take it you didn't sleep well."
Gene finally looked up, a touch of confusion in his eyes. "Huh? Oh, no, I don't think I slept at all. I was thinking about our conversation yesterday. Your theory is ridiculous, of course, but…"
"But you wonder what would happen if I was right," Mulder said, completing his thought. He sat back in his chair, recognizing the look the scientist gave him. "You remind me of Scully. When we first started working together she was a sceptic about everything."
"So she believes you now?"
"I wouldn't go that far. She's just not as doubtful as she was. It's complicated." He glanced out the window, and then at the clock, dismayed that it was almost ten in the morning. "You said you had some interviews set up with the witnesses. Did I miss them?"
"Oh, no, the first one is at eleven, across town."
"How many of them are local?"
"Seven, but only five agreed to the interview. Four other families from out of state are in hotels nearby. All of them agreed to talk to us. I think any news is good news for them." He sipped his coffee. "I'm going to finish my breakfast, and then we can go."
"I think that's more charcoal than waffle now," Mulder commented.
"Oh? I suppose it is. Someone keeps fiddling with my toaster. Perhaps it's your ghost."
"Maybe it's your ghost, Doc."