Encounter.
Glasgow, Kentucky.
May 20, 2010.
Mulder emerged from the swell sputtering, clawing at the shore. He dragged himself onto the cold boulders, panting as all of his heat left his body. He had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten into the river, but it was evident that this was not a dream. He was really here. He was really lying in the dark, in a mysterious cavern, with only the sound of the river in his ears. Where were the others? How far had the water carried him? How much longer could he survive at this temperature?
He dragged himself further along the rock, recoiling when his head struck a wall. He tried to sit up, but he got nauseous and sunk back down, taking short, shallow breaths. He felt like he had water caught in his throat. He was starting to feel lightheaded.
"I give him another thirty seconds."
Mulder looked up at the familiar voice, managing a slight smile at the three men sitting nearby. Langly had spoken, and when he saw Mulder looking at him, he smiled warmly.
"Come on, he has more fight than that," Frohike objected. He was the closest to Mulder. For some reason he was knitting a sweater, but failing miserably at it. "Isn't that right? Slow, deep breaths, buddy. Didn't you learn anything from Scully?"
Mulder adjusted his breathing, finding a gentler pace. His head cleared a little. "What are… you guys doing here?" he asked. His voice was rough and shaky.
"Keeping you company," Byers responded. He was eating a yogurt cup. He looked around the cave, making faces at the dark corners. "Really, you should think about redecorating. I know a great interior designer. She's dead, too, but her style was already ahead of its time."
"What do you wanna bet this exact scene is in that journal?" Frohike said. He messed up a line in his sweater and tossed it behind him, dusting off his hands. "God, I hate knitting. Why do I keep doing that to myself?" He refocused on Mulder, smiling thoughtfully. "So what do you say? Do you think this is freaky parallel number three? It would explain a lot."
"Explain what?" Mulder asked.
"Firstly, why you're talking to dead people, and secondly, why you keep sleep walking. Obviously you're dealing with an earthbound spirit forced to relive its own violent demise." Langly finished his yogurt and scraped the bottom of the cup, speaking nonchalantly. "If you keep falling for it, you're going to meet the same fate, and it probably wasn't pretty."
"Well you did say 'violent demise,'" Frohike pointed out.
"We should look at this reasonably," Byers said. He leaned in, his voice lowering. "You have to break free of its spell. You're obviously being controlled."
"Or he's just crazy," Frohike countered. "I mean, he is talking to us."
"I get lonely," Langly added.
"Something took those people," Mulder said, finally gathering the strength to sit up. He coughed, rubbing the back of his head. It ached like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. "Something took those people from that cavern, and it wasn't an animal. I'm not crazy."
"If that's the case, then something is controlling you," Byers reasoned.
"But why bring me here?" Mulder asked. He looked around, unable to see anything beyond his three deceased companions. He could discern nothing significant about this cavern. "Why bring me here instead of just killing me? Is this where it brought the others?"
Suddenly the Lone Gunmen were gone, and the chamber was glowing. It came from the river, where a shape was dancing around. She rose slowly, with water clinging to a torn white dress, and she walked onto the shore. Her whole body radiated like the moon. Her eyes were the pale blue of a drowning victim. Her skin was perfect, unblemished despite the rough surface she walked on. She seemed to drift through the air, never truly in one place at a time.
Beholding her mesmerized him. He could not look away.
"You…" he whispered. Her face seemed distantly familiar. "You're the ghost?"
She stared at him, sinking into a crouch. She put her hand on his cheek, giving him a sensation like sunlight touching his skin, and tilted his head up. Her expression was everything and nothing – a sense of wonder, of love, of confusion. She seemed just as lost as he was.
"I can help you," he said, fighting through the haze in his mind.
He was burdened with a terrible sense of loss, of loneliness, of regret, and the world seemed to be drifting away. He had never felt so isolated. He felt open air all around him, endless caverns and tunnels, but all of that space could not soothe the wanderlust in his heart. He felt the same heartbreak he had when he lost Scully the first time, when he thought he might never see her again. He felt the same confusion he had when his sister was taken, and when his parents died.
It brought him back to childhood, to the raw feeling of grief that made it hard to breathe. It was the worst feeling in the world, the worst loneliness he could imagine.
And then it was gone.
She was still watching him, and he was staring back at her, tears dropping down his face. He realized what was happening all at once. It became perfectly clear in one moment.
"You're… grieving," he whispered.
Her eyes widened for a split second, and then she was gone.
Lights erupted from a tunnel behind him. He heard Gene calling his name. He stayed where he was, slumped on his knees, gazing ahead with tears in his eyes as he contemplated what he had just experienced. His group emerged and surrounded him.
"Mulder? Are you injured?"
He blinked, sniffling, and shook his head. "I-I don't think so."
"Let's get you back. We'll spend another night here, and leave after we've all rested," Marshall said. He pointed his light around the tunnel, looking unsure. "Was there someone else here? I swore I heard you talking."
"I was coughing," Mulder said, unwilling to share his experience so soon. He let the others help him up, leaning heavily on Marshall as they made their way back to the main cavern. He changed clothes and unzipped his sleeping bag, using it as a blanket. He didn't want to sleep, so he listened to the others, and avoided their curious glances.
Gene insisted on questioning him. "Do you remember what happened at all? Did you see the ghost you were chasing?"
"I… I don't know," Mulder responded.
He caught the attention of Russell, who frowned. "Gene said you jumped into the river."
"I don't remember that," Mulder admitted.
"It happened," Gene said. "You were up on the ledge above the river. You said it was a ghost, and then you jumped. You said you were going to find it."
"I don't remember," Mulder repeated.
Gene was quiet, writing rapidly in his notepad.
"She must have lost someone."
Everyone looked up, including Mulder. He wasn't sure why he had spoken, or where that sentence had come from. He recalled the ghost, trying to put an age to her face. She was definitely young. She must have gotten lost in the caves, and now she was trying to find someone to keep her company. She was feeding on their fear, intentionally or not. She might have even caused the death of Rousseau's wife, through her connection with the explorer.
"Who lost someone?" Gene asked.
Mulder shook some sand out of his hair, cringing when his head ached. "The ghost. She's grieving. She must have lose someone very close to her."
"Are you going to forget this conversation happened in five minutes?" Gene demanded.
Mulder went for his bag, pulling out his tablet. He flipped through the journal. "Here. Read this. Tell me if this situation sounds familiar to you." He handed it to Gene.
Gene stared at him for a moment, somewhere between angry and mystified, and started reading the passage aloud. "He stood on the edge, on the water, on the cusp of death, trembling like the cavern itself was bearing down on him. His wild eyes showed the depth of his madness, of his unsettled mind…" Gene paused, glancing up at Mulder, bewildered. He finished it without looking down. "'I saw it, Bastien. I saw it in the water… and I followed it.'"
They stared at each other, sharing the private horror of having lived that very scene. The others seemed uneasy, but Gene was shaken. Mulder could see the wheels turning in his head. He kept looking down at the text, mouthing it as he read, and the further he went the more it disturbed him. He finally shut the tablet off and looked away.
"Just believe me for a moment. Just suspend everything you know about science, about the existence of ghosts and supernatural creatures, and just listen to me."
Gene brought his eyes up, staring at Mulder.
"I don't know who she was, or how she died, but I think she's trapped here. Bound by something. It felt like… it felt like she was sad. She followed the people in that journal because they felt the same way – the explorer, Rousseau, lost his wife before the expedition. Bastien mentions it all the time. Both of them were devastated… they were grieving."
"The witnesses…" Gene murmured.
"I thought there was no connection between the victims, but I was wrong. They all experienced a devastating loss. Peter lost his father, his best friend, before he went missing. Sandra lost her husband to cancer years ago. The ghost picked up on that."
"Mulder…" Gene said, holding up his hand to stop Mulder from going on. He seemed to be on the edge of a breakthrough. His voice was low, as if he wanted his words to be private, but everyone was listening to him. "Mulder… We have to leave this cave. It's really getting to you."
He was crushed by that, but he did his best to keep it from showing. He was used to being thought of as the nut of the group. He leaned back, exiting the circle of wide eyes and looking instead toward the river. "Believe what you want. I saw her. I was face to face with her. She let me feel what she felt… I have to help her."
"Even if there were a ghost," Helena commented, sounding unexpectedly calm about the whole situation. "Why would you want that? It's killing people – good, innocent people."
"We don't know that they're dead."
"I'm sure she transported them all to Narnia, where they could live happily ever after," Helena responded dryly. "Come on. Be reasonable. Weeks without food or water? The vast majority of them would be dead by now, and if she was keeping them somewhere, that means they all starved to death, slowly, and in agony. All of those nice, kind people you described, wasting away like abandoned animals. If that makes you empathetic toward the monster, your head is screwed up."
Mulder stared at her incredulously, considering all of the nasty things he could say in return, but the emotions of the ghost lingered and he could only feel sadness. He leaned into the cave wall, staring at the light between them. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm going to help her, whether you guys participate or not. If you want to leave, then leave. I'm staying."