Mulder sat in the darkened room at the police station, his eyes bloodshot from hours of pouring over the security tapes. The footage was on an endless loop—he rewound, paused, and replayed it again and again. Nothing. All he could see was a shadowy figure spray painting the cameras. Whoever it was had done it swiftly, expertly. The cameras went out, and for the next few minutes, the station was a ghost town in the footage. No one entered or exited. No suspicious movement. Just a series of grainy images and silence.
It had to be someone who was comfortable moving around the station, someone who knew the layout well. Mulder's frustration grew with every replay. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing, searching for any detail—any small clue that might explain how Joe had managed to escape. He was certain it was someone from inside the station, someone who had been planning this for a while. But every frame only deepened his sense of helplessness. There was nothing.
In the car, Detective Steven's gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure. He glanced at Scully, her eyes distant, scanning the road ahead as if she could sense something lurking in the dark.
"I know someone at the airport who can get you through security faster," Steven's said, his voice strained, trying to mask his unease. "We're almost there."
He reached for his phone, trying to make a call, but there was no signal. His jaw clenched in frustration. "Damn," he muttered "Let me try yours!"
Scully handed him her phone without a word, but before he could dial, an ATV swerved in front of them, cutting them off and clipping the front drivers side. The car jerked violently, slamming them off the road. Tires screeched, and the car came to a sudden, jarring halt. Scully's heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline flooding her veins.
Without a second thought, she grabbed her gun, fingers wrapping around the cold metal as she prepared herself for whatever was coming. She could hear Steven's muffled voice as he turned off the engine, opened the door and walked around the other side of the unknown vehicle. He was talking to someone, but Scully couldn't see who it was.
Her instincts screamed at her to be ready, to not trust anything about this situation. She unbuckled her seatbelt, eyes scanning for movement as she slowly opened the door. Every nerve in her body was on high alert. Something was wrong.
Steven's reappeared, his expression tight with frustration. "Dammit," he growled. "That idiot was playing around, and now we've got a flat tire."
He grabbed Scully's bags from the backseat, and she froze. She didn't want to get out of the car. Not yet, but she did anyway. The whole situation felt off. Too many things were falling into place, and none of them were good.
"He's gonna bring us to the airport," Steven's said, his voice almost apologetic.
Scully narrowed her eyes, her hand still on her gun. "Who?" she asked, her voice cautious, distrust creeping into her words.
Then, from around the ATV, the man who had rescued her earlier appeared. She felt a flicker of relief. It was Caleb. The same man who had gotten Joe away from her the day before at the restaurant.
"Hey there," Caleb said with a lopsided grin. "Remember me? Sorry about running you off the road. And, uh... sorry about this..."
Scully felt an unease creep over her. Something in his tone—too friendly, too off. It wasn't just the apology. It was the way he was looking at her. It was all wrong.
Her hand moved instinctively to the gun at her side, but before she could even pull it from its holster, a large hand grabbed her from behind, yanking her roughly. She gasped, twisting in the grip. A forceful spin and a fist slammed into her face, knocking her back.
Her vision blurred as her head hit the ground hard. The air was thick with panic, and then, just as everything faded to black, she heard the voice that had haunted her thoughts since the moment he touched her, it was Joe.
"Did you really think you could get away from me, hun!"
Detective Steven's stepped into the dimly lit office, his boots echoing on the tiled floor as he approached Mulder, who was still hunched over the monitor, eyes locked on the grainy footage. The static glow from the screen cast harsh shadows across his face, deepening the frustration etched into his features.
"Well, Agent Mulder," Steven's began, shaking the rain off his coat. "She's at the airport safe and sound. Her flight's delayed because of the storm. She wanted me to tell you her phone battery's almost dead, so she'll call when she can."
Mulder barely acknowledged him, his jaw tightening as he continued staring at the footage.
"You find anything?" Steven's asked, folding his arms.
Mulder exhaled sharply. "Nothing. Cameras were blacked out, no one in or out. It had to be someone from inside."
Steven's ran a hand down his face. "Yeah, well, I've talked to my men. No one saw a damn thing."
Mulder clenched his fists. That wasn't possible. Someone had to know something.
Meanwhile, in Roanoke VA, Joe stepped into the bustling terminal, his presence lost in the sea of travelers hurrying to their gates. He moved with unsettling ease, his demeanor calm, his steps deliberate.
He approached the gate, his dark eyes scanning the area before walking up to the kiosk. The attendant barely glanced at him as he slid the boarding pass across the scanner.
A small beep. The green light flashed.
Joe smirked, pocketed the ticket, and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Scully's plane wasn't taking off just yet. But he was going to make damn sure she never got on it.
Scully's consciousness flickered back slowly, pain radiating from every inch of her body. Her wrists ached, the cold bite of metal digging into her skin. But these weren't standard handcuffs. She recognized them instantly—military restraints. Stronger. Unforgiving.
She forced herself to focus, scanning the dimly lit space around her. The room was small, almost suffocating, with no windows and barely enough light to make out the rough, unfinished walls. The only furniture was the cot beneath her, its thin mattress pressing uncomfortably against her back.
Then, movement.
A shadow shifted in the corner. Her breath hitched. Someone was there.
As the figure stepped forward, the dim light caught his face. Caleb.
Fear tightened around her chest like a vice. She struggled against the cuffs, but the metal barely budged. He loomed over her, impossibly large, the sheer size of him making escape feel hopeless.
"Please don't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm pregnant."
Caleb stilled. His dark eyes bore into hers, unreadable. Then, slowly, he leaned down, so close that she could feel the rough scrape of his five o'clock shadow against her cheek, his breath hot against her skin.
"You will obey me." he growled, his voice a low, threatening rumble in her ear.
Scully swallowed hard, her body frozen in fear.
Caleb lingered for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in before he straightened, his towering presence still filling the small space. Without another word, he turned and disappeared through the door, locking it behind him.
Mulder pulled out his phone and dialed Scully. Straight to voicemail. That wasn't like her. Even with a dead battery, she would have found a way to check in. He needed confirmation.
He turned to one of the younger officers at a desk. "Get me a flight manifest for American Airlines Flight 287 to D.C. I want to know if Dana Scully ever boarded that plane."
The officer hesitated but complied. Mulder paced as he waited, his mind racing.
A few minutes later, the officer turned back to him, looking confused. "Sir, her ticket was scanned at the gate."
Mulder's stomach twisted. That meant she had to have gotten on the plane.
So where the hell was she? "Something's not right." He knew better than to dismiss the unsettling feeling twisting in his gut.
Mulder didn't waste a second. He grabbed his phone and dialed Skinner.
"I need a favor," he said without preamble. "Can you get me security footage from the Roanoke airport? Specifically, the gate where Scully's ticket was scanned. I need to know if she actually got on that plane."
There was a brief silence before Skinner responded. "Whats going on Agent Mulder?" Mulder just let out a sigh. Skinner knew better than to ask any more questions. "I'll see what I can do. I'll call you back."
Mulder hung up and immediately called the Lone Gunmen.
"I need to know the last location Scully's phone pinged before it went dark. And I need everything you can pull from Joe's phone—calls, texts, anything that might tell us where he was headed. The phone is on its way to Quantico, but the number is 555-205-6753.
"Give us a few minutes," Langly cut in. "We'll call you back."
Mulder ended the call and exhaled sharply, his fists clenched. He wasn't going to just sit and wait. He had to move.
Mulder stormed out of the station, but as he passed the row of parked cars, something made him stop cold.
Detective Stevens' vehicle.
A deep dent marred the front right side, streaked with black scuff marks. Mulder's stomach twisted. His mind raced, piecing it together, and the answer sent a bolt of rage through him.
He spun on his heel and marched back inside, his eyes locked on Stevens, who was casually sipping coffee at his desk.
"What the hell happened to your car?" Mulder demanded, his voice low but sharp.
Stevens barely looked up. "What?"
"The dent. The black paint marks. What did you hit?"
There was a flicker of something in Stevens' expression—something Mulder didn't like. But then, the detective leaned back in his chair and shrugged.
"Hit a deer on the way back."
Mulder slammed his hand down on the desk, rattling everything on it. "Bullshit! That's not from a deer! Where is she?"
The room went deathly silent. Officers shifted uncomfortably, their hands drifting toward their weapons.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Stevens said coolly.
Mulder lunged. "You son of a—"
Before he could get to him, officers grabbed him, pulling him back.
"Agent Mulder, stand down!" one of them ordered.
He struggled against them, his fury blinding. "Not until he tells me where she is!"
A guard ripped his weapon from his holster, and another shoved him back toward the holding cells.
"Get your damn hands off me!" Mulder roared, but the door was already slamming shut behind him.
Stevens smoothed his shirt and stepped up to the bars, smirking. "Looks like you'll have to sit this one out, Agent Mulder."
Mulder gripped the bars, seething.
He had been right. And now, he was trapped.
Scully searched the small, dimly lit room, her fingers running along every crevice, every seam in the walls, every inch of the cot she had been placed on. There was nothing—no vents, no loose panels, no way out.
She moved to the door, testing the handle. It didn't budge. A deadbolt clicked solidly against the frame from the other side. She leaned in, listening.
Faint voices filtered through the heavy door, muffled and distant. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but there was movement. Shadows passed under the gap at the bottom of the door, slow and deliberate. A guard.
Her heart pounded. She had no way of knowing where she was, no way of knowing how much time had passed since she'd blacked out. Her wrists ached from the military-grade cuffs biting into her skin. Every muscle in her body screamed from the struggle, from the hit she had taken.
The pain was getting worse.
She exhaled slowly and sat back down on the cot, forcing herself to think. She needed strength. She needed rest.
Reluctantly, she allowed her body to sink into the cot's thin mattress, closing her eyes despite the fear gnawing at her.
Just a little rest. Just for a moment.
Sleep took her before she realized she had let it.
Scully woke with a start, her body stiff and aching. There was no way to tell how long she had been asleep—no light, no clock, no change in her surroundings. But the gnawing hunger twisting in her stomach and the dry burn in her throat told her it had been too long.
She swallowed against the painful tightness in her throat, licking at her lips, but it did nothing to ease the thirst. She scanned the room again, hoping she had somehow missed something—anything. But it was still empty.
Pushing herself up, she moved toward the door, pressing her ear against the cold metal. The soft shuffle of movement outside sent a flicker of hope through her. A guard.
Summoning all the strength she had left, she pounded on the door. "I need water! Please!"
No answer.
She banged harder. "Please! I'm pregnant!"
Still nothing. Not even a shift in the shadowed feet beyond the door.
Her breath came quicker, panic settling in her chest like a weight. She grabbed the handle, yanking at it with all her might, but it didn't budge. Desperation surged through her, overriding the pain in her wrists as she fought against the unyielding metal.
Gritting her teeth, she turned her focus to the cuffs. If she could get her hands free, she might stand a chance. She twisted her wrists, trying to wiggle them loose, but the metal was too tight, biting cruelly into her bruised skin. Every movement sent sharp pain radiating up her arms.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down the frustration threatening to break her.
Scully panted through the pain, her wrists raw and slick with blood. She could feel it trailing down to her elbows, sticky and warm. With a defeated sigh, she slumped onto the edge of the cot, her head hanging. There was no escaping these cuffs. No breaking down that door.
A creak shattered the silence, followed by a flood of blinding light as the door swung open. Scully winced, raising her bound hands to shield her eyes. A dark figure stood in the doorway, backlit so that she could only make out his hulking silhouette.
Before she could react, the figure lunged.
She barely had time to brace before she was pinned beneath him, her breath knocked from her lungs as his weight bore down on her. Cheek to cheek, Caleb growled into her ear, his voice thick with control and menace.
"You will obey me."
Scully swallowed against the rising bile in her throat. The heat of his breath made her stomach twist, the scent of him suffocating. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.
Shaking, she forced herself to speak. "I've done nothing to disobey you."
The words came out small, but measured. Caleb's grip loosened, just slightly.
Scully seized the opportunity. "Please," she whispered. "I need water."
His lips curled into something that might have been a smirk, but instead of answering, he leaned in—his face brushing the crook of her neck as he inhaled deeply. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to recoil, not to give him the reaction he wanted.
And then, just as suddenly as he'd pounced, he was gone.
She lay there trembling, gasping to reclaim her breath as he stepped back into the shadows. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
Moments later he returned, she forced herself to sit up. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice careful.
Caleb said nothing, but with a flick of his hand, a guard entered the room carrying a tray of food. He set it beside her on the floor, along with a bottle of water, before stepping away. The door slammed shut behind them.
Scully snatched the water, twisting off the cap with bloodied fingers, gulping it down greedily. The relief was immediate, but short-lived.
The smell from the tray hit her next.
It was putrid, worse than any decomposed body she had ever examined. A rancid, stomach-churning stench that made her clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from retching.
She knew then—this was no ordinary meal.
And whatever was on that plate, it was meant to send her a message.
The thought hit her like a spark in the darkness—had they given her a fork? A spoon? Anything she could use as a weapon or a tool to pry the cuffs loose?
Scully dropped to her knees beside the tray, eyes scanning the filth for any sign of cutlery. Nothing. Desperate, she plunged her fingers into the slop, wincing as the thick grease clung to her skin. Her stomach twisted violently, but she kept searching, running her fingers through the foul mixture, praying something had fallen in.
But there was nothing.
Days blurred together.
Every morning, the same tray appeared with the same putrid mess, untouched except for the growing mold. A single bottle of water. The smell worsened, thick and sour, turning her stomach before she could even attempt to eat. But the hunger clawed at her insides, relentless and cruel.
Eventually, she caved.
She forced herself to take a bite, but the second it hit her tongue, her body rejected it violently. She barely made it to the corner before vomiting. Her throat burned, her stomach cramped, but there was nothing left inside her to give.
She could feel herself wasting away.
Her already small frame was shrinking, the sharp edges of her bones more pronounced. She knew because the cuffs had loosened slightly around her wrists. A sick sort of silver lining.
But none of it compared to the real terror—the thought of what this was doing to her baby.
She pressed a trembling hand to her abdomen, as if she could somehow shield the life inside her from the nightmare she was trapped in.
She had to survive.
Mulder was looking for her. She knew it. He would have figured out almost immediately that she was missing.
She just had to hold on.
Mulder sat on the edge of the cot in his holding cell, his jaw clenched as he stared at the peeling paint on the wall. The metal bars in front of him felt more like a personal insult than a real obstacle. Every second wasted here was a second Scully remained missing.
The heavy door of the precinct swung open with force, the sound reverberating through the station. Walter Skinner strode in, his presence commanding immediate attention. Officers stiffened at their desks, recognizing authority when they saw it. His voice was sharp and unwavering.
"I want this man released. Now."
Mulder stood, relief flickering across his features, though his expression remained hardened. He never thought he'd be so grateful to see his boss.
A young officer, barely in his twenties, hesitated before stepping forward. "Sir, I need to call my supervisor first," he said, shifting uncomfortably under Skinner's steely gaze.
Skinner ignored him and walked straight to the cell, meeting Mulder through the bars. He lowered his voice. "I'm getting you out of here. The Gunmen are watching. Don't make it obvious, but look at the security camera."
Mulder casually glanced up. The lens, still partially covered in black paint from the tampering, tilted slightly in response. A sign the Gunmen were already deep in the case.
"What do we have?" Mulder murmured.
"A man we haven't identified scanned Scully's ticket at the gate and walked away. No sign of her boarding the plane. The Gunmen last traced her phone to the edge of the woods off Route 460." Skinner's jaw tightened. "She never left town, Mulder."
Mulder exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists. "Then we need to get something on the detective. He knows where she is. I trusted him to get her out of here, and he—"
The door to the holding area swung open again, and Detective Stevens sauntered in, his boots clicking against the floor. His voice was thick with a theatrical southern drawl.
"Now, I don't know who you think you are, sir, but that man ain't goin' nowhere." He smirked, his fingers hooking into his belt.
Skinner barely restrained his rage as he flashed his badge. "I'm the Assistant Director of the FBI. And I'm telling you to release him."
Stevens scoffed, crossing his arms. "That man attacked an officer of the law. I don't care what your status is, he will be punished in full accordance of the law."
Skinner took a deliberate step closer, his voice dropping to a lethal tone. "Don't you have better things to worry about? Like finding my missing agent? Or the twenty-eight other women who vanished? Or should I haul your ass in for questioning?"
The room went still. The young officer near the cell looked between the two men, his fingers twitching nervously at the keys in his hand.
A long, silent stare-down ensued between Skinner and Stevens, neither man willing to blink first. Then, with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, Stevens lifted a hand and gestured lazily.
"Let the man go."
The young officer fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the cell door. Mulder stepped out, brushing past Stevens without a second glance, his mind already ahead of him—to Scully, to the woods, to the truth waiting to be uncovered.
Scully lay there, her body weak from the lack of food and water. The silence in the room was suffocating until the soft footsteps of the young guard approached. Without a word, he set the tray down by her and left. His quiet presence gave her a brief moment of solace, a flicker of kindness in this dark place. She reached for the water, her throat parched from days of thirst, but before she could take a sip, the sound of shouting interrupted her. Caleb's voice thundered from somewhere nearby.
Her breath caught in her throat. The shouting intensified, and then, a gunshot. Her heart raced. She couldn't help but feel the danger closing in, the walls of this place pressing tighter around her. A cold chill ran down her spine, and before she could react, the door to her room burst open with a force that nearly ripped it from its hinges.
Caleb's towering figure filled the doorway. His anger was palpable, and Scully instinctively recoiled, her body still weak from days without nourishment. He stormed toward her, his fists clenched, his voice a low, furious growl. "Eight days!" he roared. "Eight days and you haven't eaten?!"
Scully put her hands in front of her face, bracing herself for the blow she knew was coming, but it didn't come. Instead, he loomed over her, his body pressing against hers, his shadow swallowing her whole. "I've provided you with food, and you refuse to eat. You WILL obey me!"
For a moment, she forgot she was in danger. She blinked up at him, defiance still burning inside her despite the odds stacked against her. "I tried," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "I'm pregnant. My body rejected it. The food grew moldy. It's unsafe to eat."
Caleb didn't respond, not with words anyway. He grabbed her by the hair, his fingers tight and unyielding as he yanked her to the floor. She let out a gasp, but the shock didn't stop him. He positioned himself on top of her, holding her down as he forced greasy, slimy slop into her mouth. Scully gagged and choked, her body rebelling against the disgusting meal, but Caleb's grip didn't loosen. "You WILL obey me!" he bellowed.
As she struggled, her eyes fell on something that made her stomach drop: the young guard, his lifeless body sprawled across the floor in a pool of blood. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and her breath hitched. He was dead. She had heard the gunshot. Caleb had killed him.
Scully turned her head, her vision blurred with tears as she continued to gag. She fought to breathe, but Caleb didn't relent. He shoved more food into her mouth, his face twisted in rage. Her body convulsed, and everything she had tried to hold down came rushing back up, spilling from her mouth in a violent surge.
Caleb's hands released their grip on her as she choked, coughing and gasping for air. He stood over her, watching her writhe on the floor, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. He said nothing, just stared down at her in cold silence. Then, without a word, he turned and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
Scully lay there, her stomach empty but full of revolt. She could still taste the rancid food in her mouth, the memory of Caleb's hands forcing it down her throat, and the image of the young guard's lifeless body burned in her mind. She was shaking, but whether from fear, rage, or the sheer weight of what had just happened, she couldn't tell.
The car came to a halt on the side of the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Skinner gripped the steering wheel for a moment before looking over at Mulder, whose gaze was already locked on the dark stretch of woods beyond the shoulder. Without waiting, Mulder threw the door open and stepped out, his eyes scanning the tree line, searching for anything—any sign that Scully had been there. Skinner followed, his boots hitting the dirt as he shut his door behind him.
They stood there, both men tense, unsure of what to do next. The silence between them was thick with unspoken fears.
Then, something caught Skinner's eye—a glint of something near the edge of the road. He walked toward it, crouching down to get a better look. A pile of shattered plastic littered the ground, pieces jagged and dull with dust. He reached down, picking up a fragment and turning it in his fingers.
"Mulder." His voice was steady, but urgent.
Mulder was beside him in an instant, lowering himself to examine the debris. He picked up a few pieces, running his thumb over the edges. "Looks like broken headlight glass," he muttered. "The detective said he hit a deer on the way back. But there was paint on his car." He looked down at the road, at the placement of the glass.
"Mulder, if he hit the deer on the way back, the glass should be on the other side of the road."
Mulder exhaled sharply. "Yeah, I know. None of it adds up. I told you, he's involved in this somehow. We need to question him."
Then, in sheer desperation, Mulder stood, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted into the trees.
"SCUUUULLLYYYYY!"
His voice echoed through the woods, swallowed by the vast emptiness ahead. The only response was the rustling of wind through the leaves.
Skinner stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Mulder's shoulder. "We're gonna find her."
But Mulder wasn't listening. His body trembled with rage, grief, helplessness—emotions boiling over all at once. Without warning, he swung at Skinner, his fist cutting through the air.
Skinner dodged easily. "Mulder, don't."
Mulder swung again, wild, uncoordinated. "I TOLD you not to let her on this case! I all but begged you!"
Skinner continued to sidestep his attacks, his voice growing sharper. "Mulder, I didn't have a choice!"
Another swing. Skinner caught Mulder's arm, twisting him into a chokehold. "Settle down," he ordered, his grip firm but controlled.
Mulder struggled for a moment, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. His voice cracked under the pressure of Skinner's arm. "She wasn't supposed to be here."
Skinner didn't let go. "Then you shouldn't have taken the case!"
The words hit like a hammer.
Mulder froze. His body went slack as the truth sank in, his guilt pressing down on him with unbearable weight. His breathing hitched, and his shoulders began to shake.
Skinner loosened his grip, then—unexpectedly—pulled Mulder into something closer to an embrace. Not just as his superior, but as a man who understood the depth of his fear.
"They took Scully," Mulder whispered, his voice breaking. His face twisted in anguish. "And they took my baby."
Skinner felt his stomach drop. For the first time, it hit him—not just Scully's life was at stake. There was an innocent child caught in this nightmare.
Skinner swallowed hard, his grip on Mulder tightening with newfound resolve.
"We will get them both back."