DEVIL'S ADVOCATE II: SANCTUARY(2/4)

CHAPTER THREE part B
A wolf in sheep's clothing

Margaret finished cleaning up the kitchen and finally got her chance to
plop down in an empty chair at the table to read the Saturday newspaper.
Normally she would have asked one of the girls to help her, but she knew
they had their hands full elsewhere. She'd heard the commotion ensuing in
her living room and intuitively knew it probably had something to do with
their reluctant 'patient.' She'd let the girls handle him for now. She
instinctively knew that Dana could make him behave and with Melissa's
unflappable will, the poor soul didn't stand a chance. She chuckled
silently to herself. Poor, poor, Fox...surrounded by Scully women and no
place to run. She wondered where they'd cornered him this time.

She knew Mulder could be frustrating and aggravating because he'd never
learned to depend on anyone completely. More than likely the thought of
being helpless really frightened him. Most men were used to being able to
handle anything that came along, especially men who'd been alone as long as
Fox had been. Situations beyond his control had forced him to be 'helpless'
more times than any human being should have to endure.

Helpless -- just like he had been when Dana had disappeared. She had seen
the fear on his handsome face when her daughter had been taken and felt his
anguish and frustration at his inability to act. Dana had also told her of
his situation concerning his sister's disappearance. That one event,
something that occurred when Fox had been just a child, was the beginning
of the circle of guilt, shame and helplessness that haunted him. It was
fanned into flame, no doubt by two selfish and unfeeling parents, she
thought angrily. He was wounded and the scar, although not visible to the
naked eye, was something he had carried with him throughout his life.

Emotional scars like that may never heal, she pondered with dismay. But
she had seen something in Fox. She had seen with her intuition, or
whatever you'd want to call it, a capacity in him for such tenderness and
caring that it made her want to cry. She had also seen the depth of his
love for her daughter and that in itself caused her to love him even more.

Margaret was suddenly jolted from her reverie by a persistent knocking at
the kitchen door. Strange, no one around here ever knocked and if they
did, it was usually the front door. She got up, folded the paper on the
table and crossed the room to the door. Cautiously she opened the heavy
inside kitchen door to reveal a man of about 22 or 23 years standing on the
other side of the screen door.. She smiled warmly, noticing his shy stance
and silly fishing hat. "Can I help you?" Margaret asked curiously.

Keith nervously scrunched the floppy hat from his head and held it
respectfully against his chest. "Yes ma'am," he replied politely. "I
w...was fishing at the lake earlier this morning -- b..bby the way, they're
rr...really biting, in case you're interested." he offered
enthusiastically. "Anyway, on the w...wway home, I hit a patch of black
ice, m...mmy car went off the r..rroad about a quarter mile back, and now
it's st....stuck in a snow bank. I was j....jjust wondering if maybe
someone here might be able to h...hhelp me pull it out?"

Margaret considered his dilemma for a few moments. Something was tickling
the back of her brain, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. She
decided to ignore it for now. No reason to make this nice young man wait
for her while she tried to sort out her thoughts. "Well, dear, my son has
gone to town and I'm not sure when he'll be back," she replied. "Maybe my
daughters, if they both put their minds to it might be able to help you
pull it out, but I wouldn't count on it. And poor Fox can't help you. He
just got out of the hospital yesterday so I wouldn't even want him to
attempt it. Perhaps you should call a towing service," Margaret suggested.

"Ma'am, that s....sounds like a good idea. Would it be okay if I c...came
in to use your phone?" Keith asked. Margaret nodded and opened the screen
door to let Keith into the kitchen. Keith absently placed the hat on the
stool next to the counter as he reached for the phone.

Margaret opened a drawer and pulled out a local phone book. Taking the
book from her hand, Keith smiled gratefully, then looked up a number and
began to 'dial.' Margaret turned momentarily to pour a cup of coffee and
Keith took the opportunity to slide his thumb over the small button by the
keypad, cutting the connection.

"Would you like some coffee," Margaret asked. This young fellow looked
absolutely frigid with cold and she'd always had a soft spot for strays.

Keith nodded his head, 'yes' and accepted the steamy mug that she offered
him. Coffee, twice in one day. Doesn't anyone drink hot chocolate
anymore, he wondered. Then Keith began his imaginary conversation with a
nonexistent tow truck operator. He hung up the phone with a shrug. "They
s..said they'd be out as soon as they c...could," he told her.

"Would you like to wait here?" Margaret asked.

"No...no, that's okay," Keith replied, momentarily rattled. He hadn't
expected her to be so nice. "They r...really shouldn't be too long, and
besides, that c...car's my baby and I hate to leave it alone out there. It
w...was a gift from my folks for graduation," he added with a burst of
inspiration. He thanked the dark-haired woman profusely for the coffee and
her kindness as he went out the kitchen door and trudged back into the
snow. He even took a moment to smile and wave to the kids. <Just another
friendly face, kiddies.> He was surprised when the kids actually waved
back.

Jordan would be so proud of him, Keith thought. He'd gotten the
information they needed and the woman suspected nothing. He congratulated
himself for leaving the hat. That was something he'd thought of all by
himself, and it would give him an excuse to get back into the house when
the time came.

Keith experienced a momentary pang when he thought about how nice she'd
been to him and what Mitchell would probably do to her. But then again,
his own mother had been nice to everyone else except her family. Looks
could be so deceiving.

Margaret watched the young man's retreating figure from her kitchen window,
saw him wave to her grandkids and watched the youngsters wave back. He'd
been so nice and polite, not like a lot of young people in the world today.
Margaret hoped that his luck would change soon for the better.

"I'm warning you for the last time," Dana threatened. "Come out of there
right now, Fox Mulder, or I'm coming in after you." As far as she was
concerned, he'd been in that bathroom way too long and he was beginning to
seriously try her patience.

Mulder leaned weakly against the door and grasped the knob. He almost
wished that she *would* come in and get him. He was just too tired to
worry about it any more.

Melissa pointed at the door knob. It began to turn and the door slowly
opened as Mulder sagged heavily against the door frame. "I did it," he
smiled softly with satisfaction.

"Did what?" Margaret asked, entering the hallway to investigate all the
noise that seemed to originate there.

"Nearly killed himself cavorting in the snow and being generally
uncooperative, that's what," Melissa retorted.

Mulder in turn, launched a particularly pained expression in her direction.
"Don't you have a crystal ball to polish or a palm to read somewhere," he
countered in a hushed voice. When you don't have a viable defense, might
as well go on the attack.

"Oh, I don't know, let me see," Melissa barked back at him while she snatch
his hand away from the door and turned his palm up to study it. Uh, oh...
this wasn't working out like he'd planned. "Says here that a petite
red-headed woman is going to make your life a living hell, a motherly
dark-haired woman will call you Fox every chance she gets, and the red
head's sister is going to stuff you full of herbal tea if you don't behave
right now and do what's good for you," Melissa rattled off in a rapid-fired
burst.

"Come on," Scully ordered. "Let's get you off your feet before you fall
down." The three women alternately supported and herded Mulder in the
direction of the TV and gently lowered him into the recliner. Mulder
settled back into the cushioned softness, slumping slightly with relief.
Dana let go of his arm, crossed the living room and disappeared into the
kitchen while Margaret unfolded a blanket across his hips and Melissa
dropped the remote into his lap. Melissa and her mother followed Dana
into the kitchen. "Who were you talking to, mom?" Melissa asked. "I
thought I heard voices out here a couple of minutes ago."

Margaret raised an eyebrow at her oldest daughter and a playful glint
filled her eyes. "Oh, really? You actually managed to hear something in
between badgering poor Fox?" Margaret poured herself a fresh cup of coffee
and sat back down at the table. Well, Margaret thought, so much for
reading the paper in peace.

"Ok, yes, you did hear voices," Margaret admitted. "A very nice young man
came to the back door because his car slid off the road. He was looking
for help in getting it out of a snow bank, but all I could do was let him
use the phone to call a tow truck."

A frown creased Dana's forehead as she listened to the conversation at the
table. Sometimes she wished her mom wasn't quite so friendly and helpful.
Opening the door to a stranger was a dangerous thing these days, even in a
rural area like her mom's neighborhood. Lord knows you can't tell the
crazies from the rest of the world by looks alone. Mulder was proof of
that, she thought with a guilty snicker as she finished filling his glass
at the sink and turned the faucet off. On her way back to the living room
with his medication, she spied a strange looking hat on top of one of the
kitchen stools.

"Does this belong to that man?" Dana asked, pointing at the hat.

"Oh, good grief," Margaret said. "He must have forgotten it. Do you think
we ought to try and return it to him?"

Melissa peered at the ugly fisherman's hat. "I think we just ought to
throw the thing out, mother," she replied. She grabbed the hat off the
stool and headed for the garbage.

"Don't you dare, Melissa Scully," Margaret scolded. "That doesn't belong
to you, and you never know, he might come back to get it." As Margaret
reached to take the hat from her daughter, Melissa drew in a quick breath
and dropped the hat on the floor as if it had suddenly become too hot to
hold.

"Melissa, what's wrong?" Margaret asked in alarm.

"I don't know," Melissa replied. "I got the strangest feeling when I
touched that hat. You know the feeling, mom... like a goose walked over my
grave."

"You probably just poked yourself with one of the lures on the hat," Dana
scoffed. Good thing Mulder wasn't hearing this, she thought. He loved to
tease her about her 'psychic' sister, and if he'd been in on this little
scene, she'd never have heard the end of it. Dana made a show of bending
over, picking up the hat, and replacing it on the stool on her way out of
the kitchen.

******
end part three

From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 21 01:44:24 1996
SANCTUARY
BY:
CHERYL COHEN
(ALIAS-THE STINKER)
AND
ANNIE REED
(ALIAS-FANCYKATZ)

Forward
************************************

Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started
bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's
Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but
somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each
insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is
ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence,
insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life.

Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and
adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is
not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story.
I like to leave a little bit to the imagination.

DISCLAIMERS ETC.
********************************

This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris
Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the
characters named are the property of those entities and are used without
permission, although no copyright infringements are intended.

************************************

CHAPTER FOUR
Suspicions

Mulder had just gotten somewhat comfortable in the recliner when Dana
reappeared a few minutes later with a glass of water in one hand and a
colorful collection of capsules and tablets in the other. "Take your
medicine, Mulder," she instructed forcefully. Mulder took the glass and
the pills, then swallowed his medication dutifully without comment.
Antagonizing all three Scully women at once would be decidedly unwise, he
thought. He knew Dana always managed to get even with him, and he felt a
realistic fear of reprisal at the thought of crossing either of the other
two Scully women.

The funny thing was, even as he was chafing from the lack of privacy, and
although it was difficult for him to admit, there was a small part of Fox
Mulder that languidly reveled in the attention that these three lovely
women were willing to lavish upon him. He was amazed, perhaps even a
little embarrassed when he realized how much he wanted that attention,
needed it.

Dana took the glass from his hand and affectionately stroked his hair away
from his face. Mulder tilted his head back to look into her smiling face.
My God, his mind reeled with a sense of wonder, she was so radiantly
beautiful. And wonder of wonders, she loved *him.* How did he get so damn
lucky? The words of a song found their way into his memory. '...How did I
ever win your love? What did I do, what did I say? To turn your angel eyes
my way...' Sometimes it was hard to believe that this was for real, that
this was actually happening to him. That thought panicked him. Maybe this
wasn't real, maybe this was all just some wonderful dream. He would wake
up alone and afraid, and she would be gone.

"Mulder? Fox..." she called out to him softly. At first she'd thought
that he'd zoned out on her but the sound of her voice brought him back from
where ever he'd been. The desperate longing she saw reflected in his eyes
reached deeply into her soul as she bent to gently caress his lips with her
own. "Please be good," she pleaded. "I really *need* you to get better
*soon,* she cajoled with a voice full of promise.

Mulder nodded dreamily at first, his thoughts still swimming through his
mind. Then the sudden realization of what she had actually said to him
suddenly sank in and he snapped back to the here and now.. She wanted him.
She must miss their physical intimacy as much as he did.

It had been over a month now since he'd last held her in his arms and
thoroughly expressed his love both emotionally and physically. The memory
of that night still burned hot in his blood. Oh, this was pure hell, he
screamed silently. He was well enough to feel the longing and the desire,
but still incapacitated enough not to be able to act on it in any kind of
way he felt would be adequate. He was not one to do anything half way,
especially not that. Mulder made a firm resolution to himself to try and
be a little more cooperative and a lot more careful. A sly smile formed at
the corners of his mouth and a dangerous sparkle brightened his eyes.
"I'll try," he finally said to her, "I really will," he reiterated,
attempting to convince Dana of his sincerity.

Margaret knelt down beside him and placed her hand on his knee. Looking
away from Dana, he saw Melissa standing by the couch. Funny, he hadn't
even heard them come back into the living room. He wondered how much of
his brief conversation with Dana they'd heard, but it soon became
abundantly clear that Margaret, at least, had heard enough.

"Fox...," Margaret began in a tone that he'd grown to recognize as the 'eye
before the storm,' "there is no *try* about it, dear. You *will* remain
right where you are, except of course to use the bathroom. You get up from
that chair for any other reason and I will personally take you to the
hospital and admit you myself. Is that understood?"

Fox Mulder, the man, resisted being told what to do. But Fox Mulder, the
boy, recognized a mother's loving yet firm tone when he heard it and
instinctively responded to it.

"Yes ma'am," Fox replied with lowered eyes. He'd been properly and
righteously chewed out. He knew he deserved it and he knew he'd worried
them with his carelessness.

Margaret stood up and turned to leave. But before she walked away, Mulder
reached up and clasped her hand. "Mom?" he said tentatively. Margaret
looked down at him with inquiring eyes. "Thanks," he mumbled shyly.

She responded by lightly ruffling his hair and patting him gently on the
head. Margaret glanced toward her daughter and smiled. "He's all yours,
Dana honey, and I don't think he'll be giving you any more trouble. Will
you?" she asked Fox with a voice as stern as the look on her face.

Mulder grinned sheepishly and nodded his head 'no.'

"Good," Margaret stated with satisfaction. "Dana, I'm going to try and
finish reading my newspaper before everything is yesterday's news,"
Margaret remarked tersely as she headed back to the kitchen. "Melissa, do
you want the funnies?" she offered as a broad hint for her older daughter
to accompany her.

"Yeah mom, I'm right behind you. I could use a good laugh." Melissa
brushed her fingertips along Dana's arm, then followed her mother to the
kitchen.

After her mother and sister had left the room, Scully seated herself on the
couch beside the recliner, quietly hoping that Mulder had forgotten or at
least dismissed her behavior earlier this morning. Fat chance, she thought
ruefully as she turned and caught him studying her unobtrusively.

Mulder quickly averted his gaze and narrowed his concentration to the half
empty bag of sunflower seeds that he'd left on the end table the day
before. He crunched noisily, spitting the hulls into an empty ashtray,
then awkwardly fumbled with the TV remote. The silence between theme was
deafening as Mulder channel surfed for several minutes before finally
deciding on an episode of MST3000.

Damn him, she thought guiltily. Mulder always seemed to instinctively know
when something was bothering her. Sometimes it could be a real pain in the
ass having this man so connected to her. There were times that she could
swear he knew what she was feeling even before she did and this was
apparently one of those times.

The doleful expression of his eyes relayed the message loud and clear. It
might as well have been written on a post-it note and stuck to his
forehead. He was slightly hurt and perhaps even a little disappointed that
she hadn't yet confided in him.

Well, she didn't have anything concrete to confide, now, did she? Oh, get
real, Dana argued with herself. You're a doctor. What would *you* tell a
patient who came to you with your symptoms? Mentally she listed them all,
and for the first time she allowed herself to consider another very
plausible explanation. Oh God, you don't suppose...!?! She panicked
and drew in a quick breath that turned into a clearly audible gasp.

Mulder turned his head suddenly at the sound, forgetting for a moment that
moving that quickly wasn't a very good idea. He immediately regretted it
as the sudden movement made his eyes hurt and his head swim. He managed to
focus a concerned stare in Dana's direction. "You Okay?" he asked.

Dana's expression had transformed itself from a look of pure panic to a
mischievous self-satisfied smirk. "I'm fine...just fine, Mulder." She
chuckled softly and looked at him in wonder for several seconds.

"What?" he asked in total confusion, puzzled at yet another unexpected
change in her attitude. Mulder couldn't tell anymore from one minute to
the next whether he would get a passionate kiss or a slap in the face.
Dana's ocean of conflicting mood swings was starting to make him seasick.

"Oh, it's nothing," Dana assured him with a lazy, knowing smile.

"Nothing? Nothing!!??" he sputtered incredulously. "In one morning
you've alternately cried over breakfast, bitten my head off, then tried to
seduce me. You nearly passed out on the stairs, you look completely
exhausted, and you still tell me that 'it's nothing'? Didn't you think I'd
notice?" His eyes widened in disbelief, and his normally cool composure was
really beginning to slip. Cool off, Mulder, he told himself. Getting
into an argument isn't going to help.

With furrowed brows, he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb
and forefinger in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure that was
building up behind his eyes. Finally, he seemed to come to terms with his
frustration. He took several deep breaths, his features visibly relaxing.

Mulder reached over and tenderly grasped Dana's hand. "Look Dana," Mulder
sighed with a forced effort at calm, "I'm sorry if I've said or done
something and I'm sorry even if I haven't. Seeing you so unhappy this
morning really hurt," he admitted, lowering his eyes. "I didn't mean to
press you for answers that you weren't willing to give me, but I was
worried about you--still am," he mumbled softly.

So much for acting under the assumption that what Mulder didn't know,
wouldn't hurt him. She should have known better.

Smiling, Dana broke free of his grasp, clasped his face in both hands and
stared directly into those liquid hazel pools. "Listen to me and listen
good," she growled in the sternest, most businesslike voice she could
muster. "For the last time, you are not directly responsible for any
emotional or physical aberration that I may have displayed lately.
Although I'll admit that I haven't been quite up to par, it's also true
that I've been through a lot. I'm obviously suffering from some kind of
hormonal imbalance or something. And if it'll make you feel any better, I
promise I'll go to the doctor on Monday and get checked out. Okay??
Those beautiful, expressive eyes inches from her face still questioned her,
still worried about her. "Look, Mulder...if I was sure of what's going
on, please believe me, you'd be the first to know."

A small pang of conscience stabbed at her. Well, it was the truth, she
rationalized. She *wasn't* sure. Dana smiled at him reassuringly and
trailed her fingertips lightly along the strong, well-defined jaw line as
she reluctantly removed her hands from his face. This time his eyes
revealed that he'd bought it... perhaps not all of it, but enough to
appease most of his concerns and some of his curiosity.

Mulder's countenance brightened as a crafty smile slowly replaced his
previously intense expression. He grabbed the remote and pushed the mute
button, effectively silencing Servo's obnoxious remarks at the chincey
grade D Sci Fi movie that filled the screen. He looked at Dana with
unadulterated boyish enthusiasm and grinned. "I've always wanted to do
this," he quipped as he launched into a truly inspired commentary of
hilariously bizarre remarks and dialogue that could only come from Mulder's
own warped brand of humor.

Dana loved many things about Fox Mulder, but the ability to make her laugh
was probably one of his most endearing qualities. This time he outdid
himself. Dana found herself roaring with uninhibited laughter. With sides
aching, she gasped for air and brushed away the tears that rolled down her
cheeks with the back of her hand. He was in positively rare form today,
she told herself, while trying to regain some form of control.

Mulder rejoiced in her laughter and permitted himself a silent smile of
satisfaction. This was the way it should be for her--always. He would
gladly play the fool if it kept joy in her heart and laughter upon her
lips. He vaguely heard her gulps fade into giggles, then reduce themselves
into tiny hiccups before he drifted away. He was so tired.

A shadow of a smile still played about the soft lines of Dana's mouth as
she watched the remote slide from Mulder's limp hand and clatter hollowly
onto the floor. Dana fervently wished that he could always be as content
and happy as he was right now. Certainly she could think of no one else
who could be more deserving.

Dana Watched him sleep for a few minutes, then got up from the couch, bent
over and tucked the blanket in securely around Mulder's waist. She picked
up the remote from the floor, intending to put it back on the table, when
her eyes inadvertently lingered on the over laden ashtray filled with a
disgusting pile of sunflower seed hulls. She breathed in the musty smell
and suddenly felt her stomach lurch as the sight and smell became too much
for her.

Rushing into the bathroom, Dana made it just in time to empty the
half-digested remains of her breakfast into the toilet. She immediately
regretted having eaten quite so much this morning. If she'd have stuck to
her normal bagel and juice, she would have been done with this disgusting
business a lot sooner.

"God," she groaned softly, while splashing her face with the ice cold water
from the bathroom sink. She leaned one arm on the sink, holding herself
up. The face staring back from the mirror was white as sheet. She
brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Somehow she had the feeling
this wasn't going to be the last time she would find herself in this
position. "Mulder, " she mumbled hoarsely, "I'm either going to kill you,
or kiss you...I just haven't decided which." Dana dried her face on a
towel and headed back toward the kitchen. She stopped briefly on her way
through the living room to plant a gentle kiss on Mulder's forehead and
was rewarded with a gentle snore. She left the television set on for
background noise, a little touch of his own home to help him sleep.

Keith had followed his own tracks from the Scullys back door to the tree
line, then had sloshed through the snow as he circled the house to the
clump of trees edging the country road and the Scully's driveway. This was
where he was supposed to meet Jordan, but no one was here.

Scanning the trees, he jerked his head nervously from side to side.
"J...Jordan, J...Jordan, wh...wh...where are y...you?" he called out in a
loud whisper. "I g...got it, J...Jordan," he announced proudly.
"Everything you wanted me to get." Still no response. "C...come on,
J...Jordan, i...it's me," Keith sputtered, panic creeping into his voice
when no immediate answer was forthcoming. No...no, they couldn't have left
him. Jordan wouldn't leave him.

A loud crack echoed through the stillness as Jordan Chambers appeared from
behind a nearby fir, his foot snapping one of the large dead branches that
littered the ground. The sound was only partially deadened by the snow
that had drifted in underneath the tree that had shed the branch, and in
the general silence of the day, it was as loud as a gunshot and more than
loud enough to scare Keith out of his wits.. He spun around clumsily in the
snow that had piled up in between the trees and nearly fell to his knees
before grabbing a tree limb to steady himself.

"Wh..where's Mitchell?" Keith asked when he noticed that Jordan was alone.
For a second he had been brave enough to look Jordan in the eyes, then
remembered his place and lowered his gaze in submission.

"He went on ahead," Jordan replied. "He was getting...impatient, so I sent
him to keep an eye on the brats playing in the back yard until you got back
here. Come on, my son," Jordan said grabbing Keith's elbow. "We have to
find Mitchell before he takes it upon himself to act alone, and you know as
well as I do what that could mean. You can tell me what you learned on the
way." With Jordan leading the way, they headed back through the trees
toward the Scullys' back yard, the unsuspecting children...and Mitchell.

Matt and Meredith Scully squealed with delight as they tossed the bright
red frisbee high into the air and watched it sail across the yard. Kelly
chased after it, a black smudge against all the bright white snow. Huge
snowflakes fell from the sky, the leading edge of the impending storm, and
Matt and Meredith intended to make good on every moment their grandmother
would allow them to be outside in the snow before the storm, and grandma,
chased them inside.

Kelly was not a big dog, and in some areas the snow was so deep that she
had to jump from one spot to the next in order to chase the frisbee. But
that didn't dampen her enthusiasm one iota. Barking to let the world know
that this frisbee was *hers*, Kelly jumped up and Snagged the saucer-shaped
object between her gleaming, white teeth. Then the shiny, black bundle of
fur bounded back toward the laughing children, her tail wagging happily
like a rotating helicopter blade. Rolling playfully in the snow, the
children giggled joyfully as they fought for possession of the crimson
disk. Kelly wasn't about to give up easily, because after all she'd worked
hard for this thing, and she growled deep in her throat locked in mock
battle with the kids.

Matt finally rescued the frisbee from Kelly's mouth and she backed up in
the snow, waiting for him to throw it again. This time Matt threw it hard
toward the trees that bordered the backyard. "Get it girl!! Get it,"
Matt's voice, urged as the blur of fur sped by him. Matt bounced up and
down in the snow and teased Meredith by swiping her blue and gold sweater
cap from her head. He stuck his tongue out menacingly at his sister, then
tilted his head back to try and catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Kelly suddenly came up short of her mark and stopped at the line of trees.
Something was wrong here, the smell of the trees wasn't right. She lowered
her head and sniffed, her tail sticking out straight behind her, no longer
wagging in a friendly rhythm. The scent she picked up was evil, pure evil,
and she sensed that it meant harm. Kelly's ears flattened against her
lowered head as canine lips curled up away from canine teeth in a low
threatening snarl. Unlike the mock growl she had used with the children,
this sound signified that she meant business. Muscles twitched in tension
beneath her sleek black fur, then sprang into motion as Kelly leaped into
the shadows to defend her home..

Mitchell felt, rather than saw the dog's attack. As Kelly jumped at him,
he reached out swiftly with one hand, seized her by the throat, then
ruthlessly slung the animal into a tree. Kelly's body connected with the
unyielding wood with a heavy thud. The family pet yelped once in surprise
and then dropped to the cold earth in a lifeless heap, her neck broken.

Mitchell's veins coursed with adrenaline. The thrill of the kill was now
fresh in his blood. He glared out of the darkness created by the trees,
his eyes filled with an insatiable hunger and his gaze fell on the two
small children who wandered in confusion near his hiding place. He
shuddered with anticipation. Just a little closer, he thought with cunning
malevolence, .just a little closer. The man he had once been, the man who
would have been sickened at the mere thought of what Mitchell was
contemplating, was nearly gone now. Only the hunger remained, the
over-riding need that burned in his veins. His eyes glittered with an
undefinable evil and his hear pounded in his chest with an unnatural
rhythm.

"Kelly, Kelly," Matt called out impatiently. "Here Kelly, you dumb dog,"
he yelled with irritation while stepping closer to the shadows. He could
have sworn she'd gone into the trees over here somewhere, but then again,
he'd been looking up at the sky trying to catch snowflakes. Grandma'd be
real upset with him if Kelly got lost.

Meredith held back several feet. "Grandma said not to leave the yard," she
worried. "You're gonna get in trouble."

"Only if you tell her, squirt. You're just chicken," he taunted her,
folding his hands under his armpits and flapping his elbows.. "Bawk! bawk!
bawk! Look at the big chicken."

"Am not, and don't call me squirt," his sister fumed as she closed the
distance between them. She gave her brother a healthy shove which backed
him farther into the trees. She started to cringe back from her brother's
expected response when two large hands appeared from out of nowhere,
snatching both children off their feet and into the gloom. With one smooth
motion, Mitchell tossed the boy to the ground, hard, next to what remained
of the dog while he lifted the girl into the air before him. His eyes
filled with a maniacal intensity that betrayed the struggling beast within.

*******
continued in part 4b

From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 21 01:45:01 1996
Sanctuary part four continues...

Meredith opened her mouth and tried to scream but no sound escaped. Matt
was lying in a stunned heap on the ground and couldn't help her. For some
reason she couldn't get her voice to make any sounds, so she did the only
thing she could remember being taught to do. Twisting in Mitchell's hands,
the little red-haired piece of fire sunk her teeth into Mitchell's right
hand while she kicked out with her legs. Her left foot struck home,
driving one small waffle-stomper snow boot effectively into his crotch.
After all she was a Scully and Aunt Dana had always told her to never give
up without a fight.

Surprised by the attack, Mitchell dropped the girl to the ground. Her kick
would have driven any normal man to his knees, but Mitchell was no longer a
normal man. Screaming with pain and rage, he raised one giant fist, and
prepared to pulverize the little troll into dust.

"Mitchell, no!!" Jordan Chamber's stepped in between Mitchell and the
children, his voice full of authority, demanding to be heard. "Not yet,"
Jordan seethed, "I may need them later." Jordan summoned every ounce of
righteousness within him to look into the beast's eyes, trying to reach the
man inside. "Think, Mitchell...think!! They're just children. They can be
taught the true way. My congregation can begin here with these two. I
can take them to Sanctuary with me on my holy mission to Canada."

Mitchell slowly lowered his hand with difficulty. The pain in his body was
subsiding and so was his rage. He'd just as soon kill the piece of shit
that stood in front of him, spouting all his phony religious hyperbole, as
the two children on the ground. But not yet. He still needed Chambers, at
least for a little while. He backed off from the children.

"I don't give a flyin' fuck about your truth, Chambers, or your Sanctuary,
or your sacred missions," he spat out with contempt. "I only have one
mission left in my miserable life and that's to find the goddamn son of a
bitch who made me what I am today. And when I find that sorry sack of
shit, I'm gonna pull his brains out through his asshole," he sneered
sarcastically. "And I don't care if I have to go through every operative
in D.C. until I find that Marly smoking bastard. And I also don't care if
I have to go through you," Mitchell warned. He shook his head and stepped
away from the group, attempting to compose what was left of his sanity.

Keith stepped over an oozing mound of fur that looked like it might have
once been a dog. Apparently Mitchell hadn't been content just to kill the
animal. Keith shivered, remembering the old fisherman. At Jordan's
direction he bound Meredith with her scarf and pulled her to her feet. Her
eyes were wide with fright and Keith felt a now familiar excitement rush
through his body.

Meredith was frantic. One man she might have been able to handle, but not
three. Although she didn't understand everything the men had been yelling
about, she understood enough just by their actions to know that she and
Matt were in very big trouble. Now they'd tied her up and she couldn't run
away like she'd been taught. Just as she decided to try her voice again
and scream for help, Keith shoved a gag into her mouth.

Matt stirred softly. His expression turned to terror as he beheld the
bloody carcass of what was once his best friend, lying just inches away
from his face, her loving soft brown eyes strangely flat and vacant. Matt
couldn't scream, he couldn't cry, and he couldn't yell. In fact, he
couldn't do anything except peer blankly into those vacant brown eyes and
tremble in silence. He offered no resistance when Keith pulled him to his
feet, bound his hands behind his back and shoved a gag in his mouth.

Jordan grabbed each child roughly by the upper arm and drug them through
the snow, skirting the the open yard as he angled toward the back porch.
Mitchell followed suit along the other side of the property, while Keith
walked boldly through the yard and up to the back door. Keith took a quick
glance through the window and spied all three women seated at the kitchen
table apparently engaging in a heated discussion of some kind. Good, he
though thankfully, all the woman were in one place, but what about the guy?
He was nowhere in sight. Well, the dark-haired woman had said that the
guy had been in the hospital so he was probably in one of the bedrooms. In
any case, Keith dismissed him as a threat. Taking his time while he waited
for Mitchell and Jordan to move into place, Keith finally knocked on the
door and waited patiently while the older woman got up from the table. She
opened the door and smiled at the young man she'd spoken to earlier.

"Excuse me ma'am," he began timidly, "Did I leave my hat her earlier? It's
really starting to snow out here and I think I'm gonna need it."

"I thought you might come back for that," Margaret replied, stepping back
into the kitchen to get the hat. She turned around to give an 'I told you
so' look to Melissa and Keith saw his opportunity. Keith snatched the
kitchen door from Margaret's hands, slamming it into the wall. With
lightening quick skill, he charged into the kitchen, pulling the knife from
his boot with one hand and grabbing Margaret Scully with the other.
Margaret felt the cold, razor-sharp steel press precariously against her
throat and froze in fear. Any movement, however slight could very well end
her life and she wasn't ready to leave this world quite yet.

Everything happened so quickly and unexpectedly that Dana and Melissa
hadn't had time to react before Mitchell rushed through the door with his
pistol leveled at Scully's chest. Dana froze. She recognized the unsteady
glare in the big man's cold, angry eyes. He was insane.

Melissa panicked and stood up suddenly. "The children!!" she cried out in
despair. "Where are the children?" Mitchell's aim wavered slightly with
Melissa's outburst, then he widened his field of fire to include her. Dana
watched the man's upper lip curl into a snarl and her blood ran cold. "Sit
down!" she hissed at her sister. For once Melissa offered no argument and
plopped back down in her chair as her knees buckled under her.

For several seconds the group in the kitchen seemed frozen like a still
life painting. No one moved, and the only sound was heavy breathing. They
were waiting for something, Dana realized. Moments later, Jordan Chambers
nonchalantly strolled through the door, roughly pushing the children in
ahead of him. He shoved them to the floor violently and smiled, but it was
a false smile, reminiscent of the painted evil grin on a ghoulish Halloween
mask. It was almost like he staged this, Dana thought, like it was some
kind of grand entrance.

"No!!" Margaret managed to scream when she saw the children thrown to the
floor like they were inanimate dolls someone had tired of playing with.
She'd temporarily forgotten about the knife held tightly against her
throat. These were her grandchildren. How dare these animals hurt the
children.

Keith pushed the knife just a little tighter to her throat to remind her
who was boss here. Margaret drew in a quick breath in pain as the knife
nicked her skin, drawing the tiniest amount of blood. Keith smiled a
self-satisfied smile as her fear began rushing through his body, and he
tightened his other arm around her as well, backing her tightly in against
him. Margaret tried not to let her disgust show as she felt his reactions
through her clothes.

Jordan's eyes darted about the room and took in the situation before his
gaze rested on the tiny redhead, still seated at the table. The others
reacted as he thought they would but the small one... she was different.
This woman was dangerous. She hadn't made a move against them, but Jordan
sensed her penetrating eyes weighing the possibilities of her predicament
as she calmly calculated her options. Unlike the others, she'd shown no
fear of them, and she hadn't lost her cool when he'd brought the children
in. There had to be something, some way to control her, and he knew he'd
find it. But if he couldn't, he'd just give her to Mitchell. The thought
made him smile. Jordan silently concluded that this woman was dangerous.
She showed no fear and didn't lose her cool.

Mulder was jolted awake by a loud cracking noise. At first he attributed
the sound to children slamming what sounded like the back door. He closed
his eyes and began to doze off again when something tickled his intuition,
insisting that all was not right with the world. Mulder knew that he had
no basis in fact for this persistent supposition, but over the years he'd
learned to except and trust his instincts...and right now, his instincts
were sending him alarm messages of major proportions. The hair stood up on
the back of his neck and his stomach knotted with anxiety as he heard
another thudding noise, immediately followed by a muffled scream <was that
Dana's mom?> and then several unfamiliar male voices.

Mulder fought momentarily to clear his mind of the remnants of his sleep
induced fog. Willing himself awake, he reached over and grabbed the phone
by the couch. The line was dead... not a good sign. He put down the
phone and scanned the room, desperately seeking anything that he could use
as a weapon. Nothing. Well, Mrs. Scully, he thought with dismay, Good
Housekeeping would award you their seal of approval for maintaining a
childproof home. Shit!!

As quickly and quietly as he could, Mulder tossed the blanket aside and
brought the recliner into a sitting position, wincing at the slight creak
it made when he moved the handle forward to lower the footrest.. His first
inclination was to rush into the kitchen. Someone was hurting the people
he loved and he wanted to be there with them to keep them safe.

Luckily he resisted the urge as the reality of his condition hit home. He
couldn't *rush* in anywhere, let alone confront several men of unknown
size, not to mention that he had no idea whether they were armed and if so,
with what. Hell, he'd already expended most of his energy just getting out
of the damn chair. There had to be something he could do. Scully's gun
was upstairs in the night stand drawer. He'd seen her put it there
yesterday. So what, Mulder?? It might as well be deep sixing it with
Captain Nemo for all the good it's gonna do you. There was no way in hell
that he'd ever be able to get up the stairs before being discovered.
Options?? Options... What options, he asked himself angrily. Fuck, he
didn't have too many goddamn *options.*

Mulder gathered himself up and with monumental effort. He managed to
stumble across the living room to the only available choice open to him.
The fucking bathroom. He cracked the bathroom door open just enough to
slide inside, noticing in alarm that the blasted thing creaked. Funny, he
didn't remember it making that noise before. Shit, he'd forgotten Mulder's
Law, number 127A: Things only creak when you're trying to sneak. He
suddenly considered himself lucky that he hadn't had to contend with
Mulder's Law number 127B: When attempting to move stealthfully, all shoes
develop stereophonic squeaking like a gym locker full of mice. <Hey, look
at the bright side, Mulder. At least you're barefoot and you don't have
to worry about rounding off a perfectly idyllic morning with a pair of
squeaky shoes.>

Inching the door closed, he leaned up against the wall and made a conscious
effort to slow his breathing. But he found it difficult to concentrate due
to an unexpected bout of nausea that suddenly held his stomach in an iron
grip. "Not now," he whispered out loud. "Please...not now."
Unfortunately, his body refused to obey. Bending over with a spasmodic
jerk, Mulder noiselessly tossed his proverbial cookies into the toilet,
then grabbed a hand towel off the rack to muffle his gagging coughs as he
cleared the rest of the mess from his throat. He rolled his eyes
heavenward. "Gee, thanks a bunch, I really needed that," he sighed.

Mulder's eyes darted around the small bathroom. Come on Margaret, he
pleaded silently, there's gotta be something here I can use. Why did she
have to be so damn tidy and conscientious? He reach up and opened the
medicine cabinet over the sink. "Oh wonderful, another 'squeaker,'" he
grumbled quietly. Searching through the cabinet shelves, he encountered
the usual assortment of over the counter drugs, and beauty supplies. All
in all, things weren't looking too promising. He picked up a Bic razor and
eyed it with disgust. Doesn't anyone use double edged anymore. Double
edged razors could really do some damage, but this thing? What the hell
could he do with this...abrade them to death?

"Hello..." he mumbled with excitement, "what have we here?" Mulder removed
a prescription bottle from the back of the cabinet and read the label. A
broad grin covered his face. "Tranquilizers...yes!!!" Sure, the bottle
was almost two years old but they'd probably still work. At least these
held some promise, he thought as he emptied the bottle into his jeans
pocket.

Mulder slowly lowered himself to the floor and went through the cabinet
under the sink. Nothing here, damn it...Wait, wait. Oh great. All he
could come up with here was a spray can of Scrubbing Bubbles and a squirt
bottle of Ty-D-Bol. Oh, I'm just so lucky, he grumbled sardonically to
himself. Herein lies everything you'd ever need for the effective
eradication of unsightly scum and shit. How apropos. Well hell, he could
always get the Scrubbing Bubbles to arrest them and the T-D-Bol man to
read them their rights. Brilliant Mulder, just brilliant. Suddenly he'd
found himself wishing that he'd watched MacGyver more often. He could use
some advice right now on how to convert everyday household cleaning
supplies into exotic lethal weapons. The physics and chemistry part he
could handle. It was the mechanical aspects that always seemed to trip him
up.

Crouched down by the cabinet, holding the aerosol can of bathroom cleaner
in one hand, Mulder's mind wandered briefly to another time when he'd
needed skills he didn't possess. How in the hell did he ever manage to
earn his Eagle Scout? He was mechanically inept and couldn't follow a
fucking map if his life depended on it. It wasn't like his dad was a big
help either. They'd left him in a clearing with a compass and a map and
told him to find his way out. He knew all the steps. He knew the map.
Hell, that blasted thing was permanently imprinted on his brain, yet he
couldn't for the life of him, figure out what to do with the information.
And to top it all off, the stupid compass always went haywire whenever
he'd tried to use it. Finally, he'd wadded up the map in frustration and
shoved it into his backpack along with the compass. Following an inner
guide that he didn't quite understand but had grown to trust, he just
started walking. Mulder had arrived at the campsite ahead of schedule much
to the surprise of his troop and the Scoutmaster. He then remembered, with
just a little guilt, that he'd never told anyone that he hadn't used the
map. He'd made it somehow, just like he'd make it this time, he vowed with
determination.

Mulder looked at what he had to work with. Well, nobody said it was gonna
be easy. Why couldn't he at least get stuck behind a door that opened out?
The bathroom was only a little bit bigger than your average closet.
Figuring in the space that the door took up when it opened, that didn't
leave him much room to maneuver.

He tried not to worry about Dana, but he couldn't help it. He was worried
about them all. Anything that he could do to divert attention away from
the women and children would theoretically improve their chances of
surviving at the very least. If he could just keep them alive until Bill
got back, they might have a fighting chance.

Bill? Christ, he'd have to find a way to warn him. Pulling himself up
slowly from the floor, Mulder spotted a tube of chapstick on the sink next
to the toothpaste. He picked it up, studied it briefly and stuffed it into
his back pocket, remembering Dana's explanation for the writing on the
mirror in their cabin when they were on board the cruise ship. It could
work. All he had to do was get close to an outside window. This was an
older home and he'd noticed that the original windows had not been replaced
with more energy efficient double-paned storm windows. In fact, moisture
on the inside of his bedroom window had frozen last night, creating an
interesting crystallized image on the pane this morning. If he could
manage to get close to an outside window for just a few seconds, he could
write his message and hope to hell that the temperature outside dropped
enough to freeze the moisture around the pattern on the window.

Oh come on, Mulder, talk about your longshots, he complained irritably as
he lowered the toilet seat lid and sat down, trying as best he could to
conserve his energy. Cradling his face in his hands, he prayed that just
once, even just for a little while, he could experience a normal, everyday
typically mundane family life without the usual, or rather *unusual,*
interference of various and sundry mutants, aliens, clones, serial killers,
and nut cases. Maybe when this was over he could move the family to
Australia or Bora Bora, somewhere way off the beaten path. <Right Mulder.
With your luck, we'd probably all become human sacrifices for some strange
prehistoric tribe of pigmy voodoo priests or something equally bizarre.>
He sighed deeply, commanding his annoying inner voice to be silent for
once. He knew he'd eventually be discovered in here and he needed to be
prepared. Mulder closed his eyes, concentrated on the sounds, and waited.

Jordan nodded at Keith who withdrew his knife from Margaret's throat and
threw her to the floor. She landed next to the children, who had scooted
beneath the table, trembling in fear. Glancing over her shoulder in
defiance, she freed her grandchildren from their bonds and pulled them
close, encircling them protectively with her arms. Meredith cried softly
against her grandma's shoulder, tears flowing in tiny rivulets over her
freckled cheeks as her tiny arms wound tightly around her grandma's neck.
Tears, Margaret could deal with. What she couldn't cope with was the
vacant, unresponsive stare that claimed the light in Matt's eyes.

Meredith pointed to Mitchell. "He killed Kelly," she choked out between
hiccuping sobs muffled into Margaret's shaking body.

My god, Margaret reeled in disbelief. She held her daughters' shocked
looks of revulsion, imagining with horror what the boy must have witnessed.

Mitchell caught Keith by the shoulder. "Where's the man staying with them?
You said there was a guy here too. So where is he?" Mitchell hissed.
Can't these fucking amateurs get anything right. Keith shrugged his
shoulders and started to explain but Mitchell ignored him, effectively
silencing him with a glance. "Just don't give me any more bullshit about
the man being injured and not being a threat. If he's *alive*, he's a
threat."

Dana desperately tried to control her reactions to that last remark. The
way the man emphasized the word 'alive' made her skin crawl.

Mitchell scanned the faces of the women in the room, intently interrogating
them with his eyes. They glared back at him, and he felt a firm resolve of
silence clamp down around each one like a suit of armor. They would tell
him nothing. "So he has a fucking fan club, huh? Is the man worth dying
for?" he uttered in a low growl that grew like the distant thunder in an
approaching storm. He was only answered by their angry stares. "Very
well, if that's the way you want it..." Mitchell's voice was calm and even.
He handed the gun to Jordan. "I don't need a weapon for this." Jordan
let the gun hung at his side as he watched Mitchell go to work.

Looking back at the women, Mitchell found that his eyes were drawn to Dana.
Although she hadn't moved since they'd burst into the house, and her face
was still blanched pale with the shock of the sudden violence that had
invaded their home, Mitchell knew that she wasn't afraid of him. This one
was different. Well, if she wasn't afraid of him now, she soon would be.

Mitchell covered the small space between himself and Dana in just a few
steps. His intense gaze bore into her in an attempt at intimidation. "I
always enjoy the hunt," he told her with a menacing evil edging into his
voice. "Sometimes, it's better than sex," he sneered reaching over to
fondle her breast. The fire leaped from Scully's eyes as she raised her
arm and with a quick movement, violently knocked away his hand. "But only
sometimes," he added with an obscene smile.

Grabbing Dana's arm, he pulled her from her chair and drug her to the
doorway. "Let's go find your boyfriend, shall we? Keith says your a real
slut for this guy." Mitchell turned toward Keith who nodded emphatically.
"I'm just dying to know why." Mitchell glanced over his shoulder as he
pulled Dana into the living room. "Keep and eye on em', Jordan and if they
give you any trouble...kill em'"

*****
end part four

From xangst@frii.com Tue Oct 22 04:26:45 1996
SANCTUARY
BY:
CHERYL COHEN
(ALIAS-THE STINKER)
AND
ANNIE REED
(ALIAS-FANCYKATZ)

Forward
************************************

Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started
bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's
Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but
somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each
insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is
ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence,
insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life.

Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and
adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is
not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story.
I like to leave a little bit to the imagination.

DISCLAIMERS ETC.
********************************

This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris
Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the
characters named are the property of those entities and are used without
permission, although no copyright infringements are intended.

************************************

CHAPTER FIVE
Old Enemies

Dana held her breath as Mitchell pushed her ahead of him into the room.
Mulder was tougher than he looked. He couldn't have been soft and survived
all the hell he'd been through but this man was about two inches taller and
had Mulder outweighed by at least fifty pounds. He was also incredibly
strong. Her arm felt like it was in a vise and she was beginning to lose
the feeling in her fingers. She didn't have to look to know she was going
to have one hell of a bruise on her arm where Mitchell held her. She only
hoped he would let go before the lack of circulation did serious damage to
her hand.

But the thing that had Dana worried most of all was Mitchell's animalistic
viciousness. That was something that was totally foreign to Mulder's
psyche. Mulder just wasn't a killer by nature. Circumstances may have
forced him to kill before in self defense or in the defense of another, but
he'd only done so when no other options had been available. He'd even
resisted the overwhelming urge to kill even when the act, in her opinion,
would have been morally justified. She'd heard from Skinner that her
normally gentle partner had nearly crushed Duane Barry's throat with his
bare hands, but even then he'd resisted, pulled himself back from the
brink. Dana's stomach churned. On a good day, Mulder may have been able
to hold his own with this ogre but in his present condition, *she* could
probably beat him up.

They pressed further into the room and Dana released a sigh of relief when
she spotted the empty recliner and the blanket lying on the floor in an
untidy heap. Mitchell grasped the blanket with one hand and held it to his
nose, deeply inhaling the scent. "He's close by," Mitchell leered at her
with a diabolical grin, "I can smell him. I sense his fear...for you?" He
looked surprised that his intended victim appeared more concerned about the
woman that he held captive than his own grave predicament. "Good, a
challenge. This one will fight."

Dana felt a chill run up her spine as, unbelievably, Mitchell licked his
lips like a starving coyote in anticipation of the kill. "What *are* you?"
Dana cried in horror.

Mitchell laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Haven't you heard, my dear?" he
asked with a facetious snarl, "I'm the new breed of human, the perfect
secret weapon because I'm a self-contained killing machine. Unfortunately,
the good doctors went a little too far, so this failed government
experiment that you see standing before you was too valuable to destroy but
much too dangerous to let live. I have become what crawls in the deepest
recesses of your worst nightmare...but I'm very, very real."

Dana shivered and hoped Mulder could hear what the man had said.

Mitchell raised his head and sniffed the air, then walked quietly toward
the bathroom door.

Mulder's muscles tensed as he stood by the door, his breaths little more
than whispers of air. The voices were close. Dana's was soft and roughly
laced with fear. The other voice was deep, strained with rage and spoke
of being a failed government experiment . Oh god, what part of hell had
invaded their lives now? Mulder felt the evil approaching. It was as
palpitant as the racing heartbeat that pounded in his chest.

Looking down at the Scrubbing Bubbles in his hand, he suddenly felt grossly
inadequate and comically absurd. Maybe he should use the Ty-D-Bol instead.
Decisions, decisions, he thought stupidly while remembering every clichÇ'
every written: 'when the going gets tough...,' 'the best defense is a good
offense,' 'You can't roller-skate in a buffalo herd...'. Hey, wait a
minute, where'd that one come from? Probably from the same place as 'you
can't bump off a psychotic serial killer with a can of Scrubbing Bubbles'.
I know, I know, he told himself, you work with what you've got. He rolled
his eyes upward once more in supplication to whoever might be watching.
It's just that sometimes, he thought, I wish you'd be a little more
generous with the available materials. I mean a grenade launcher or flame
thrower would really come in handy right now, you know?

The door knob began to turn slowly in Fox's hand. He silently held his
breath as the heavy wooden door inched its way inward. Thank god this is
an old house and not one of those new fabricated jobs with cheap
hollow-core doors, Mulder thought gratefully. The door was now a quarter
of the way open. Mulder made his move. Tightening his hand suddenly on
the knob in his hand, he pulled the door the rest of the way inward with
sudden force and just as quickly reversed the action by throwing his entire
weight against the solid wood, outward and into the face of whoever was on
the other side.

Mulder heard a heavy thud and a muffled curse as a heavy weight bounced off
the opposite wall of the hallway. He gathered up what strength he had and
propelled himself through the doorway in Kamikaze fashion, ending up atop
his intended target in an awkward sprawl.

Mulder caught sight of Dana rushing toward him in an effort to help. He
sprayed the stinging foam into his adversary's eyes and punched the big man
soundly in the jaw with every ounce of strength he had left. "No," Mulder
demanded in a loud whisper. Upstairs...the gun. Get the cellphone and
call for help." He hoped the battery was still charged. When they were
together, the cellphones seldom got used since the only calls they usually
made were to each other.

Dana hesitated briefly. Mulder seemed to have the situation under control
so she nodded in understanding and fled toward the stairs. She'd almost
reached the top step when a cold, sadistic voice froze her in her tracks.

"Going somewhere, little one?" Jordan asked her ominously. Scully's
shoulders sagged as she turned slowly to face her tormentor. She grimaced
involuntarily as she saw that Jordan held the gun barrel so tightly against
her mom's temple that the surrounding skin had turned white from the
pressure. Behind him, stood Keith firmly grasping Melissa by the shoulder
as she protectively enfolded the children within her trembling arms. Keith
thought she felt soft and willing under his touch and the scent of her
perfume was intoxicating. He would have to cleanse this one's soul for
sure. No doubt Jordan would want the feisty red head for himself.

Jordan motioned to Dana with a nod of his head and she began to slowly
descend the stairs. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder struggling
slowly and quietly to get to his feet. He was still far enough back in the
shadow of the darkened hallway that Jordan had not yet noticed the two
figures that had been prone on the floor. She tried her best not to look
in Mulder's direction. He needed a little time to get back into some kind
of cover so Dana attempted to keep Jordan's attention focused on her.

"Please don't hurt my mom," she pleaded convincingly, willing Jordan to
keep looking at her as she walked down several more steps in his direction.
She was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when he reached out suddenly
and pulled her off the staircase and onto the floor in front of him. Dana
sprawled on the floor, the breath going out of her with a soft "whoosh" as
Jordan placed his foot on the small of her back, insuring that she wouldn't
be able to move.

"Mitchell!! Mitchell, where the hell are you?" Jordan yelled. He lowered
his gun from Margaret's head and rolled Dana away from him with his foot.
"Get up Bitch," he ordered.

Dana sat up slowly, trying to catch her breath, then used her arms to push
herself up off the floor. Her body felt bruised from the impact with the
hardwood floor and a small trickle of blood ran from her lip where it had
been caught between her teeth and the unforgiving floor. And as if that
weren't enough, her stomach was threatening to dump whatever was left in it
all over her shoes. Not now, she told herself.

Backing away from the stairs, Jordan noticed movement in the hallway and
Dana saw his finger tense on the trigger. "Mitchell, is that you?" Jordan
glared at Dana through slitted diamond eyes. "Turn on the goddamn hall
light, now," he commanded as he waved the pistol at her and motioned to the
switch.

The light came on, revealing Mulder standing by Mitchell's still prone
body. Dana gasped as a large calloused hand shot out like a bolt of
lightening, grasped Mulder's left ankle and sent him crashing down hard
onto the wooden floor with such force that she could hear the air rush
suddenly from his lungs at the impact. A blood curdling howl escaped
Mitchell's lips as he rose with inhuman speed and drove his knee into
Mulder's right kidney. The rage was primordial and primitive as the demon
within him picked up this frail human flesh and threw it against the wall.
Dana and Margaret screamed his name simultaneously, "Fox," came from
Margaret's lips..."Mulder," was Dana's benediction.

The demon seethed as it held its victim against the wall by the neck. Yes,
this is what it was meant to do, what it was designed to do -- to kill
without the need for weapons or tools outside of its own body --and it knew
how to do it very, very well. It sizzled with the mindless wrath that
coursed through its veins. But something was trying to break through, to
reach the mind of the man trapped within the hellish fiend. Gradually, as
recognition blurred through its tortured brain, the devil calmed, confusion
replacing the anger on its face.

Mulder... Fox Mulder. It knew that name. *He* knew that name. Reason
attempted to reassert itself. He could not kill this man. Why not? the
demon demanded like a spoiled child denied a favorite toy. He relaxed the
pressure on the man's throat as the human part of him sought its way
through the confused signals assaulting his overtaxed brain. The man whose
life he'd held suspended in his hand, drew in a deep, shuddering breath and
his face lost its bluish tinge.

Finally he remembered and released his grip totally. The man slumped to
the floor, wheezing for breath. This was FBI Agent Fox Mulder, the one who
had caused Mitchell's present enemies more distress than all their other
'assignments' combined. They had wanted him dead more often than he could
count, but they were not allowed to dispose of him. He was important to
the others, therefore, he was protected from the more direct means of
disposal that they normally used. But his enemies were clever. They had
tried to use Mulder's own carelessness against him. They had tried to
trick him, bribe him, and push him over the edge. But somehow, this one
man always managed to survive in spite of all their underhanded meddling.
Although he'd never met Fox Mulder, Mitchell Tyler had always respected and
admired this non conforming trouble maker.

Mitchell looked down at the bloody mess his demon had made. He could not
bring himself to kill the one person who'd caused that Marly smoking mother
fucker such unrelenting grief, not even to satisfy the beast that lived
within him. Mitchell bent over Mulder's still body, gently lifted and
carried him to the couch. Carefully he placed the unconscious form on the
cushions.

Dana let out a sob. Seeing the look on Mitchell's face, Jordan relented
and allowed her to go to him. "I'm a doctor," she pleaded with Mitchell,
who was still standing over Mulder's still body, "please..." Mitchell
nodded with what she interpreted as a sorrowfully repentant expression and
backed away from the couch.

Slowly and carefully she removed Mulder's shirt. Her examination revealed
that some of his previous wounds had reopened from the onslaught he'd just
endured at Mitchell's hand. His kidney was badly bruised and a small
amount of blood filled his mouth, but if she could keep these animals away
from him, he'd survive.

Now fully in control of himself again, Mitchell looked down at the young
man and shuddered. He knew shrapnel scars when he saw them. Had the Black
ops bastards finally tried to kill Mulder? From the number and placement
of the scars on Mulder's body, it looked like they'd nearly succeeded. And
he'd almost helped them finish the job. Mitchell Tyler found himself
trying to deal with emotions that he hadn't felt in a very long
time....guilt and regret.

Jordan stared in disbelief at Mitchell's sudden change in demeanor. He'd
never seen Mitchell stop in the middle of a transformation before without
the aid of medication and the gentleness with which he'd handled his
intended victim puzzled Jordan even more. "What the hell is going on here,
Mitchell?" Jordan rumbled.

The temporary softness in Mitchell's eyes hardened to coal as he turned
away from Mulder and returned Jordan's icy glare. "You have your mission,
Chambers and I have mine. I know of this man," he stated in a low
controlled voice, pointing back to the man lying unconscious on the couch
behind him. "He can get me into where I need to go to complete *my*
mission."

"Fox Mulder," Jordan repeated out loud. "The name sounds familiar. I know
it...I've seen it or heard it somewhere." Not being able to remember
irritated Jordan to no end like an itch he couldn't scratch. But then again
he'd never been too good with names, especially the names of the souls he'd
dispatched to an early rendezvous with the lord.

"I'm not surprised," Mitchell sneered, "he's FBI. I'd never met him
personally before, but the name is, shall we say, well known to the
'special' government groups."

Margaret and Melissa glanced worriedly at Dana as she continued to examine
Mulder's wounds. Tears stained their faces and silently slid down their
cheeks, dripping slowly to the small braided rug at the foot of the stairs.
They shook uncontrollably, yet dared not move to help her.

During her examination of Mulder, one part of Dana's mind had been
following the conversation between the two intruders who referred to each
other as Mitchell and Chambers. This did not sound good at all. Both
seemed to have their own agenda, and neither one seemed above using her
family, and most especially Mulder, to further their own cause.

Of the two men, Mitchell appeared to be more dangerous, especially if his
claims of having been a 'company man' were true. He was definitely
schizophrenic. She had identified two separate personalities within him,
and so far only one looked like it could be reasoned with, and then only to
a point. And to top it off, Mitchell knew Mulder, knew that he was FBI.
For whatever reason, Mitchell thought that Mulder could help him with his
'mission', whatever the hell that was. For the time being, Dana decided
that her own involvement with the FBI should be kept a secret, because if
Mitchell knew that he had another healthy FBI agent to use, he might decide
he didn't need to worry about keeping Mulder alive.

Finished with her exam, Dana arose and warily approached Mitchell. "I need
my bag," she informed him anxiously. "I need to close up these wounds, and
quickly, or he's going to go into shock."

Jordan had had enough. He was the 'leader' here. Why was this bitch
asking Mitchell for permission? He pushed his way forcefully between them.
"What bag?" he demanded in a tone that dared anyone to question his
authority.

Dana turned to Jordan. There was a power-hungry glint in his eyes, and if
it hadn't been for the gun in his hand, he would have reminded her of a
school yard bully demanding a smaller kid's lunch money. As long as he
held the gun, he would be just as dangerous as Mitchell, she realized.

"I told you. I'm a doctor," she explained as patiently as her frayed
nerves would allow. "Mulder needs medical attention, and I need my bag,
please," she pleaded. Dana loathed the idea of begging to this slime mold
but she'd gladly get down on her hands and knees and kiss his freaking toes
if it got her that damn bag. She'd checked Mulder out the best she could
without the aid of her medical instruments and although he looked like he'd
be all right, one thing nagged at the back of her mind. She hadn't been
able to find a source for the blood in his mouth and she needed her
stethoscope to check for internal injuries, not to mention the sutures
needed to close his reopened wounds, and the painkillers she knew he'd need
when he came to.

"Why should I give a rat's ass about a man who should be dead?" Jordan
laughed mockingly at her and deliberately baited Mitchell. He had the
power here and it was about time everyone understood that. "Hey, Mitchell.
Why didn't ya kill him? Don't tell me your getting a conscious this late
in the game," Jordan added sarcastically.

"He's only alive because he's no good to me dead," Mitchell replied
half-truthfully. "Now, get her the goddamn bag," he roared. Dana saw a
glimpse of his other side in that command and an involuntary shiver ran up
her spine.

Apparently Dana was not the only one who noticed. Jordan looked down at
the stubborn little redhead, some of the pompousness gone from his eyes.
"Where is it" he grudgingly asked.

"Upstairs under the bed." Dana made a tentative move toward the stairs to
get her bag, but was stopped short when she felt a vise-like grip clamp
down on her shoulder.

"No. You didn't ask for permission to go, so you stay here." Jordan
taunted her. In control, yes he was, and he'd show everyone just how much.
Jordan looked over his shoulder at Keith, who still held Melissa tightly
with one hand. He smiled thinly at his dutiful disciple, and Dana saw
madness in his eyes.. "You go, Keith, and take the woman with you... take
your time," he commanded.

Keith returned Jordan's smile and trembled in anticipation. Jordan thought
he was ready, Keith reasoned with sudden joy. His time had come. Would
ushering this tainted soul into the light of salvation be as satisfying as
what he'd experienced earlier as the result of his fear? The mystery of
the unknown beckoned as he pushed Melissa up the stairs ahead of him.

Dana and her mother exchanged worried, frightened glances as Melissa and
Keith disappeared from sight. Neither woman wanted to consider the
connotations of Jordan's vague instructions to Keith. Margaret clutched
her grandchildren to her, their faces buried in her dress. So much
violence, she thought. Children should not be exposed to this, and as
frightened as she was for her family, she was also very, very angry.

More than her mother, Dana knew what men like these were capable of. She
and Mulder had seen photographs and been to crime scenes that displayed
their handiwork. She had conducted autopsies of the victims of such
psychopaths, and she was suddenly struck with the thought that she might
never see her sister alive again. Trying to drive such negative visions
from her mind, she was temporarily distracted by a soft, painful moan from
the couch.

*******
continues in part 5b

From xangst@frii.com Tue Oct 22 04:27:22 1996
Sanctuary part five continues...

Mulder's arm slipped from its position by his side to dangled loosely over
the edge of the couch, his long, elegant, bloodied fingers lightly brushing
the smoothly polished wooden floor. Dana cautiously moved to his side as
Margaret moved the children as far away from the blood and pain as she was
allowed. They sat huddled together against a wall at the far end of the
room.

Is Uncle Fox gonna die, Grammy?" Meredith cried softly.

"No honey. Uncle Fox is gonna be just fine. We're all going to be just
fine," Margaret reassured the child with a conviction in her voice that she
wasn't sure she felt.

Another garbled moan escaped Mulder's lips, followed by a convulsive cough
that left a fresh stain of crimson on the floral pattern beneath his mouth.
Dana grasped his shoulders in alarm to lessen his movement, then placed a
cushion under his head and shoulders to help him breathe. Mulder inhaled
sharply and his eyes flew open suddenly in pain when she moved him.

"Mulder," Dana whispered softly, "can you hear me? You're going to be
okay. Mulder?"

Mulder felt like he'd been broken in half. He heard Dana's voice on the
edge of his consciousness like a beacon calling him home. He wanted to
follow the voice but the closer he got to it the more the pain licked at
the corners of his mind like a raging fire...he hated fire, but he loved
Dana. As awareness flooded through like a rampaging river through an
earthen damn, pain exploded in his mind and body like a million pinpricks
of light. He moaned again and his face screwed up in pain.

Slowly he opened his eyes to gaze at the light that had guided him home.
Her smiled warmed him. Her gentle touch eased his pain. He suspected from
the look in her eyes that he must be in trouble again. "Dana? What
happened?" His speech slurred lazily like a wino coming off of a four day
drunk. The room was spinning around him, and he closed his eyes in an
attempt to steady his reeling senses.

Dana considered him with a rueful expression. "Well," she sighed loudly,
"let's just say that you're attempt at becoming a lethal weapon was not
entirely successful. It seems that the only person you're lethal to, is
you."

Mulder opened one eye in a modified squint, hoping that if he looked at the
world only part-way, it would at least keep still. He found that his
attempt was only partially successful. "Oh...you mean...the usual scenario
repeated itself again," he mumbled dejectedly.

She smiled tenderly and tried to get his mind off his pain by gently
teasing him. "You know, this must be some kind of record for you, Mulder."

Now what the hell did she mean by that? Even though the room had finally
stopped spinning, he admitted his mind was still a little foggy and more
than a little sluggish. He knew he should have been able to pick up on
what she was getting at but he had to reluctantly admit that he was at a
loss. "Record?" he finally asked hoarsely.

"You haven't even been out of the hospital for more than a day before you
managed to get yourself beaten up again," she chuckled as she brushed her
lips against his forehead, then dropped them by his ear. Hoping he was
alert enough to understand, she whispered lightly. "There are three men. I
believe at least two of them are insane and the one behind me has a gun.
Another took Melissa upstairs and the third, I don't know. I think he is,
or was, government. We're in trouble. She pulled back to reveal Jordan
Chambers standing behind her.

Mulder's eyes froze in agonized recognition. He knew this animal. He'd
helped capture it and put it away many years ago when he'd worked in the
Violent Crimes Section. They'd told him Jordan Chambers was as good as
dead. He'd told them good as dead just wasn't good enough. They'd said
that in time, he'd forget this monster, he'd told them that for him,
forgetting was not an option. Jordan Chambers had never seen Fox Mulder but
Fox Mulder most certainly had seen Jordan Chambers. He'd been in his head,
seen his carnage, lived the nightmare that Jordan Chambers had created.
Finally, on a cold winter's day in late January, based on the information
he'd provided to his superiors through the profile that he'd created, the
evil was captured and locked away from the rest of humanity in a state
hospital for the criminally insane. His recommendations had put this vile
creature where he'd belonged and he'd been more than happy to sign his name
to the commitment papers. Now this nightmare disguised as a man had
obviously escaped to spread his malevolence to the people Mulder cared
about most. He'd been right. Good as dead had not been good enough.

"Mulder?" Are you okay?" A look of recognition and rage blew across his
face, as violent as the tempest storming outside their shelter and it
frightened her. He knew this insane man who had invaded their home.. If
Mulder knew him, there was also a good chance Jordan knew Mulder too.
However, she reminded herself, Mulder's memory was photographic...Jordan's
was not.

Mulder narrowed his eyes and glared defiantly at Jordan. "What do you want
from us? The car keys are in the hall closet. Why don't you just take
them and go?"

Jordan's eyes gleamed with an unholy light, reflecting the self-confident
smile on his face. "Oh I intend to Mr. Mulder, I intend to. But I'm
afraid I can't just leave you here. You see, I need the children to begin
my ministry."

Mulder's eyes flared at that statement and Dana noticed the slight twitch
in his jaw and the tightening of his muscles beneath her hand.

"As for the rest of you, your destinies are preordained." Jordan paused,
then added, "Mitchell needs you for his own reasons," he told Mulder.
"Keith needs to usher a soul into eternity, a doctor could come in handy on
our journey, and right now I'm hungry. I certainly hope your mother can
cook."

Dana tried to ignore the dread that settled in her heart at Jordan's
pronouncement of Melissa's fate. She was already out of sight and right
now there was nothing she could do about it except trust Melissa to be able
to take care of herself, at least for the time being. Worrying about
Melissa would do nothing but distract her, and distractions could lead to a
mistake that would put the rest of her family in jeopardy.

"Who's Mitchell?" Mulder asked Jordan with a gasp. The pain was really
starting to get out of hand.

Jordan laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "He's the ugly mutant who nearly
ushered *you* into eternity."

Mitchell Tyler moved within Mulder's view. The way the big man studied
him, a strange mixture of curiosity and hunger, made Mulder extremely
uncomfortable. There was intelligence here, Mulder thought, maybe buried
deep inside his psychosis, but this was still a thinking, reasoning man.
He remembered Mitchell's unrelenting attack on him, the unnatural speed
with which he moved, the ferocity in his eyes, his impossible strength and
agility, and Mulder knew instinctively that whatever insanity plagued
Mitchell's soul was instilled within him from an outside source. Not drugs
-- the change had been too quick, almost like a light switch being turned
on and then off. It had to be something else, something infinitely more
sinister. He had an uncanny feeling that Mitchell was a victim. He was
someone who had given in, possibly after a long and desperate struggle, to
the only path that was provided to him. Mulder also knew that in spite of
what his instincts told him, he would have to find a way to destroy
Mitchell Tyler.

Keith followed Melissa into a small bedroom at the far end of the hall.
Her soft flowing skirt clung seductively to her shapely body. What Keith
at first thought was perfume, now had a more earthy scent like the fresh
smell of grass after a spring rain. He shivered with anticipation.

Roughly Keith grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. She had
to be at least nine or ten years older than he was, yet he found this woman
extremely attractive. Jenny, he thought with amazement, paled in
comparison to the mature beautiful woman standing before him.

With a look of revulsion, Melissa turned abruptly, jerking her arm
violently from Keith's grasp as she stumbled slightly on her way to the
bed. As Melissa bent over to slide the black leather bag from beneath the
bed, Keith's eyes envisioned her body beneath the soft fabric. A soft
fanatical whisper fell upon her ears, getting closer and closer.

"I can make you pure," Keith murmured over her shoulder. "I can take your
evil into myself and prepare your soul for paradise... give it sanctuary.
Jordan has shown me the true way. I know how to save you," Keith's voice
lilted hypnotically.

Melissa was nearly lulled into false calm by the soft melodic quality of
Keith's velvety voice when she was rudely brought back to reality. As she
stood with the bag in her hand, Keith reached out and possessively grabbed
the soft, firm, fold of her bottom through the gauze-like material of her
skirt. Before Melissa could react, Keith brutally shoved her face first
against the wall.

Desire exploded along every nerve in Keith's body. He could feel the fear
emanating from this woman at his unexpected actions. More...he needed
more. He forced his hand down the front of Melissa's skirt and an
unhealthy ecstasy filled his entire being. So this was his reward. This
was what Jordan wanted him to experience.

Melissa screamed, but the sound merely caused Keith to smash her face into
the wall, which just seemed to excite him even more. Keith's intentions
exploded unbidden into Melissa's mind as he ripped at her blouse.
Unsatisfied with her position, Keith jerked her away from the wall and
slammed her hard to the floor. The black bag flew from her hand, its
contents scattering in disarray into a wide arc that bounced off the wall
trim in all directions. No, no, oh no, her dazed brain cried, and she
barely perceived a heavy weight pressed down upon her chest.

With one large hand, Keith pinned both of Melissa's wrist to the floor
above her head while he pulled at her undergarments and unzipped his pants
with the other. Hard and throbbing, he pressed himself between her thighs
and trembled with anticipation. This is what Jordan felt when the evil
left the harlot's body!!! He *was* a true disciple. Jordan would be
proud.

Melissa's initial shock and terror soon transformed into an uncontrollable
rage when she fully realized what was happening to her. She bit down her
fear, concentrating instead on her anger. Quivering like a beaten puppy
was not going to help her survive. With a bizarre kind of detachment,
Melissa gazed into her attacker's innocent looking boyish face and was
struck by the inconsistency of his appearance with the savagery of his
actions.

Like a junkie who needs bigger and bigger doses to get a rush, Keith wanted
more. The woman no longer looked afraid of him. She should be afraid of
him. He needed her to be afraid. With his free hand he ripped open her
blouse and grabbed the tender flesh inside, squeezing and twisting
savagely. Melissa cried out in pain, but still he saw no fear in her eyes.
His groin was throbbing, urging him to complete the task, but she was
still not afraid of him. Then he remembered the knife. She would be
afraid of the knife.

Keith reached down to grab the serrated blade from his boot. Twisting his
body so that he could reach, he overbalanced himself and Melissa saw her
chance. Pushing with her legs, she toppled Keith off of her and he let go
of her wrists to break his fall. Seizing the only opportunity she thought
she'd get, Melissa balled up the fist of her right hand and sent it
crashing into Keith's now unprotected crotch. Dana Scully school of self
defense, she thought to herself idly. A scream of agony escaped Keith's
lips as he rolled onto the floor in a protective fetal position.

Melissa scrambled frantically to the night stand where she knew her sister
kept her gun. She snatched open the drawer and retrieved the weapon. Oh
God, Melissa panicked. She knew absolutely nothing about guns. That was
Dana's department. Now that she finally had a weapon, she hadn't the
faintest idea of how to use it so she slipped it into her skirt pocket and
ran out of the room.

Dana's head snapped up in alarm at the sound of her sister's screams. Her
mother, leaving the children by the far wall, got up and ran toward the
stairs. Unfortunately for Margaret, Mitchell Tyler was directly in her
path. Mitchell grabbed the tiny woman, held her flailing and hissing form
in one arm as he ripped the phone cord from the wall. He bound Margaret's
wrists and ankles with it and deposited her none to gently on the other end
of the couch.

"Jesus Christ, I can't watch them all, Jordan," Mitchell complained loudly.

Dana jumped to her feet to protest but found herself warming the cushion
next to her mom as a result of her efforts.

Mulder painfully pushed himself into an upright position in spite of Dana's
orders to him to remain where he was. Subsequent pleading glances from her
that silently asked for his obedience, went unheeded.

"What do you want?" Mulder asked again, trying to keep the desperation out
of his voice.

Another scream drifted downstairs and all heads turned toward the sound.
Mitchell shot a look at Jordan, unsure if the sound was male or female.
"I'd better go check it out," Mitchell grumbled belligerently as he climbed
the stairs. <Leave it to these fucking idiots to screw up a simple task
like fetching a goddamn bag. Amateurs.>

Mulder saw the unshed tears brimming in Margaret's terrified eyes. He
watched Dana as the same look replaced the control that she'd fought so
hard to maintain. He could not bear to watch their pain, to just sit here
and listen to the screams from the upstairs bedroom, unable to do a damn
thing about it. Dana's mom and sister..God, the children, even Bill..they
were like family to him. Hell, they *were* his family. The only family
that he had.

Dana caught the not quite sane glare in Fox's eyes. Her breath caught as
she contemplated what he was thinking and feeling. She knew this man
better than any other human being on this earth, including her own family
and his control was slipping--badly. He was loyal, gentle and loving with
a nearly uncompromising sense of ethics but he was also the most empathetic
person she'd ever known. It was ironic that the same quality that enabled
him to get inside the heads of serial killers, also threatened to push him
over the emotional edge now. Please Mulder, don't do anything stupid she
prayed, silently watching the fire of righteous rage build behind dark eyes
grown cold with anger.

Another scream pierced Mulder's soul and he lost what little that remained
of his control. "You fucking son of a bitch!!!" Mulder yelled hoarsely
with unthinking, blinding fury. "They should have fried your ass when they
had the chance. Life in prison, for you, is an insult to humanity and an
abomination of justice. I told them that," Mulder panted as he ran out of
breath. "They promised to do as I asked," he gasped.

"And what pray tell was that?" Jordan snarled, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Mulder met the madman's eyes with open, honest hatred. "That they should
lock you up and throw away the goddamn key," Mulder spat out, his voice
dripping with venom.

"I remember that phrase," Jordan growled, "and now I remember the name that
went with it--'Fox Mulder,'" Jordan's voice shook with rage. "You!!! You
sent me to that hell hole!! YOU!!!" Jordan roared and pulled the gun into
his hand, closing his fingers around it in a fist as he raised it above
Mulder's head.

The blow came quickly, striking Fox squarely along the side of his head
just above his left ear, opening his flesh with a sickening smack.

"No!!" Dana cried, lunging over Mulder just in time to prevent the second
blow from connecting with his face, absorbing it with her own body. Fire
shot through her shoulder blade, up through her neck and down her left arm
to her fingertips. Jordan pulled at Dana angrily, trying to remove the
only obstacle that stood between his rage and its cause, but her right
hand clung to Mulder protectively with fierce determination. Frustrated
beyond all reason, Jordan hit her again.

Once in the hall and away from Keith, Melissa ran to her mom's bedroom,
went inside and locked the door. Not trusting the flimsy lock, she propped
a heavy antique vanity chair under the door knob. Faintly, she heard heavy
steps come up the stairs and enter Dana's room. They would find her. No
matter how well she hid, sooner or later they would find her.

Suddenly Melissa remembered Bill. He would be home soon. She couldn't
just let him walk in on this, or worse, be shot as soon as he got out of
the car. She had to warn him. But how? <Think, Melissa, think.>

A half-remembered question from her childhood ran through her thoughts.
What would dad have done, she asked herself calmly. As a child, whenever
she'd wondered what the right thing to do was, she'd always asked herself
what her dad would have done. It had always worked for her then, and it
worked once again for her now. A voice from long ago whispered in her mind
and she knew what to do. "Thanks daddy," Melissa mumbled out loud as she
opened the closet door and removed the flag from the top shelf. The heavy
fabric was still carefully folded, as it had been on the day it had been
given to her mom at the funeral.

As quietly as possible, Melissa ran across the room to the window and
opened it slightly. The snow flurries had picked up considerably, blown
about by the wind, and heavy flakes blew in through the open window. The
sky was also darker than it should have been for this time of day, an
ominous sign, and visibility was already less than a half mile. The storm
was moving in more quickly than expected. Maybe Bill wouldn't get back,
she thought with dismay. <No, don't do that, Melissa Scully. Think
positively.>

Carefully, she unfolded the flag and hung it upside down out of the window,
then closed the window so that the flag was clamped into place between the
window pane and the sill. Bill would recognize the universal distress
signal. Melissa only hoped that he'd be able to see it through the snow.
She used her skirt to mop up the little puddles left on the sill and the
floor by the melting snowflakes. Finally she closed the curtains, walked
back to the closet and huddled in one dark corner, surrounded by the scent
of her mother's perfume that still lingered on her clothes. She pulled her
blouse tight around herself, trying not to give in to the shakes. Do what
they would expect you to do, Melissa told herself. She waited.

She didn't have long to wait. In just a couple of minutes, she heard a
crash as the bedroom door gave way. Peeking through the crack around the
edge of the closet door, Melissa saw Mitchell Tyler enter the room
followed by a limping, disheveled, and bruised Keith. Mitchell carried
Dana's black doctor's bag in his hand.

Melissa flattened herself flush against the wall of the dark closet and
held her breath as Mitchell scanned the room. He immediately headed
toward her hiding place. Melissa felt his mind reaching for her and knew
that he'd found her. "What *was* he? she asked herself frantically.
The mind she sensed was dark and foreboding, awash with conflicting
emotions. Rage, fear, hunger, and hatred swirled in confused eddies with
sorrow, guilt and an overpowering need for revenge. Evil and good warred
with monumental intensity for control of an unnatural and horrifying
compulsion.

Mitchell felt the woman's mind make contact with him. She knew that he
'sensed' her and knew where she was. Reaching into the closet, he grasped
her wrist, and pulled Melissa back into the light. "Now that you two have
had your fun," he growled, "I think it's time we all went back to the
party." Holding Melissa's wrist tightly, he escorted her from the room and
down the stairs. Keith followed behind, quietly subdued with
embarrassment. He would never regain Jordan's respect now...he had failed,
failed miserably.

*******
end part five