Only Darkness (4/8) by Ashlea Ensro morleyphile@yahoo.com disclaimer in part one
CHAPTER IV: OF CABBAGES AND KINGS
"'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'To talk of many things: Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax Of cabbages - and kings...'" -- Lewis Carroll, _Through the Looking Glass_
"So, Scully?"
The corn was waist-high, butter yellow beneath the midday sun. A fierce wind bent the stalks in a violent burst, echoing over the flat land, making their low voices nearly impossible to hear.
"She first came to me almost a year ago."
"You never told me."
"I tried...I did...but," She blocked out the sun with one hand, holding the burning light at bay. "There were more important concerns. And at the time, I don't know if you would have believed me." She nearly outpaced him as she walked, unable to be still even for a moment. "You've kept things from me as well, at times."
"You were protecting me."
"In a way." Scully glanced up at him. "The case was closed, Mulder. All the evidence disappeared the morning of Darrow's death."
"It would have been enough to take the bastards down..." he whispered.
"I'm not sure. I think...it might have."
He said nothing for awhile. "Do you believe her this time?"
"It's more complex than that."
"Explain it to me."
"What she's doing...what she has done..." Scully fumbled for words. "She's working for Them, or one of their factions, anyway. She said she wanted to prevent needless death."
"But not exposure."
"That wasn't what she told me, originally. But...that's what I assume."
"Unless it's just another head game."
"I've often wondered that."
"Was she responsible for giving this case to us?"
"I'm not sure. I don't know if she has that sort of power. I got the impression she was taking orders from someone." Scully laughed nervously. "I'm reading a great deal into this; I barely knew her."
They walked for a few more seconds, and then Mulder stopped. "You know I trust you..."
"I hope so."
"I will trust you on this...but tell me one thing first."
She blinked, her silence asking him to continue.
"Why do you believe her this time?"
She didn't need to think long. "Viola Targrosse was pregnant."
No need for elaboration, no question as to how Scully knew, how such a thing could ever be. Mulder's response was a whispered, "Anna Fugazi."
"Mulder, if this is the same project that created Emily..."
He nodded. She had no reason to trust this person, and there was no logic in following her. But the name of Emily was a key to something deeper, something horrible and irresistible. And Scully would never be able to live with herself if she turned away now.
Mulder had a sinking suspicion that They knew it as well, and that They had no qualms about using it against her. It was entirely likely that this whole exercise was intentional - that forcing them on this search was yet another heartless game.
And he knew as well as she did - neither of them had any choice but to play along.
***
I wonder if they know how they seem to others, walking like that with their heads bowed, deep in conversation. I'm sure they must - rumours fly in the Bureau as much as they do in our organization. But I doubt they realize how vulnerable they make each other.
Or perhaps they do realize it, and both have lost so much that they cease to care.
I ponder which scenario is more disturbing, and then I approach.
Scully freezes, suddenly tense, alert, while Mulder unconsciously reaches for his gun. His hand stops in mid-air, evaluating the level of threat. I raise both of my hands slowly. Mockingly.
Mulder looks from Scully's face to mine, then nods slowly. I lower my hands, reach into my pocket for a cigarette.
"Agents Scully, Mulder..." I have not rehearsed this; I am in as much suspense as they.
"What do you want?" he asks.
And I could kill him, really, as I swore to do five years ago - he does not know how precarious his position has become. My own weapon is not out of reach, and he could be dead before he drew his next breath.
But I only smile grimly, because circumstances have changed, as they always do. And revenge is superfluous at this point. It would only cause further complications.
"It's not a matter of what I want, Agent Mulder. It's what you want. What I can give you."
His voice a deep growl in his throat, he says, "And what is that?"
"Ask your partner," I toss back, "She's already figured it out."
Scully watches me closely, but says nothing. Finally, I reach in my coat for a folded computer printout, take one step forward and hand it to her. Her eyes scan it, then return to me.
"What is this?"
"A list of names. You'll find Viola Targrosse's about halfway down."
Mulder leans over her shoulder. "Who are these people?"
"The killer's victims. Or intended victims, as the case may be. The first ten are dead already."
"Killed in the same way?" Scully asks.
"Yes."
"Then why were there no records?" Mulder steps back a little, eyeing me suspiciously.
"I think you know why."
"And the others?"
"Still alive. If the killer is working from the same list we are, they will all be dead within the week."
The next question I had anticipated from Mulder comes from Scully instead. "Why are they being murdered?"
I can't look at either of their faces - I look at the sun, at the brilliant yellow of the cornfield. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here."
"They were part of an experiment, weren't they? Your organization's experiments..."
"We aren't responsible for the murders."
Mulder meets my gaze. "Then who is?"
Several answers occur to me, but I decide on the most truthful. "I don't know. That's why I'm coming to you."
"You people need us to solve murders for you now?"
I shrug. "You have the resources. I have the information. I believe, in this case, we are working towards a common purpose."
Mulder remains deadpan, refusing to break the stare. "Somehow that doesn't exactly reassure me."
I gesture to the printout in Scully's hand. "You refuse to work from that information, and more women will die. It's your duty to uphold the law, is it not?"
"If it were, we could have you arrested," Scully retorts.
I take a final puff on my cigarette. "And that would be a grave mistake on your part." I smile. "Do your job, agents. And I will do mine." I scan the blur of names on the paper. "You are probably too late to save the next one," I tell them, "I would try to track down number 12. Nancy Primeau." I turn, ignoring their calls as I head towards the road. There is a screech of tires as the black sedan pulls up, with Levi at the wheel. I take a final glance back and slip into the passenger seat.
Just before I slam the door, I hear Mulder's voice, and grin with my first small triumph of this particular match.
"Well, Scully," he says, "I guess we're going to Seattle."
I close the door and turn to Levi. "Step on it," I tell him.
And we pull away in a cloud of smoke.
***
It was raining on the ashes of a burnt-out shell of a house as the silver Taurus pulled up on the curb. Mulder parked the car, remaining in the driver's seat for a moment as the rain fell over charred wood and shattered glass.
"Your friend was right." His voice was a monotone murmur. "We're too late. We should have gone after the twelfth woman."
Scully nodded silently and stepped out of the car. She was met by a young blond woman, dressed in a black suit, who flashed her FBI badge before Scully could even reach into her pocket.
"Is this the residence of Alison Brown?" Scully asked.
"It was." She reached out her hand to shake Scully's. "No one informed our office that the DC branch was involved."
"We're following a lead. Agent-" She squinted at the badge, then craned her neck upwards to meet the other woman's cool grey eyes. "Borisovskaya...are you aware that there have been ten other bombings involving elderly women in the past month?"
The younger agent raised an eyebrow, but did not look terribly surprised. "And you are investigating the other deaths?"
Scully felt her partner's presence behind her. "May we have a look inside?"
She shrugged. "You won't find much."
"We'd like to examine the body, if that's possible," Scully said.
"I'm afraid it's not." Borisovskaya cast a glance towards the scorched remains of the house.
"Why not?" Scully's voice was edged with an instant suspicion.
"Because there isn't one. We've been sifting through the ashes since six this morning, but there was no trace of Mrs. Brown or of anyone else."
"Then it's possible that she's alive," Mulder said, "She wasn't in the building when the bomb went off."
"It's a possibility," Borisovskaya admitted, "But her neighbors haven't seen her leave the house in days. All the lights were on, and there were signs of movement inside just before the explosion."
Mulder wandered back towards the car, his eyes memorizing the details of the crime scene. Scully nodded dumbly, watching as one of the agents removed a charred, half-knitted sweater from the ruins.
Alison Brown had not escaped the explosion.
Alison Brown was dead.
And the killer had gone to great lengths to ensure that no one would ever find out why.
"Thanks for your help," Scully muttered. Borisovskaya turned back towards the crime scene, watching as the silver Taurus on the curb drove away. She pushed aside the broken remains of the door and stepped inside the Brown house.
There was an eerie stillness inside the building, the walls turned varying shades of black and charcoal grey, the floor littered with shards of glass. Alison Brown herself lay still, a knitting needle not far from her outstretched hand. She had died minutes before the explosion. Like the other victims, there was no outward sign of her pregnancy.
Borisovskaya sighed. It was always tragic when innocent civilians died due to some bureaucratic screw-up in the Project. She was positive that someone's inefficiency was behind this death, and behind the others. Things would be different when she was in a higher position - she knew she could run the organization much better than it was currently running.
But that day was a long way away. So she opened her cell phone and dialed the number she now knew by heart.
A low, smoky voice responded on the other end. "Agent Borisovskaya?"
Her voice was steady, calm. "They're gone. Clean- up procedures can now proceed."
"Thank you." A click. She hung up.
The other agents were waiting outside.
***
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Mulder's eyes were fixed on the road, Scully's on the blur of grey buildings, magically transformed into a dappled Impressionist painting through the slashes of rain.
"We couldn't have saved her," Scully said finally, in answer to her partner's unspoken thoughts.
"No," he said, "That's exactly the thing. We couldn't...and the killer works fast, apparently. We'll be too late to save Nancy Primeau."
"We could call her. Warn her."
"We could," Mulder's tone was not confident. "But I'm sure by now she knows she's in danger."
"That's what I don't understand. The women must know they're part of an experiment. If what Isis said was true..."
"You think they gave their consent?" He shrugged. "I want to look into their backgrounds."
"Mulder...we..." The rain outside was suddenly more threatening than her partner's grim face. "We have to get to her."
He swallowed. "She's already dead." He paused for a moment, and both of them understood. He did not need to say the words, but he did, regardless. "Because of us."
"Then what do we do?" Scully was trying hard not to think of Alison Brown's cinder house. She tried not to think that before they would be able to reach it, another woman's home would be in flames, that the blood and ash would be on their hands.
Tried not to think of how the murderers who created Emily were still operating with impunity, tossing their victims aside without a second thought.
She waited for a response from Mulder, but none came. "Do we try to find the next woman?"
"No." His voice was abrupt. "No, we don't. We're going to find Nancy Primeau."
"According to Isis, we'll be too late. And she was right the last time."
"I know." Mulder's hands tightened ever so slightly on the wheel. "We won't make it in time to save her. But if we play this right, we'll make it there before anyone can dispose of the body. And maybe then we'll have some evidence to go on."
She noticed that the car accelerated as he spoke. She closed her eyes against the sudden burst of velocity, finding herself praying.
Not for the woman's mortal life - that was out of their hands now. And not for her soul, either.
Only that she would die quickly and painlessly, before she knew the full horror of the vast project in which she had somehow become involved.
***
I follow them alone, black-gloved hands on the wheel, out of sight, but barely. Levi took a plane in - his employer called him in on the cleanup operation.
His employer. Not mine. Strange, how I make these assumptions.
The highway seems to drag on forever, an endless monotony of concrete, fields, and telephone wires. Sometimes there are mountains, grey ghosts on the horizon topped with white snow. I realize I have never seen mountains like these - they make the Laurentians look like mole hills. I will never see them up close.
It is the small injustices in life which bring me to tears.
My head is pounding, the pain intensified by the rain. Pain is a constant now - sometimes it blends into the background but now, with only the highway to keep me occupied, it takes centre stage. Every bright shard of agony is a whispered phrase. I will never see Europe. I will never see my daughter grow up.
So it goes.
I am lonely, for whatever reason. Even Levi would be company right now. I would probably be ready to strangle him if he were here, but at least it would be better than this. I light a cigarette, one hand loosely draped over the wheel, the smoke choking in the claustrophobic space.
Quitting is redundant. The weight of a thousand lifetimes will kill me long before lung cancer will.
Besides, it reminds me of *him*.
I bear his burdens too.
I wonder if he's realized it yet.
I hope he has not.
And I am driving, smiling faces on billboards leering out at me, because this is all that remains. Human beings are dying, and I can still prevent it.
This is all that remains.
This is what I keep telling myself.
All I have left is my role in the revelation of The Truth, and that is enough to keep the nails driven through my temples at bay, for the moment. Because this highway stretches to infinity, and I cannot drive forever. I am evidence now, a means to an end, and I will play that role until it overwhelms me.
I remember now that phone call, five years ago, the clipped British accent informing me of my husband's death. A false and quiet sympathy. His blood on Mulder's hands, and no one willing to take any action.
If Mulder and Scully notice me, trailing them along the highway, they make no move to confront me. They have almost arrived, and I will meet them at the crime scene.
The time has come to talk of many things.
I almost lose control of the car as another wave of pain sweeps over me.
Everything dies.
It's only a matter of time.
End 4/8
Only Darkness (5/8) by Ashlea Ensro morleyphile@yahoo.com disclaimer in part one
CHAPTER V: HORSES AND DOGS
"It's the same with men As with horses and dogs Nothing wants to die." -- Tom Waits, _The Fall of Troy_
The thin young man at the crime scene looked questionable. Guilty. Scully had thought for a moment that Agent Borisovskaya was hiding something, that there was something she was holding back. She had ignored those misgivings.
But there was no doubt about this one. She could tell from the way he watched her, hands shaking almost imperceptibly. Apprehensive. She tossed a casual glance in Mulder's direction to determine if he was picking up on the same nervous energy, but her partner's face was unreadable.
The words were too similar. No body found. Not even trace evidence.
It was too convenient.
No killer, not even a professional, could be that thorough.
It was night, and Scully shivered with the slight wind, her trench coat offering little warmth. The local law enforcement had delayed the excavation of the ruined house until the morning. Only this young man was left to keep watch over the hulking ghost.
He would not let them in. Would not let them disrupt the scene of a crime.
Had not heard a word about the FBI's involvement.
Under other circumstances, Scully might have considered him pigheaded. He seemed too uncomfortable, however, his voice halting and uncertain. And so when the footsteps approached and the flame of a lighter illuminated a woman's haunted features, Scully was not at all surprised.
"Let them through, Mr. Levi."
The man, Levi, looked towards Isis. "But-" He fumbled for a last vestige of illusion. "Procedures..."
"Procedures have been changed. You may go."
The young man's eyes darkened. "Changed by whom?"
"You would be well advised to leave before these two agents are able to remember both your face and your name. Go."
He might not have been good at containing government secrets, but the man named Levi was certainly good at following orders. Isis did not even wait until he had turned to go before she approached Mulder and Scully.
"This way," she said, tugging open the door.
With a look back at Levi, Scully followed. Mulder hesitated for a moment, then drew his gun and slipped inside the doorway.
"She's still here, isn't she?" Mulder said.
Isis' silence was enough of an affirmation.
"So was the other one," Scully added.
"That is beside the point," Isis replied. Three beams of light tilted towards a body of an elderly woman, charred beyond recognition and slumped against the wall. "You have less than an hour before word gets out that you are here. I suggest you collect whatever evidence you can and leave immediately."
As Isis began to walk away, Mulder grabbed her arm. "Wait."
"I don't have time for this."
"Why are you helping us?"
Scully paused, staring at them for a moment. Isis' face captivated her.
She had never seen so much hatred in the older woman's eyes.
"I am not helping you, Agent Mulder," Isis said coldly, "I am balancing out a score."
"Is that what you're doing?" Scully asked.
A pause. "Contrary to what you may believe, Agent Scully, I was not responsible for the murder of Amanda Darrow, nor did I take part in the subsequent destruction of all evidence relating to the case. Do I make myself clear?"
"I know who you work for," Scully's voice was a low growl.
"Do you?"
"It's the same agenda, isn't it? We do your work for you...solve your 'problems'..." Scully spat out the last word as if it were a bitter taste. "And then you leave us with nothing."
For a long time, Isis said nothing. Then Scully felt a black-gloved hand curl around her wrist, taloned fingers drawing her close so that the whispered voice was more smoke than sound.
"That man, Levi..." Isis hissed, "He works for people who would have you dead without a second thought. When he goes back to his employers and finds I have intervened on your behalves, my life is over. The truth is *that* important - do you understand?"
"Why?"
Isis pulled away abruptly. Scully's skin throbbed with a sudden chill at the absence of the older woman's grip. "Because I have nothing to lose," she replied. She took a few steps towards the door. "You would be well advised to be clear of this building within the hour."
A new touch, heavier, but gentler, settled on Scully's shoulder. Mulder. She had almost forgotten he was there. He called her name softly.
"Over here."
She followed. She no longer knew why.
***
He is waiting for me outside, his face a twisted scowl of anger and confusion. I keep my own face expressionless, regarding him coolly as I climb into the passenger seat of the car.
"What in god's name are you doing, Isis?" He slips in beside me, turning the key in the ignition.
"What anyone does." I leave it at that.
"Following orders? Whose game are you playing, anyway? You're going to get us both killed."
I shrug. "What does it matter, Adam? I'm already dead."
He drives. A raccoon, darting across the street, barely misses the hurtling death of the black sedan. He doesn't seem to notice.
"And me?" A pause. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
"Sooner or later." I throw a glance in his direction. "Everything dies, Adam. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"I'm not gonna die," he mutters, sounding for all the world like an impudent child.
And damn, I wish that were true. It's his stubbornness that makes me like him, and that same quality has sealed his fate. When it comes down to it, he's too soft to play the game, a snarling pup among wild dogs. He found out too much, too early, and I just hope I'm not the one who will have to kill him.
I have that feeling, though. Maybe I'm more psychic than I ever suspected.
"You know," I say, "It's better to be killed by someone you know. Better than being knocked off by some anonymous assassin."
"Are you speaking from experience?"
"Partially."
Silence.
"Don't think that I won't feel badly about it," I say finally.
"That doesn't particularly reassure me," he says.
"Most people die without anyone to mourn them - did you know that?"
He raises an eyebrow. Lowers it. He keeps driving.
"Where are they going next?"
"Mulder will try to prevent the death of the next victim, and he'll be too late. Scully will go back to DC to bring evidence to the crime lab."
"Oh."
It is starting to rain now, light patters against the windshield. Grunting, Levi flicks the wipers on, and they streak concentric half-circles over the glass. "Why do you do it?" he asks.
"I'm sure they told you."
"No, they..." He hesitates. "Not that. Not why you help Mulder and Scully - you can't help who you work for. Why do you stay in the game?"
"I'm sure they told you that too."
He shakes his head. The boy has a problem communicating - perhaps that is why he's doomed. "You don't have much time left. All they can do is kill you. And-"
"...And I'm already dead," I finish. "You know..." Another flick of the wipers - it only makes the visibility worse, but he insists on keeping them on. A matter of principle, I suppose. "I've often asked myself that same question."
"Your answer?"
I close my eyes. The rain gives me a headache.
"I don't know."
Levi gives up on the wipers as the rain picks up - we are both dead in this car, so we will drive blind.
"I don't want to die," he says.
"Of course not," I reply.
***
"You realize this will take a day or two, right?"
Scully made a sudden realization. Agent McAlpine - whose first name was Robert, she had discovered - was far too happy to see her. Considering the fate of his predecessors at the FBI labs, he shouldn't have been so eager.
Maybe he just wanted to chase aliens. She almost rolled her eyes at the thought.
"Agent Scully?"
She shook her head. Stared at him. "Sorry, I don't know where my mind is these days."
He grinned. "I get like that sometimes." He glanced again at the tissue samples under the microscope. "So where did these come from?"
"A crime scene just outside of Seattle. Is there anything out of the ordinary about them?"
"Other than the fact that the victim must have been burnt to a crisp, it doesn't look like it. But like I said, it might take a few days to run all the tests." He glanced up at her, brushing dark hair out of his eyes. "Why - is there something I should be looking for?"
Scully paused for a moment, then said, "No - nothing in particular. I'd appreciate it if you let me know the moment you find anything..." She searched for the word, and didn't find it.
"Paranormal?" McAlpine suggested.
"Unusual," Scully said.
A quiet laugh. "I'll see what I can do."
She nodded somberly. "Thank you."
He met her gaze. His lips moved, and she sensed that he wanted to ask her what was wrong.
As if knowing that there was no way she could have answered him, he turned back to the microscope.
She wanted to look at it as well - it was something solid, cold, scientific. Real. But she had other work to do.
Reality would have to wait.
She let herself out of the lab.
***
We grab lunch at a truck stop just off the highway. We are incongruous here among the crowd, dressed in black suits and sunglasses, and we receive more than a few stares. Oblivious, Levi sits down to attack his hamburger. I light up a cigarette and scan the room, more out of instinct than anything else. No one here will remember us for more than an hour or so. The wet, miserable travelers have other concerns on their mind. But I am on edge today, and my glance lingers on anyone who looks in our direction.
"Would you please not blow that in my face?" Levi asks.
"Sorry." I shift my chair around, but the smoke seems to drift towards him no matter what I do.
"Did Scully fly back to DC?"
"As far as I know."
"And the next victim?"
"New York, I believe. If Mulder's fast he'll get there before the body disappears."
"You won't interfere with this one?"
Another flicker of interest from a teenager sitting at the next table. She smiles shyly at Levi. Does she find him attractive?
"Keep your voice down," I tell him, "They have enough evidence from Primeau's body. Anything more could expose us."
"So you think they can find the killer?"
"I believe so, yes."
"Then what do we do?"
What do I do? That is the more pressing question. All Levi needs to do is die, unfortunately.
"Assuming Scully discovers our killer, Mulder has evidence linking the organization to the murders. That must be disposed of as quickly as possible as soon as our killer is safely found."
"The list of victims." Levi catches on fast.
"We'll need to get it back and destroy it."
"He wouldn't have thought to copy it?"
"He won't have the chance."
Levi nods. "So...we follow Mulder, then."
I'm still thinking. "No, you follow Mulder and get whatever evidence he has. I will go back to DC and find out whatever Scully discovers."
"And the killer?"
"As soon as we know who it is, we can call in our people to handle the situation. I would prefer to keep the FBI out of it."
It is a good plan - by the book. I've been doing this for a long time.
And only one more question remains.
I wish Levi wouldn't ask it.
But he does.
"And after that?"
Yes, after that?
What then?
"I'll have to kill you," I say as casually as possible.
He shakes his head slowly.
"I'm sorry, Levi...Adam. I do like you. But you know the rules of the game as well as I do."
"I can be of use to you."
"Yes, but you're more of a danger." I remove my sunglasses to meet his eyes. "Adam, you joined the organization knowing the risks. That you could be called upon at any time."
"Why should I die for this?"
"Sometimes it's better not to ask."
He glares. "They put the hit on you, once. I heard about that."
"I'm still here."
"How did you survive?"
I smile faintly. "It's a long story. You don't have that much time." I stand up. "Go to Mulder and make sure whatever evidence he has does not fall into the wrong hands. And after that, I would advise you to make your peace with the world. It's all you can do."
He swallows hard. "Isis?"
"Yeah."
"I just want to know one thing."
"Yes?"
"Why?"
"Consider it a long-term investment. One life, now, for five billion lives fourteen years from now."
"That isn't good enough," he says, "That's the line they all give, but I don't think they believe it themselves."
"Then I hope that you can find an answer you can live with," I tell him.
It's only when I'm halfway out the door that I realize the irony of that last statement.
End 5/8
Only Darkness (6/8) by Ashlea Ensro morleyphile@yahoo.com disclaimer in part one
CHAPTER VI: KILLERS IN HIGH PLACES
"Can't run no more with the lawless crowd while the killers in high places say their prayers out loud But they've summoned up a thundercloud and they're going to hear from me." -- Leonard Cohen, _Anthem_
The phone rang at one in the morning. Scully groaned, fumbled for the source of the offending sound. She finally found the receiver and fought back the urge to slam it back down.
"Yeah?"
"Agent Scully? I'm sorry to wake you up, but I thought you would want to know what we found right away..."
She blinked, now completely awake. "Who is this?"
A stunned pause. "It's McAlpine."
<God, the tests...>
"What did you find?"
"I think you'd better come down to the lab as soon as possible," was his only response.
An hour and a half later, she was staring at a fuzzy, blurry something through a microscope. McAlpine was talking, but his voice was equally fuzzy.
"What am I looking at?" she asked, feeling foolish. But it *was* two-thirty in the morning.
He stopped, smiled apologetically. "First of all, the victim died of cyanide poisoning."
"Cyanide?"
"Yeah...but that isn't the most exciting part."
Scully nodded for him to continue.
"If I remember correctly, the records indicated that the victim was sixty-four years old..."
"Something like that..." Her voice was still slurred from sleep.
"But these tests indicate that Nancy Primeau was eight months pregnant."
She was too exhausted to even feign surprise. "Is that paranormal enough for you, Agent McAlpine?"
"You knew? But...I don't see how it's possible..."
"Are you positive?"
"I would be absolutely certain if we had found traces of the actual fetus."
"No...no..." She shook her head. "The killer would have gone to great lengths to make sure you couldn't."
"That was going to be the next bit of information I had for you, but you ruined the suspense. We recovered a partial fingerprint and some hair fibers."
"Did you run it through the crime database?"
"No matches yet."
"Damn." Scully looked back through the lens. "Anything else?"
"It seems like she was undergoing some sort of hormonal therapy. Which still wouldn't explain how she was able to conceive, but it might be a start. I'm sure with further tests we might determine more."
"That won't be necessary."
McAlpine looked shocked. "Don't you want to know?"
"Yes. But..." She sighed heavily. "What I want more is to find whoever did this to her, and bring those individuals to justice. If you pursue their methods further, they might-"
"Kill me?" McAlpine turned the microscope off. "That was what you were going to tell me? How do you know all of this, Agent Scully?"
"Let's just say I have my ways." She attempted a weak smile. "What's important is that another woman does not die this way. I want you to run what you have through the database of federal employees."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
"Just a guess." She turned to leave. "Let me know what you find."
He was still standing there, motionless.
"You'll be the first to know," he muttered.
***
Assistant Director Kersh looked up as the door opened. He caught a glimpse of the tall figure in the doorway, then dropped his gaze to the pile of 302s on his desk. He had been working late, and there was only one person who it would be at this hour.
"What do you want?"
His visitor lit a cigarette and sat down on the couch by the wall. Kersh had once been under the impression that the smoker had been an unofficial component of the X-Files Division, but he had changed that assumption to decide that the man simply belonged to whatever division Mulder and Scully were assigned to.
Why? He had no idea. He supposed the man was a top official of some sort who had taken an unusual interest in the two agents. Kersh himself had no interest in them, but the smoker seemed to find them important, for whatever reason.
Regardless, he was not fond of having the smoker skulk around his office. For one, he had quit smoking twenty years ago, and he had resented having to install an ashtray in his otherwise pristine working environment. For another, everything about the man seemed to bother him. Kersh had received his fair share of condescension during his early years at the Bureau, but it was nothing like what he had to undergo with this person. Of course, in this case the condescension wasn't personal - it seemed directed at everyone, as far as he could tell. But nothing could excuse the late-night visits, the cryptic remarks, the absurd orders.
It only made the presence of Mulder and Scully in his division even more annoying. Which, of course, was exactly what the man intended.
"I thought we might talk." The visitor took a drag of his cigarette and leaned back on the leather couch.
"At this hour?"
"Agents McAlpine and Scully have discovered evidence that may identify the killer in the Primeau case."
Kersh muttered, "Good for them."
The smoker leaned forward. "I don't think you understand, Mr. Kersh. The killer is a federal employee. CIA, it appears."
Kersh was tired. He wished the man would cut to the chase. "Do you want me to take Mulder and Scully off the case?"
The smoker looked surprised. "When they are doing so well?" He stood up. Kersh tried not to make his relief too evident. "Quite the contrary. I think you should congratulate them on a job well done."
Kersh tried, unsuccessfully, to stare him down. "I'll be sure to do that," he said.
His visitor extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray by the door, then lit another. "Have a good night, Mr. Kersh."
The Assistant Director did not respond. One day he would have to put that bastard in his place.
But not today.
***
Mulder had been driving for ten minutes when he noticed that the indicator was almost on empty.
Shit. Goddamn rental cars. He didn't have time to stop. Another woman was about to die, and now the sons-of-bitches would probably have every trace of her life and death buried somewhere no one would find it. Every minute made a difference.
Then again, it wouldn't do her any good if he ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere.
He filled up at a gas station, then went in to pay and buy a package of sunflower seeds. When he returned, there was a man sitting in the passenger seat of his car.
"I'm sure you could find something more expensive to steal," Mulder said, reaching for his gun.
"Don't touch your weapon," the man hissed, "Get in the car and drive."
"I know you. You were at Primeau's house...your name is Levi."
"Adam." The younger man extended his hand. "Drive. You don't have much time."
Mulder stared for a moment longer, then reluctantly jammed the key into the ignition. "What do you want, Adam?"
"What anyone wants," Levi replied.
They pulled out of the gas station and back onto the highway. At least the rain had cleared up a little. Levi settled into the seat, looking significantly calmer. He was staring out the window now, his forehead pressed against the glass.
"And what's that?" Mulder asked.
Levi turned to him, eyes wide and red-rimmed. He looked desperate, a man who had not slept in days. His thin hand, pale in the gathering darkness, trembled a little.
"I want to live," he said.
***
The shadow was waiting for her in the parking lot. She walked alongside it for awhile before it spoke.
"The name," Isis said.
"No."
The gloved hand gripped Scully's wrist with a sudden violence, whirling her around. "This is no time to play games, Dana. I need to know the name, and I need it now."
"I'm sure you have your ways to find out."
"I don't have the luxury of time."
"Sorry to hear that."
The fingers tightened, drawing her closer. "I have to leave within the hour."
"For where?"
"New York City. Where he is."
"She."
"Who is it?"
"I can't tell you that."
"You don't know what you're dealing with." Isis snarled.
"At least I know who I'm dealing with."
"You don't know that either."
"Why should I help you, Isis? I know what you'll do."
"Do you?"
Scully strained to meet Isis' eyes, but the older woman wouldn't allow it, tilting her head just slightly upwards to avoid Scully's glare. "You'll kill her, just like you killed Darrow. You've used us, and you've been using us all along."
Isis slammed her against the wall of the parking garage, not hard, but pinning her forcefully against the concrete. She was prepared for a blow, a gun shoved against her head, anything but the satin brush of Isis' lips against hers.
<No god no not this again you fucking bitch no...>
She could collapse into this embrace, sink into the velvet darkness, but she fought hard. She could not succumb, not again. The kiss was soft, intoxicating, but it was the kiss of an enemy.
When Isis spoke, her voice was husky. "Does that surprise you, Dana?"
"Fuck you."
"Give me her name, Dana. Give it to me and let me finish this."
"Let go of me."
Isis released her. "Name."
"I'm going with you."
"You can't."
"Watch me."
"Tell me the killer's name."
"I'll tell you on the way there."
Isis took a step backwards, a smile threatening to shatter her impassive mask.
"You're good, Agent Scully. It's a pity you're on the wrong side. Shall we take your car or mine?"
Scully grinned triumphantly. "Whichever you prefer," she said sweetly, "Although you're not smoking in my car."
"Then there isn't much of a choice, in that case," Isis replied.
***
Mulder's eyes scanned the road signs, the blaring lights of the city. Driving in New York was for lunatics, he decided. "You have exactly fifteen minutes to explain yourself," he said to Levi.
"I can do it in less," the young man replied, "Isis is trying to kill me."
"Why?"
"I know too much."
"About what?"
"About her, and the son-of-a-bitch she works for."
"And how did you come about this knowledge?"
Levi shrugged. "I've got good instincts."
"Obviously not good enough." He sped up slightly. "What makes you think I can help you?"
"Agent Mulder, you must know how important you are by now."
"Important to who?"
His blue eyes widened, then Levi mimed the gesture of smoking a cigarette.
"Oh, for chrissake..."
"I'm sure you're also aware that there is a great deal of infighting among our organization. Her former employer was killed as a result of one of these...differences of opinion."
"And our killer...he's murdering these women because of infighting?"
"I don't know that. If she knows who the killer is, she didn't tell me. All I know is that Isis and the smoker want the guy dead before you can find out anything else about him or the women he killed."
"It has to do with Emily, doesn't it?"
"All of the women were carrying genetically altered children. An extension of a project of which I am sure you have some knowledge."
"For what purpose?"
"I don't know that either. But if these women had survived, they would have given birth to...more Emilys, you could say."
"In that case, why kill them? If the killer knows about the project-"
"Then he's one of us," Levi finished. "Yes. We've known that since the beginning. Isis doesn't care about saving these people. She just wants to make sure that word doesn't get out about elderly women giving birth to clone children."
Mulder nodded. He had assumed as much. Isis did not seem to be the sort of person who placed a great deal of value on human life.
"And where do you fit in?"
"I was assigned to make sure no evidence of this case ever saw the light of day. Those were my orders. When I found out that Isis had involved the FBI, I followed her to find out why." He coughed, turning back towards the window. "I found out a great deal more than that."
"Now she wants you dead."
"Yes."
"Why should I trust you?"
"I can testify. You get me into the Witness Protection Program, I help you bring them down. Isn't that what you want?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't. He shifted his eyes back and forth from the road to the frightened young man sitting beside him.
"The killer is here in New York," he said finally, "I need to stop him."
"Of course you do," Levi said.
"You're going to help me. If we see this man, you'll know who he is."
"I might." Levi's voice was hesitant.
Mulder stared at him for a moment, then turned his gaze to the thousand lights flashing past them.
"Okay," he said, "Okay." This might work out after all. "And after that, maybe we can make a deal."
***
Scully makes no attempt to disguise her distaste as I keep one hand on the wheel and smoke a cigarette with the other. She rolls down her window to clear the air.
"Don't look at me like that," I say, "I was planning to visit my daughter today, not drive like a maniac to stop a killer."
"Your daughter..." Her bitterness is evident enough. I can't say I blame her.
"It's possible that your partner has already engaged the killer." I change the subject - I have to. "We may be too late in any case."
"Just drive."
Scully looks tired. I noticed it in the darkness of the parking garage, but I notice it more now. She has had more than enough. It was never fair to drag her into this, to force her to grieve for Emily again and again.
I try to tell myself that we had no choice. And we didn't, not really.
"The killer's CIA," Scully says finally, "Her name is Denise Falker."
"I know her," I reply.
"One of yours?"
I flick ashes out the window. "Not 'one of mine', Agent Scully." I wonder how much power she attributes to me. "She's loosely connected with the project at Transgen, however."
"Emily."
"And others, yes."
Scully's fingers clench into a fist, white-knuckled, she tries to restrain herself.
"I was never involved with that particular project, Dana. Not even marginally."
"You've lied to me before."
"I'm not lying to you about this." I sigh. "Please, put it aside. There are lives to be saved."
"The killings are part of the project?"
"I don't know. As I said, I am not connected with the project. We are a large organization. It doesn't make any sense for them to be killing their own test subjects, however."
"Test subjects?" I'm surprised she hasn't tried to hit me yet. "Those women are victims."
"Yes," I keep driving, oblivious. "They are that too."
For awhile, neither of us say anything. Then I ask, "Do you know anything else?"
"None of them were killed in the explosions. They were poisoned first - cyanide."
This seems odd - wrong, somehow. Why would Falker have poisoned the victims? Wouldn't cutting out their fetuses and blowing them up be sufficient?
It occurs to me for the first time that Falker must be mad, and I wonder why I didn't realize it before. Of course the pressures of that sort of work would affect anyone, after awhile, and the screening process is often not as rigorous as it should be. It would explain everything - the brutal nature of the killings, the systematic turn against the organization. At last the pieces are starting to fall together.
"Have you told Mulder yet?"
"I was about to call him when-"
"Call him now."
She nods. Dials the number. I hear the vague static of a mechanical voice.
"Funny," she says, "His cell phone must be turned off." There is a faint tremor in her tone.
I press harder on the gas pedal in response.
And I remind myself that we may already be too late.
End 6/8