Disclaimers: The X-Files is the sole property of 10-13
Productions, 20th Century Fox and Chris Carter. No copyright infringement is
intended.
Paring:
Scully/Reyes
Content: This story depicts loving f/f
relationships. If you are under 18, or this is illegal in your area, please
exit.
Rating: Rated R for adult themes and violence.
What She Believes
Book Two: Bleu
by Xan
Scully was about to lock her
apartment door and head out when she saw a determined man moving toward her at
a fast clip. “Agent Doggett?” she asked, wondering what he was doing in her
building.
“Agent Scully,” he bent at the
waist, catching his breath, “I need your help.”
Scully led him into her apartment.
“What can I do for you, Agent Doggett?”
“Not going into work today?” he
asked, noticing for the first time the sleeveless black top and blue jeans.
“Not for the rest of the week. I’m
on vacation.”
“Glad I caught you.” He slumped into a chair and accepted the
glass of water she offered. “Monica resigned.”
He spit it out, not a man for preambles.
“What?” Scully sat, too, feeling
the wind knocked out of her chest. “When? Why?”
“Walked right into Kersh's office
at eight this morning, laid it on his desk and walked out.” He leaned forward, rolling the glass between
his palms. “Said it had something to do with the last case you two worked on in
“She didn’t seem overly upset about
anything.” Scully thought back to their
disagreement over her burning an antique witch board, their disparate beliefs,
and way they’d parted at the end. None of this was cause for resignation. “What
is it you want me to do, Agent Doggett?”
“For starters, promise me you’ll
talk to her. She’s barricaded in her apartment-won’t see anyone.” His piercing eyes regarded her for a second
before he continued. “And second, what the hell happened in
“You’ve read our reports, I
assume?”
‘Yeah, but they don’t tell me what
happened between you two.”
“Agent Doggett,” Scully sucked in a
weary breath, “we had a… personal disagreement, and it’s not up for
discussion.” She still woke at night
hearing Mina Peale’s voice: “You almost
killed your partner….”
“She’s upset about something she
did or said-I don’t know.”
“Then what makes you think she’ll
listen to me?”
“Because when I call her, you’re
the only thing she asks about.”
***
Scully drove over to
A raven-haired beauty, long of
limb, opened the door. “Hello,” she said, voice smoky, eyes lit with curiosity.
“Um,” Scully tilted her head and
looked at the number on the door, “this is Monica Reyes’ apartment?”
“Yes. Come in.” The woman barely gave Scully enough room to
slide by her tall frame. “I’m Bleu,” she said, “Vivienne Bleufleur.”
I don't like this one bit, Scully
thought. She felt like a trespasser in Monica’s living room with its eclectic
collection of furniture and artwork. Southwestern mixed pleasantly with Mexican
artifacts; an echo of Monica’s spirit.
Scully told the woman her name and
reached for her badge, then realized she’d failed to bring it along. She stared
openly at the woman, who sat gracefully in front of her; the question evident
in Scully’s eyes.
“We met in
That wasn’t the question Scully
wanted answered. “Where is Monica?”
“She went out.” Bleu’s sparkling, though wary eyes lent
credence to her name. Her pale orbs stared with undisguised interest at
Scully.
“When do you expect her back?”
The edge in Scully’s voice
triggered a slight frown on Bleu’s face. “She won’t be home for hours, but
you’re welcomed to wait here with me. Can I get you anything, coffee, tea?”
Shock registered on Scully’s face:
Why would Monica leave a stranger in her apartment? “I’ll leave her a note.”
Scully walked over to Monica’s desk
and opened the center drawer. She found Monica’s badge.
“The J stands for Julieta. Beautiful isn’t it?”
Scully had not heard Bleu move
behind her even though the woman wore spiked boots. She felt the light pressure
of Bleu’s hand on her shoulder, and had no room to turn.
“It’s here.” Bleu slid her elegant hand past Scully’s
waist and retrieved a sheet of embossed paper. “Yellow- how very appropriate,
don’t you think?”
Scully grabbed a pen and scribbled
out a note. She was hit by a hot wave of jealousy: This stranger knew Monica’s
full name, where she kept her things, where she’d gone to…. “Please let her
know that I was here.”
“I will, Dana.” Bleu leaned forward and kissed Scully lightly
on one cheek than the other. She backed up slightly when Scully turned to face
her. “It’s a European custom,” she said, brushing an index finger across the
lipstick stain she’d left.
“I’m a local gal, Bleu. I don’t do
European.”
“If you really wish to speak with her,
you should come back around eight,” Bleu said, her liquid eyes mesmerizing
Scully. “We’re going on a spiritual retreat.”
“Where is this place?” Scully
asked.
“Now, now, Agent Scully, it isn’t a
retreat if you can get in touch with her. Besides, I don’t think it would be
much to your liking.”
“How do you know my title?” Scully
challenged. “I didn’t tell you anything but my name.”
“Monica talks in her sleep.” Bleu leaned against the doorframe and brushed
a slender finger beneath Scully’s chin. “What do you do in yours, Agent
Scully?”
Enraged by the woman’s audacity,
Scully slapped away her hand then stormed out of the apartment.
***
“Too bad your little friend had to
leave,” Bleu said, upon Monica’s emergence from the bedroom.
“They way you treated her wasn’t
necessary.” Monica was tense, edgy, and
she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. She threw a black duffle bag on the
floor at Bleu’s feet. “When do we leave?”
“Now that’s more like it.” Bleu stroked the dark bruises on Monica’s
wrist. “I like a woman who…obeys.”
“You didn’t stop Agent Scully-all
you did was slow her down.” Monica
pulled her arm from Bleu’s grasp. “She’ll come for me.”
“I hope so. You see,” Bleu stopped
to purr in Monica’s ear, “I’m very fond of redheads.”
“Again, when do we leave?” Monica
persisted.
“We leave when it’s dark outside.”
Monica barely nodded at the woman.
When Bleu turned away to pour them both tea, Monica pulled back the curtain and
affixed a small disc to the windowpane.
***
Doggett pulled up the hood of his
sweatshirt and jogged over to Scully’s car. When he slid in beside her, the
fading evening sun nearly blinded him. “So much for them leaving at night,” he
said, taking a pair of binoculars off the dashboard.
“Monica’s car was already gone when
I got here,” Scully said.
“Look,” Doggett turned to face her,
“maybe it isn’t anything. Maybe we’re just worried over nothing.”
“Agent Doggett, did Monica tell you
that she had a houseguest?”
“You mean this Bleu person. No, she
didn’t.”
“Did she tell you she was going
away?”
“No.”
“Do you know how to pick a lock,
Agent Doggett?”
“Then let’s go.”
Doggett lifted his hips and
searched his back pocket. “I’ve got a key.”
The information burned Scully. It
seemed everyone from Doggett to total strangers was close to Monica. But who
did she have to blame for that?
Doggett gave his door a shove.
“Sure you want to do this?”
Scully pointed to a bright spot on
one of Monica’s bay windows. “I don’t think we’re in violation of any laws, Agent.
In fact, I believe we have a clear invitation.”
“Jesus.” Doggett cupped a hand to his brow, shading
his eyes. “No wonder I can barely see.”
Scully followed Doggett to Monica’s
door, and once inside, he held up the key, his brow creased with worry.
“Listen, this isn’t what you think. Monica gave it to me in case of emergency.”
Scully relaxed, realizing that
single agents often traded keys with their partners. After all, she’d given
hers to Mulder, and she still had a key to his Petri dish of an apartment. She
nodded absently, but as she looked up, she noticed he still had a guarded look
on his face. Then she realized what his concern was: “Doggett, whatever we
find, I don’t think Monica’s personal life is the Bureau’s business.”
Relief flooded his face and he
stepped aside. “In that case, you take the bedroom, Scully. I’ll get that disc
off the window.”
***
Walking into someone’s bedroom
uninvited was tantamount to reading their diary without permission. Scully felt
like an intruder, a thief of hidden dreams and unspoken desires. She deliberately refrained from looking at
the bed. How someone slept was usually their biggest secret of all, known only
to a few. Instead, Scully took to the closet; there wasn’t a sneaker in site,
and the black boots that hugged Monica’s calves in a way that made Scully
shiver, were gone, too.
Nothing but pretty little shoes for
those special occasions-and how she hoped one of those special occasions would
soon be hers-lined the closet floor along with dutiful, conservative
pumps. Monica’s work clothes hung neatly
on padded wooden hangers. And in one lonely corner, as if terrified to hope for
more, hung several sheer silk dresses wrapped in plastic shrouds.
No dust bunnies here, Scully
noticed. No sharp odor of moth balls.
But a faint touch of ocean breeze and burning sand, lingered in the
closet. Scully brought her nose closer, and keeping the bedroom door in the
corner of her eye, she breathed in Monica’s scent.
“Find anything in here?”
Doggett’s voice, like a dry
whiskey, pulled her violently back from the closet’s aromatic sanctuary. She
felt the heat rise to her face, and stood there a moment to compose herself.
That’s when she saw it. A desperate, hurriedly scrawled message stained the
closet floor with dark lipstick: Latham
Hills.
“I think I know where Bleu’s taken
her,” Scully said.
“I’ll be damned.”
Scully jumped from his five o’clock
shadow brushing against her bare shoulder. She self-consciously pulled at the thin
strap of her top, and he moved back quickly. “Oh, sorry,” Doggett mumbled,
rubbing his chin.
“What’s on the disc?” Scully asked,
finally in control of her emotions.
“Can’t read it here-someone wiped
Monica’s hard drive.”
“Someone named Bleu.” Scully eyed him. “And that someone left fingerprints.”
***
“Drink up, child.” A woman, the edges of her blue-green sari
pooling on the floor, gently held Monica’s left foot in her gnarled hands. “You
worry-worry and Madam sips her tea with not a care. Drink while it’s hot-hot.”
“Who are you?” Monica still felt woozy from whatever Bleu
had pumped into her veins before they’d left for Latham Hills.
“Sita is what I’m called now. Oh, but years
ago…” Sita’s thick braid trailed down
the line of her stooped back and her hands-brown like the glow of crushed
nutmeg-massaged Monica’s foot, slow and tenderly. “I always start with the
left. The left side, says the Madam, everything on that side leads straight to
the heart. So care must be given to the side of the spirit.” Then Sita looked up at her weary charge,
almond eyes sharp enough to cut green mangos. “But my people believe it is the
side away from the gods.”
“What about the right side?” Monica
asked, forgetting for a second why and what she was doing in the strange,
silk-cushioned room: A place that smelled of coriander and cinnamon.
“The right is the side of power and
hunger-Madam favors her right.”
Of this, Monica had no doubt: The
room, a vainglorious endeavor, displayed its owner’s power in gold-embossed
ceilings and rich marble flooring. And Madam’s hunger for more was evident in
its crowded opulence. “Is Bleu the one
you call Madam?”
“She has many names. Bleu is the
one she favors now.”
Sita’s sidelong glance at the door,
a barrier little more than silk curtains pulled tight, sent a frightening chill
over Monica’s body, all but her left foot, warm in the woman’s hands. Yet,
Monica felt better-whether it was the drugs or the slow massage, she didn’t
know. Or care. She wanted to lie back on the mountainous pillows and let Sita
have her foot for the night. Would Scully rub her foot this way: a pressure
light, sublime, soothing to her bones?
“See? All better now.” Sita took Monica’s right foot, kneading it
thoroughly. “I can feel your heart melting like ghee beneath candle flame.”
“What is ghee?”
“What is ghee? I used it to cook your food, and make your milk
rich-rich.” Her ministrations done, Sita
led Monica to a table laden with aromatic delights. She knelt and guided Monica’s feet into a pair
of slippers, two blue jewels sparkling atop red velvet.
“Aren’t you going to join me?”
Monica asked, as Sita padded over to the curtains.
“Sorry, young madam. I think we
soon have guests.” Sita gathered up a
small basin and some used towels. Her gaze left Monica’s face and held fast to
the polished floor.
“What is this place, Sita?”
“It is a refuge for some, but for
others…” She waved a dismissive hand in the air, as if to clear away negative
thoughts. “Eat up. Then rest. I will see you in the morning.”
Sita disappeared through the
curtains, leaving Monica’s last question unspoken: Why am I here? The ride from D.C., in Bleu’s light plane had been a
harrowing experience, and the landing no better. Where was she, this enigmatic
Madam, and what did she want?
Monica pushed all questions to the
back of her mind, as a dollop of raita cooled her throat: Cucumber heaven. Then
she beheld the rest of the hardy repast set before her: Saag panir, a dish she
recognized as spinach with spices to make your tongue sing; daal, sleek black
grain lentils; chana masala, fat little chic peas with tomatoes… ah, vegetarian
enchantment. A fire for the soul. Her questions could
wait, for now.
***
Latham Hills was a dot between two
dots on the map. So, Scully was not surprised or amused when the helicopter she
and Doggett had rented, landed in an open field. Not a heliport, landing strip
or paved road in sight.
“Welcome to
They thanked the pilot, and crossed
over the dirt hill, reaching town in an hour’s time. Little in the way of
communication had passed between them during their hike, and now Doggett wanted
answers, answers to impossible questions.
“Why would she up and quit the
Bureau like that?”
“I have no idea, Agent Doggett.”
And Scully truly did not.
“And that woman, why would she let
that woman in her house, Scully?”
His use of her last name reminded
Scully of Mulder. It made her pause. She
took a seat on what seemed like the only bench in town, and Doggett dropped
down beside her.
“I mean, I know her type,” he gave
Scully a look filled with caution, “and this Bleu person, ain’t it.”
Scully’s cheeks grew hot and she
thanked the heavens for dark skies. “What is her type, Agent Doggett?”
He regarded her thoughtfully before
answering, “Well if you don’t know-”
“Y’all are waiting for Sheriff
Scruggs?” A robust deputy sidled over to
them, waving his hat in the air to chase off offending fireflies. “He got the
fax from your boss…an A.D. Skinner?”
Scully nodded, not sure the deputy
knew who or what an Assistant Director was. And the fact that the town had a
fax machine was enough to almost send her reeling off the bench. “We need
assistance in reaching the Bleufleur Retreat, Deputy.”
“Hel.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Hel Arson, that’s my name. Just
so, my mama raised me Christian.”
“Don’t mind if we called you Arson,
do you?” Dogget pumped the man’s beefy hand and winked at Scully. “So, how do
we get to this place?”
“We ain’t going at night. And you,” he thumped Doggett’s chest, “you
ain’t going at all.”
“And why is that?” Doggett asked,
jaws tensing, arms flexing.”
“All girls up there, that’s why.”
Arson ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. Scully stared, thinking of a
dog pawing his head, but he thought she was sweet on him. A blush rose to his
cheeks as he scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. “We don’t have a hotel,
but you’re welcome to stay with me. Mama and Sis will be there, of course,” he
said in a rush to reassure Scully.
Scully thanked him. Then under her
breath to Doggett: “Keep an ear opened tonight.”
“Glued to the door if I have to,”
he whispered back.
***
“What do you think of her,
Grandmother?” Bleu laid her pearl-handled
comb on the dresser and came over to Sita. “Is she everything one could ask
for?”
“She is beautiful, which means
nothing to me.” Lightning-quick, Sita’s
hand flew out and slapped Bleu’s face. “It is only by the luck of the gods that
you are able to see past such beauty.”
Sita reached up and grabbed a
handful of her hair and Bleu hastily fell to her knees. “Then I did well?” Bleu
ventured, watching the woman from beneath long dark lashes.
“Do you ask a question? Or make a
statement of plain fact?” Sita caressed
the cheek she’d slapped. Then she slipped her hand under Bleu’s elbow and
raised her effortlessly to her feet. “Lucky for you, she has a strong body and
a kind heart; soft-soft like rose petals. But with this one, you missed the thorns
beneath the soft.”
“I am sorry, Grandmother.”
“Hush, child. I could love you no
more if you were my own flesh. Do not be sorry. Next time, when you meet one
such as she, handle her with your mind. Not those hellish drugs.”
“She was too strong for that.”
“No, you were too weak; always wanting things easy-easy.”
Contrite, Bleu fell once more to
her knees. “I won’t make the same mistake again, Grandmother.”
“I know your weakness.” A clucking
sound escaped Sita’s lips as she gazed out one of the silver-latticed windows.
“It soon comes.”
***
Scully turned in the narrow twin
bed, gazing at the woman lying across the room. The moon’s light poured through
the window, bathing Shauna Arson’s face in a soft glow. “Can’t sleep?” Scully
asked.
“No, not when I think about where
I’m taking you tomorrow.”
Scully lay thoughtful, watching
Shauna, who could easily pass for Vivienne Bleufleur’s sister. Mother Arson had made Scully and Doggett
welcomed, and Hel remained an infatuated nuisance, but Shauna had greeted them
coldly, retreating to her room. “It would help if you told me what you know
about Vivienne Bleufleur.”
“Why should I do that?” Shauna spat the words. Then she rolled over,
presenting her back to Scully.
“Fine. I’ll know soon enough.” Scully sighed, a deep, almost painful collapse
of her chest. “Ms. Bleu is very sloppy when it comes to cleaning up a crime
scene.”
“Get some rest, Agent Scully.” Shauna, a deputy like her brother, believed
Scully and Doggett were wasting their time and hers. “You won’t find anything,”
she said, giving Scully one last look before falling asleep.
***
“Your people didn’t find a dang
thing.” Sheriff Scruggs held the fax aloft, waving it under Scully’s nose.
“What you got here, Agent Scully, is a ghost.”
“Oh that’s just great!” Doggett
grabbed the copy, reading the results with a disgusted sigh. “I’m not letting
you go up there alone, Scully. We don’t know who this woman is.”
“But we know what she’s capable of,
Agent Doggett.” Scully read the results, too. Bleu’s fingerprints, clear as
day, left no trace as to who she was.
Hel Arson, who hung back shyly in a
corner of the office, put his hat on and smiled at Scully. “Better get going
while it’s still day. I can take you and Shauna up to Culver’s Road. Then you
fair ladies are on your own.”
Shauna crossed her arms over her
chest and rolled her eyes at Hel.
“I don’t know why y’all want to go
stepping into Miss Bleufleur’s business. Maybe that friend of yours went
willingly.” The sheriff rose and hitched
up his pants. “Miss B. does this town a lot of good. Why, most of our young
folk go off to college because of her.”
“And they never come back,” Shauna
said.
“You did.” Sheriff Scruggs leveled his greens eyes on
her.
Shauna stared back. “Someone had to,”
she snapped.
Doggett moved between them, handing
Shauna a map. “I want the exact coordinates of this place.”
“No one knows exactly where it is,” Shauna replied. “You go up Culver’s Hill and
wait. They come down for you, if they want to.”
“Then let’s get going.” Scully picked up her duffle bag and led a
sullen Shauna past the front desk.
Hel lumbered in front of the women,
almost knocking Scully down to get the door opened. “After
you, ma’am.”
“Jesus, Hel. Give it a break,” Shauna snarled.
Scully couldn’t agree more with
Shauna’s sentiments. She turned to her partner and said, “I’ll bring Monica
back, Agent Doggett.”
***
“Why didn’t you let your brother
drive us?” Scully asked. Though she had had little sleep herself, Shauna looked
like an insomnia-strained nightmare. They’d been driving for over an hour, and
what Scully saw changed her opinion of Latham Hills as a piss-poor drink of a
town. Homes were laid out in ante-bellum splendor-opulent enough to make
wealthy Creoles weep, and shiny new cars, the sun casting their shadows on
manicured lawns. Once you got past the mom and pop stores in town, Latham Hills
became a bedroom community worthy of the New Orleans Garden District.
Shauna gunned Hel’s black BMW onto
a sun-bleached road, as they left the wealth of Latham Hills behind. “You
didn’t answer my question,” Scully said.
“You don’t need me to answer that, fair lady,” Shauna mimicked Hel’s
high-pitched voice. She abruptly stopped
the car near a hand painted sign, which read, Culver’s Road.
“Then answer this question for
me-it’s an easy one,” Scully reached over and grabbed her gear from the back
seat, “In a town without major industries or services, how can people afford to
live in such beautiful homes, and outfit their sheriff’s office with BMW’s?”
“Bleu.” The word bathed Shauna’s tongue like curdled milk.
“You don’t seem to hold Sheriff
Scruggs’ opinion of Ms. Bleufleur.”
“Ms. Bleufleur. Shit!” Shauna slid from the car and walked around to
Scully’s side, taking her time opening the door. “I was ten when my father
died, Agent Scully. Mom had to drive thirty miles into Pendleton every day for
work and Hel had just finished high school when Sheriff Scruggs took him on.”
“And?” Scully asked, not unkindly.
“Lila Jane took off.”
“Lila Jane?”
“Yeah, she calls herself Bleu now.”
Scully saw it: the high cheekbones,
the full lips and clear eyes. She saw Bleu in Shauna Arson’s face. “I’m…sorry,”
was all she could say.
They walked two miles over a
rock-laden hill, the sun baking their backs. And just as they reached the top,
a frail woman made her way cautiously through a tangle of weeds. “You are
looking for the Retreat?” she called, while raising the hem of her sari to step
over a rotting tree trunk.
“Yes,” Scully replied, taken aback
by the vision moving toward them.
The woman waved at her. “Come,
then.”
“This is where I leave you, Agent
Scully.” Shauna gripped Scully’s hand
before walking off.
“Wait!” Scully called after her.
“How will you know when to come back for me?”
“They’ll send someone,” Shauna
called over her shoulder. Then she disappeared through a bank of trees, Scully
noting it wasn’t the same trail they’d used to come up the hill.
Then Scully turned to her guide.
“Sita, dear,” she said,
anticipating Scully’s question.
Sita led her to a campsite in a
small clearing. There was a large grey kettle, suspended from an iron frame,
and two logs on the ground for sitting, giving the illusion of camp fire
hominess. A rolled pallet lay before a
yellow tent, and the outer perimeter was roped off, tiny bells hanging from its
beige hemp.
“What is this?” Scully asked,
exasperation lacing her voice. It didn’t look like a retreat to her. And if so,
where were the women, dancing round the fire like drugged nymphets?
“You want an old woman to walk-walk
day and night? It’s not two, three or four hours to journey back home.” Sita gave Scully a curt wave of her hand.
“Come. I’ve cooked some stew for you, and we have naan. Taste.” Sita broke off a piece of the warm bread and
put it in Scully’s mouth. “Nice, yes?”
“Mmm,” was all that a stunned
Scully could manage.
***
Monica woke in a pool of light, her
body bound like a mummy. “Wait! Wait!” A young girl rushed over, and helping Monica
to sit up, she began to remove the silk wrapping. “Sita says you are not to
strain yourself.”
Monica wasn’t surprised to find she
was naked beneath the silk. “I can handle the rest,” she said, groggy and
uncertain of where she was.
“No, no, let me.”
The girl’s hands moved swiftly,
untangling the rest of Monica’s shroud. “My name is Avani,” she said, leading
Monica over to a marble tub. “It means earth.”
“Why was I wrapped up like that?”
Monica asked, suddenly remembering how she came to be in this place.
“You feel good, no?”
Monica nodded. Her mouth upon
waking had tasted like mint, and her body, though bound, felt light and liquid.
She allowed Avani to guide her into the tub, no longer caring what the girl’s
young eyes saw.
Avani raised a wet cloth. “You’re
going to bathe me, too?” At this, Monica drew the line. She grasped Avani’s
hand, and the girl dropped the cloth back into the warm, soapy water.
“I left something for you to wear,”
Avani said, gathering up Monica’s clothes.
Monica believed the gangly blonde
would look more at ease striding across grassy fields in rock-crushing
Timberlands, than padding about marble floors in gold and black slippers. And
she hoped that whatever Avani left for her to wear was sturdy enough to escape
this gilded prison. Monica waited until
Avani left. She took up the warm cloth, washing from breast to belly. Then she
saw it: a snowy hair curled among the black, and her complacent mood turned ice
cold. How could this be? She had yet to find one of the white things sprouting from
the top of her head. What a sight for Scully to behold. If we ever decide to stop playing games, Monica thought, sadly.
***
“It looks good on you.” Bleu rearranged the fold of Monica’s sari.
The peach silk, embroidered with
green flowers, picked up the color in Monica’s pale cheeks, and the supple feel
made her movements more languid, her spirit free. She wanted to cry: in one
day’s time, this prison had become a haven from outside worries. A soft pillow
to lay her head, a warm bath of fragrant lilies….
“What do you want of me?” she asked
as Blue’s long fingers combed through her hair.
“Would you believe me if I told you
it’s not sex?”
The crude question, so out of place
in the beautiful room, struck Monica in the face. “I don’t know what to
believe,” Monica said, suddenly feeling so tired and helpless under Bleu’s
gaze. “You kidnap me, drug me, and marinate me overnight like a steak…”
“Steak. I miss having those, don’t you?”
Monica crossed over to the latticed
windows, her hands caressing the cool glass. I miss Dana.
***
Someone touched her breasts, their
fingers brushing over sensitive nipples, palms cradling outside swells. This
was no dream, but as Scully woke, she saw nothing but the shadow of Sita’s
curled body darkening the tent flap. She held her breath as warm lips tickled
her ear; a lyrical voice whispering, “Soon,
love”.
Scully’s rustling about to find the
intruder, roused Sita from slumber. The annoyed woman grabbed the gun from
Scully’s hand before she could fire. “It’s nothing, nothing but crickets and
owls disturbing your sleep.”
Scully shook violently from Sita’s
grasp. It wasn’t cricket legs dancing on her breasts. And the dampness gathering
between her thighs was definitely not from the hoot of an owl. She took her gun back from Sita, slipping the
safety on again. “Someone was in our
tent, Sita.”
“Are you going to find them
pointing that gun at me?” Sita’s eyes glittered like moonlight on black water.
“Why did you give it back?” Scully
secured the gun in its holster.
“Anyone who sleeps with a thing
like that is too frightened for me to console.”
“Console?” Scully thought it an odd thing to say
to a stranger in the middle of the night. But Sita’s inviting arms drew Scully
into a welcomed embrace. Tighter than her mother’s hug, softer than her skin,
Sita’s body’s folded around Scully, a cocoon cradling her off to dreamless
sleep.
“You miss the one who guides your
heart.” Sita held fast to Scully and
vowed to teach a certain blue-eyed owl a lesson she’d never forget.
***
“Agent Doggett, they’re breaking
camp,” Shauna said.
Doggett rubbed his hair dry and
tossed the towel onto the bed of the pickup he’d rented. “Call me John. And
just so you know, I’m driving.”
“We can’t go anywhere in that
thing.”
“I thought you said there was a
road leading up from Culver.”
“Not in this rain.” Shauna gave a quick shake of her head,
splashing him with cold water. “It’s nothing but a mud slide now. We have to
leave the truck here.”
“Well, how fast can an old woman
move anyway?” Just as Doggett turned for his bag, something massive, dark, tore
through the air. “Dammit!” He clapped a
hand to his ear. Blood seeped over his fingers, and he yelled as sharp talons
sliced through skin and flesh, tearing the shirt from his back.
He fell to his knees, back and
shoulders burning. Shauna covered his body with hers. The bird ascended,
settling on the limb of a tree, watching their movements. It cawed once, and
took flight again, landing near Shauna. Head cocked, its black eyes flat as
stones peered at her like a chick seeking sustenance.
Shauna held Doggett tighter in her
grip and turned away from the bird’s glare. Then she closed her eyes and
prepared for the worst, but the bird flapped its wings and soared upward,
becoming a black dot in the grey sky.
***
Scully decided to approach the
clump of bushes to her left. What if Sita had fallen in her effort to find
relief? Surely, under the circumstances,
violating the woman’s privacy would be excused. She removed the hood of her
slicker to see better in the down pour. After wiping rain from her eyes, Scully
saw the small woman knotting the end of her sari.
“Can’t have it dragging-dragging in
the mud, can we?” Sita patted Scully’s
arm. “Come, child, let us go.”
“You’ve hurt yourself.” Scully reached out.
Sita was faster and caught her
hand. “It’s nothing,” she said, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.
Scully started to gather their
things; then she stopped. “Sita, why would Bleu allow me into the Retreat? She
didn’t seem so pleased when I suggested it in D.C.”
“She wasn’t then accused of
kidnapping a Federal agent, Dana.”
Sita hefted a large bag onto her
back, one much too heavy for an elderly woman-or so Scully thought. They had
another hour to go, so Scully decided to put her worries aside and dutifully
slosh behind Sita in the tangled undergrowth. She reasoned that if the woman
had wanted her dead, she had had plenty opportunity to do it during the
night.
***
“Go!” Doggett yelled. “We can’t
afford to lose them!”
“I’m not leaving you here.” Shauna pulled him into the cab of the truck,
and used a shirt from her bag to stanch the flow of blood. Then she got on the
C.B. and tried to contact Hel.
“You’re wasting time,” Doggett
said.
“I know where the Retreat is.”
“Then why-”
“If you’d gone in, guns raised,
they’d have made what that thing did to you look like a love tap.” She wiped the mud from Doggett’s face, and
her gaze locked onto his piercing eyes. “That wasn’t a bird, John.”
“What are you saying?”
“She’s playing games with us.”
“You don’t expect me to believe
that damn thing was Bleu.”
“I don’t know what to expect of
you, but it was someone far worst than Bleu.
I’ve never seen her lose control like this before.”
“You mean the old lady? Damn!” Doggett tried to raised up from the seat, but
Shauna restrained him. “I’ll wait here for Hel,” he said. “But you’ve got to
hurry before that maniac sets one of those things on Dana.”
She merely looked at him and shook
her head: This serious man, sounding like a tough out of
“Get going, Shauna or I’ll drag you
along behind me.”
She knew he would. So Shauna left
him with an extra gun and ammo. They would be of not use where she was going.
***
Monica parted the curtains and
slipped into the empty hallway. Her feet, encased in thick boots, made a
terrible dragging sound on the oak floor. She tried to straighten, but her legs
did not cooperate. She leaned against the wall and eased to the floor, catching
a pair of mud-brown eyes, a shock of white hair, skin folding in on itself
making wrinkles anew.
Monica called to the woman, asking
for assistance and found her own lips moving in the full length mirror. She
pushed her back closer to the wall, frightened by the image she saw.
Avani lifted Monica, tightly
holding onto her frail body. “You’ll pass over soon; all new, Radha. Then she
will be yours.”
“Who is Radha? Who is she?”
Monica asked in a voice thin as the lace of spider webs.
***
“We have arrived, finally.” Sita’s fingers moved over a keypad,
disengaging the alarm. They entered into what looked more like a training
compound for weekend soldiers than a retreat for world-weary women.
The rain had dissipated, which gave
Scully a clear view of the squat buildings and the young women weaving
aimlessly along flower-lined paths. They had the glazed look of zombies, eyes
lighting only when they saw Grandmother enter the gate.
The girls jostled each other in
their haste to welcome Sita. And Scully found herself pushed and glared at with
green shards of envy.
“Mind you trample our guest!” Sita placed her body between Scully and the
girls’ bold curiosity. “I’m not having any push-push nonsense today.”
The girls calmed immediately,
begging Sita’s forgiveness in reverent tones and downcast eyes. And Scully realized from their undisguised
adoration, their hunger to touch, that Sita was no one’s servant. This woman
clearly had a power that rivaled or possibly overshadowed Bleu’s.
Sita pressed a hand
to the small of Scully’s back. “Bleu has a charm no woman can resist. No matter
what she whispers with her gold tongue, what she promises, do not listen,” she
said. “You are here to comfort my cherished one- ease her through her… new
life.”
“What!” Scully followed her into a glass-domed building, which sat
in the middle of the compound. “What have you done to my partner?”
“A little essence is
all,” Sita said, vaguely. “Not the energy drawn from love….”
“I don’t understand
what you’re saying.”
“Remember, you are
for her and her alone,” Sita warned. “I won’t have you with Bleu.”
“I have no intention
of being with anyone.” Scully curled
her fingers around the gun in her pocket. “You can’t control Bleu,” she said,
not a question but a bare feeling in her bones that Sita possessed less power
than she’d thought.
“Come. Well shall
have tea.” Sita took her arm, causing Scully to release her hold on the gun.
“Then we will get you out of these wet clothes.”
***
Scully lay curled on
a silk divan, her hair loose atop silver pillows. Gossamer, lace, the richest
cream of color, flowed over her body, its delicate edges brushing the pink
marble floor. Something soft, sure in
its steps, landed on her thigh, depressing soft pads.
Scully’s eyes opened
to bright sapphire; translucent gems gazing at her. The feline rubbed her head
against Scully’s chest, the touch of her hair soft as first snow. Whiskers
grazed Scully’s neck; forepaws sought her shoulders, as the cat lifted its body
and rubbed a pink nose over red lashes.
Scully held still;
let the snow-cat flick its rough tongue over her cheek: A loud purr sounded in
her ear. The tea… Scully thought. It
made her sleepy, slow to pet the animal. She held it in her arms.
“Down from there,
wicked thing!” Sita came in and pushed
the animal away. The cat howled a piercing retreat. Then Sita removed Scully’s
gown and sat behind her, slowly massaging her temples. “You are not for her.”
“What…what’s
happening to me?” Scully’s drowsy voice floated, as black curtains opened.
“Radha,” Sita called
softly.
Scully beheld a
woman, panther grace, raven eyes lined with kohl. The beauty moved between
parted velvet, wearing only a tiny jewel, its black radiance suspended from the
finest gold.
“Monica?” Scully
called, as a rouged mouth descended upon her own. The silk beneath her skin
could not compare to this touch; water-soft. She felt Sita’s hands moving atop
her own, guiding them around Monica’s shoulders.
“Love her Radha; she
is yours.” Sita’s voice, her body faded,
leaving a hint of jasmine in the air.
“Monica,” Scully
said, gazing at the woman who did not respond to the call of her name. She
touched Monica; cool alabaster pressed rich tan. Scully jumped: something warm
touched her thigh, liquid pressure. She looked down: Sweet oil, essence of
heaven, glistened on her skin.
“I’ve waited so long
for you,” Monica’s voice reached her, pure, lyrical. She moved against Scully’s
thigh. “So long for this…”
***
Shauna scrambled up
the hill, tearing clothes and flesh on knotted trees. She slipped, nearly dropping
the duffle bag she held in an aching hand, almost spilling explosives and vials
filled with precious liquid. Almost reaching the top, she risked a look down:
Doggett lay stretched out in the bed of the pickup holding a torn shoulder, and
propping a rifle on his leg. Hurry, Hel,
please.
He let go of his
shoulder long enough to wave a steady hand. This man, Shauna thought, was
unlike any she knew in Latham Hills: They were complacent, losing their honor,
losing their children for gold. John was honorable. He waved again; a signal to
get going.
She nodded at him. It
was time to stop the madness destroying her town; to cleanse Latham of her
sister. Shauna waited until she heard
the roar of Hel’s SUV blistering Culver’s Road, before she made her way over
the hill.
***
It was as if a
rainstorm had cleared and left the gentlest of drops to bathe her skin. Monica
inside, slow and gentle, calmed the storm in Scully’s mind. Her words, her
breath, conquered Scully’s resistance. Bitterness and fear drained from limbs
long untouched.
Scully’s hips moved
faster, seeking more, as Monica’s tears splashed her shoulder. The clear liquid
cooled on her breasts, yet she rocked, holding Monica close.
“So long…I’ve waited
so…” Monica’s soulful voice caressed
her. “But not like this…”
Scully no longer knew
the woman she held, the woman she loved. It was wrong, she felt, to let a
stranger take her like this. But the slender hands brought her so much
pleasure. She couldn’t stop. Not now.
Pressure, liquid-light,
building slowly; knees bent, fingers curled, Scully rocked harder. She hushed the woman’s tears with her kiss,
the touch of her fingers. “Monica,” a morsel like the sweetest spice touched
her lips. Over she said it, over again till her body tensed, then released the
tight springs in her belly. Scully collapsed, taking Monica with her, a soft
pillow above and beneath.
“I love you,” Scully
whispered, her throat raw, dry from loving the stranger. “I love…”
Water, cold and hard,
hit Scully, rousing her from Monica’s embrace. She lay exposed.
“Move away from her,
bitch!” Shauna Arson, hand raised with a
glass vial, flung the cloudy contents in Monica’s face.
Smoke rose from the
stranger screaming and writhing at Scully’s feet. “No! Don’t hurt her.” Scully fell over the prone body, absorbing
the blows from Shauna’s boot. “Please, stop!”
“They turned her,
Dana.” She tried to pull Scully off.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Not without Monica.”
“The place is going to blow.”
Shauna threw the gossamer gown at Scully. “Get dressed! I’ll take her.” She slung Monica over her back like a rag
doll.
***
They entered a smoky hall, and
women-young and old-scrambled from the building, nearly trampling them. “Over
here!” Scully yelled, fleeing through black
smoke to the safety of a nearby stream. She held Monica’s head; Shauna took the
unconscious woman’s feet. Monica floated between them on the green water.
A bird flew overhead, swooping down
to tear at Scully’s face. She sensed what it wanted, but refused to let Monica
go. The raven swiped at her forehead, opening a large gash with its sharp
talons. Then it landed, moving across Monica’s body toward Shauna. “Catch her
shoulders.” Shauna released Monica’s
feet, and withdrew a vial of water, then splashed the bird.
The raven cawed- a sound, Scully
felt, summoned from the deepest pit of Hell. The monster rose, its impressive
wingspan touching a feather tip to each woman’s brow. Then it soared up, smoke
rising from its head.
An explosion belched forth grey and
yellow smoke, sending women flying, stumbling from its toxic path. Scully
tightening her grip on Monica, spied a sleek white cat weaving its way from the
compound. The feline leapt toward the gate, yet another explosion burying stray
metal shards in its back.
The cloud of smoke cleared, and
Scully scanned the compound for the cat, but found Bleu lying on her back. “Is
that the last of it?” she asked Shauna.
“Yes.” Shauna lifted Monica in her arms and they
moved from the stream. When her feet hit solid ground, she took off her slicker
and used it to cover Monica. “She’s freezing,” Shauna said, looking down at
Monica.
Scully removed her gown. Her
protective nature overriding the embarrassment of being nude- once again-
before Shauna, she placed the gown on Monica’s shivering body.
Shauna took off her shirt and
tossed it to Scully. “Hel’s seen me walking around in less,” she said,
indicating her brother nearing the compound with Doggett. “Good thing you’re
short,” Shauna added upon seeing the shirt fall just below Scully’s knees.
***
Hel let go of Doggett’s arm, and
leveled his rifle at Bleu. “Wait!” Scully screamed. She tore across the
compound, her feet slipping on wet grass.
Hel pulled the trigger, wounding Blue’s
thigh. “She tried to get up.”
“Don’t kill her,” Scully rasped,
dropping to Bleu’s side. Blood fanned from beneath the woman’s back, staining
the grass red. “Why?” Scully asked. “What did you want from us?”
“Grandmother,” Bleu croaked, blood
spilling from her pale lips, “she needed you both for…life. You…you are mine.” Bleu took Scully’s
face in her hands and kissed her on the lips.
***
“We have yet to identify the drug
used by Sita Chowdhury and Vivienne Bleufleur to subdue Agent Reyes and myself,”
Scully said, looking across Assistant Director Skinner’s desk. She could hardly
believe her own composure under his incredulous glare.
“Are you telling me this was some
kind of mystical cult?” When Scully
failed to answer, Skinner said, “Agent Reyes, you’re the expert. Why don’t you
enlighten me about this…this…whatever the hell happened up there?”
Monica did not answer, instead her
gaze fell on Scully, red patches still visible on her face from the burns she’d
suffered. She flinched when Scully looked away.
Doggett leaned on Skinner’s desk,
drawing a sigh from the Assistant Director. “Yes, what is it?”
“Sir, I don’t think we should
discuss this case any further until our reports are completed.”
Skinner raised his eyebrows. “You
mean until you can get your stories straight.” He took off his glasses and
wiped them with deliberate care. “We have an agent who can’t remember her own
abduction, no evidence of cult activity, and no corroborating testimony from
the townspeople that Vivienne Bleufleur is anything other than what she claims
to be: a law-abiding citizen. And it’s a good thing for us she decided not to
press charges.” He sighed again, a long
drawn out huff of impatience. “I’m ordering her released.”
“That’s a big mistake.” Doggett leaned in closer. “With Sita still
running around out there-”
“You pissed off a bird, Doggett,” Skinner said; then he
turned his eyes on Scully. “I guess you met with the same fate, Agent Scully.”
“I suppose I did, sir.”
“Come on, Scully.” Doggett threw up his hands. “You were there-you know what they’re capable of.”
“Agent Doggett, I know what I saw,” Scully answered, a hand straying to the scar on her brow. “I
can neither confirm nor deny the existence of paranormal activity at the Bleufleur
Retreat.” The words burned like acid on
her tongue, but she held her ground. Though she felt more had gone on at the
retreat, what, if anything, could be proven to Skinner’s satisfaction?
“What about the disc we found on
Monica’s window?” Doggett asked.
“It’s a top-notch compilation of whale songs, Agent Doggett.” Skinner shrugged then turned his attention to
Monica when a small laugh escaped her lips. “I don’t know if you’ve had time to
contemplate the seriousness of what you’ve done, agent,” he slid her
resignation across the desk, “but I hope you will rethink your actions.”
“Yes, sir, I already have.” Monica
tore the paper in half, and rose from her chair, then left the office.
When Scully rose as well, Skinner
said, “Wait. I’m not through with you…either
of you.” He pointed at Doggett to
take a seat.
***
Scully closed the outer door to
Skinner’s office and found Monica waiting for her in the hallway. She did not
sit beside the agent, but hung back, ready to walk should Monica try to touch
her.
“Dana,” Monica reached out her hand
then let it drop slowly back to her lap, “Sita somehow turned me into an old
woman-”
“Then you looked younger than the
teenaged girls at the retreat.”
Scully’s tone stung Monica, but she
held her anger, saying merely, “How did she do it, Dana?”
“I have no idea-great makeup
job?” Fatigued, Scully raised her hands
in exasperation.
“We have to talk.” Monica stood.
“No. I have to talk.” Scully crossed her arms over her chest, and glanced
toward the door for any sign of Doggett. Skinner would probably chew his ass
for another hour. Then she continued, “We were drugged, but can’t prove
it. There were no foreign agents found
in our blood. Other than that, I didn’t see anything of… an illegal nature. My
file will support that.”
“Then it will support
nothing.”
“We…” Scully moved closer and
lowered her voice, “I think… I took advantage of you, Monica.” When Monica gave her a puzzled look, Scully
said, softly, “We made love.”
“We did what?” Monica’s eyes
widened. Then she slumped against the wall, defensive upon seeing the horrified
expression on Scully’s face. “I’m sure it’s the best I’ve ever had, but I don’t
remember.”
“This isn’t the time for levity.”
Scully felt a hot rush of blood; a tingle from the memory of what they’d done,
but she frowned under Monica’s intense scrutiny. “I should have known-” Scully
bit her tongue.
“Then why tell me?” Monica asked, offended by Scully’s cold
reaction.
“Because, unlike you, I feel it is
better to tell someone the truth about events they cannot remember,” she
answered, thinking back to her own foggy memory of their last case. “I wanted
you to know.”
Monica shook her head. “Now that I
know, what can this knowledge possibly do for us?” She reached for Scully. “Where does it leave us?”
“It leaves us nowhere,
Monica.” Scully reached for her
briefcase. Then she moved out of Monica’s grasp, walking away from the
possibility to make amends, the possibility to love.
***
D.C. LOCKUP
“I’m sure everything is in order,
Miss,” the guard said, pushing Bleu’s personal effects through a hole in the
wire fence separating them. “Sign here.”
Bleu took the bag without saying a
word. Then she walked down a narrow hall, guards on either side, until they
left her at the gate to freedom. “Rain, she hates rain.”
“Who?” One of guards turned back, giving her a puzzled look.
Bleu didn’t answer. Instead, her
eyes scanned the grey heavens, spying a black dot fast approaching. “We’ll start
again, Grandmother. But this time around, the red one belongs to me.”
***
It was in her nature to forgive,
and to accept forgiveness, but Monica didn’t know exactly what there was to
forgive on either side. She did feel a growing love for Scully, as wild and
beautiful as the flowers she held wrapped in soft tissue. Why should her
feelings be denied? Because Scully’s belief that loving someone meant eventual
heartache; despair so deep it drowned you?
Yet, her own despair had landed her
in trouble: “We made love.” Monica winced, thinking how she’d
virtually laughed in Scully’s face upon hearing the woman’s distraught words. Scared…afraid of what I thought you
believed.
Monica locked her car, waited on
the dark street for the alarm’s beep, then headed for Scully’s apartment.
Candlelight, soft and hazy, played
shadows on bright curtains. A slow smile spread across Monica’s face. Are you meditating; thinking about us? Monica
wondered.
Can you feel how much
I want you, Dana?
Monica watched the window and her
heart sank when she saw a tall shadow fall across the curtains. A man, slender with
bearded face, held Scully in his arms. Even in grey shadow, she knew this man,
knew his profile:
Mulder.
Monica laid the bouquet on the
apartment steps and walked slowly back to her car.
~The End~