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, filthy language and violence.

Note: This story contains references to minor characters in Book Three: Stranger.

Thanks: To LC, a muse of great depth, a scholar, a friend.

mailto:XanLavi@hotmail.com

What She Believes

Book Four: Devil of a Time

By Xan

ALMADINE

Almadine Ricardo sat by the window in her shop of curiosities. In her left hand, she held a brooch, fingers slipping over rubies and diamonds with agitated, compulsive strokes. In her right hand laid a pocket watch. “Nearly twelve,” she whispered. She moved closer to the window, peering at the park across the street. The creak of her wheelchair was the only sound in the shop. Steel on wood, the noise grated on her sensitive ears. She pulled back a lock of her gray hair and craned her neck, listening for her niece, Lucy. No one was about. Almadine slid out of the chair and gripped the window sill.

“Where is she?” For six months she’d watched as the tall agent named Reyes, jogged past her shop, limbs pumping, vibrant with health. A health Almadine no longer possessed. Something was terribly wrong. The agent hadn’t passed through the park in weeks.

Almadine rubbed the brooch harder, precious stones cutting deep into blistered skin. Her mouth moved in silent prayer, calling on an old friend. “Dark Prince, send him to me….”

SAMUEL

People often told him he was beautiful-his brow kissed by the angels. But he laughed at this because his beauty was a curse from his father, and the only reason the old man let him out into the world. A gift that turned good men bad and sank bad men to the depths of depravity: It empowered him, and it also made him weary to his bones….

If he found her-the one to rescue him from darkness-he vowed to love her, and maybe she would love him too. Change him.

“Hey, baby, wanna a date?” A girl, barely in her teens, stood on the corner leading to an alley, welcoming him with her short skirt and her barely covered breasts.

“You do not want a date with me, sweet.” He reached into his pocket and unrolled three large bills. His saucy olive eyes winked at her as he stuffed the money into her bra. Then he touched the knife scar on her neck, surprised that one so young knew his father. She was nothing like the old crone in the wheelchair who’d summoned his father with her nightly prayers. What was her name? It perched on his tongue like a crow, but he lost it when the girl spoke again. “Pardon?”

“I said, you ain’t a cop, are you?”

“I would not dream of policing the world’s desires.”

The girl backed into the shadows and beckoned him with her crooked smile. “Whatcha want-half-‘n-half…go downtown?”

He ran his fingers through his long hair; then shook the black curls from his brow like a shaggy dog. “I want you to go home.”

Her eyes opened like crocuses blooming at night. “What’s your name, baby?”

He hesitated for a moment then told her, “Samuel Haines…Junior.”

“Call me Ruby.”

Samuel wished she would go home, but he knew from her starved look that no mother waited, no lover cared. He moved, walked away before his nature drove him to finish his father’s work. Why he was sent here to awaken a brain dead invalid was beyond his dark imaginings, but he’d glimpsed into Monica Reyes’ damaged and saw something beautiful: A blue aura emanating from a pale woman with red hair. He sighed, weary for his bed.

Yet the night was not over. Two blocks before his destination, a young hustler rose up on him, brandishing a knife. “Give me what you gave the girl,” he said, jamming his hand into Samuel’s pocket.

Samuel turned his head from the man’s rancid breath and licked his neck. “Crystal, a nasty drug” he said. Then a crunching noise caught his ears. “See that sanitation truck over there?” He grinned, wolfish, cold, when the craven man nodded. “Go over and hop in the back. You will feel better.”

Moments later, two sanitation men working on the nearby dumpster, heard the scream, but they didn’t see what had crawled into the back of their truck. Samuel did. He took out his cell phone, and walked toward his destination for the night: Her.

***

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to you.” Scully laid her head on Monica’s shoulder and felt the bones beneath her estranged lover’s sunken cheek. For weeks, the woman whose life she cherished more than her own lay comatose; unresponsive to Scully’s touch. “I say I love you, and you can’t hear me….”

The sounds and scents in the room played hell with Monica’s tortured mind. Lemon-pine burned her eyes, and the rush of footsteps hurt her sensitive ears. How can this be? She saw but could not open her eyes, felt but could not touch. Yet, something comforting lay on her shoulder, warming her skin. If only the warmth would engulf the rest of her body, she’d climb from the dark and flee the endless dream.

A sound came whisper-soft, a voice filled with sorrow calling her name. Monica tried to move closer, closer to the warmth. But her body disobeyed, and the spell broke. Someone had pulled the warmth away.

“Doctor Scully?” An elderly nurse entered, breaking Scully’s hold on Monica. “Doctor Redding will see you now.”

“After I see her doctor…” Scully looked away, unable to bare the nurse’s expressionless face. “I’ll return later tonight. It may be after hours.”

The nurse fixed her with a keen stare.

Here we go, Scully thought, gearing up for another run-in with the medical staff. She studied the nurse for a moment, wondering how to handle the old bird without ruffling her feathers. Then her eyes alit on a brooch pinned to the nurse’s uniform. “That’s a beautiful piece you’re wearing,” Scully leaned forward, reading the old woman’s name tag, “Nurse Alma-a beautiful name.”

“It means soul,” The nurse preened for a moment; then turned her attention back to her patient, “And this is one I particularly want to keep safe. Have you prayed for her today? I did.”

Scully nodded. “I promise not to stay too late tonight.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you want, dear.” The nurse checked the chart. Then she gently touched Monica’s brow. “It can’t hurt to have another physician checking in on Miss Reyes.”

Scully thought her heart would burst from Alma’s kindness. “Thank you,” she said before hurrying off.

***

“So…hard….” Almadine whispered. Her body slumped forward, and sweat rolled from her brow down her neck, flowing over the wheel of her antique chair. “Oh.” Her head snapped back, nostrils flaring from a fragrance she knew only too well. Like honey set afire, the stench nauseated her delicate system. “Come out where I can see you.”

Almadine’s eyes adjusted to the dark of bedroom. She beheld the beautiful creature, his tongue darting over full lips.

“You’ve been a wicked girl, Nurse Alma.” He stood next to her chair, but she hadn’t seen or heard him move. A soft hand stroked her hair. “Why her, when you can have any soul you desire?”

“She must pay.” Almadine pushed her chair, rolling a wheel over his left foot. He hissed, and it warmed her belly like a home-cooked meal to know he felt pain. Then she looked up into his olive eyes. “You don’t know, do you? I suppose evil has its limits.”

“Old woman, what did she take from you?”

“That very thing I wish you to take from her. Love, Samuel.” She smiled up at him. “Love….”

***

Samuel stood beneath the streetlamp’s faded light, gathering his thoughts. The sentimental nature of the human heart puzzled him. Why love that which eventually dies? Why kill for it when lost? He found no answers in the faces of strangers weaving past. Some cursed him and others jostled, but no one gave him answers. “Why?” he asked them.

They passed the crazy man, leaving him alone beneath the lamp’s yellow glow.

He shook off their cold glares and entered Rome’s, looking neither left nor right at the hungry stares. One man brushed against him as he eased to the end of the bar, pressing his possessive hand on Samuel’s leather coat. He ignored the man, ordered a Remy and his eyes traveled the length of the room where he saw her: A solitary figure at the end of the bar, eyes liquid blue, hair Judas red-a wrongly maligned man, Samuel thought; such a waste. “May I buy you another drink?” he asked her.

Her eyes, trained on the polished oak, did not meet his. She smirked.

“Pinot Noir, is it not?”

She nodded.

He signaled the bartender. “Give the lady another, please.” Then he laid down a twenty, and peered at her from over the top of his glass.

“This is a gay bar,” she said with her eyes still on the shining wood. “Why are you here if you want to buy a woman a drink?”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here to have a drink… alone, sir.”

“Samuel.” He liked the curve of her neck: soft, unspoiled. And she fascinated him with her direct gaze. It was as if she saw something of the dark in him, the low itch that brought others misery. Yet it did not seem to frighten her.

“My name is Dana. Thank you for the drink.”

She didn’t touch it, but rose and gathered her things. His hand touched hers, a brief pressure that brought sadness to his face. He looked at the other patrons, lonely souls trying to catch a dream in another’s arms. “What brought you to a place like this?”

“I told you.”

“You told me what you were doing but not why you are here.”

Scully sat back down. “I wanted some time alone before I visited a sick friend in the hospital.”

“It is serious then?”

“Yes. She’s in a coma.”

He lifted the Remy to his mouth then paused. “Take heart: she senses your presence when you are near.”

“You believe that?”

“I believe in many things that most people are unwilling to understand.” He liked her. This one had faith-not so much in the tiny ornament worn around her neck, but in her own decisive intelligence. Lukewarm creatures drove him mad. They were hardest to convince, the dullest to argue with. It would drive father insane if I grant this one immortality. “Lair du Temps,” he said, leaning close to her neck.

“Yes it is. I’m surprised you recognized it.” A slight blush rose on her face.

“You do not ordinarily wear perfume?”

“No.”

“Why today…for your friend?”

The corners of her mouth curled upward, but the smile suddenly faded. “You’re a very intuitive man.”

Samuel liked her even more. She didn’t ask the one question most asked strangers: What do you do for a living? It often invited embellishment, sometimes outright lies. His story: he was the tax man come to collect his father’s due.

“Where is this hospital?” he asked. “I would like to share a cab there with you.”

“What if it’s out of your way?”

“I am a visitor to your country.” He didn’t give her his most charming smile; it wouldn’t work, not on this woman. “You can point out places of interest.”

At this, she laughed. “It seems that you’ve already found an interesting place.”

“No, but I have found an interesting person.”

In the cab, Scully showed Samuel every monument and Federal building she’d thought would be of interest to him, but his eyes never seem to leave hers. He had sat in the middle, giving the window to her. She listened while he spoke of his home, without naming the place. The desolation, the hopelessness….

When they pulled up to the hospital, she reached into her purse, but he stopped her. Samuel paid the driver; then leaned past her and opened the door, his hand lightly touching her wrist.

“Tell me,” she said when out on the curb, “how did you know I was drinking Pinot Noir?”

Samuel brought his fingers to his lips; kissed them and inhaled deeply. “The bouquet.”

Scully held out her hand. “It was very nice to meet you, Samuel.”

He did not take her hand, but brushed his lips on her skin. As the cab pulled away, Samuel gazed into her eyes. “I will…pray for your friend.”

***

“I thought Monica was your friend, Dana.” Doggett stood in hallway outside Scully’s apartment. He looked miserable; face worn, eyelids heavy with sadness.

“Doggett, what’s wrong?”

“Her parents are here to make a decision about keeping her on life support. And your opinion is the last one I want them to read.”

She opened the door, but he refused to come inside.

“Look, I know how you feel, but I want you to tell them to…”

“I can’t lie to them.”

“The hell you can’t.” His face flushed with anger. “You’ve been lying to yourself through the whole relationship, Dana. What’s another lie if it gives her a chance to live?” He began to walk away, not waiting for her to answer him.

“Doggett…John!”

“Will you do it, Dana?” he asked without turning. “Will you give her another chance?”

“Doggett, it’s not as simple-”

“Bullshit.” He slammed the door of the apartment building, nearly shaking the wood off its hinges.

***

“Foul-mouthed creature,” Samuel muttered. He wanted to pound Doggett senseless. The loyal mutt, with his severely cut hair and his clothes reeking of middle class money, had almost ruined his plans. He stepped into the man’s path.

“Do you have a light?”

“Yeah.” Doggett searched his pockets without looking up. He fished it out, gave the lighter to the tall stranger.

Of course he would have a lighter; kept one handy for his comatose friend. Samuel lit the cigarette, though he didn’t care much for them. But this creature, keen eyes glaring back at Scully’s apartment, would remember a man with a cigar. “Thank you. I cannot smoke at home,” he said. “It is my wife, you see.”

“Doesn’t like it?” Doggett retrieved his lighter.

“She is gravely ill.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Meaningless words to most, but this one meant it. Samuel sighed. “Well, she lingers in pain and I smoke. But what can one do? Take away the pain?”

This time Doggett looked at the man, a flicker of self-doubt in his eyes. “You do what you can.”

“Thank you, again.” Samuel touched Doggett lightly, sending him on his way with a brief glimpse of Hell, a touch of Monica’s suffering.

For a moment, he watched Doggett’s retreating figure, and then he went in search of Ruby. He nearly collided with a man rushing from the alley, handkerchief to his face, blood seeping through his fingers. “Was that what you had in store for me?” he asked, watching Ruby wipe her blade on a tissue.

“Nah, handsome, not you. Still wanna party?”

Samuel handed her a key and gold-embossed card. “This building belongs to a dear friend.” He cringed, thinking of the old dragon in the wheelchair. What hold did she have over my father? He shook his head. “You may take the second floor and call it your own.”

Ruby looked at him; then backed deeper into the alley. “I don’t fool with pimps.”

“We all do one way or another.” He leaned down, angling his head. “But we call them bosses. Now off you go.”

“What I gotta do for this boss?”

Samuel grinned. “Sell your mind.”

THE DECISION

***

The next day, Scully entered Monica’s room and saw two people sitting by her bed, their faces etched with pain. She felt like an intruder on holy ground.

The woman shifted, turned her expectant eyes on Scully. “Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“Yes, but I’m not Monica’s…I mean Agent Reyes-I’m sorry.” She turned to go. These people were obviously Monica’s parents.

“No, wait. Do you work with my daughter?”

I love your daughter. Scully said yes and gave them her name.

Mr. Reyes got out of his chair. “Please, sit. Monica has told us so much about you.”

Scully doubted that from their warm smiles. She declined his offer, instead opting to read Monica’s chart.

“They can’t find anything wrong with her.” Mrs. Reyes touched the I.V. pumping life-sustaining liquid into Monica’s pale arm.

“You’re the one the nurse told us about.” Mr. Reyes walked over to Scully. “She said you come every night to read to our daughter. That is very kind of you, Dana.”

“She’s my… friend.” Scully rarely looked at Monica’s face during her visits, but now, a quick glance threw her off center. Tubes running from Monica’s nose, oxygen mask on her mouth, the gray cast to her skin-it added to the darkness in Scully’s soul. She turned to Monica’s father, and the ineffable sadness, the shard of hope in his eyes, overturned her medical opinion to end Monica’s twilight existence. “I care for your daughter, Mr. Reyes. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that she recovers.”

Mr. Reyes looked at his wife, who inclined her head, a question appearing in her eyes. “Dana, we know our daughter,” she said, “so we know what you mean to her.”

Scully stiffened when they hugged her, unprepared as she was to receive their compassion. “I promise,” Scully repeated, “I will do everything in my power, everything.”

***

“Dana.” It was Saturday, and Doggett stood at her door in his running clothes. “I thought I’d…I thought…” He handed her two coffees and a bag of croissants, his peace offering.

“Come in.” His visits had become a Saturday morning ritual since Monica’s hospitalization, and Scully welcomed them. “Tell me about this case you’re working on.”

They spoke of work, sports, music, anything but the tragedy that had deepened their friendship. Doggett leaned forward in his chair.

“It’s the damnedest thing: The paramedics bring in this guy, crushed like ground nuts-sanitation truck- and the locals asked for me. It’s not an X-File by any stretch of the imagination, but the victim’s a hustler-the fifth one killed downtown near Rome’s. It’s one of those upscale gay bars.”

“I know of it.” Scully looked away. “So, why call you?”

“I don’t know.” Doggett shrugged. “The guy walked into the truck. Doesn’t that beat all? The medical examiner smelled sulfur, and there was a green substance she couldn’t identify when she cut into the guy. No drugs, mind you, but sulfur.”

“It’s definitely an X-File.” She smiled sadly, knowing her friend hadn’t a clue of the paranormal. “Do you want a second autopsy?”

“You don’t mind?”

“No, it keeps me busy.” Scully got up and walked into the kitchen.

“I’ve got some bad news for you,” Doggett said when she returned. “The lab found nothing but water in Cedar’s syringe.”

“Not the best thing when it’s shot into your neck.” Scully sighed, knowing Monica’s recovery was virtually non-existent. “So what’s the rest?”

Doggett avoided her eyes.

“I’m going to find out anyway, so you might as well tell me.”

“She got hit by fragments from the fire extinguisher-that’s what did it.” Doggett reached out for her, but she moved. “Look, everyone knows you were trying to save her life.”

Scully closed her eyes. “It was my bullet.”

“You can beat yourself up about this, but it won’t help Monica,” he said. “A few of the guys are going over to O’Grady’s for dinner. Join us.”

“No, I…”

“That’s okay, Scully. I just thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone.”

“I won’t be, Doggett.” Scully looked at the vase of pink roses on her table. She kept it filled with roses…only roses.

***

The scent of roses nearly choked him, so Samuel turned his mind from the sanctity of Scully’s home, back to his entertainment for the evening.

He sat in the dank room and watched the couple perform for him. The woman was adequate, but the man rushed, hurried his desire along at a pace bound to disappoint his partner. He saw no love here, but a weary resignation to a tradition misinterpreted over the ages by some as a prison sentence, rather than a sacred union. He looked at the woman and shuddered. Is this what love is? Then his mind wandered back to Scully. Dana, free me.

These creatures… Samuel flicked the stray hair from his eyes. Why did they come to D.C. thinking illicit sex would make their marriage better? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. But, hearing his father’s voice, he shrugged out of his clothes and joined them.

“Use this, darling.” He handed the woman a harness and a plastic member large enough to make her husband sore for days. Then they would go home, Samuel thought, worry about what they had done, and ride each other’s nerves like devils.

He sighed. Instigating a divorce was such petty mischief, but inciting a riot, now that was anything but… His father had told him to do the old crone’s bidding and create a little mischief on the side. Distract the pretty doctor and give Dog Boy something to do. “Will it satisfy you?”

The woman looked up at him, thinking his question was for her. A bit timid, she took the harness, then gave him a sly smile and slipped it on like a pro.

***

BRIEF AWAKENING

Am I dreaming? Monica wondered. How real can this world be? She stood behind Scully in the shower, but the water did not warm her skin. She kissed Scully’s shoulder, but Scully did not respond.

Yet Monica felt solid, strong. She inhaled the perfumed soap, and the scent of Scully’s hair. And it all came back to her-how they’d made love in Bleu’s lair. How Scully had opened to her and softly cried her name. That had been real, but so was the small of Scully’s back beneath her hand. Monica stroked the silky skin, all rosy and hot from the steamy water. She wished she could talk to her. Tell her that even though she was not awake, she was alive.

Dreaming of you keeps me alive.

Scully turned off the water and got out. She grabbed a towel hanging on a wicker chair and stopped in her tracks. She didn’t remember leaving it there, and she certainly hadn’t heated it beforehand. But the thick cloth was warm as if baked in the oven for her comfort. She laid it aside, water cooling on her skin, and wiped the stream from the mirror. For a moment, Scully thought she saw two faces staring back at her.

Scully stood still, her own face frozen in that moment when the incomprehensible passed one’s eyes. Monica smiled at her, but it could not be. And Monica’s soft voice said Please don’t go, Dana….

“I must be losing my mind.” Scully shook her head and backed away from the mirror, convinced more than ever that her plans for the evening were just what she needed.

I love you so much…. Monica let go of Scully’s arms. She felt her consciousness being pulled toward the gray place, the place of no sound. She hurriedly kissed Scully’s neck. No lipstick this time, love.

Then grayness enveloped her, and she was gone.

***

“This is too easy,” Samuel muttered. His father had allowed him to surface to breathe life into an invalid, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun.

A Latino gang stood in the middle of the alley, wondering whose side to be on, while Blacks and Whites pounded each other with bats and chains. Then the guns came out. That did not surprise Samuel because it took little courage to vanquish your enemy from afar. He was pleased with his handy work and sickened at the same time because five little words from his lips had started it all:

They are on your turf.

One gang member rushed Samuel, pulling a button from his leather coat. Samuel lifted the man and slammed him against a brick wall.

“You are such insane children.” They did not hear him, or stop to ponder the insanity of their actions, but brutalized each other until the blood flowed down their faces.

Samuel walked away, sirens howling at his back.

***

Scully went back to Rome’s. She sat at the end of the bar and waited for Samuel. After twenty minutes of sipping her drink, he entered and waved when he saw her.

“Would you care for a walk?” he asked. “The air in here is stifling.”

“I’d love to.” She allowed him to take her arm, which disheartened the hungry souls desiring his beauty for the night.

They stood beneath Lincoln’s Monument, and Samuel pondered the slain President’s gloomy face. “We have not progressed very far, have we?”

“No.” Scully moved closer to him. “But there are laws in place to protect minority interests.” She felt silly as she spoke the words, words drummed into her head over the years by well-meaning teachers. “We have yet to change people’s hearts, Samuel.”

“As it is everywhere: people refuse to change.” Samuel turned his attentive face back to the unyielding marble. “Sometimes I wonder if he died for naught.”

“He died for his convictions.”

“All martyrs do.” He touched the cross at her neck, and braved the chance to put his arms around her.

Scully moved out of the embrace, her flushed face held down. “Oh, your coat, it’s torn.”

“It is nothing a good tailor cannot repair.” Samuel took off the damaged leather and folded it over his arm. “Would you die for your convictions?”

She did not hesitate and told him yes.

“And what are your convictions?”

“That’s rather personal, Samuel.”

“Ah, so we are not yet friends.”

Something drew her to the man, something in his wounded voice. Scully touched his cheek-cool on such a warm night-and the pale coolness of Monica’s skin surfaced in her thoughts. She removed her hand.

“What can one do to become your friend, Dana?”

She didn’t answer.

“Perform a selfless act?”

“You can listen.”

“Then I shall let your heart speak to mine.”

She gazed up at Lincoln’s face. Yes, she would die-if not for her own convictions, then for love. The thought surprised her.

***

Samuel dropped the newspaper in disgust: The mischief he’s cause had barely scored a paragraph on page ten. Humans, soaked in ennui and their petty cares, would be the death of him. He laughed, startling several passengers on the bus. Two cautiously moved away, leaving him alone in the back with a scowling student. “What subjects are you studying, young man?”

The boy rolled his eyes and turned up the volume on his CD player. When Samuel continued to stare, the boy sifted in his seat, turning his face to the window. That only made matters worst: He spied Samuel’s wolfish reflection in the glass. An upraised middle finger was the boy’s reply.

Samuel shrugged, pulled a disc from his pocket and handed it to the boy. He lifted the kid’s headphones. “When your parents tell you to turn down the music, play this. They will not reprimand you again,” he said before getting off the bus.

His short walk took him to the hospital where Scully’s friend lay. To bargain his way out of hell would take that which was rare and selfless: A martyr. Remove the lover, and she is yours, Samuel, old boy.

“Monica. Mon-i-caaah.” Samuel held his hand to his chest. So angelic was his expression that an elderly woman passing by gave him a knowing smile, thinking him in love.

“Are you proud of yourself?” A bum squatted on the stoop to an apartment, clearly not his own. He waved his bottle of gin in Samuel’s direction, offering him a drink.

Samuel took the bottle, not bothering to wipe it clean. This man had nothing to hurt him-shame him, maybe, but not harm him. “What do you mean, my good man?” The man’s narrowed eyes deflected the wicked timbre of Samuel’s voice. Samuel tugged on the man’s dirty shirt. “What do you know about Old Nick?”

“More than you do, boy. You think if she loves you, your nature will change-the old man will let you go?”

“Hmm, now that is a question-put rather eruditely by an indigent soul-I cannot answer.”

“I wasn’t always like this. The Crash-”

“Was that not in thirty-nine?” Samuel asked, recalling with glee the rich swells that had jumped to their deaths after losing magnificent earthly fortunes. Love had not saved them, had it now? Perhaps they did not know love. “You do not look old enough to have experienced such agony.” Samuel handed back the man’s watered-down gin.

“Recession-that’s what the quacks on the Hill call it these days.” He looked down into his gin bottle. “It changed me, made me meaner. Maybe you can change, too.”

“If I can remove…a few obstacles, maybe I will,” he said and walked on feeling vaguely ashamed of his arrogance with the man. He turned back and dropped a few dollars on the stoop, but the man refused to take them.

***

I’m flat lining. Where were the nurses, the doctors…the crash cart?

Something rotten tugged at Monica’s nose. The room, her temporary refuge, reeked of spoiled eggs, and a fire so foul it woke her. Her eyes, dry and scratchy, beheld a creature so beautiful that she thought she was still dreaming. “I expected a white light.” Her voice came raspy and low in the small room. “Water, please.” She pointed to her mask, realizing he must not comprehend her from the expression on his face.

“No white light for you, my cherished one,” he said, stunning her with his bright olive eyes. Samuel lowered the mask, and held a glass of cool water to her lips. “I will prevent the old crone from having you just yet.”

The air in the room sweetened, nauseating her more than the haze of sulfur. She studied the beautiful man, and saw his body shimmer in the fluorescent light. He was no more human than the aliens Doggett laughed about and Scully thought were Mulder’s wild imaginings. “You’re not here for me.”

“In a way, I am. You see, if you are agreeable, we can both obtain something precious by allying with one another.” Samuel sat on her bed and rested his hand on her arm. “To breathe unaided, walk again-would you like that?”

Monica felt his cold touch burn her skin. He was an imp, a wicked sprite. She shook her head.

Samuel stroked his chin and quietly regarded her. Monica watched the intense fire burning in his eyes. She was neither frightened nor ill at ease with him: How could he put her in Hell when she was already there?

“All you have to do is get out of that bed and walk away,” he said. “She is drifting, Monica... falling in love.”

“Yes, she is, but not with you.”

“And so close to abandoning you.” His hand swept over her broken body.

“Dana would never do that.”

“She would if she believes that you are better off dead.” His lips drew back in a feral smile. “Now about that proposition…”

The temptation to walk out with this creature, to leave the pain behind, wore at Monica’s will. He was like a baby snake come to suckle at her breast. “No.” She turned from him and stared at the stars bathing the window with an eerie glow. “I won’t go with you.”

“When the pain becomes more than you can tolerate, we shall try again.”

He slipped Monica’s mask in place, and her tongue thickened in her mouth. Her burning eyes watered, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the pain rising in her soul.

Samuel paused at the door, his head cocked like a salesman asking her to think it over, but Monica closed her eyes and shut him out.

“Dana,” she called before drifting back into her own lonely Hell.

Two nurses rushed into Monica’s room. “We’re losing her!” one yelled. “Page Doctor Redding!”

***

“Dana, what’s wrong?” Margaret Scully clenched the phone in her hand, listening to her daughter’s strained voice. “Honey, talk to me.”

“Nothing’s wrong, mom. I just needed to hear your voice.”

It was much more than that. Margaret felt it in her bones. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No, I have a long night ahead of me.” Scully did not divulge the nature of the long night. She rarely told her mother, or anyone for that matter, about her work. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything, honey.” Margaret held her breath.

“How long does it take to let go?” Scully sighed. “When you know someone’s gone, mom, how long does it take?”

“Oh, Dana…” Margaret didn’t have the answer for her baby girl. She held the phone closer, wanting, needing to absorb her child’s pain. “Come over when you’re through,” she said.

“I…I’ll think about it.” Scully hung up.

Margaret still held the phone pressed to her ear, her daughter’s pain burning a hole in her heart.

***

Samuel stood under a dim streetlight, relaxing with a cigar. He inhaled deeply and understood why it was the choice of rogues and would-be kings: The aroma reminded him of home. He thought of Scully and how she would most likely laugh at his observation.

Then he saw her through the curl of blue billowing from his pursed lips. Scully-the symbol of all the Earthly things he desired. The smoke gave her a distorted air of mystery. But Samuel knew the extent of his devilment from her knitted brow-the keen concentration she’d put to use by deciphering the sulfuric nightmare which lay inside the sterile building.

“What stubborn creatures these women are,” he said, still puzzled by Monica’s rejection.

Samuel laughed with the knowledge that Scully was wasting her time. She will no more believe what she finds in those rotting corpses than she will my father’s fall from grace. He crushed the cigar in his fist and wondered if angels were cast from Heaven, could they also be banished from Hell?

***

Bodies lined the hallways of the local morgue. Gang bangers and innocent bystanders caught in the fracas, were stacked head to toe. “This reminds me of my last military tour.” Doggett held his breath and followed Scully through the opened steel doors.

Sulfur rose from the bodies, stinging Scully’s eyes. She put on a mask and gloves, and then conferred with the medical examiner before taking up a Stryker saw. “How many bodies are in freezers?”

“Twenty,” the medical examiner replied.

“How many do you have in the hallway?”

“Sixteen.”

Scully turned to Doggett. “I won’t be able to sit with Monica tonight.” Scully paused. He had touched her forearm, and her voice caught. “If…”

“I’ve got three guys gathering evidence, so I’ll be able to go over now,” Doggett said.

Scully nodded her thanks, and she turned away before he could see the guilt in her eyes.

***

Scully’s day had been exhausting, hands steeped in blood, her sense of smell crushed by the stench of sulfur. And meeting Monica’s parents had brought her spirits low. She’d have to invite them to dinner. It was the least she could do, or so she felt, after landing their daughter in the hospital.

“I killed their baby,” Scully said. The phone rang, delivering her from the pall of dark thoughts. “Hello?”

“I hear the voice of exhaustion, but not defeat.”

His tone was as comforting as a down blanket. “Samuel?” she said, her voice vibrating with warmth. It startled her. “How did you get my number? I’m not listed.”

“Would you forgive me if I told you that I used one of my father’s more useful contacts?” he asked, thinking of Almadine, and satisfied that he’d finally remembered the old girl’s name.

“No.”

“Ah.”

He paused and she laughed.

“You want me to-how do you Americans say it? Rat her out?”

“Yes, a name would be good.”

“Oh my, you are difficult. Would you eschew my company if I said I will not betray a friend’s trust?”

“I thought she was your father’s friend.”

“Mine also, but not as lovely as you.”

“Samuel…”

“You abhor compliments.” He waited for her response, but she gave none. “Care to tell me about the source of your exhaustion? I would like to practice my listening skills.”

“I don’t know what to make of you.”

“I am a lion with the heart of a dove.”

Scully yawned, and failing to catch it in time, she blushed.

“But apparently I am not a poet.”

“No, it’s me. I’m a bit fatigued.”

“And worried about your friend,” he said. Her hesitation touched him. “Do not fear for her. She sleeps to repair her soul.”

“And now you’re a prophet?”

“If only.” He sighed when she laughed. “Alas, you must sleep to repair yours are well.”

“Yes. Thank you for calling Samuel.”

“It was my pleasure, dear one.”

Scully listened for the soft click, amazed at the man’s audacity now that he was gone. He was a curious fellow: Most men would set up a date or even asked to come right over, but not her beautiful prophet. And most men talked about what they did for a living, as if it were the essence of their souls. Not her poet.

Tired of trying to decipher the enigma, Scully turned over, and through the soft cotton of her pajamas, she felt a light pressure reminiscent of a lover’s touch. It’s just a pillow… But that practical, analytical mind of hers shut down for the night and she nestled in the haven of sleep.

***

It wasn’t fair being so far on the other side that your only desire, your only love did not sense your presence. Monica held Scully gently and remembered their first kiss as her hand sought purchase on a soft thigh. She had thought that kiss was what Scully wanted; told herself that her own desire played no part.

Scully felt tense, even in repose. The tight muscles beneath Monica’s hand screamed for release. “You’re not his dear one,” she whispered in Scully’s ear. Her arm tightened around Scully’s waist and she nuzzled her beloved’s red hair.

This roused a sigh from Scully, and it lightened Monica’s burden. “You’re mine,” she said, dropping a kiss on Scully’s cheek, a press of tenderness she feared Scully did not sense. Another sigh escaped the dreamer’s lips, and Monica curled around Scully like a kitten seeking warmth.

***

Scully’s fear did not show in her face, but in her tense body as she embraced her mother. It was the fear that she was losing her mind; slowly slipping into dreams that threatened her reality. When I sleep, she comes to me. But she could not tell this to her mother. She could not tell her that the heat from the body lying next to hers, the press of lips on her shoulder, belonged to a departed spirit. How could she tell her mother that which she barely believed herself? Scully sighed, and pressed her head to her mother’s bosom.

Then she broke away and offered her mother a cup of tea.

Margaret Scully ignored it and reached out, holding tightly to her youngest daughter. “You don’t sleep well at night, Dana.”

“I sleep only too well.”

“Then the dreams, they’re not nightmares?”

“No, but they’re sad ones, mom.” Scully moved next to her on the sofa. “I’m beginning to… fall in love with someone, and I don’t think…I don’t…”

“You don’t think this love is right for you?”

“I don’t think it’s…realistic.”

“If I had thought that when I met your father then you wouldn’t be here.” Her mother laughed and Scully joined her. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” Scully watched her mother’s eyes. This woman had nurtured her through life and had refused to let death claim her when she lay sick. “There’s someone else….”

“And it terrifies you.”

“The thought of betrayal does.”

The doorbell rang. It was Saturday, which meant Doggett. Scully pulled away from her mother and wiped her eyes. “Would you get that?” she asked, then left the room.

Her mother opened the door to Doggett’s grim face. Was he the one? The one who had her baby so frightened? She smelled the fresh baked donuts, eyed the coffee, and let him in.

***

“What’s happening with my daughter, John?”

“Pardon me?” Doggett watched Scully’s bedroom door. “She hasn’t really told me anything...private.”

“You’re a perceptive man. Give me your impression.”

The turtleneck he wore closed in on him, threatening to cut off his breath. “Well, what has she told you?”

“Spoken like a true policeman.”

“Former one.”

“Who is she in love with, John?”

Coffee scalded his tongue and he glanced again at Scully’s door. “I didn’t think she would tell you.”

“Who is he, John?”

“Her.” John turned to Margaret’s kind face and relaxed his tense muscles. “Her name is Monica Reyes.”

“Monica.” Margaret Scully’s eyes had widened in surprise, but the words had fallen from her mouth without anger. “Take me to her, John.”

***

THE BLACK DRESS

It flowed like a wave over her body, cupping her breasts like a lover’s hands. The dress, deepest of ebony dreams, flattered her red hair, complimented her pale skin. And when she removed her coat in Samuel’s loft, she enjoyed the appreciation in his olive eyes. She didn’t know why she’d come, but the cold Remy slipped effortlessly down her throat, stoking a fire inside.

He lifted a lid from a pot on the stove and the room filled with the scent of spices older than time. “Rest,” he indicated a love seat beneath a row of high windows, “and I will put the finishing touches on our repast for the evening.”

She looked out the window. Across the way two women kissed, framed by black grillwork and red stone. They kissed unhurried, so absorbed were they in each other’s touch. Scully touched her throat; fingers drifting to the black diamond nestled against her skin. She gave Samuel a glance and turned away. His sweet voice caught in an old love song.

The women grew bolder; one coaxing the other from her clothes. And Scully grew bolder: She rose up, knees touching the velvet sofa and she leaned her arms against the backrest, wanting only to throw open the windows, hear their cries. But it would distract Samuel. She held her palms still on the velvet and watched the women please each other.

His voice so near, so struck with awe, startled her. “A banquet worthy of a prince, you are a delight.”

Scully turned and saw him kneeling on the floor: palms raised like a supplicant, head bowed, black hair flowing to his shoulders. She rose and stood in front of him, watching his hand raise the hem of her silk dress. He reached beneath and rolled the lace garment from her hips, past her silk stockings.

His face soft against her thighs, his hands cool, Scully breathed in gasps as he touched her. She held back the edge of her dress and opened her eyes. For a moment, an unearthly moment, she thought his face had softened, his lips had fleshed out. Olive eyes stared up at her, and she pushed him away.

Was it the Remy or her longing for Monica? Scully didn’t know, but she had to get out of this strange place. Leave the beautiful man alone.

He didn’t follow, and for that she was grateful. His voice, his hands could not please her now. That power belonged solely to Monica.

***

Scully saw Doggett braced against the wall, waiting outside Monica’s room. “Are the doctors with her?” she asked, her heart hammering at the thought that the final day had come.

“Yeah. She crashed earlier.” He ran a hand over his face. “Your mother is inside, Dana.”

“What?” She left him, walked inside and drew the blue curtain from the bed. There sat her mother gently bathing Monica’s fevered skin.

Her mother looked up briefly then went back to ministering to Monica as if she were her own child. “She’s beautiful, Dana.”

“Oh, my God, I thought-”

“She’s resting.”

Scully felt her mother’s eyes on her black dress, imagining what had almost taken place.

“The fear of betrayal- is it still there?” Margaret asked.

Scully bowed her head. “I couldn’t, mom…I just couldn’t.”

Her mother nodded. “We don’t need that getting in the way while we make our young woman well.”

Still damp from faded desire, Scully entered the bath in Monica’s room. She washed the rouge from her face and the color from her lips, gazing at the red stain she’d put on for her poet, her prophet, as it flowed down the drain.

***

Samuel stood by the bed, his presence known only to Monica. “You have gone and spoiled my plans.” His whisper, carrying the scent of burnt offerings, stung her throat. “Let her go!”

Monica shook her head.

Margaret held her hand. “Easy now, she’ll be back,” she said, misreading Monica’s distress. Monica clung to the hand that held hers, secured in the knowledge that a loving, spiritual being was in the room with her.

“No? How dare you defy me?” Samuel lifted his eyes and swore. “Oh yes, free will, the bane of my very existence.”

Monica turned away, her mind focused on Scully’s tears. I won’t let you have her.

“Damn you!”

***

Samuel’s rage spared no innocent creature as he formed a block of steel so strong it derailed the oncoming train. This would make the nightly news and the morning papers, bring hands to horrified lips. He stepped away, slipped from the tracks. And a team of subway rats followed in his wake. Worthy minions, he thought. To his mind, filled with brimstone and fire, they didn’t pretend to be other than vermin-a nuisance to humankind.

She’d forsaken him; taken away his only chance to escape. Why had he made his hands slender, his face soft? His eyes…She would never come near him again, even if she came to understand what he offered. Give them what they want, yet they still curse you!

He growled, frightening the rats in his company. Then he threw his head back and howled on the platform, cursing his impatience. But it was the dress: that damned black dress had driven him crazy. The insanity of lust had overtaken him, and finally he knew weakness. He knew these humans his father loved.

Samuel looked down at the fire rising from the tracks and smiled. “This should satisfy you for a while.” He waited for his father’s answer, but felt nothing only a hot wind on his back. Then he vanished from the subway, reappearing as the thinnest haze in the corridor of a bleak hospital.

He touched Monica’s shoulder, “Wake, damn you!”

***

Monica woke for the briefest of moments, but her eyes remained closed. Someone touched her legs, moving them about to aid the flow of blood: clinical, detached. Dana. Another moved her arms in the same manner, but this touch was unafraid-as certain of the future as an ancient goddess. Monica wanted to absorb the strength from this woman’s capable hands. She wanted to know her.

She moved a finger in the woman’s soft hands and the woman’s gasp startled her from the deep and sad reverie of the past few weeks.

Monica opened her eyes.

“Dana.” The woman’s voice was calm. “Monica is awake.”

Scully’s hands tightened on Monica’s feet. For a second, she couldn’t move. “Mom?”

“She’s awake, honey.” Margaret placed a hand on Monica’s warm brow. “I’m Dana’s mother,” she said. “Welcome back.”

***

After Monica’s doctors left, shaking their heads at the minor miracle, Scully asked her “What year is it?”

“It’s nineteen-eighty-four.” Monica looked annoyed.

Scully rolled her eyes. “Okay, my Orwellian scholar, who is the President?”

“Why do I feel the need for some barbecue and a big hat?” Monica looked at Margaret Scully, seeking an end to Scully’s relentless questions. But the woman merely shrugged, used to the way her daughter’s mind worked.

“Who am I?” Scully asked.

“Dana,” Margaret said; her tone a stern warning. She poured Monica a glass of water.

“Dana. So, that’s your name.” The liquid renewed Monica, and brought mischief from her mouth. “Your bedroom is yellow. You have a cherry wood bed and a cream-colored duvet.”

Scully shot her mother an accusing glance.

“I read from a book of poetry, not the Bloomingdale’s catalog.” Margaret brushed her fingers through Monica’s hair, ignoring her daughter’s disbelieving expression.

“My furniture did not come from Bloomingdale’s,” Scully answered. She deliberately avoided Monica’s curious gaze, still unnerved by her evening with Samuel.

“Love the dress.” Monica’s gaze traveled the length of the divine vision, her eyes a dark flame burning Scully’s cheeks. Scully reacted by moving away from the bed, which further inflamed Monica’s curiosity. Her red-haired beauty braced against the wall, her face wariness incarnate.

Doggett popped his head into the room and asked Monica, “Are you decent?”

“Yes, but I wish I wasn’t.” Her eyes lingered on Scully a moment longer before accepting the roses Doggett offered. Then she took one of the long-stemmed beauties and handed it to Margaret Scully.

***

DEVIL’S DUE

Doggett left-finally getting a break in what he dubbed The Sulfur Case. And Margaret Scully had left the women alone, cautioning her daughter to be honest, and that the last thing Monica needed right now was another doctor.

Monica looked exhausted, but she smiled courageously for Scully. “So, what’s John working on?”

Scully told her of the strange and violent acts occurring in D.C. “The link: sulfur.”

“I smelled that in my room when…when-I can’t remember.” When I died, she thought.

Scully refrained from giving Monica logical explanations, which would only serve to drive her nuts. Instead, she held her hand and thought about her mother’s advice. “Monica, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Monica placed a finger to Scully’s lips. “I don’t want bad news, Dana. If you’ve found someone else, then leave it for tomorrow; I can’t take another rejection from you now.”

“Another reject-Monica, you’re wrong.”

“Unless you were called away from a charitable event, I’d say you were out on a date.”

“Monica…”

“Describe her.”

Scully studied the lines of her hands, hands that longed to hold the woman lying in the bed. She could neither lie, nor tell the truth, so she fell silent.

“I deserve that,” Monica sighed. “For Marita….”

“Your affair with her has nothing to do with this.” Scully’s first lie burned her tongue.

“Then who are you seeing?”

“I had dinner with a man I met in…Well, it meant nothing. That is, nothing happened.” The second lie burned her throat.

“What does he look like?” The tone of Monica’s voice stabbed between them like a shard of glass.

Scully told her. Then she called his name.

“Samuel Haines?” Monica asked. “Samuel…Sam, Samhain.” The olive eyes, the black hair that surfaced in her nightmares. She cupped Scully’s face, firmly. “Stay away from him Dana. He’s a devil- literally.”

“He may be charming and-”

“Beautiful.” Monica turned away, almost welcoming back the dead dreams and gray space. “I’m tired, Dana,” she said, closing her eyes.

Monica waited for the door to close before the tears slipped out, salting her face and mouth.

***

The flames were out, but totally chaos reigned on the street. Smoke hung in the air, making it difficult for the paramedics to move among the frightened crowd. And the smoke made it difficult for Doggett to see, but he did catch a familiar face on the edge of the crowd: his ex-wife. What’s she doing in D.C.?” But two policemen, holding the crowd back, blocked his view. When they cleared, he looked again and. She wasn’t there.

A tall man, his hair in long black waves, stared back at Doggett. He held a CD player aloft, presenting it as one would a lovely gift. And his wicked smile challenged Doggett: Come get me, it said.

“Hey, Riley,” Doggett nudged the cop standing next to him, “See that guy over there?”

“Who?” Riley scanned the crowd and shook his head.

“Him: the wiseass over there in the leather coat.” When Riley nodded, Doggett reached for his badge. “Let’s pick the bastard up.”

Doggett and Riley pushed through the crowd, only to lose the man when they reached the edge. A teenage boy rushed in front of Doggett, trying to push his way around a muscular Riley. “Hold on there. You can’t go that way,” Doggett said, indicating the growing crowd.

“He made me do it!” The boy yelled, tears wetting his face. “I didn’t want to kill them. I didn’t!”

***

“I…I owe you an apology,” Scully said, lingering by the door to Samuel’s loft.

“You owe me nothing but your own comfort.” Samuel moved aside, allowing her to enter. He refrained from touching her cheek for it wasn’t the glow of love he saw there, but a deep embarrassment. Perhaps shame is the feeling I need. Then he stroked his chin, musing that the bastard emotion was unnecessary. “May I take your coat?”

“No, I can’t stay long.”

“Ah, your must see to your friend.”

Scully moved away from the soft hand on her shoulder. “I can’t give you what you want.” She dropped her head. “I can’t give anyone what they want.”

“Who made you feel this way?”

Scully did not answer.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

“No.”

The word lanced through the hollow where his heart should lay. “I can give you happiness.”

“There’s only one…” Scully paused, unable to say the name. “Goodbye, Samuel.”

He allowed her to leave, though the bile rising in his throat threatened to choke him. His hand nearly brushed her shoulder. “She cannot make you happy,” he said.

Scully turned. “You’re wrong: I’m the one…” Her cell phone went off. She didn’t answer it, but merely stared at the number a moment before leaving him.

***

“The kid’s in interview room two.” Riley led Scully to the window.

Scully peered at the boy who was agitated and resentful of his captivity. She moved back when he spit at Doggett, as if the foul expectorant had passed through the glass. “When did the murder occur?”

“Around ten in the Mulroney’s living room,” Riley answered, flipping through his notebook, “The little sweetheart had blood all over him.”

“Did you recover the murder weapon?”

“Yeah, he used a steak knife.”

Scully winced and looked at the boy again. “Are you saying that this boy, who barely looks twelve, overpowered both his parents?”

Riley shrugged.

Doggett entered, pressing a handkerchief to his face. “I saw this guy at the subway with Ken Mulroney. A few days earlier, he was on the bus with the boy. Mulroney claims he caused him to murder his parents.” He showed her the artist’s sketch.

Scully’s blood froze in her veins: A scowl marred the delicate features and baleful pale eyes staring back at her. “I know this man. His name is Samuel Haines.”

Doggett gripped her shoulder; then caught himself when he saw the surprised expression on her face. Suddenly he remembered the man he’d met outside her building. Unable to contain his shock, his voice rose, drawing the attention of Riley and the other policemen. “You know him from where?”

“Rome’s.”

“The bar?” Doggett moved her aside. “I don’t want to know what you were doing there, but if you and this guy are-”

“Just because he rode on the same bus with Mulroney, doesn’t mean he’s in any way involved with murdering the boy’s parents.”

“You’re right, but one of the surviving gang members gave a positive I.D. on the sketch. You think it’s a coincidence, Scully?” Doggett handed Scully an evidence bag containing a torn patch of leather with an onyx button dangling from a bloody thread. “Your Romeo really gets around. He was even decent enough to call in the turf war, if that was his voice.”

Scully shook her head. “I’m sure he has a reasonable explanation.” she said.

“Then this Haines can come in and give it to me himself.” Doggett leaned closer. “Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes. I can take you there.”

“I think we may have a conflict of interest.”

Scully recalled the night she’d stood under the Lincoln Monument with Samuel: His torn coat. She gave him the address.

***

Samuel allowed the humans to escort him into one of their dirty cells. He’d known pockets of Hell sweeter that the stench of his jailed neighbors. Samuel relaxed on the lice-ridden bed. Why not play with them a while? He thought. After all, he’d finished what he’d come to do: make Monica well; then separate her from her lover. His father and the old crone would be proud. “Do you really think you can detain me for long?”

“If I find out that you had anything to do killing that boy’s parents,” Doggett began, “I’ll personally cement your ass behind a wall.”

Samuel turned his back, sliding his hands through the bars so the guard could slip off the cuffs Doggett had tightened with gusto. He turned back and crooked a finger in the agent’s direction. “Closer.” His smile remained constant under Doggett’s scowl. “Good boy, Dog- man.”

“Doggett!”

“If you insist, then Doggett it is.” The humans, their touchiness over names that weren’t truly theirs, tied Samuel’s snaky intestines in knots. “It would behoove you to keep your voice down to shouting level.”

“Make a point.”

“About your partner, Dana Scully-we can keep her name out of this…this travesty. No one need know of her…involvement with me.” Samuel’s hands clenched the bars. “Now be a good soldier and fetch her.”

“You miserable little pr-”

“Now, now, young Doggett; your abusive language offends my ears.” He caressed the steel under his hands like an obsessed lover. “Do you not even care to know how I sensed her presence?”

“Hell no.” Hell yes….

“The scent of…dare I say Heaven?” Samuel glanced at him from beneath dark lashes. “Doggett, being around those lovely creatures you work with, does it make you long for your estranged wife? Frustrating working with what you cannot touch, isn’t it?”

Doggett’s fist flew through the opening in the bars, jabbing hard. He pulled his hand back. It brushed the bars and came away burned on both sides. “Shit! What the hell did you do?”

“Hell, indeed.” Samuel felt the tender place where Doggett’s ring had cut though his lips. “Hurry,” he stared at his blood with a strange sense of detachment, “she waits.”

***

“Just tell me you didn’t sleep with the bastard,” Doggett snarled, leading Scully down the steps to Samuel’s holding pen.

“That is none of your business, Agent Doggett.”

“Monica is my business and so are you. If-”

“If? If you weren’t so insistent on running your mouth in her room, maybe you would have made it your business to know that Monica’s recovery is not the miracle she would have you believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that no patient wakes from a coma fully lucid. Did you notice how easy it was for her handle those roses? Or how she spoke without hesitation, without fear?” Scully sighed. “Hours ago, Monica couldn’t even move a finger, now she can move her legs, Doggett.”

“Look, I’m no doctor, but with therapy I’m sure… I’m just glad she’s alive.”

“And so am I, but something is wrong, Doggett, terribly wrong.” Scully moved away before he could touch her. “You don’t have to escort me. I can find way from here.”

“Scully, maybe I do butt in too much, but it’s because I consider you my friend.”

Her face softened, and she allowed Doggett to press her hand.

“Did you tell Haines that you’re a Federal Agent?” Doggett saw her hesitate. “Well, he knows. Keep your distance in there, okay?”

Scully nodded. And touching his face briefly, she felt the pain of loss beneath his skin, a pain as great as her own.

***

Pain, a brutal counselor that told all was wrong. It could fool you; sometimes disappeared when its signal might save your life. Monica missed that signal. She felt her limbs, flexible as unfired clay, her mind, clear as water: Something was wrong….

Then she spied him from the corner of her eye: Samuel sat in the chair by the window, smelling her beautiful roses. “Curious thing how you woke so quickly,” he said. “Most have no idea when I am about… until they burn with my father.”

“What do you want with me?”

“Roses. They are the most glorious of all flowers, do you not agree?” Samuel said. “Lovely gift, but are they from her. No. She would not think of that, would she? The lover of your dreams is not a romantic.”

“You did this to me.” Monica looked down at her hands and flexed her fingers. “Why?”

“You are most welcome, love.”

“I told you no.”

“Care to go back?” He touched a rose, and its stem darkened. “Return to the pain?”

“You know I don’t.” She swung her legs from the bed and cautiously put her feet on the cold floor. “What’s your price?”

“Price?”

“There’s always a price.”

Samuel hung his head and rubbed his sore temples with his fingertips. “Ah. You women will agitate the devil from me. At this very moment, I am with your beloved. She has questions, too.”

Dana. Monica got off the bed and her hands closed around his neck.

“It will not do you any good, love.” Samuel removed them; then felt the frozen marks they’d left. “Can I not do something kind without asking payment?”

“Someone…something like you always demands payment.”

“You are right, but I am not the one driving this train.” He laughed at his sick joke. Smoke and a hundred screams entered his head.

Then who is? She moved away and would not allow the question to leave her lips.

“Dana Scully: God’s own angel.” Samuel grinned. “But would she have still been there for you had your body remained broken, you mind fractured? How will you ever know?”

“You bastard.”

“I would love to chat further with you, Monica, but alas, the red flame of our hearts, beckons.” Samuel touched the rose again, tainting it with sulfuric acid.

***

“Aren’t you listening to me?” Scully approached the bars. “I’m trying to help you.”

Samuel stirred, his eyes barely focused on the woman outside his cell. “I am guilty of all they say.”

“There was nothing on the CD you gave Mulroney but classical music…Ravel.”

“An angel if ever there was one. Now, Wagner….”

“This isn’t funny, Samuel. If you are in any way responsible for that boy’s parents-”

“Look at me. What do you see, Dana? Not what your mind tells you, but what is actually before you.”

“I see a pathetic man who will not help himself.”

“Scientists…your ilk are so hopelessly myopic.” He snaked out his hand, but she moved before he could touch her. “I am not a man, but a nightmare. No bars can hold me, Dana. Nothing good touches my heart, save you.”

“I don’t believe that’s true.”

“I need you, Dana.”

“You need a lawyer, Samuel.”

“Lawyers-now they can see everything which lies before them. Small wonder so many are in my father’s company.” He gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “I give humans respite from their mundane lives, and it pleases my father. Do you think he will allow you to hold me here? Do you think I will?”

Delusional, Scully thought as she walked away. Before she reached the corridor’s end, his voice called to her. She turned, caught him inhaling deeply.

“You wore it-that fragrance. Dabbed it on while wondering what you wanted…who you wanted.”

Scully paused.

“Did you tell her about us, Dana-she who would give anything to walk for you again?”

Scully turned away from him, feeling exposed in her black dress. Her hand strayed to the silk that hugged her like a discarded rag from the street.

***

“Dana…”

“Mom?” Scully held the receiver closer, unable to comprehend what her mother was saying at the gray hour of dawn. “I don’t understand, what-”

“Her parents took her home yesterday, Dana. When they got there…she couldn’t…”

“Did they bring her back to the hospital?”

“No, honey, she refuses to go.”

Scully sat up, kicking the covers from her bed. “Why wasn’t I informed about this?”

“Dana, you’re not her doctor.”

“I’m sorry mom. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, but…” Scully’s voice caught. “She refuses to see me...or take my calls.”

Margaret sighed. Again, her baby was being tortured by life. She wanted to hold her girl and make it better. “I’m going over there with you.”

“No, mom, I have to do this alone.”

Margaret Scully hung up the phone, wondering how long her child would remain lonely and hurting.

***

Scully felt pulled apart. Deep in her gut, she knew there was something good in Samuel, something worth saving, but Monica had punished her for trying. Did she turn her back when Monica had sought refuge with Marita? Did she refuse her friendship? No. She wanted to talk to someone about the dull ache gnawing away her insides, but her mother would say be patient and Mulder would tell her to cut her losses and run to the nearest video store.

She entered Monica’s bedroom, her heart pounding with the fear of rejection. But her reason for being here was to get the stubborn woman back into the care of her doctors. So Scully kept telling herself that as she neared Monica’s bed.

“I love my folks, but they make terrible bodyguards.” Monica closed the book she’d been reading and pulled herself into a more comfortable position. “Why are you here?” she asked Scully.

“I’m here to get you dress.” She touched a button on Monica’s pajama top.

Monica pushed her away. “I can move my hands, darling. It’s just my damn legs bothering me.”

“Monica, we have to get you back-run tests. Find out what-”

“What’s wrong?” Monica looked away. “It’s a story you’d never believe.”

“Then…tell me, anyway.”

“Don’t bother to humor me.”

“Monica. Just because we’re no longer…we’re not….We have to go.”

“Why, am I making you late for another date?”

“Monica, please…” Scully sat in the chair next to the bed. “He…well, he’s been arrested for abetting two murders.”

“That’s great, just great.” Monica shook her head. “It figures-he’s not the type to do it himself.”

“Samuel is not a well man, Monica.”

“He’s never felt better, trust me. Now please leave.”

Scully stood up, straightened her shoulders. The relationship that had never existed was over. She threw back the covers and gazed at Monica’s twisted limbs. “I’m going to get you ready if I have to call your parents in here to hold you down. Now what’s it going to be?”

“Get out, Dana.”

“No. You’re going to the hospital, or the doctors will come to you. Either way, I’m not leaving.” Scully opened Monica’s closet and retrieved an overnight bag. “After…afterwards, you don’t have to worry about my bothering you again.”

Monica held out her hands, the supplicant to Dana’s wish. “Well, Doctor Scully, Samuel was wrong about one thing: I see very clearly now. I know….”

“You know what, Monica?”

He saved me for something. For someone. “Help me to get dress, Dana. What I know doesn’t matter anymore.

***

Monica had walked the length of the therapy room without the aid of crutches. “Two months, and you’ve done amazingly well,” her doctor had said. But she didn’t feel amazing or well. She felt that her body had betrayed her, left her less than before. Now she sat next to her mother as they drove past Scully’s building. Scully was outside, coming back from a late jog.

“Monica, your friend-that’s Dana.”

“Don’t stop, mom.”

“But-”

“Keep going.” Monica looked at the sleek form traversing the length of pavement toward home. Scully’s flush face glowed. Her eyes, focused straight ahead, did not see Monica nor did she respond to the honk of the horn. “Mom, please.”

Mrs. Reyes slowed down. “She probably thinks it’s some jerk trying to get a rap up.”

“A rap, mom.” The only jerk is me, Monica thought.

Scully turned, the sun hitting her face as she squinted at them. She came slowly to the passenger side. Then she leaned in, hands gripping the door. “Hi Mrs. Reyes. Monica.” She glanced up the street.

Looking for an escape route, Monica thought.

“Today, my girl walked without help,” Mrs. Reyes said proudly.

“Mom, she doesn’t want to hear about-”

“Yes, I do.” Dana leaned in and took Monica’s hand. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I was wondering how you were doing.”

“I’m good.” Monica nodded as if she were sending away an inquisitive waiter. “How’s your friend doing?”

Scully’s face darkened. “He’s making progress.” She backed away from the car and bade them both a good evening before taking off.

Monica’s mother turned to her. “You can’t hate her for falling in love with someone else.”

“Yes, I can,” Monica said. “She’s in love with a madman.”

Mrs. Reyes shook her head and pulled away from the curb. They got home, and Monica took each step without her mother’s help. Her knees worked fine, it was her tongue on the war path these days.

“Mom, I love you,” she said, turning to grab her mother in a tight hold.

“If that’s your apology for being crabby all day, I understand. But you need to talk with the young lady.”

Monica said nothing, but she allowed her mother to help her up the remaining steps.

***

“So, she believes you love me.” Samuel rocked gently in his chair, playing crazy to the hilt. He didn’t care how he got Scully on his side as long as she never left him. Friendship was love, too, if deep enough. He pondered the nature of friendship and how lovers usually detested each other when they broke apart. Yes, true friendship was special.

“Who told you that?” Scully asked, lifting a spoonful of fruit cocktail to his lips.

“You did by not mentioning her anymore.” He glanced at her and swallowed the bland dessert. “It is funny that you never told me her name.”

“You don’t need to know it.” Scully put the spoon down. “What you need to do right now, is accept your doctor’s treatment.”

“You may advocate the merits of electricity coursing through one’s body, but I do not.”

“E.S.T was not one of my recommendations,” Scully said, though she would gladly stun the stubborn man with a cattle prod if it worked. As far as she could ascertain, Samuel was guilty of evil thoughts and nothing more. He was also a bit crazy, but wasn’t everyone at times? She rose from her chair. “I can’t visit you anymore if you refuse to undergo therapy. I won’t aid in making you sicker.”

He froze, trying to identify the strange sensation invading his mind and body. Is this what they call fear? He could bargain with her, perhaps threaten, but he would not give in. She was like all the rest: her love was conditional.

Scully left the asylum, and once again, Samuel thought he’d missed something, misinterpreted the human condition.

***

POOL OF LOST DREAMS

“Why don’t you go down?” Doggett asked. He walked onto the balcony and stood behind Scully. He gazed at her tense shoulders; then watched Monica cut through the water like a shark. “How long has it been now, three weeks since you last saw her?”

“Four.” Scully leaned her arms on the rail, eyes riveted on Monica’s sleek figure. “Four weeks.”

“I should know it’s been four weeks, because for four weeks I’ve listened to you two bleeding your hearts out.”

Scully gave him a sideways glance. “I haven’t said a word.”

“With you, it’s what you don’t say.” Doggett moved next to Scully, nudging her elbow. “I’m going nuts visiting her on Saturdays and you on Sundays…Jesus. The next time I hear a philosophical question from either one of you, you’d both better be in the same room.”

“If that event ever occurs, you’ll hear more than philosophical questions.”

“Dana-”

“Let it go Doggett.” Scully looked into his eyes. “Just let it go.”

“Okay, I’ll change the subject. How’s Romeo doing?”

“He sends me letters, and I mail them back to his therapist.” Scully refused to elaborate on the subject. She watched Monica climb effortlessly from the pool and winced at how gaunt she’d become, and how unhappy she seemed. “Doggett, are you taking her home?”

“Yeah…unless-”

“Feed her a good meal tonight,” she said, pretending not to hear. “I’d better go-the chlorine is choking me.”

***

Scully walked the deserted streets, unmindful of her surroundings. She felt only the fast beat her heart, the emptiness inside. A man called out to her, but she did not look back. She stepped off the curb, and felt a rough tug on her arm. Then she heard the sharp screech of tires, saw the driver shaking his fist.

Her rescuer pressed her arm, and she turned and saw olive eyes. The rich color paled and faded to blue. “Hey, nothing can be that bad,” he said.

“No, I suppose not,” she said, and walked away. When she was sure he did not follow, Scully turned the corner and leaned against a street lamp. “Nothing can be that bad,” she repeated, wondering if her subconscious, her misery had almost led to her death.

***

Doggett held gingerly to his beer, afraid his hands would crush the glass if Monica refused to let go of her silent act. It had been half an hour since he brought her home, and still she hadn’t said a word. “Should you be drinking that?”

“No.” Monica tapped the bottle. “But it keeps the pain away.”

“Monica, if it had been my bullet would you still feel the same way?”

“That’s not it, John.” Monica slapped a hand against her thigh and a searing pain shot through her leg. “Damn. How many times do I have to send her flowers? How many times do I have to be the one to mend things between us?”

“Someone has to.”

“Does she visit him?”

“No!”

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds.” Monica rubbed a tender spot on her thigh. “Beats being with a…”

“You’re not an invalid, Monica.”

“Perhaps not physically, but I can’t remember very much, and the things I do remember are nothing but hallucinations.”

“Like…what?” Doggett held his breath.

“Samuel was in my room, John. It seems as if he’s everywhere.”

Doggett thought of the brief but false glimpse he’d had of his wife and shook his head. “It’s going around, believe me.”

“Dana was at the pool today, wasn’t she?” Monica suddenly asked.

“Yes, she agreed to help me on another case,” Doggett lied. “Scully handled that day in the hotel pretty damn well.” He put down his beer and covered her hand in his. “She even managed to hold things together… until she got to your room.” Doggett looked away. Maybe the lie would go unnoticed, maybe not, but Scully’s eyes had been wet, and that was enough for him.

“How much of my pride do I have to lose, John?”

“How much do you want her back, Monica?”

Monica lifted her bottle, and drank the rest of her beer.

***

RED IN BLOOM

Within a two month period, Samuel had written twelve letters to Scully from his cell in the Psych Ward. He wrote asking her forgiveness. Scully said he must ask it of those he had hurt. He had wanted understanding. She said she did. Now, she read his latest in the loneliness of her bedroom:

Dear one,

See what I have done for you? I pay, as humans oft do for their transgressions. Yet, your heart remains cold. Do I ask for more than you can give? Do not make my father’s words true, Dana. No matter what he said, you have a great capacity to love. Well, no more talk of that. I sense it is the one emotion that most disturbs a woman like you, one who hides them like soiled laundry.

As a rejoinder to your interference in transferring me from legitimate incarceration to this den of insanity- I must say this, love- you have failed on a royal level. I seek the one thing that no one in my father’s kingdom has ever envisioned: redemption. Yet, you rob me of that.

On a sweeter note, how is your lovely friend? Monica is it not? Yes, I know her, but fear not. I shan’t trouble your beloved during my hiatus.

Yours in life and death,

S.

Was it an inherent evil that drove the man or had insanity taken him on a path of destroying innocent and wicked alike? Scully did have the answer. She put the letter away. In the morning, she would inform Doggett about Samuel’s dream of escape and his knowledge of Monica. Scully turned, seeking rest. But in the solitude of night sleep did not come, for the only one who could climb into Samuel’s mind, plumb the source of his torture was Monica.

The clock’s red glow mocked her: Twelve in the morning-an obscene hour to call a woman had refused to communicate with her. But this is work. Scully grabbed the phone. She has to answer me.

“Dana, can I call you back later?”

Scully felt the coldness through the line. She wanted to drop the phone. “Yes, I should have realized it was so late.”

“It’s not that. I…I have a case file that may help you.”

Scully’s hand tightened on the phone.

“I’ll call you back in an hour, okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine, Monica.”

Scully hung up. She waited, and one hour later the phone rang.

“On second thought,” Monica said, “I think you should actually see the file.”

Monica’s tone, though more detached than cold, failed to lessen the disappointment Scully felt. Now there was no reason to keep her on the line, listen to her voice. “If you think it would be more effective to send it to me…”

“Yes, don’t you?”

“Of course, you’re right.”

“Then open the door.”

“What?”

“I’m outside.”

***

“Chinese take-out,” Monica said, handing Scully the bag. Monica entered, walking with a slight limp. She took a seat on the sofa. “See? All better. Another two weeks and therapy is over. I have you to thank for that.”

Scully sat beside her, brain frozen, body numb. She touched Monica’s knee without thinking. “You forgot the file,” was all she thought to say.

Monica tapped her brow. “It’s all up here. What do you want to know?”

“Well, I know that Samuel blew the train, but I don’t know how or most importantly, why,” Scully said, annoyed that her hands shook. “And…I want to know why this damn container is so hard to open.” She sighed and put down the food.

Monica gazed directly at Scully. “Inherent evil.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know ‘how’ he did it, but that’s the ‘why’ of Samuel Haines.” Monica opened the container and speared a plump dumpling. “Taste this.”

“It’s good,” Scully said, moving her hand atop Monica’s. “But I’m almost afraid to ask. What is this?”

“What do you want it to be, Dana?”

Scully blushed. “You’ve haven’t seen the rest of my apartment. Would you like a tour?”

Monica laughed. “I know what it looks like. Remember?”

“Oh, yes…your comatose travels.”

“They took me places I thought I’d never go. But I was wrong about the furniture in the bedroom-it’s a light wood.”

Scully got up. She’d expected anger, maybe a hesitant step toward friendship, but references to things she could never believe in? “Why are you playing with me Monica?” She touched the mantle over the fireplace, inadvertently overturning a vase of red roses. She tried to scoop them up and pricked her finger in the process.

“Dana.” Monica stood and mover closer. She touched the nape of Scully’s neck; then withdrew.

Scully closed her eyes, and a red bloom fell from her hands as her heart climbed higher in her throat. She turned around. “Obviously I’m not very good at this.”

“Oh yes, you are. Dana, I’ve wanted you from the first day we met.”

“I meant the roses.”

“Monica lifted one from the pool of water on the mantle and removed its thorns. “It’s hard to believe something so beautiful can be so much trouble.”

“Then why bother?” Scully said, an edge creeping into her voice.

“Why?” Monica pressed her mouth to the hollow of Scully’s throat.

Sully shivered under the delicate kiss, wondering how Monica would react if she said, I love your mouth…I love you. She unbuttoned her top; then rested her hands on Monica’s shoulders. And something cool, soft-silk touched her: the rose, its damp petals brushing her skin, spreading fire.

“Dana.” Monica removed a pillow from the sofa and dropped it to the floor. She knelt upon it; then slipped the pajamas from Scully’s hips.

Scully opened to Monica’s sweet mouth. Like water flowing over smooth stone, the touch lifted her, moved her beyond desire toward a hunger that stunned her senses. “I love you…” The words slipped out, breathless… unbidden. Scully opened her eyes and for a moment she thought Monica would stop, get up and walk away from the embarrassing confession.

Then she felt Monica’s arms tighten around her, quieting her fears. And a sensation so deep, so surprising, flooded her body. The unwavering intensity of Monica’s touch, the soft sounds she made, released Scully.

Scully bent and kissed Monica’s brow. Then she tried to lift Monica from the floor, her hold slipping on the silk shirt.

“No.” Monica looked up at her. Her voice, a gentle plea, caressed Scully’s ears. “I want to love you again.”

Scully did not answer, but closed her eyes. She’d never felt so loved. Never knew someone who placed her desire before their own. Her hands ran through the waves in Monica’s hair, and she touched the nape of Monica neck, pressing her closer.

***

EPILOGUE

Those damn women. Samuel turned away from the window, cursing the creatures who thwarted him, denied him redemption. Then he moved back to that cold, sterile place of Almadine’s suffering.

“Miserable human,” he said. “You have no sense of the fun and delight I could have given you.”

“You’ve failed.” Almadine gripped the soulless creature’s arm. Then she yelped in pain, burned by his hot skin. “Go back to Hell!”

He tossed something onto her lap, then left.

Samuel stood under the old woman’s bedroom window, watching as she wept into his silk handkerchief. Then he ventured toward an abandoned building. While he waited for his father’s call, Samuel removed the mortal vestments restraining thick muscle and bone. Black-tipped quills cut through his skin. His spine elongated, birthing a ridge of gristle from the small of his back. And his hair, the treasured locks adored by men and women, fell away. Scales grew in their place.

“I am not yet finished,” he pleaded.

But his father did not hear him. Samuel felt the paternal arms close around his waist, dragging him downward.

~The End~

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