Title: Self Torment 01/03 Author: Daydreamer Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, and disturbing imagery Category: SAR - character exploration Spoilers: none Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship; budding MSR Archive: Yes, please. Feedback: Yes! Please! Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor and have nothing material they can profit from. Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den Http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113 Summary: Mulder is in torment as he continues to drop into Priest's mind. The search accelerates as the stakes are raised. Part of the Self Serial. Series in order is: Self Lost Self Unknown Self Revealed Self Torment Self Complete Self Revealed 01/03 She was just getting out of the shower when the cell rang. "Scully." "Hey." "Hey, yourself." She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. "You sound better." Mulder glanced at the big man in the next seat, engrossed in the data scrolling by on his laptop. "Yeah, well, what can I say?" He swallowed hard, then laughed a little self-consciously. "I, uh, slept some, then when I woke up, Ski -- uh, Walter was there." The big man looked up at his name, smiled, and went back to his work. "You had another dream?" Mulder could hear the concern in her voice. "No, not really. I just woke up. Walter fed me Kung Pao chicken, then we watched movies the rest of the night." The plane went through a cloud and the phone crackled. "Look, Scully, these phones are iffy at best. Tell me what you found." "The mother was killed. The body was too far gone for me to get an immediate match on the paralyzing agent, but I sent tissue samples off for a tox screen. The knife wounds were consistent with the other bodies I looked at, and the eyes were burned out." He could hear her frown through the phone. "I'd like to know what he's using for that." "Oh, that. A branch. He heats it red hot, then burns the eyes." He was thinking -- why had Priest come out now? And why his mother? "Mulder!" The sound of his name was loud enough that Skinner looked up again. "What?" He shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you yelling?" "Because you didn't answer the first three times I called you." Mulder shook himself, and smiled self-consciously as Skinner studied him. "Uh, well, never mind that, Scully. We're on the way up. Be there in a few. What I really wanted to tell you was that we found his hole. There's property in Hyde Park." He rattled off an address. "We're going to check it out." The phone was crackling hard, so he raised his voice. "We'll meet you at the precinct, OK?" The static was intense now. "Scully, you hear me? OK?" He took the phone from his ear, hit it on his hand, and then listened. Nothing. "Damn," he sighed. "What?" Skinner asked, still studying him. "Phone died." "She get the word? Meet us at the precinct?" Mulder nodded slowly. "Yeah -- she'll meet us." **************************************** Crackle, crackle. "... property in Hyde Park." She jotted the address he read onto a pad. Crackle, crackle. "... check it out." Crackle, crackle. "... meet you ..." Scully shook her head. The line had gone dead. Well, if they wanted to meet there, she'd have to get a car and get going. The phone had died before Mulder gave her a time. ********************************************** It was about 80 miles away, but with New York traffic, it had taken her nearly 2 hours. She drove down the quiet country road, houses miles apart. She was intent on the rural mailboxes, watching for addresses as she let her gaze drift over the snow-covered woods and down to the sleepy Hudson river, running placidly beneath its blanket of white. It was beautiful. The ugly gray grime of snow in the city was a gorgeous, tranquil white here. It covered the ground, inches deep, and the stillness was absolute. Even the sound of her car was muffled in the surrounding silence. She passed yet another house, large and stately, set back from the road. Smoke rolled from the chimney and she could just imagine the family inside, curled up snug before the fire, good books all around. Or perhaps mom and dad were reading, while the kids watched a movie or played video games. Whichever, it was a peaceful domestic scene that entered her mind -- miles away from the images the reason for her visit brought to mind. She drove on several more miles and spotted another mailbox. Slowing to read the post, she stopped when she realized she was there, and turned in. Mulder hadn't said anything to indicate that he thought Priest would be here, but there was no point in taking chances. She looked around, noted the lack of other vehicles or tracks, and parked. Before she climbed out, she pulled her weapon, checked it, and stuck it back in the holster -- safety off. She walked slowly up to the porch, snow crunching beneath her shoes. Her feet were already getting cold and she wished she'd worn her boots instead. There was a sound to her right and she turned, arm automatically digging beneath her coat for her weapon. As she pulled the gun up and sighted, she began to laugh. Lucky you, she thought as she stared at the gray rabbit scurrying into the woods. She stood there a moment more, second-guessing her decision not to wait for Mulder and Skinner, then shrugged and turned back to the door. Mulder would have said something if meeting here would put her at risk. She knocked on the door and waited. Knocked again. Waited. Finally, she reached out and tried the knob. It turned effortlessly beneath her fingers, opening into a wood-floored entry with staircase in front of her. To her left was a dining room; to the right, a great room. A hall beside the staircase ran back to the kitchen. Closing the door behind her, she moved forward down the hall. It didn't seem that anyone was home. She still needed to check the upstairs, but with just the one staircase, if Priest was here, he wasn't coming down without her hearing him. She was standing in the kitchen, staring out at the snow and wondering when Mulder would get there when she felt it. Just a small pinch, like a bug bite, but it was enough. And she realized as she slid to the floor, she'd shown very poor judgement in not waiting for backup. ********************************************** "What do you mean, she's not here?" Mulder reached out and grabbed Nowak, ready to shake him. "Where the hell is she?" Nowak pushed away from Mulder, staring hard at the irate man before him. "She called and asked for a car this morning. Said she was meeting you." "Time," Skinner demanded. "What time?" "Shit, I don't know. Early -- 8:00, 8:30?" "Fuck!" Mulder exploded. "She's gone to the house." He recited the address to Nowak. "How far? How long?" he demanded. "Hyde Park? A couple hours on a Saturday." "Two hours?" Mulder began to count out loud. "If she left when I called, at 8:30, she would have gotten there about 10:30. We got in to LaGuardia at 9:20, got here at 10:15. We lost another hour upstairs with that dickhead Captain of yours ..." He trailed off, then dug frantically for his cell. Pulled it out, dialed, listened, then hung up in disgust. "She's either out of range or it's turned off." He stared at Skinner. "We need to go. Now." "I can get a helicopter..." Skinner began. "By the time you arrange it, we'd be almost there. Let's just get moving." Skinner nodded and moved. Nowak followed, phone to ear. "I'm calling the locals up there -- get them to go on out and see what's up." He tagged a couple of others as they moved out. "We'll follow you." It was a long drive. The lights and sirens of their police escort cut some time off, but not enough. The call had come in only 30 minutes into the drive -- there was no sign of Scully or her vehicle at the house. But there was blood. Mulder had been in an absolute panic ever since. It was after 1:00 when they finally roared into the drive of the house that was in Priest's grandmother's name. The driveway was crammed with police vehicles; any hope of tracks from another car obliterated in the crush of helpers. Mulder bounded out of the vehicle and up the stairs to the porch. He was met by a big black man wearing a sheriff's uniform. The man held out his hand; Scully's Sig lay nestled there. Mulder turned to Skinner, eyes wide with horror. The older man reached out to steady his agent, but Mulder's legs were giving way. He slid down, down, down, knees connecting with the porch, and began to shake. "Walter," he whispered, his voice haunted. "He's got her." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "That bastard has got Scully." "You don't know that, Mulder." Skinner gripped the younger man's arms. "Don't I?" Mulder swore bitterly as he took a deep breath and climbed to his feet. He was unsteady, and Skinner kept a hand on his arm. Mulder moved into the house, walking through the door and down the hall into the kitchen. There was a small spot of blood on the counter edge, and another small pool on the floor. Mulder stared, then groaned agonizingly. "She was here, just standing here looking out the window. She checked the house -- downstairs. She didn't think she needed to go up, because she thought she would hear if someone was coming down. She thought it was safe -- she thought we would be here." He turned guilt-ridden eyes to Skinner, shivering as he shifted. "She thought we would be here ..." "Mulder, stop," Skinner ordered. "We'll find her." Mulder's eyes glazed over, losing focus, and the shivering intensified. As Skinner watched, the color leached from his skin. "What the hell is happening to him?" Nowak asked. "Is he sick?" "Shhh," Skinner murmured. "See if you can find me a couple of blankets. And if anyone has any coffee, grab it. I'm gonna need it in a few." Mulder was muttering under his breath, and Skinner strained to hear. "Down, down down. She's down now. Got her. Thought they were so hot -- big FBI -- but I've got *her.*" His foot kicked out connecting with the cabinet above the pool of blood. Two more vicious kicks followed. Skinner wrapped both arms around Mulder and pulled him back. Mulder settled, but Skinner didn't release him. "Hurt. Hurt her. Make him pay. He left me. Sick. He's well now -- he can come back. Work to do." Mulder's foot kicked out again -- harmlessly this time as Skinner had him far enough away there was nothing to connect with. "Mulder, you have to stop this." Skinner was trying to remember what Scully had done, what she had said, the only other time he had witnessed this ... ability of Mulder's. She'd touched him, and she'd spoken to him. And she tried to keep him warm. He looked over his shoulder for Nowak. Where the hell was the man with the blankets? For now, Skinner released his agent long enough to shed his coat and wrap it around the younger man, rubbing his arms as he did so. "We'll find her, Mulder." Mulder stood staring at the blood. "He wanted to kill her -- was longing to -- but her eyes weren't right. Too blue -- too much color. Hurt her instead." His foot kicked again, and then again. "Make her pay." "Mulder, stop." Skinner didn't know if he should be giving orders or making gentle requests. He was over his head here, and didn't know what to do. "Blankets." Nowak appeared in the door, shoving through the crowd of cops that had gathered to stare at Mulder. "Coffee, too." He put a large cardboard cup on the counter. "He do this a lot?" "Not now." Skinner waved the man silent. "Can you get rid of this crowd?" Behind him, he could hear Nowak pushing people back, and the sound of feet shuffling, the door swinging open, the porch creaking as the NYPD detective cleared the house. None of which really mattered as his attention was still focused on his agent. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Mulder. The man was like ice. He stood motionless in the kitchen, cheek twitching, eyes closed, occasionally muttering under his breath. His skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, and his brow was furrowed as if his head ached. Skinner held his wrist, feeling for the pulse. It was faint and slow. "Mulder, please," he begged in frustration. "I don't know what to do here. Wake up, or come back, or something. Just -- stop this." He stroked the man's back, rubbing hard up and down his arms to maintain circulation. "We need you, Mulder. Need you here, with us. Scully needs you." Mulder didn't move. If anything, his skin grew colder, his heart beat slowed. Skinner glanced over his shoulder. The house was clear. God bless Nowak -- he'd gotten all the gawkers out. Not knowing what else to do, Skinner reached out and enfolded Mulder in his arms, pulling him in tight against his chest. His agent was loose -- which surprised him considering how the man was shivering. He had expected him to be strung tighter than a bow, but he stood passive -- cold and passive -- within his embrace. "Mulder, we're going to find her," he whispered to the younger man. He didn't know how long he stood like that, Mulder's shivering body wrapped in blankets and held tight to his own. He murmured reassurances, repeated the same words over and over. "We'll find her, Mulder." He felt it first -- a tightening in Mulder's back. The other man began to stiffen, and Skinner released him instantly, stepping back. The man looked awful. His skin was still far too pale, and as Skinner watched, he closed his eyes and winced, then opened them and looked around. He focused slowly, haunted eyes coming to rest on Skinner's face. "C-c-cold," he said simply. Skinner passed him the coffee. Mulder held it for a moment, then took a swallow and grimaced. "Too much sugar." "Sugar's probably good for you right now," he said gruffly. He reached out and maneuvered Mulder to the table. "Sit," he said, gently pressing the man into a chair. "And drink it." He studied the younger man as he complied. His skin was regaining some of its color. The shivering was slowing. He still seemed to have a headache, because his hand kept coming up to rub his temples. But his eyes were clear and focused, and he seemed fully present in the current reality. "So, Mulder -- you OK?" The man nodded. "Priest was here?" "Yeah." Mulder lay his head on the table, coffee cup gripped loosely in one hand. "He was here. He was waiting, waiting for her. He heard the car." "But he didn't kill her." Skinner turned as steps came down the hall. "Everything all right in here?" Nowak asked. "I got everyone waiting outside. You need anything?" "Aspirin," Skinner said shortly. "Tylenol, Advil, whatever." He turned and looked at the detective. "Thanks for running interference. We'll be done here shortly." "I'd heard your boy here was good. Even saw him in action myself -- the way he got out of the ward and followed that bastard was incredible." Nowak sighed, and pushed his hand through his hair. "Had no idea it took such a toll on 'im, though." He studied Mulder a moment longer, then said, "I'll bring the aspirin in a minute." The look he gave Skinner contained nothing but sympathy. "Take as long as you need. I'll keep those guys out there." "Mulder?" Skinner touched his agent's shoulder. "You still with me?" "Yeah," came the weary response. "He's not gonna kill her." Mulder looked up, pain etched across his face. "He'll beat her, rough her up, but he won't kill her." "How do you know?" Mulder shrugged. "He doesn't want, Scully. He wants me. He thought he had a partner and he's come to like the idea." Nowak appeared again. "He looked like he could use double." He laid two paper packets of Tylenol on the counter then went back out. "Thanks." Skinner reached out and took them, then rummaged till he found a glass and filled it with water. He opened the packets, then took the four pills and water to Mulder. "Here. Take this for your headache." Mulder looked up in surprise. "How ... How'd you know my head hurts?" "You're not the only detective in the room. You keep closing your eyes and rubbing your temples. I studied the evidence, examined the clues, and voila! I have concluded your head hurts." Skinner laughed at Mulder's scowl. "Very funny." His words were scornful, but he swallowed the pills obediently. "Anything else you can tell us, Mulder?" "Yeah. Priest wants us to think he went back to the city. That's where he's done his best work. But he won't. He's around here somewhere -- he'll have figured we might find this place. He'll have somewhere close to run to. And he's gonna be slow right now. He's got Scully and he wants to keep her and keep her alive." Skinner couldn't help himself. "How do you know this, Mulder?" The other man shrugged. "It's what I'd do." He shuddered, and lowered his head. "I'd just go a little farther." "Whaddaya mean?" "My visions are always worse." He looked up, a sickly smile on his face. "See, I'd rape her, too, 'cause it would humiliate her, crush her spirit -- at least for a while. It would keep me in control." ********************************************* He was pacing back and forth, muttering. Scully came to, her limbs still heavy from the drug he'd zapped her with, but she could feel her mobility coming back. She lay still, not wanting to attract his attention. She could taste blood in her mouth, and one eye felt swollen and puffy. Her ribs hurt and she was willing to bet it was from the swift application of a foot against them. The back of her head hurt, and her hair felt stiff against her neck. "Can do this can do this can do this can do this ..." The monotonous chant went on and on and on. Periodically, Priest looked at her and she forced herself to remain motionless. When he was distracted, she practiced wiggling her toes and fingers, yearning for a good stretch and rub as the pins and needles attacked her. Priest continued his chant, then turned and stalked into the kitchen. She could hear him moving around, cupboards opening and closing. She risked shaking her arms, stretched up, then bent and began to rub her aching calves. Priest was humming now, calmer. She heard the sound of an electric can opener and had to stifle a nervous laugh. He was going to eat before he killed her. She climbed to her feet, still shaky but her arms and legs were coming back to her control. Her gun was gone. Her hand came up of its own accord, touching the sticky place on the back of her head. She drew it back and looked. Blood. Another look around and she realized this wasn't the same house. Nothing was the same. A look out the window and she knew she'd been out for some time. It was dark now. She scanned for another weapon as she weighed her choices. He'd immobilized her once -- it was a miracle she wasn't dead. Should she try and take him on by herself? She glanced at the kitchen. He was standing by the stove, still humming, as he stirred the contents of a pot. The scent of fragrant beef stew wafted her way and her stomach rumbled. She froze, waiting for him to turn. Surely he had heard that. When he didn't move, she decided, better to live and fight another day than risk going down under this madman. They'd found him once -- they could find him again. She opened the front door a crack and slipped out. Her car was wrecked. He'd apparently taken his initial anger out on the Ford while she had been immobilized. She breathed a sigh of relief -- at least that anger hadn't been directed at her. She'd been there as Mulder had struggled to recover from the fallout of Priest's anger. She looked around -- no sign of any other vehicle. Behind her, she heard Priest screaming as he returned to the living room and realized she was gone. She took off, racing for the woods. It was dark, darker here in the heavy woods. She could only hope that the fallen limbs, jutting rocks, and other debris would help hide her own frantic tracks. She skidded down into a prickly bush. She could hear Priest close behind, feel the flash of light on her back. She didn't dare stop or look back. Her breathing came in spastic gasps. Branches grabbed at her. Twigs slapped her in the face. She stumbled, did a little dance and kept from falling. She tried to keep quiet, but the snaps and cracks were explosions she couldn't prevent. She couldn't even see her feet in the inky black. Even the sky had disappeared. She'd headed out, not sure which direction to go. He'd moved her and she didn't know where, but she didn't think it was far. She needed to find the road, or another house. She stopped to catch her breath, leaning against a tree. She couldn't breathe; her ribs hurt and each breath was painful. Her teeth chattered in the frigid winter air. Her heart exploded against her chest. She wiped at her face and discovered more blood, as well as tears. Well, she scolded herself, that won't help, and it's not even making you feel better. Save the good cry for after the bad guy is down. Then she heard it. In the black silence she heard branches snapping, snow crunching. The sounds came from behind her, close and getting closer. She looked around, seeing nothing in the heavy blanket of night. No place to hide, no place to lay in wait and ambush the son of a bitch that was trying to kill her. She took off, running recklessly, tripping over stumps and smashing through a thicket. A twig swiped at her cheek and ripped at her ear. The sting brought fresh tears. Then suddenly she felt the ground rip out from under her. A steep decline forced her to grab on to a branch, a rock, anything to keep from sliding down. Below, she saw the glint of water. The hill was steep, covered with broken limbs and dead stumps protruding through the icy snow. She'd never make it down to the river this way. The woods were too thick, the ridge too steep. The cracking of branches was even closer now. Priest was coming. She looked around frantically. She could just make out a clearing to her right. She climbed over the rocks blocking her path, hanging on to tree roots with both hands as she threaded her way across. It wasn't much of a clearing. Instead, it looked like an old horse trail, a path worn into the woods but now overgrown with spindly branches, alien arms with long, fingers waving at her. Mulder would just love her imagery. As far as she could see, the path went all the way down to the river, with a few sharp turns. It looked dangerous, steep and narrow, and clogged with heaps of snow. The snow would make it next to impossible to climb down without sliding. It was crazy to even consider it. A crack close behind made her jump. She crouched in the snow, shivering. She hadn't thought to grab her coat when she ran out of the house; she hadn't anticipated having to make this mad dash for her life through the freezing woods. She stared into the dark. She could just see the shadow that crawled down the ridge, clinging to rocks and exposed roots. His back was to her, as if he considered her no threat at all. She weighed again the possibility of an ambush. Could she take him? A rock, or maybe a heavy branch? She could hide ... She shook her head. She was good, she knew that. But so was Priest. And he had 10 inches and a hundred or more pounds on her. If she didn't take him down with one blow, she was bound to come out the loser. She eyed the steep, really steep path, then glanced frantically over her shoulder as another twig snapped and the shadow edged closer. Priest would be here soon. She had to decide. Taking a deep breath, she set off down the trail. End part 01/03 Self Torment 02/03 Skinner led the way out of the house with Mulder following. The afternoon sun glinted blindingly off the snow-covered yard. The AD looked back as Mulder groaned and threw up his arm to cover his eyes. "Bright, eh?" he murmured. He looked out at the cops, huddled together in groups. The local PD in one group, Sheriff's department together on the left side of the drive, and Nowak's people, standing beside their vehicles. Conversations stopped when Mulder appeared, and Skinner got a first hand feel for what his agent had gone through for all those years in VCS. He turned in time to see Mulder visibly pull a shell around himself. He stood up straighter, blanked his face, and arrogance suddenly seemed to seep from his pores. The transformation was striking, but Skinner now saw it for what it was -- protection. Nowak approached alone, and Mulder relaxed marginally. "Hey, man, you ok?" There was genuine concern on the detective's face. He stopped at the bottom of the steps to the porch, followed Mulder's gaze to the staring officers in the yard, and shrugged. "Ignore those idiots. They wouldn't recognize genius if it bit them on the butt." Mulder snorted and started to reply, but Skinner cut him off. "We need a base. Priest is still in the area." "That so?" Nowak narrowed his eyes and looked at Mulder in admiration. "Someday, you'll have to tell me how you do that, friend." "You wouldn't want to know." Mulder winced as he spoke and his rigid posture began to slip as he swayed slightly. Skinner reached out, grabbed Mulder's arm and looked at Nowak. "Look, Frank, Mulder needs to rest." Even as he spoke, the younger man had shaken off his attempt at help and was still forcing himself to stand upright in front of the prying eyes that watched his every move. "We need someplace we can work from -- not Hyde Park PD." "Way ahead of you on that one." Nowak turned, gesturing for the FBI men to follow. "I thought you might need to rest, Mulder. Booked a room in a local hotel. We can get a few more rooms, set up a command post." He looked worriedly at Mulder as he stumbled, but withheld any offer of help. Skinner had also refrained from reaching out, allowing the younger man to make it to the car under his own power. "Town cops and Dutchess County Sheriff's gonna want in on this." "By all means, we'll keep them informed." Skinner watched Mulder slide into the car, then climbed behind the steering wheel. "But can we talk about that later? Let's just get to the hotel." Nowak nodded, pushed Skinner's door shut and stepped briskly to his own car. In seconds, they were moving, NYPD in the lead, the FBI next, and the locals following in the rear. Mulder allowed himself to slump in the seat now, one arm thrown up across his closed eyes as he leaned against the door. "Just a little longer, Mulder," Skinner murmured. "Nowak got a hotel." "I'm ok," Mulder replied. "We've gotta find Scully. Priest will have another bolt hole -- probably a vacant house in the area. Check with realtors -- see what's vacant and for sale. It could just be a place that's empty now -- people on vacation or something. The locals may be able to help with that." He pulled himself erect, turned to look at Skinner. "He won't kill her now, but if he doesn't get what he wants soon, all bets are off." "And what does he want, Mulder?" "Me." ******************************************** Scully watched her shirt drift downstream, wondering if it would be enough. The bright white gleamed in the moonlight. She shivered in her bra, crouched in the cattails along the river bank. She had to get moving or she would freeze to death. She was feeling better -- more confident. It looked like she was going to get away and cheat that bastard of yet another kill. She only now realized she had lost a shoe in the rough tumble down the steep hill. Her ankle hurt. It was swollen, nearly twice the size of the other one, and she touched it gingerly, trying to determine if it was a break or just a bad sprain. There was a sound from the hill and she glanced back. Priest was coming down the ridge, spiderwebbing his way calmly down, stretching and gripping rocks and branches. He was moving quickly, and with more control than she'd maintained on her frantic plunge down the narrow path. Priest came to the water's edge. He stared at her shirt, bobbing in the water as it drifted downstream. Hopefully he believed she'd tumbled in; she'd tossed a branch in to make a splash as she'd launched the shirt. He had to believe she was gone. She wasn't going to be able to run on her ankle now. Priest stood calmly staring at the shirt. He didn't seem as crazed right now. Perhaps the mad dash through the snowy woods had taken the edge off. Scully burrowed down farther into the snow. The wind coming off the water brought more wet cold with it. Her teeth threatened to chatter, and she clenched them to keep quiet. Shivers crawled over her body. She hugged her knees to her chest and watched and waited. As soon as Priest disappeared, she would set out for the road, for the house. It would be hard going, cold and dark her enemies, but it was better than facing Priest. Finally Priest looked as if he was giving up. He stared out at the water, shrugged, and then pulled his coat more tightly around him. Then he turned and started walking directly toward her. ****************************************** It was the biggest battle of his career -- getting Mulder to lay down. They'd gotten to the hotel, set up a command post in one room, and then he'd tried to get Mulder to go into the adjoining room and lay down. He'd sent for computers, techs, additional agents, liaisons to the local community. He'd been successful there, but getting Mulder to lay down was still a no go. The man paced, back and forth, before the window, staring unseeingly out over the snow. The computers arrived, along with a tech team to set them up and get them on line. The room seemed small with the techies moving equipment and furniture, cops popping in and out, and phones ringing. The hotel manager hovered as if this were the most exciting thing that had ever happened in his life. And it probably was. At 4:00, Skinner forced Mulder to stop his frenetic pacing long enough to swallow more Tylenol. One look at the pain etched on his face, the stiff way he held himself, and Skinner knew he was suffering. He reached out and touched Mulder's forehead, earning himself a dirty look and a quick push awa. But he had been able to reassure himself that if the man was in pain, and exhausted, at least he wasn't shivering with that dreadful cold that encompassed him when he was profiling. At Mulder's insistence, the search had been expanded to include all the neighboring townships up and down and around the Hudson. There were representatives of at least 10 little town police departments with more arriving all the time. And there was the ever-present Dutchess County Sheriff and NYPD. While Research ran listings through MLS, the locals worked on compiling a list of people who had notified them they would be out of town -- a quaint little tradition that still existed in the small towns of America. As the sun began to set, Mulder stopped pacing, standing silently to watch as darkness descended. Skinner moved to stand beside him, trying to offer his support without words. Mulder muttered, "He'll keep her in the dark -- try to keep her disoriented and confused. In a basement -- he likes to be below ground." "We'll find her." He patted Mulder's shoulder, an ineffective gesture if ever there was one, and tried again to get the man to go sleep -- to rest -- to give himself some time to recover from whatever he had experienced back at the house. He hadn't been surprised when Mulder brushed him off and went back to his pacing. They were looking for a house, vacant, with a basement, and fairly close to the house in Hyde Park. Mulder had said that Priest wouldn't risk driving long with Scully in the car. He'd be more nervous because he'd be driving her car -- an official NYPD unmarked. An hour away, at most. They'd marked off a circle of 60 miles -- an enormous area to search -- but they were working their way through the listings methodically. Anything with close neighbors was eliminated. Anything without a basement was eliminated. Anything where the people were due home soon was eliminated. That was how it worked. Just keep eliminating things and eventually, the answer would appear. He could only hope it would appear soon enough to save Scully before Priest decided her eyes weren't all that blue after all. Skinner shook his head. What they hell had possessed her to go into the house alone? At 9:00, he insisted that Mulder sit. He'd ordered food, but the younger man had refused to eat. Skinner had settled for getting him off his feet before he fell down. He tried to get him to sleep -- or at least go to the adjoining room and lay down, and Mulder just snorted. "I don't think so, Walter." Mulder waved a hand, encompassing the general commotion of people walking in and out, conversations being held in quiet voices, keys clicking softly as new search queries were entered into computers. "There's a bit too many people around for me to risk sleeping." He fixed Skinner with a firm look. "You know what it can be like." Skinner nodded. "I understand. I do know. But, Mulder ..." He reached out to touch his agent's arm, then stopped and scanned the busy room. No one was paying them any attention, so he rested a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "You are two steps from falling down. You need to rest." Mulder shrugged. "I'll rest when we find Scully." **************************************** She had drifted off to sleep -- something she would have thought was impossible if it hadn't happened. He'd tied her to something rough - a four by four perhaps -- and the wood dug into her bare back. She had been tied kneeling, her legs extending behind the post and ankles tied together. The injured ankle throbbed. Her hands were tied behind the post and connected to her ankles as well. It was awkward and more than a little uncomfortable, but she was sure that had been Priest's intention. It was his presence that woke her -- not a sound or a touch -- just his presence. It was as if something dark and foul had entered the space and stood -- waiting. She shifted slightly, lifting her head to stare up at him. Every movement hurt -- her neck was stiff from the unnatural position she'd slept in. Her knees ached -- they'd been rubbed raw from the hard-packed dirt she knelt on, and her muscles screamed from being held in the same position for so long. There was dried blood in her hair and on her face, and her chest and back were criss-crossed with welts gathered in her frantic race through the woods. Beneath the welts her fair skin had turned dark -- bruised blossomed up and down her side and across her chest. It was damp and dank where she was. No sign of sun or moon to tell her what time it was. Even day and night were denied here. She was hungry, but couldn't count on that to clue her to the time. The slight light from the lantern he carried cast just enough illumination that she was able to inventory her aches and injuries. And the fact that she still hurt told her she hadn't been out more than a day -- long enough to grow cold and stiff and sore, but not long enough for the pain in her head to recede. "Don't look at me," he commanded and she dropped her eyes immediately. Her breath caught in her chest. As she looked down, she could seen the black and blue of vivid bruises on her left rib cage, and she thought she remembered several harsh kicks in that area when she first went down. He placed the lantern on the floor by the wall and began pacing. Long legs and powerful strides carried him the length of the room in only eight steps. "What do you want, Fenton?" she asked quietly. She was careful to keep her eyes down, glancing at him only through half-lowered lids. "Hush! he ordered as he whipped around and stared at her downcast head. "You will not speak to me." he resumed pacing, his boots loud and angry sounding, even against the dirt floor. She tried to look around, see where she was, but aside from the dirt floor, and dirt walls, she could make out no features. There seemed to be an entrance to her left -- the one Priest had used to enter this space. There was a smaller opening across from her, leading into a blackness. To the right of this opening was a table with a single wooden chair. "What do I want? What do I want?" He reached the far wall and slammed it with his fist, then rotated and moved across the room, catching her throat in his hand. She struggled to keep her eyes from meeting his as he jerked her head upward. Finally, she closed them. Blindness seemed preferable to allowing Fenton Priest to see something unacceptable in her eyes. "I don't want to have to Work alone anymore. I want help. And company. I want someone who understands." He released her and she dropped her head, only to have it rocked backward as he slapped her across her cheek. "I want my brother back!" "He's not your brother," she whispered. Her lip was bleeding again, and she'd bitten her tongue. She fought the urge to hack, and settled for spitting the blood from her mouth. "He understands me. He understands about the Work." Priest stepped to the table, pulled out the chair and sat. He turned to look at her, and she quickly dropped her head again. "If you keep looking at me," he said, "I'll have to kill you anyway." "And if I don't look? You'll let me go?" "He'll come," Priest said. "He'll come for you. I've been watching -- waiting till he could come." She struggled against her bonds, shifting her weight from one knee to the other. She was out of her element here. Mulder was the one with the psychological insight into Priest. She could dissect a body, tease the truth from tissue and bone, but she was never very good with living people. Getting inside someone else's head was something she'd never been able to do; it was something she'd never wanted to do. Priest was staring into the darkness, muttering under his breath. Scully risked an upward glance, studying him as he rocked in the chair. He'd lost interest in her and was focused on something internal -- lost in his madness. She had to get out of this. For his own twisted reasons, Priest hadn't killed her and apparently wasn't going to right away. But he'd already beaten her, and she had no doubt he'd do so again. The strike against her cheek, and her strangled cry, seemed to have amused him. Mulder would be searching. She knew that he would figure out where she was, come and get her. She needed to stay alive, stay aware, so that when he came she would be ready. But Priest wanted Mulder -- not to kill him or even to hurt him, but to twist him into a mirror of his own warped self. And Mulder, her poor, damaged Mulder, he would go willingly with Priest, do anything this madman demanded, if only it would buy her safety. She had to get free, one way or the other. Mulder had lost too much already. She'd learned, slowly, what he had gone through when she was missing for all those months. She'd seen the pain in his face when he tried to be brave while she fought cancer. His love had revealed itself in a hundred different ways over the years they had been together. And always, he was willing to take the loss, suffer the torment, live the pain, to save her. Well, not this time. She was not going to let him sell his soul for her. "I want my brother back." She looked up without thinking, then quickly dropped her head again and spoke without thinking. "He's not your brother," she repeated. "He hunts things like you. He can see inside your mind and he'll find you and squash you like a bug." "Do you want to make me mad?" Priest stood, gripping the chair in both hands and advancing on her. "I don't think you want to make me mad..." "You need to let me go." Her voice was quiet but forceful. "You need to let me go and then you need to run. You'll never survive if you wait for him. He won't allow it." "You. Will. Be. Quiet." He shook the chair in her direction. "I can't think when you talk." He fixed her with a steely stare. "You will be quiet, or I will break this chair over your head and beat you with the pieces." He dropped the chair before her, sat and took her chin in his hand. With the other hand, he reached out and roughly rubbed the blood that marred her face. Through her lashes, she watched as his eyes lit up and a mask of anticipation slid across his face. "Of course, I could do that anyway. He'd still come." End part 02/03 Self Torment 03/03 They'd worked through the night, Mulder refusing or unable to sleep. He'd spent hours looking at listings for houses within the prescribed radius, but nothing had jumped out at him so far. When his eyes couldn't bear to stare at the screen any longer, he'd rise and pace, or stand by the window and stare at the moonlit snow. Skinner had continued to coordinate the locals; they were out doing drive-bys of every possible house where they knew the owners were absent. No sign of Scully's car at any of them, and aside from one petty thief caught in the act in Staatsburg, there had been no sign of activity. As more and more potential locations were identified, the numbers of involved law enforcement people swelled. The original command post room was rapidly outgrown and about 3:00 in the morning Skinner began shifting operations to a meeting room down the hall. The room had quieted through the rest of the night as the command post expanded into the new room. By dawn, the original room held only a couple of computers, a young FBI agent Skinner was using as a runner, Nowak, Skinner and Mulder. Nowak had been allowed to stay because he had consistently shown nothing but concern and admiration for Mulder, his abilities, and the toll they took on him. "Mulder," Skinner said quietly, moving to stand beside his agent as he stared out the window once more. "You have to go and rest." He studied the younger man, noting the slump of shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes. When he walked, there was just the slightest hint of a limp from the knee that had been damaged three months earlier. "Please, go and lay down. If you can't sleep, at least get off your feet for a while." Mulder shook his head. "I have to be here, Walter. I can't sleep. And not just because ..." His voice trailed off, leaving the thought unspoken as he tuned and looked at Skinner. "I have to look at the possibles -- I don't know how, but I'll know it when I see it." Moving from the window, he started back to the computer. "I have to go -- when we find it." Skinner reached out and stopped him, one hand holding Mulder's arm until the younger man stood still. "I understand that. I just want you to get off your feet; lay down for a while. Take some more Tylenol, maybe something a little stronger." He eyed the man critically. "I can tell you knee hurts; what else is causing you pain?" Mulder shrugged off the hold, but didn't move. "I'm all right." He met Skinner's eyes. "The focus has to be on Scully. I don't know how long Priest will wait for me to come." "You're convinced that's what he wants? For you to join him?" Mulder nodded. "At first, Priest was killing from some sort of twisted sense of self-preservation -- he killed bad people, people who were perceived as evil. It didn't take him long to expand that into people who weren't necessarily bad, just non- contributing members of society -- the homeless, the mentally ill, the rejects of society who had found homes in the underground." Mulder closed his eyes and shuddered. At Skinner's look of concern, Mulder shook his head. "Nah - I'm not spazzin' out. Just thinking out loud." Skinner still placed his hand against Mulder's forehead, and then pushed up his shirt sleeve to touch his arm. "You're not cold?" "No," Mulder said shortly, tolerating Skinner's concern with thinly veiled patience. "All right, then." Skinner pushed Mulder back gently until his legs were against the bed. "Get off your feet and go on." Mulder frowned but sat. "He still took bad people when he was up top. Or at least he did until he made the mistake with Jackson." At Skinner's puzzled look, he clarified. "The man who was fighting with his wife." "I know who Jackson was." Skinner waved the explanation away. "What was the mistake?" "Priest killed a good guy." Mulder lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, then massaged his forehead. "Tylenol, Mulder, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." Skinner went into the bathroom and returned with pills and water. At Mulder's reluctance, he threatened, "I'll get someone in here to force-feed you if you insist, and if I have to go to that much trouble, I'm going to include a sedative." He held them out, ignoring Mulder's petulant frown, and smiled approvingly when Mulder swallowed. "Killing Jackson seemed to release Priest from the last vestiges of his conscience -- he was free to pursue anyone and everyone." Mulder blinked. "It also cut him loose from his ritual. The lights, the noise, the elaborate set up. He took that nurse and we never saw her again. Her body wasn't even in the Sanctuary." "So -- he's got another place he kills?" Mulder nodded. "Probably more than one. And he doesn't necessarily feel constrained to limit his hunting to the evil and the rejects." "But the nurse is the only one he's taken that wasn't a reject or a bad person." Skinner paused, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Can't we attribute the nurse to self-preservation?" "I don't think so." Mulder leaned back on the bed, kicking off his shoes. "I can't tell you exactly why, but I think he's crossed a line now -- anyone is fair game." "But not Scully?" Mulder's brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't think so -- at least not right away. He's going to want to keep her, use her to trade for me." "And you know this -- how?" Mulder shrugged. "It's what I'd do. And I'd ..." "Stop." Skinner's voice was almost harsh, and he reached out and gripped Mulder's arm. "You will not torment yourself with what you would do." He loosened his grip, his touch now just a gentle reminder that someone cared. "*You* would not do any of the things that Priest has done. And the fact that you have this -- ability -- to, uh, understand his motives, and use that understanding to track him -- that does *not* in any way, make you like him." Mulder was silent for a moment, considering. At last, he nodded. "Yeah, well -- thanks." He shifted uncomfortably, then said, "Anyway, he won't kill her right away. He probably won't hurt her at first either." Mulder winced. "But he'll realize -- probably sooner rather than later -- that I'll trade for Scully, regardless of her condition. He may beat her, or, uh ..." His mind skittered away from the unspoken concenpt. "He may hurt her. And he may eventually realize that I won't know if she's dead or alive -- and dead is a lot easier than alive." Skinner was silent, going over Mulder's evaluation of the situation. "You're sure of the area to search?" Mulder shrugged. "I thought I was." He got up and headed back to the computer. "I thought we'd have found more viable options by now. Everything that's come up is too close to neighbors. He won't risk that. And it'll have been vacant for a while." "We'll find it, Mulder. How many places can there be that meet your criteria?" Mulder stared at the laptop screen, then reached out and slammed it shut. "But will it be soon enough?" Skinner started to touch him again, to squeeze his shoulder in a gesture of support, but Mulder waved him off and stood. "I'm going to take a shower -- change." "I think that's a good idea." "You'll come get me if we get a hit?" "Count on it." Mulder nodded and grabbed his bag, heading into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. Skinner stood staring at the closed door for a moment longer. For once he wasn't worried that Mulder would take off on his own. He was more concerned the man would collapse from sheer exhaustion before they got a hit. But, until there was a hit, and a place to starte looking, Mulder would stay right here -- right where he had the only chance of finding Scully. He rolled his shoulders, both hands coming up to knead the muscles knotted there. He needed to work out some of his own tension. He'd go check in at the main command room, and then see if the hotel had a gym. ****************************************** Mulder came out of the shower only marginally refreshed, but still feeling better. He pulled on clean jeans, and towel dried his hair. With hair still damp and the towel draped round his neck and over his bare chest, he exited the bathroom. He was surprised to see the room was empty, but moved straight to the computer and began to review the possibles that had come up during his shower. He was scrolling down the pitifully short list, growing more worried with each negative hit, when the computer chirped. He had mail. A quick review of the note from Byers showed that the boys had found the bolt hole. An large old house on the river -- it was on the register of historic landmarks and had been used by smugglers over 100 years ago. Most recently it had owned by a Colombian drug cartel and used for drug smuggling and gun running. There were extensive underground storage rooms, and several tunnels that led down to the river. It hadn't shown up on any of the lists because it was currently the property of the United States Government -- taken in the raid that shut down this particular arm of the drug cartel. Mulder smiled. It had taken some slick work to dig this up. He looked around for Skinner, puzzled that the AD wasn't there waiting, then shook his head and finished dressing. It was a quick trip to the meeting room. He checked in with the rest of the team and was told Skinner was working out in the gym. Conscience warred with practicality for about 2 seconds, and then Mulder had the keys to a car and was gone. ********************************************* She was loose when she came to again. He'd released her once before, then gloried in chasing her down. Her injured ankle hobbled her more securely than any bond, and he had easily caught her, tackling her to the ground. She'd fought with the strength of a captured animal, and had begun to get the better of him -- he was larger but she had pure rage and some very specific hand-to-hand training on her side. She'd had him down, was straddling him and beating his head against the floor, when she felt the prick of his needle and the paralysis slowly slid over her. Now, when she came to again, she was battered, bloody, and bruised. But she was, nonetheless, free of restraints. She rolled from her back to her knees, fighting dizziness and knelt there, head hanging down as she tried to pull herself together and get to her feet. Standing was problematic; the ankle was still swollen almost twice it's normal size. Not broken, but very severely sprained. The lantern sputtered as she slowly pulled herself up, clutching the wall for balance. She looked around, then grabbed the lantern and began moving. It was slow progress, and she frequently had to rest. She used the walls for support as she made her way back through the entry that Priest had used. It was some network of caverns, one room after another with smaller alcoves off to the sides. As she limped through the tunnels, she watched for Priest, stopping to listen carefully every few steps. The alcoves would make possible hiding places, but she didn't want to hide -- she wanted to get out. The fifth 'room' she came to had a wooden floor and real walls. It also had a trap door in the ceiling. Unfortunately, there was no ladder leading up and out so she was still trapped. She shone the light about looking for anything that might provide a way out. She smelled something, and wiped her bloody nose then sniffed the air again. It was the scent of blood. That unmistakable coppery smell floated in the air. It was too heavy to come from her -- she had grown accustomed to her own smell. This was something else -- something new. She took the lantern and made a circuit of the room, the odor intensifying before she saw the cause. In the far corner, hidden in the shadows was a body -- the body of a young woman. She appeared to be sleeping, crumpled on the floor, lying on her side, her arm flung over her face. As Scully held the light up, the girl was bathed in color, red on the walls and floor shouting their message of death. "Oh, God!" The cry was instinctive. He'd found someone else. She didn't approach right away -- she wanted to put she knew it wouldn't do any good. She'd seen enough death to know it when she saw it. There was nothing she could do for this girl except mourn. Somehow, she knew that Priest had taken this woman because he needed to kill -- and he didn't want to kill her yet. She took some time to reflect -- still trying vainly to understand what motivated this monster, Priest. Minutes later, much saddened at her inability to prevent this death, she went to the girl. She stayed there with her, touching her gently. Her emotions pushed away the intellectual part of her brain that screamed to stay away, don't mess with the evidence, let someone else piece this atrocity together. She was too close. But something wouldn't let her leave, wouldn't let her just walk away from this woman -- this innocent woman who had died for no other reason than Priest's need to kill conflicting with his need to keep her alive. She was tired, and in so much pain. And she was scared. Where was Mulder? Why hadn't they found Priest yet? If Priest wanted Mulder, wouldn't he have a left a trail? She stayed there, huddled on the floor, an emotional wreck who couldn't stop the tears, thinking that it should have been her. And then feeling guilty because she knew it would devastate Mulder if it had been her -- if it still turned out to be her. He'd never forgive himself, never get over it, if he didn't save her. God damn him! Her tears were rapidly turning to anger. Why did Mulder always have to set himself up to be the savior? Why did he have to torture himself when he couldn't save the world? And where did that pig-headed SOB get off thinking he was responsible for her being here? She'd gotten into this jam on her own and she was damn well going to get out. A slight cough from behind caused her to whirl around and claw her way to her feet. Priest was standing below the trap door, a rope ladder dangling behind him. "Some of that self-pity turning into rage, Agent Scully?" Without thinking, she launched herself at him, startling herself as much as she startled him. She caught him mid-chest and he tumbled backward, the small syringe he'd had concealed in his right hand skittering across the floor boards. Score one for pissed-off woman power, she thought as she tried to get an arm around his neck. But he was bigger -- taller and heavier -- and that translated to stronger. In a fight with someone her own size, male or female, she was always equal to the task and usually came out ahead. But when size entered the equation, unless the person had no skill in fighting at all, well, size mattered. He rolled his knees up, kicked out and she went flying across the room. Without his syringe, he'd lost some of his confidence and he opted to retreat, shimmying up the rope ladder. But she was right on his tail, following every step of the way. By the time he was out, she was at the opening, and she reached out, sweeping his legs from under him, laughing as he fell heavily. It bought her enough time to make it the rest of the way into the house. The door opened in a bedroom, and as she watched, Priest leapt over the bed, scrambling for something on the dresser. With a new syringe in hand, he circled around toward her. She jumped on the bed, lunging for the end in a mad attempt to slide by Priest, but she knew it wasn't soon enough, she wasn't close enough, and then Priest fell on her as she scrambled for the door and a chance to flee to safety. As she fell off the end of the bed, she twisted around, and a knee slammed into her back. The blow drove the wind out of her lungs, her face slammed into the uncarpeted floor. She was trying to breathe, trying to scream, pushing herself up on her knees, grunting, crawling toward the open doorway of the bedroom, a crab-like painful movement. Not gonna make it, not gonna make it. The defeatist words were an unbidden chant in her head, even as she continued her struggle to crawl out of the room and away from Priest. He was advancing on her now, the slow steady steps of a predator who knows it's caught its prey. She was in the hall now, just barely, and Priest seemed to be enjoying her slow-motion flight to freedom. He stayed far enough away to keep her moving, but close enough to keep the terror in her throat. As she dragged herself forward, she had the wildest thought that the front door was opening, crashing when powerful hands caught her. She kicked and gasped for air as Priest flipped her over to face him. His face loomed over hers -- shadowed in the darkened hall. She slammer her right arm straight up into his face, the blow glancing off a cheekbone. Priest flinched, and raised his arm both to block her blows and to strike. Scully's skin tightened painfully, waiting for the blow, and her head was slammed back against the wall. The light dimmed as she fought for consciousness -- her eyes watered, and the air was split by a mighty roar. Priest was suddenly gone, almost as if he'd reached the bottom of a bungee cord and was springing upward on the elastic band. There was an arm around his neck. Scully watched, stunned, trying to breathe, the breaths coming ragged and weak. She struggled to sit up against the wall, and then pushed herself away from Priest -- and the man who was struggling with him. Mulder! Her eyes were still watering -- her vision was murky at best. It was Mulder. But -- Where the hell was his backup? End Self Torment Story continues in Self Complete -- coming soon!