From xangst@frii.com Wed Oct 23 05:24:40 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER SIX Body Work and Unexpected Liaisons The small woman was much stronger than she looked, but after several blows, Jordan finally managed to pry her away from her protective posture, covering the man on the couch. He raised the gun, still clenched lengthwise in his fist, ready to deliver another blow to the focus of his anger. On the couch, the dazed, bleeding young man weakly lifted his arm in a useless attempt to protect himself. "Jordan, NO!!" Mitchell's booming voiced filled the room, demanding immediate and unconditional obedience. Jordan made no move to lower his hand. Shaking with fury, he glared at Mitchell. "Fox Mulder is the one who betrayed me ... took my thoughts and used them against me. He tracked me down like some common criminal. He's the one who recommended that I be put in that hell hole without possibility of reprieve." Jordan's voice turned low and dangerous. "You want your revenge Mitchell, I want mine." Still holding Melissa by the wrist, Mitchell moved next to Jordan. Melissa tried not to shrink back from the anger she felt emanating from these two, and the nearly visible crackling energy that stabbed back and forth between them. "Don't equate your sick revenge with my situation, Jordan," Mitchell sneered. "You chose to be what you were. What you got in the end, was what you asked for. Remember the trail of molested and mutilated childrens' bodies you left behind for him to follow? Agent Mulder is an honorable man -- something you know nothing about. He only did what he felt he was morally obligated to do, so don't kid yourself that we're the least alike. My revenge is directed at a dishonorable man, someone who knowingly made me into something less than human without my knowledge or consent." Mitchell stopped for a moment, struggling to contain the need that burned through his veins at the mere thought of his enemy. "I was transformed into a viscous animal that kills without reason or remorse...whose entire being contradicts the morality of the man I once was. No, I don't think our motives are remotely similar. Stop now, or I'll set the beast free. If you think you can shoot me before I kill you, then go ahead and gamble. You feeling lucky, Jordan?" Jordan stood silently for several minutes, weighing his chances at survival against Mitchell's threat . Mitchell was standing close enough that he could rip his throat out in only a couple of steps, probably before Jordan could even aim the gun. Now was not the time, he reasoned. Reluctantly Jordan lowered his hand to his side and stepped away from the couch, glaring explosively at Mulder in the process. Holding Melissa by her forearm, Mitchell slowly lowered her to a sitting position on the floor by the couch, then reached over and deftly removed the gun from Jordan's hand. Melissa sat silently rubbing her arm, her face pale from the mental shock of their argument. They want to kill each other, Melissa thought, but something was holding them back. She wondered how much longer her family could stay safe in the face of such madness and rage. Dana had seen her sister's torn clothing, the white and pasty look of shock on her face. At least she was still alive, Dana thought with some measure of relief. Melissa could wait -- Mulder couldn't. Taking the black bag that Mitchell proffered to her, Dana pulled out several lethal looking syringes. Her action elicited the expected reactions from Mulder, including the familiar cringe. Damn, she'd thought he'd be dazed enough not to notice. "Come on Mulder, don't act like a baby...especially around these guys," she whispered urgently. Thankfully, a soft whimper was his only reply. With Jordan temporarily subdued, Mitchell walked over to the couch, observing Dana as she worked. Dana watched in fascinated dread as Mitchell reached out and dreamily ran his finger down Mulder's bloodied face, bringing the fresh blood to his mouth, and removing it in a suckling manner. The thick, sticky substance was sweet and slightly salty to his taste and he felt the blood fever surge within his veins once more. "What's in the needles?" he asked Dana, eyes glowing with an unearthly light. "Just pain killers and a wide range antibiotic," she stammered, returning her gaze to Mulder who was in obvious distress. "What pain killer...specifically?" Mitchell pressed. "Demerol," Dana answered, confused by Mitchell's sudden interest in Mulder's medication. Without warning, Mitchell snatched the syringes from her hand and injected himself. Dana saw the tension in his features slowly ease until his face was almost normal in appearance. "Why did you do that?" Dana cried. "Mulder needs that medicine, and I don't have any more." Mulder grasped Dana's arm and gently squeezed it. "It's probably my guess that he needs it worse than I do," Mulder wheezed tiredly, glancing at Mitchell with a look that conveyed his understanding. "You...are a very perceptive man, Agent Mulder," Mitchell sighed, feeling his beast recede to a drug-induced shadow of its former self. He turned his head to look at Dana, and she was struck by the fact that Mitchell now looked no different than most of the agents she and Mulder worked with at the Bureau. "Please believe me," Mitchell told her, "his pain is nothing compared to what I'd become without this 'medication.' It's not a pretty sight." Mitchell motioned to Keith toward Margaret. "Untie her and see what she can cook up in the kitchen. I'm hungry." With a furtive glance at Jordan, Keith moved over to the couch and did what he was told. Once loose, Margaret reached down to Melissa, sitting on the floor at her feet, and stroked her hair, eyeing her with a mother's worried stare. Melissa tried to smile back at her mom, to reassure her that she was okay. Still smarting from the blow he'd received from Melissa, Keith broke them apart, pulling Margaret up from the couch and into the kitchen. Mitchell drew back the living room curtains, looking at the snowstorm raging outside. His eyes narrowed in though. Either we leave here now or we're gonna have to stay here until the storm breaks," Mitchell grumbled. He stared down at Mulder. "I don't think this one can travel so it looks like we're gonna stay awhile. We might as well get 'comfy.'" Dana took her suture kit out of her bag and noticed Mulder grimace in anticipation. "I'm sorry Fox. This is going to hurt like hell," she informed him while biting her lower lip. "Doesn't your mom have any Scotch Whiskey? Even the cowboys had whiskey or a bullet to bite , or a really cute horse to get their minds off things," he smirked, though the effect was dampened by the pain reflected in his eyes. Dana got up, eyes riveted by turns on Mitchell and then Jordan, waiting to see if either man would try and stop her. Apparently they knew what her intentions were because they allowed her to cross the room without interfering. Dana stopped in front of an antique liquor cabinet that had been her dad's pride and joy. Wherever he was stationed, this liquor cabinet went with him. She hoped her mom still kept the key in the same place. Reaching up to the top of the cabinet, she breathed a sigh of relief as her fingers touched the small brass key that opened the cabinet. She opened the doors to reveal a large selection of spirits -- the alcoholic type, she thought with an inappropriate giggle. God, the stress must be really getting to her. Stress, what stress? she argued with herself. I'm only about to stitch up the man I love with only a little alcohol to dull the pain. Piece of cake. Choosing a tall dark bottle, she returned to the couch and handed Mulder an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. "I was kidding," Mulder mumbled feebly. "I wasn't," Dana confided. "Drink it," she ordered. "I can't afford being drunk at a time like this," he said, disbelieving that she would actually make the suggestion. "Why not? I have no more painkillers to give you, Mulder. So you pass out from pain, or I reduce you to a drunken stupor. Either way the results will be the same, so shut up and drink it." There was no arguing with that woman once she'd made up her mind and he was just too worn out to fight with her about it. Reluctantly, Mulder took the bottle from her hand, fumbled awkwardly with the top, stubbornly refusing Dana's help to get the damn thing open. The first swig made his throat burn and set his stomach on fire. Fox Mulder was not much of a drinker. Cousin Katie had teased him often enough about that. The second swig made him feel light headed and dizzy and the third pushed him over the edge of sobriety. Oh, this was embarrassing. He was of Scottish decent and totally unable to handle 3 large swigs of American whiskey without getting looped. "Daaana," Mulder slurred, "don't tell...shhhhhsh," he shushed, trying to put his forefinger to his lips and missing comically. The way his head was wobbling, she was amazed that he even came close to finding his lips. His eyelids drooped slightly then snapped back open as an errant neuron decided to kick in and remind him that he was trying to say something. " Oh...yeah, Dooon't tell cousin Katie bout this...okay. Sheee'd never... lemme forget what a luuush I am," he burped none too gracefully. "Oops..." His eyes took on a semi - vacant glaze, as he gesture haphazardly through the air with the half empty bottle. "Mulder, I think you've had enough." Dana reached for the bottle several times before finally snatching it from his hand as it passed by her nose. Carefully, she set the whiskey down on the end table, next to Mulder's still full ashtray, and somehow she managed to fight back the bile that waited at the back of her throat as the pile of sunflower seeds attacked her senses once more. If this kept up, she thought ruefully, Mulder was gonna have to find a new favorite snack food, at least for a while anyway. She'd be damned if she was gonna hug the toilet every time he decided to indulge in bird seed. "Hey, hey...Scuuullllyyy," Mulder sang under his breath, his eyes mimicking those of a child who'd been contemplating forbidden thoughts. "Um...you...like....ah...lim..lim....limerks..limmerrs.." He paused momentarily, trying to get his tongue unstuck from behind his teeth. He gave up and found a different word that didn't require extensive tongue manipulations. "poems?" he finally blurted out. "Yes, I like poems very much," Dana said, humoring him. At least he'd forgotten about the needles. "Ya wanna hear one?" Mulder asked in a conspiring tone, his hand cupped around his mouth as he whispered into her ear.. "I jusss heard it the o--ther day...really...issa goood one. Agent..uh....wassis name told me...ya knoow Aggent wassis name, doon't you?" "Yes, Mulder, I do seem to recall an Agent Wassis name, but I don't want to hear a poem now, Okay? You need stitches...again," Dana explained patiently. "so hold still and be quiet." "Aaahhh come on, Daaana. Juss one? " he pleaded. She could see the puppy dog eyes being put on standby. "Okay, Mulder...just one. Then you promise to be good...right?" "Uh huh... Here is it is," he said proudly with one of the most uncoordinated smiles she'd ever seen grace his handsome face. "Theerrre once was a...man...um...he was fromm uh...Kent, Ah....wait a minnute...yeah...I remember. Whose....dick was increbdib..incredbid...encribdibly..." "Incredibly!!!" Dana yelled out, unable to endure the wait. Jesus, at this rate they were all gonna usher in the new century with this awful piece of rhyming Americana. "Thass it, Dana...you know him?" he asked with a voice cracking like an adolescent teenager. He stupidly arched one eyebrow and muttered incoherently for several seconds, then pouted childishly. "Oh, now I haave to start oover." "No...Mulder, just start from where you left off," she suggested forcefully. "Wheerre's that?" "Incredibly," she offered. "Thas right, Um....bent. .. To stay outta troouble, He um...stuck it in double..and ...uh.. Shit, what waas it....Oh yeah, and instead of cooming... he...ah.....Went!!!! Ahhhh hahaha, Daaana....goood one huh????" he giggled as he reached up without warning and playfully pinched her right breast. "Mulder!!!" She lightly slapped his misbehaving hand back down to his side, attempting an unsuccessful glare. Any other time she would have welcomed his attentions but he sure picked one hell of time to get amorous. "Uh oh...I've beeen a baadd boy, hmmm??" "Yes...very bad," she agreed with a slight smile. " But I'll forgive you if you just put your arms down, lie still, and be quiet." Dana firmly grasped Mulder's shoulders and gently helped him lower himself back down to a prone position on the couch. He hadn't exactly passed out but hopefully he was thoroughly ripped enough not to feel too much pain. Dana felt the color flush to her cheeks. Holy Christ Almighty, she thought, unbelievingly. Only Mulder could have the audacity to tell her a blue limerick and totally embarrass her in front of not one, but two fricking criminally insane killers who just happened to be holding them hostage. She put her face in her hands and slowly shook her head. God, she loved this idiot. Dana raised her eyes to Mitchell who stood towering above her like a fortress wall. She expected the worst but was totally unprepared by what she thought she saw. Was that tormented demon of a man....did she actually see him...smile? Unable to decide exactly what she saw, she decided to let it drop and moved on to more immediate concerns. Dana motioned toward her sister who still sat at the foot of the couch, clutching her blouse tightly across her chest. Melissa still looked like she was in shock, but Dana had no alternatives. "I need her help to hold Mulder still," she explained to Mitchell. Melissa's head shot up immediately at her sister's words. "I ...can't do that," she uttered with frightened uncertainty. The thought of restraining another human being for the express purpose of inflicting pain made her physically ill. She knew it would be for Mulder's own good, but that fact really did little to alleviate her anxiety in the matter. Her sister's request was even more upsetting due to the fact that this wasn't just *any* human being. This was someone she cared about. The vision of Mulder writhing in pain beneath her hands was too horrible to contemplate. Melissa slowly shook her head 'no'. "Dana, I...just can't do it." she cried mournfully. Melissa's felt her face grow hot even though the room had chilled. She felt like a coward. Dana needed her help. Fox needed her help and what was her response? Sorry, no can do. Grow up, Melissa, she thought angrily. This is the real world, about as real as it gets. And in the real world just wishing for something won't make it so. Sometimes you have to do things you think you aren't capable of. You have to draw on an inner strength you never knew you had, just to get by. Look at Dana, she was doing that. Melissa knew the last thing Dana ever wanted to do was to hurt Fox, but she also knew that her sister loved him enough to do whatever she had to in order to help him, regardless of how she felt about it. Perhaps that's why Dana was with him and she wasn't, Melissa mused, shamefully surprised at the slight tinge of latent jealousy that accompanied her train of thought. She bowed her head humbly and purged that thought from her mind. "Please, Melissa," Dana pleaded, "I need you. You don't even have to look, just hold him down." Stiffly nodding her head, Melissa slowly got up from the floor and positioned herself by Mulder's head, gently placing her hands on the side of his face. At her touch, he opened one drowsy eye and grinned at her. She stroked his cheek, careful to avoid the blood on his face, and he closed his eye again, drifting off into a whiskey induced slumber. Dana began carefully cleaning the blood from around his head wound and Melissa felt her stomach turn over. She couldn't watch this. She closed her eyes as she carefully applied enough pressure to immobilize him. Satisfied that the wound was as clean as it was going to get, Dana pulled out what looked like a tiny upholstery needle threaded with suture that resembled the wispy silk of a spider's web. She took her time and painstakingly placed each suture through the soft fine skin, drawing the edges of the cut into a fine, thin line. Melissa did well holding Mulder's head in place, and to his credit he did little more than whimper and try to flinch away from the pain. Still, when she finished with his head wound, she was fighting back hot tears. Not now, she told herself. You're not done yet. She moved methodically down his body, repairing what she could. His temporary acquiescence to Mitchell long forgotten, Jordan stormed through the room, anger, and hatred, leaping from his eyes like a static charge. "Why in the hell are you allowing this, Mitchell? You say you need him alive for *your* mission...Okay, I'll buy that. But I'm telling you, it's a waste of time to fix him up and make him pretty cause when you're done with him...I'm gonna tear him apart. You got that, Mitchell?" Mitchell didn't bother to answer Jordan. All his ranting and raving had become tiresome. He looked down at Agent Fox Mulder and suddenly realized how difficult it would be to kill him. In a strange sort of way, he was quite certain that he like the man...he was also quite certain that he did *not* like Jordan. With his drugged beast out of the way for now, feelings that he had not expected to encountered were making once clear objectives more difficult to justify. Taking advantage of the opportunity Jordan had inadvertently given her by distracting Mitchell, Melissa leaned forward as she braced herself down on Mulder's shoulders. "I have your gun," she whispered nervously to her sister. "What?" Dana silently motioned with her lips. "I have your gun. It's in my skirt pocket," Melissa whispered, allowing hope to shine from her eyes. She repositioned herself closer to Dana and as her sister reached down to the black bag on the floor, Dana slid her hand skillfully into Melissa's pocket, retrieving the weapon and placing it under the sofa cushion. "It was a good try," Dana quietly sighed, "but the clip is in the night stand on the other side of the bed....the children...I couldn't leave it loaded." "What are you two whispering about," Jordan asked with a sharpness in his voice that set Dana's teeth on edge. "We were just saying that we thought a nice sweater would feel pretty good right now. It's getting a little chilly in here," Dana explained warily, pointing to the goose flesh that suddenly appeared on Mulder's bare chest. Nice timing, Sherlock, she thought affectionately as she pulled the blanket up and tucked it protectively around him. Mulder groaned slightly and hugged the blanket to his chest. He'd finally passed out, either from the pain or the whiskey. One thing was certain -- he was going to have one hell of a hangover. Jordan considered her statement. He had to agree that it did seem to be a few degrees cooler than it was even just a few minutes before. The temperature must be dropping quickly outside, he reasoned. "So, Doc, where do you keep your winter 'attire,' " Jordan asked in a sarcastic tone. "Upstairs. I could get a couple of sweaters for you. Mulder has some that I know ...Keith, that's his name, right...Keith can wear and maybe you. My father's might fit him," she said, gesturing toward Mitchell. "Speaking of Keith. What the hell is taking so long in there?" Jordan turned toward the kitchen. "Move your ass, Keith! A man could starve to death ..." he bellowed impatiently. Margaret winced at the sound of Jordan's voice. She was surprised to see the same reaction on Keith's face. He's afraid of this man, she thought to herself. So afraid, yet he admires him, wants to be like him. This poor soul, in his somewhat demented logic, must have erroneously picked that man as a role model or maybe even a father figure. Perhaps if she could talk to him, she could make him see that he was being used. It couldn't hurt to try. "Does that man frighten you, dear?" she asked Keith in her most motherly voice. She didn't challenge him by staring at him. Instead she kept her eyes on the sandwiches she was cutting in half and placing on the plate. Keith was startled that this woman would start a conversation with him. She must know what he'd tried to do to her daughter. Maybe, unlike his own mother, she understood sanctuary too. Understood the kindness and selflessness of what he'd tried to do, understood that he was trying to offer salvation to her daughter. Surely that was something a mother would want for her child. Keith responded to something in her voice, a tone that made him feel warm and safe just like he used to feel a long, long time ago. "Oh, nooo ma'am," Keith replied with enthusiasm, "Jordan doesn't scare me. He's my savior...Jordan knows everything. He'll take us to sanctuary and we'll be safe. You know, he can take your sins into himself and make you clean, prepare you for salvation. Yes he can." Keith smiled reassuringly, his face transformed with the fanatically glazed look of a religious zealot. "And how does he do that?" Margaret asked, returning the leftover sandwich makings to the refrigerator. To her amazement, Keith blushed. "Oh, ma'am, I don't know if I can tell you that, at least not specifically. But Jordan has to be...ah..'joined' ... with the person he's cleansing when they die. That way their sins pass into his body and they can leave this world pure and clean." Keith's implication was clear. Margaret had no trouble imagining exactly how Jordan performed these 'cleansings', and she tried not to let her disgust show on her face. Maybe she could reason with Keith. Surely he couldn't really believe in such a thing. Margaret touched the top of his hand and patted it lightly. "No mortal being can atone for the sins of another, Keith. That is something each person must come to terms with, within themselves." "That's blasphemy!" Keith uttered in a harsh gasp, his eyes hardening into two dark empty pits. She didn't understand after all. Just like his mother -- just like everyone else. She didn't understand, didn't believe. She'd tried to trick him. He should have known better than to listen to her soothing tones. "Hurry up, Jordans waiting." Keith roughly pushed her through the doorway nearly making her spill the plate's contents on the floor. Barely managing to keep her balance, she passed the food out to Jordan and Mitchell. Staring down at Mulder, she concluded that he wasn't in any shape to eat as passed him by. She offered a sandwich to Melissa, who politely refused. After holding Mulder down and watching her sister stitch him up, Melissa didn't think she'd ever get her appetite back. Dana also shook her head 'no' to the food. Dana quietly told her mother that she was sick to her stomach and needed her antacid in the night stand on the *right* side of the bed, should she find herself in a position to get it. Margaret read her daughter well. Dana wanted something in the night stand but she knew that whatever it was it most certainly wasn't an antacid. "Jordan, I'm cold," Keith complained like a whining child. "We were just discussing that," Jordan replied. He looked over to Dana and came to a decision. "The bitch says there are sweaters upstairs. I vote we go get em'" Dana started to move toward the stairs but Jordan raised his hand, effectively stopping her forward motion. "No, not you, Florence Nightingale. I don't trust you. We already know Keith can't handle that one," he added, pointing at Melissa. Keith's cheeks burned bright with the memory of his humiliation. "No, I want her to go," Jordan motioned with a flourish of his hand at Margaret, indicating that she was to go upstairs with Keith. Keith, however, showed a reluctance to go with her. He couldn't usher this one into paradise. She was too much like what he'd wished his own mother could be. She frightened him. "What the hell's the matter with you?" Jordan demanded, noticing Keith's apprehension. Take grandma there upstairs and pick out a few nice warm sweaters. Or would you rather stand there and freeze your ass off?" Jordan stood glaring at Keith. He didn't like having to repeat himself and he sure as hell never thought he'd have any trouble with Keith, of all people. Keith shook his head "no" and turned toward the stairs. In the end Keith Reese feared Jordan more than Margaret Scully. With Margaret leading the way, they slowly climbed the stairs and entered Dana's bedroom. Margaret crossed the room to the closet where she spied Dana and Mulder's things hanging up neatly side by side, all mixed in together. That simple fact spoke volumes to Margaret of just how close her daughter was to this shy, often quiet and cerebral young man. She found herself briefly wondering why they didn't make their obvious commitment to each other official. Maybe once they all got out of this mess, she would have time to talk to Dana about that. Giving herself a mental shake, she pulled out two of Mulder's sweaters. They smelled clean and fresh with just a hint of musk that she recognized as Mulder's own warm, unique scent. It was strangely reassuring. Draping the sweaters over one arm, she bent over the night stand. "Dana wanted me to get her antacid," she explained to Keith as she pulled open the drawer. Thankfully he stayed on the other side of the room, so she was able to use her body to partially block her actions. She held up the roll of tablets with one hand to show Keith, briefly wondering to herself why her daughter had started taking these things. Maybe their adventure on the cruise ship had left Dana with lingering physical problems. Margaret hoped it was nothing serious. She deftly slipped the ammo clip from the drawer into her other hand which was conveniently covered with sweaters. Keith kept glancing out the bedroom door, half afraid that Jordan or even worse, Mitchell, would come bounding up the stairs telling him that he was taking too long. In his haste to complete his assignment and leave with his dignity intact, Keith hadn't noticed Margaret's extra little movement. Margaret handed Keith one of the sweaters as they passed through the doorway and back down the hall. She watched as he slipped it on, trying desperately to think of a plan. Margaret knew that soon she would have to relinquish the other sweater to Jordan Chambers and in doing so, reveal the 9mm clip that she held in the palm of her left hand. She had no pockets. Now what? "Wait," Keith said abruptly, grabbing her shoulder. "What about Mitchell? We need one for him too, remember?" He looked at the other closed doors leading off the hallway. "Which room, grandma?" Margaret stopped in her tracks. The idea of one of these animals wearing anything that had belonged to her husband was repugnant, but she knew Mulder's clothes would never fit Mitchell and the last thing she wanted to do was get something of Bill's and alert them that another man was supposed to be here. The Captain would want us to survive, she reasoned, and he'd have given these thugs the shirt off his own back if he'd thought that it would help. Margaret nodded to her own bedroom door. "In there," she said. "I couldn't bring myself to give away all of my husband's things after he died. I think I still have a few of his sweaters in my closet." Moving through the doorway to her bedroom, Margaret noticed the broken door frame and the heel marks on her door. Melissa must have locked herself in here, she thought. But why? Margaret kept no weapons in her bedroom. Surely Melissa must have known that. She opened her closet door and began rummaging around on the top shelf for the sweaters. She knew there were a couple up here someplace. Margaret frowned up at the shelf. Something was missing. It took her a second before it registered...the Captain's flag was gone. It must have been Melissa, but what in the world had she done with it? Margaret resisted the urge to look around the room for the flag, concentrating instead on bringing a sweater down from the shelf. Slowly closing the closet door, Margaret noticed the drapes by her window moving slightly. Now that she thought about it, the room did seem to have a bit of a draft. Looking closely through the sheer inner drapes that covered her window, she caught just a glimpse of dark red in between the window pane and the sill. Good girl, Margaret thought with an inner smile. She turned and walked briskly out of the room before Keith could notice the draft. Walking down the stairs, Margaret focused on her own dilemma.. She frantically searched for a convenient yet accessible spot to ditch the item that could possibly save their lives. The solution to her problem loomed ahead of her like a neon sign screaming, 'deposit clip here.' As she neared the bottom of the stairs, Margaret slowed her steps to an annoying snail's pace which prompted Keith to shove her forward roughly. Feigning a misstep, she bumped into the plant at the foot of the stairs and a gray metallic object silently dropped into the pot of dirt. ***** end part six From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 24 02:29:08 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************ CHAPTER SEVEN Revelations Bill Scully glanced at his watch anxiously one more time. He couldn't believe how much time he'd spent on a simple little grocery expedition. But then again the drive into town had been hazardous and it had taken him nearly an hour just to get to the store. Now he'd already spent another two hours in the grocery store trying to find all the items on the list his mom had given him. Well hell, it wasn't his fault this excursion was taking so long. He hardly ever did the grocery shopping -- his wife usually handled that chore -- and after all these years he still found it nearly impossible to decipher his mom's handwriting into anything remotely legible. The Scully children had probably been the only ones who'd never been able to fake a note from their parents to get out of school. None of them had ever been able to come even close to his mom's scrawl. Bill never had known how his teachers were able to decipher what his mom had written. He held the paper sideways and upside-down before irrationally tossing the note into the cart. "Might as well be Egyptian hieroglyphics," he complained irritably. Finally giving up, he pushed the cart enthusiastically toward the far end of the store. "Pretzels and beer" he muttered happily. Okay, it wasn't on the list--at least he didn't think it was-- but then again, who knew? That last entry kinda looked a little like pretzels and beer if you held it at just the right angle. He knew where to find those particular items and he had a sneaking suspicion that his new pal, Mulder, would appreciate his creative inspirational interpretation of his mom's written word. In fact, if he knew his mom and sisters as well as he thought he did, the poor guy would probably *need* a cold beer by the time Bill got back. When he got right down to it, he felt just a little guilty for deserting Mulder and leaving him in the 'enemy' camp, but as long as they were bothering Mulder, they wouldn't be pestering him. He shuddered, remembering the few times that he'd been sick. Jesus, he grinned to himself, they've probably mothered the poor bastard to death by now. Scully women were notoriously annoying that way. Although he didn't really know Mulder that well, he still felt a genuine affection for the man. Mulder was a kindred spirit, someone he felt comfortable with. From some of the stories he'd heard, he hadn't been exactly sure what to expect. He was pleasantly surprised and relieved, however, to find that aside from an odd professional specialization and a few off beat ideas, Mulder was a fairly normal, likable fellow. Bill grinned and shook his head. Reaching what he considered to be his favorite part of the grocery store, Bill grabbed two 'party pak ' size pretzel bags and a case of beer, snatched an extra large bag of David's sunflower seeds off the rack, and put them all in the cart with the rest of the groceries, then went off in search of the shortest check out line he could find. Damn, if a short check out line was a wild animal, they'd be on the endangered species list. The snow was really coming down. Bill had to scrape at least four inches of the heavy white stuff off the back of the car just to get the trunk open, and the sparse traffic in front of the store was moving along the street at a snail's pace. It looks like we're gonna be in for a good one, he thought. For once the weatherman seemed to be on target. While loading the bags into the car, he decided that perhaps he should stock up on a few extra household supplies, just in case. Anyway, none of the frozen stuff was going to melt out here if he took a few extra minutes. Closing the trunk, he walked back to the shopping center and into a hardware store a couple of doors down from the supermarket. Hardware stores fascinated him...always had. There were always so many interesting things to discover and he had always been a tinkerer at heart. His dad had been much the same way, always setting up a little workshop no matter where the family had been stationed. He'd spent a lot of hours with the Captain, at least when he wasn't away on assignment, learning the proper way to use the proper tool for the proper job. And they were always coming out with new little gadgets. Bill pushed a cart up and down the aisles, snagging a few things he thought he might need, but mostly just looking at what was available, mentally filing the information away for future reference. When he finally looked at his watch, he gasped in surprise at the time. Oh shit! It was after 3:00 o' clock. He hadn't meant to spend nearly an hour walking the aisles. Mom was gonna kill him. Belay that...she was gonna tongue lash him , skin him alive, and then kill him. He remembered how hard the snow was falling. He'd be lucky if he made it back before dinner. What was he thinking? Tonight's dinner was in the back seat of his car. Oh boy, he'd really screwed up this time. His hardware purchases paid for, Bill headed toward the shopping center's main exit, walking quickly and muttering under his breath. As he passed by a TV repair shop, something on one of the TV sets in the window caught his eye. The bright blue logo of a local network affiliate shown in the corner of the screen next to the words "Special Bulletin." But that wasn't what first attracted his attention. It was the picture of the car that filled the frame. He'd seen that car somewhere... he was sure of it...and recently, too. Bill stopped and stared at the screen, racking his brain for a memory that eluded him. He'd nearly given up when a sudden revelation brought the recollection into focus. He'd seen that cart just a few hours ago on his way to town, parked by the lake on the Old Mill Road not more than a quarter of a mile from his house. Running inside the store, Bill turned up the volume on the first TV set he encountered, much to the chagrin of the shopkeeper. He listened intently as the local anchorman spun the tale of horror that surrounded that particular vehicle. As he listened, a series of involuntary shakes raced through Bill's body. Though he'd never been one to subscribe wholeheartedly to his mom and sister's 'talents,' there was no getting around what he was experiencing. He had a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling indeed. Using the store's phone, Bill immediately phoned his mom's house. The line was dead. His stomach tied in knots. He tried Dana's cellphone number--ditto. As a last resort, he finally called the police, who in turn notified the FBI. Local police and FBI agents assigned to the case descended on the sleepy little shopping center in a matter of minutes. Bill's morale had deteriorated quickly but not as quickly as the weather outside. From the time he'd called the police and the time they'd arrived, the wind had grown into a monstrous howl, blowing snow across the ground in great white sheets. The storm had finally hit with all its fury. Bill could barely glimpse his car in the parking lot, and what he did manage to see made his heart sink. The car was now buried in a good foot of snow, and it was still coming down fast and furious. The roads in town must be nearly impassable by now, and there was no way anyone would be able to get out to his family tonight. Bill's first instinct was to find the nearest snowmobile and head out to his mom's, snow or no damn snow. But a calmer part of his brain insisted that once he left town, he would lose his bearings in all that blowing whiteness. There was no choice but to wait for a break in the storm. Bill joined the officers and FBI agents when they retreated to a local precinct. Even with tire chains, the patrol cars skidded and slid along the streets which were now all but deserted of traffic. Bill saw a snow plow pass his patrol car, the yellow warning lights reflecting dully off the falling snow. The plow was barely keeping up. Whatever was going on at mom's, no one was going in or out in all this mess. He muttered a long forgotten prayer asking for their safety, hoping that God was still listening to him after all these years. Once at the precinct, Agents Hestor and McGuire led Bill to a small warm room and offered him a hot cup of coffee, then began the task of trying to sort out exactly what they were up against. Agent Hestor watched Bill Scully bring his coffee cup up to his mouth, noticing the tremor in the man's hands and the haunted look in his eyes. This guy is really upset, Hestor thought. Maybe this time they had a solid lead. He walked slowly across the room and placed his hand gently on Bill's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I know you've probably gone through this once already, Mr. Scully, but I want you to start again from the beginning," Hestor told him calmly. "Nobody's going anywhere tonight, so take your time and tell us what you saw." Bill put his coffee cup down and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay," he said, blowing out an unsteady breath while he tried to organize his thoughts. "I heard about this storm heading in, and I'd used up all the eggs this morning, so I told mom that I'd go to town for supplies just in case we got snowed in." "Who's we?" McGuire asked. "Me, my two kids, my mom, my two sisters, and my sister's partner," Bill replied. "A family reunion?" Hestor inquired. Underneath his bland question, aimed mainly at getting the guy calmed down enough to remember details that would be helpful to them, Hestor was keeping a mental count of the males and females stuck alone out in that house, not to mention little kids. Depending on the sex of this 'partner,' the odds didn't look too good right about now. A house full of women and little children alone in a snowstorm, and somewhere out there in all that snow were three monsters who preyed on women and children. Shit. "No, no, nothing like that. Just a chance for mom to get most of her kids in one spot at one time. Sometimes things just work out that way." Geez, Bill thought, I hope I don't sound as stupid to these guys as I sound in my own head. He had a sudden image of Matt and Meredith, alone and frightened, and suddenly he didn't care how stupid he sounded. God, just help my kids, he prayed. "Okay, so I was on my way into town," Bill continued. "I had just gone about a quarter mile down the road when I saw the car parked near the lake. I really didn't think too much about it at the time. I mean, people park their cars there and go fishing all the time, so I thought it was just some diehard who didn't want to leave the ice even with a storm blowing in." "Anybody in the car?" McGuire asked. Bill shook his head. "No. I didn't see anyone." When McGuire didn't ask anything else, Bill continued on with his story. "I did my shopping and I was going by the TV shop when I saw that same car in the news bulletin, so I rushed inside and listened to the news report. I tried to call home but the lines were dead and my sister's cell phone wasn't working, so I called the police." "Mr. Scully, how did you know that it was the same car?" ask McGuire, genuine curiosity crossing her face. "Oh, that's easy, I remember the license plate. My sister has been lecturing me for years about being more observant. She's an FBI agent too. She's at the house along with her partner. He was hurt pretty bad on their last case and well, he's not a very good patient so they sent him home with her. She's a doctor. If these men are there...they could be in real trouble." "What's your sisters name?" asked Agent McGuire. "Dana Scully. Her partner's name is Fox Mulder," Bill added. They hadn't asked about Mulder, but Bill figured that was going to be the next question, and he was trying to be as helpful as he could. "Shit!," exclaimed Hestor. "Get on the phone to Washington. I want every record they have on Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. You better put in a call to Assistant Director Skinner too." "You believe him?" McGuire asked softly, skeptical after all the false leads they'd investigated all day. "You bet your ass I do," Hestor replied crossly. "I went to the academy with Spooky Mulder. He's a little out in left field, but dedicated, a decent guy, and one hell of an agent. I heard they stuck him with a partner a few years ago to keep an eye on him but I couldn't remember who. Now I remember. Anybody who can keep up with Mulder has to be a damn good agent in her own right, and if that's her brother," Hestor added, nodding toward Bill, "yeah, I believe him when he says he saw the license plate." McGuire left the room. Hestor poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and began pacing, counting off the seconds that ticked by at a maddeningly slow rate and glaring at the snowflakes that blew by the room's small window. Bill Scully sat staring morosely into his coffee cup, not seeing the muddy brown contents but a mental movie of the life and times of the Scully family, the birth of his children and their bright, happy faces as they ran out to play in the snow only that morning. Both men looked up when McGuire returned about a half hour later looking grim. "We've got a potentially explosive situation here if these men are in that house, Hestor." Bill, overhearing their conversation, got up so quickly he almost knocked over his coffee. "What potentially explosive situation?" he demanded. McGuire stared at Bill Scully, trying to make up her mind whether to include him in the conversation. What the hell, she thought. It's his family -- he's got a right to know. "We already knew that all of the escaped prisoners are violently psychopathic, and as if that's not bad enough, we have a new problem now. One of the escapees was originally apprehended and put away due to information provided in a profile created by Agent Fox Mulder, Ph.D.. He was witness to and signed the commitment papers for one..." McGuire paused to look at the printout, "Jordan Chambers. Hestor, this animal was a real sicko back then, and I don't place much stock in the state's efforts at rehabilitation" She turned her head slightly and lowered her voice. "Hestor, this one could get real messy, real fast," she murmured, trying to keep Bill Scully from overhearing her last remark. Hestor nodded imperceptibly, agreeing with her assessment. "Did Mulder testify against this guy?" he asked. "No," McGuire replied. "That's one thing we have going for us. Chambers never actually saw him. But if Chambers discovers that Mulder's written affidavits were instrumental in his sentencing..." McGuire didn't have to finish her sentence. None of them had any trouble visualizing what would happen to the Scully family if Chambers found out it was Mulder who had put him away. Walter Skinner finished his last file review for the day, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes while trying to remove the endless clutter of carefully typewritten words from his brain. It didn't help. He placed the last file neatly on top of the others in his out basket and unconsciously straightened the few personal items that adorned his desk.. Some days this job with its endless bureaucratic bullshit could really wear a person down. Had he known long ago that accepting advancement would mean greater, not lesser, frustration he might have opted to remain a field agent. At least then he could feel like he was doing something meaningful, instead of constantly walking a tightrope over an endless shark-filled sea with no safety net to catch him if he fell. His mouth quirked in a small, fatalistic grin -- getting fanciful in your old age, Walter, he chided himself. Actually his situation at the Bureau felt more like getting caught in the jungle with snipers behind every tree and no one to cover your back. Well, pondering 'what if's' certainly is getting me nowhere fast, he thought. At least he'd managed to avoid any major crisis today...big jungle, small bullets, and today none had found their mark. A quick workout in the gym would clear his head, even though at the moment working out was the last thing in the world he really wanted to do. Skinner sighed tiredly as he got up to retrieve his suit coat from the back of the chair when the phone rang. Don't answer it, his inner voice tempted him. He paused, staring at the phone, then quieted the temptation just to leave with a muttered, "shut up." He picked up the receiver and listened for several minutes. ******* continued in 7b From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 24 02:29:44 1996 Sanctuary part seven continues.... "Shit!!!" Skinner rumbled angrily, hanging up the phone. He stared out his office window at the dark D.C. night, absently rubbing his lower lip as he pondered what he'd just been told. What was it with his wayward pair of agents. Why in the hell did every crisis always seem to involve them and why did he care. Well that's a stupid question, his inner voice ragged at him. In fact, that's probably the dumbest question you've asked yourself in longer than you can remember. Those two particular agents remind you a lot of yourself before all of this bureaucratic nonsense and political manipulation took over your life. He stood silently, looking about his office...all neat, tidy and official, and more than likely... bugged. The answer to the world's stupidest question was that Walter Skinner cared because he had a lot more in common with Fox Mulder than he'd ever like to admit to anyone, especially himself. Now an old case had come back to haunt him...and Mulder. A particularly unsavory case. A brief memory passed through his mind, a memory of a new, young agent hell bent on saving the world. He was idealistic, incredibly naive, unrelentingly stubborn, and undeniably...brilliant. Skinner had watched as this young man threw everything he had, mind, body, and soul, into his work. In fact, he seemed to use his work as conduit to alleviate some vague feeling of guilt that haunted an otherwise enlightened spirit. Whatever his motivation, there was no question that this kid got results. Along with others both in and outside the Bureau, Skinner had admired Fox Mulder. At that time Walter Skinner had just been appointed Assistant Director, the youngest ever to hold the position. One of his first administrative decisions had been to put this young agent in the Violent Crimes Section because of his uncanny ability to get inside the heads of these monsters who created the bulk of the work in the VCS. Skinner didn't understand how it worked, but it did work, and most importantly, it got those miserable excuses for humanity off the streets. Skinner had been content to let Agent Mulder do his job in his own unique way, but he'd neglected the human side of the equation, concentrating instead on the numbers, that high 'case solved' ratio that would reflect well on Skinner's own ability to do *his* job. Skinner and Mulder -- they'd both been on the fast track within the Bureau. With twenty-twenty hindsight, Skinner now knew that he'd neglected to see the pain each new case inflicted upon Mulder's own psyche..until the unforgettable case of Jordan Chambers. Somehow Mulder had gotten so empathetically wound up in this ogre's head that before he'd finally managed to capture the fiend, the man's mind had physically made the agent ill. Still Mulder had hung on, refusing to quit, refusing to sleep, nearly refusing to eat until Chambers had been caught and placed behind bars. When Skinner had gone to personally congratulate his shining star agent, he'd been shocked by the young man's appearance. Finally realizing that each case had become too personal for Mulder, that he felt each death was his responsibility, Skinner decided to pull Mulder out of violent crimes and assign him to the x-files that he'd requested the month before. He'd almost made that decision too late. In the time since, however, he'd begun to wonder if serial killers would have been a safer bet. At least with them, you knew who your enemies were. Now, one of Mulder's own personal horrors, Jordan Chambers, was loose and quite possibly with Mulder at this moment. Skinner decided that storm or no storm, he'd make the trip himself. It was the least he could do. Margaret pushed herself awkwardly away from the dark green elephant ear house plant at the foot of the stairs, brushing dirt off of her hands and reassuring her worried daughters that she was okay. Regaining her balance, she offered the remaining sweater to Jordan, reverting back into her timid, subservient grandmother mode. If they wanted to think of her as a helpless, frightened female...let them. Perhaps they wouldn't perceive her as a threat. That would be *their* mistake. Jordan grabbed the sweater out of her arms, his disgust at her clumsiness written plainly on his face. Margaret's mask of submissive acceptance slipped only briefly as her eyes flashed, revealing the anger that she'd kept so carefully hidden. Her rage welled up within her as the images of what these men had done to her family flooded her mind -- her grandchildren huddled fearfully against the living room wall, Melissa's haunted look of shock, Dana's injured shoulder, and Fox, poor Fox, unconscious and bleeding on the hallway floor. So much violence...how could anyone deal with so much violence, especially within the sanctity of your own home? The visions playing in her head at an ever-increasing speed threatened to overwhelm her sanity. No, she berated herself gently, no, you can't afford the luxury of 'losing it' now. Holding it together could possibly be their only chance for survival here and she wasn't going to blow it by falling apart at the seams. The mask fell back into place as Margaret moved over to the couch and placed a trembling hand lightly on Dana's shoulder. Wincing slightly at her mother's touch, Dana didn't cry out but lifted her worried eyes toward her mother's face, then turned her attention back to Mulder as she continued to gently probe the darkening discoloration that was expanding over Mulder's right 7th and 8th ribs. On her cursory examination of him earlier, she had checked his lungs, heart, and bowel sounds and found everything fairly normal, considering what he'd been through. The slight bruising she'd detected was to be expected for someone who'd been slammed to the floor with such force as he had, so she had disregarded it as just a bruise and let it go. But it wasn't just a bruise. When she'd sutured his reopened wounds, she'd noticed the light bruise had begun to blacken and spread. Now it seemed to cover most of the right side of his chest. Well, she finally had an inkling as to where the blood in his mouth had probably originated. Evidently, when Mitchell had driven his knee into Mulder's kidney, he'd also driven a fractured lower rib against his liver as well. A laceration of the liver could be a serious thing and without x-rays it would be difficult to assess the injury. However, she noted with relief, that the bleeding had been minimal and had already stopped. Chances were pretty good that the damage to Mulder's liver was relatively superficial and would remain so, as long as she could keep his cute little buns firmly planted on the couch. In any case, vigorous movement would be out of the question. Luckily, he was in such a sorry state that she couldn't foresee him moving much of *anything* in the near future. Still..a little ice wouldn't hurt to keep the swelling down. Dana felt her mother's hand move away from her sore shoulder. Surprise registered briefly on Dana's face as she watched her mom stroke that damn uncooperative strand of hair from Mulder's eyes and softly kiss his forehead. Margaret slowly turned her head toward Dana and away from Keith and Jordan. Locking eyes with her daughter, Margaret mouthed the words, 'clip...plant.' Thanks mom, Dana thought. Well she didn't have to belong to MENSA to figure that one out. Now, the $64 million question was how in the world was she going to get to the damn clip, take it out of the plant, and get it into her gun without anybody seeing her. Perhaps a diversion of some kind... This would be a good time for an appearance from David Copperfield or Houdini's ghost. Hell, she'd even settle for one of Mulder's little gray men but the chances of any of them showing up were about even, so she set her mind to work on an alternative plan of action. "Mom, I could use some ice here," Dana hinted in a low voice. Jordan grunted with disgust as he watched the two women hovered over Mulder. What a waste of time and effort. Mitchell had saved Mr. FBI's ass so far, but it would be a long wait for the storm to lift and he wasn't in a hurry. There would be plenty of time for fun and games later. He grinned as his imagination conjured up images of the type of fun and games he had in mind. Jordan's thoughts were interrupted by a rumbling in his belly, and the smile fled from his face as his body forced him back to the present. He was hungry, pretty damn hungry as a matter of fact. His stomach was growling, reminding him that he'd waited way too long between meals. He was Jordan Chambers...he didn't have to wait for anything or anyone. Time to make another command decision. Jordan pointed at Margaret and screamed, "Get that bitch in the kitchen to make some real food. I don't want any fucking sandwiches this time." He was gratified to see Melissa and the children jump at his sudden outburst, although the old lady and the doc just stiffened. They'll learn, he thought to himself. "If she can't handle it, take the doc but somebody better make something good," he sneered at Keith. Margaret got up suddenly. "I can handle it. What would you like?" She'd be damned if she'd leave another one of these animals alone with one of her children again if she could help it. Hopefully they would send Keith with her again. She knew he was just as dangerous as the others but she also instinctively knew how to intimidate him. Her apron had big pockets and perhaps she could get the ice Dana had asked for as well. She began to walk toward Keith. To her dismay, Jordan shoved Keith backward and moved toward her instead, pulling her away from the edge of the couch. "Last time I sent you with Keith, he let you make those damn sandwiches," Jordan grumbled. "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself." "Hey, Jordan," Mitchell called from the other side of the room. "Guess you'll be needing this," he snarled sarcastically as he tossed the gun to Jordan. "Women and children can be really dangerous you know," Mitchell added. Jordan caught the gun in mid-air and once more contemplated using it on Mitchell. One of these days his disrespectful taunting was going to go just too far. He pushed Margaret through the open doorway, barking orders to her as he went, Mitchell's mocking laugh following him through the door. Mitchell might have to be taught a lesson. Jordan Chambers was in command here, and he would not have his authority usurped again. Shaking his head, Mitchell lowered himself to a chair across from the sofa and stretched his legs. Even though he'd been laughing just a moment earlier, Dana noted that no humor seemed to have reached his eyes...strange, flat, watchful eyes of a predator. Now that he was sitting down, Dana noticed a slight twitch in the muscles of his body, a tension that would not ease, even with the aid of the drugs he'd taken earlier. She wondered how long the drug's effects would keep Mitchell civil and what would happen when their effects wore off. If his attack on Mulder was any indication... Dana shook her own head and turned once again back to Mulder. She couldn't afford to think about that right now. She had too many other concrete things to worry about besides nebulous 'what if's'. She needed to get the damn clip out of the plant, she needed to get Mulder some proper medical care, hell, *she* needed some proper medical care herself. Whatever changes Mitchell would undergo would happen with or without her worrying about them. Perhaps by the time it finally happened, they would be able to find a way to help themselves out of this predicament. Listening to the howling wind beating against the windows, combined with the soft shush of the blowing snow, Dana realized that they would have to help themselves. Any help from the outside would be slow in coming...maybe too slow and too late. Keith followed Mitchell's example and plopped down in the chair opposite Mitchell, unconsciously adopting the older man's posture. Keith continued to stare at Melissa, reveling in the sense of power he felt when she trembled under his unrelenting gaze. He then shifted his eyes to Dana who only returned his stare with a defiant glare of her own. That was not good. He needed their fear. Fear was necessary for the cleansing of these rancid souls. This woman refused to fear him. Why? Didn't she know he had power over her? He would have to make her feel his power, make her afraid of him. As he turned the problem over and over in his mind, Dana Scully became Keith Reese's new obsession. Mulder stirred and slowly opened his eyes. Oh God, he knew he'd felt sicker, but at the moment he couldn't exactly remember when. At Mulder's movement, Dana disregarded Keith's leering stare and focused her attention on the awakening man beneath her fingertips. "Try not to move around too much," she ordered affectionately, using one hand to cradle his face, her thumb gently caressing his cheek. Mulder blinked slowly and swallowed several times before deciding to see whether he still had a voice. "I hadn't planned on it," he finally croaked out with a wry half smile. He felt like he was trying to speak with a mouth full of peanut butter and by the look on Dana's face, it probably sounded that way too. As the fog lifted from his brain, Mulder took a quick look around the room, noting the continued presence of Mitchell and Keith. "I see our party guests are still here. Why is it that I'm always the one who gets the hangover?" he muttered under his breath as he struggled to sit up. "I told you not to move around," Dana implored, making an effort to push him back down. "Dana...I have to go," he replied in a breathy whisper. "Go where?" she asked. "There's no place *to* go. We have a blizzard outside and armed criminals inside. So tell me, where are you going to go?" she lectured him. "I seem to remember drinking nearly a half a bottle of Jack Daniels several hours ago. Do you have to ask?" His eyes crinkled with exasperation. "But...Mulder...you can't go," Dana stammered. Mulder eyes widened in surprise. Something was going on here. Okay... what exactly was she trying to tell him with that absurd statement? Was this some sort of tactical restriction insisted upon by their captors or a medical diagnostic observation" Mulder's gaze drifted toward Mitchell, then Keith. They both appeared disinterested in their hostages at the moment so why the moratorium on bodily functions? "What do you mean, I can't?" Mulder asked in a cracked whisper. One eyebrow suddenly climbed upward, disappearing beneath a stray shock of hair that stubbornly drooped over one eye. "Dana, there's only so much room in there. I don't think I have much of a choice in the matter," he replied, squirming uneasily to stress his point. Wasn't it enough that he hurt all over and felt like someone had set a firecracker off inside his head. Now he was being told to 'hold it'? He felt like a kid again, and an unpleasant memory barged its way into his brain. He was riding in the back seat of the family car on the way to his Aunt Carol's house. His dad had refused to stop no matter how much he'd begged. They'd gotten off to a late start, and his dad, nothing if not punctual, was bound and determined to still get there on time. Mulder's pleas for a pit stop had gone unanswered and the human body had its limitations, even for a thirteen year old boy. When they finally did pull over, it had been too late and his dad had beat the shit out of him for embarrassing him. The memory was as clear as the day it happened. The pain and shame pulled at him even now with 21 years worth of distance to separate him from the memory. Dana recognized the haunted shadow that crossed his face. He was remembering something and she could tell it wasn't pleasant. The shadow always accompanied the sad and painful emptiness that shone from his eyes when his mind played back what his special memory wouldn't let him forget. Sometimes he would tell her what had caused the shadow, sometimes he wouldn't. She never pressed him for she knew that whenever he worked it out, eventually he'd always confess his soul to her. Dana brushed her fingers lightly over his cheek and he came back to her. "All I meant was that you shouldn't move," she explained, "and that you should wait until Mom can help us move you." He eyed Melissa. "But Melissa..." he started. Dana raised her finger to his lips, " is with the kids and can't help us," Dana finished. Mulder took in Melissa's torn clothing and the tight way she held herself, and he remembered what had happened to her. "Is...she all right?" he asked worriedly. "Did they hurt her?" "She'll be fine," Dana comforted him. "But you have to wait for mom. Either that or..." she looked toward the half empty whiskey bottle on the end table. Mulder followed her gaze and sighed. "Or piss in a bottle. Yeah, I get the message. I really wouldn't mind so much as long as I could get one of those Bozos to drink it," he grinned. Dana's eyes sparkled with mischief as her hand covered the smile that threatened to erupt across her face. How he could make jokes at a time like this was beyond her. How she could laugh at them was even more amazing. Okay, so he couldn't go pee, but he was damned sure not going to stay flat on his back. Pushing up with his arms, ignoring the disapproval on Dana's face, Mulder straightened up into a semi-sitting position on the couch. It hurt like hell to move, and the pain wiped the grin off Mulder's face. A quick glance at Mitchell told him that the big man had not moved. Apparently he didn't believe Mulder was too big of a threat, and Mulder had to admit that he was probably right. Mulder trained his gaze on Keith and studied him for several seconds, then glanced at Melissa who had taken her place with the children during Margaret's absence. ******** continued in part 7c From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 24 02:30:19 1996 Sanctuary part seven continues.... Melissa suddenly looked frail and vulnerable to him. He had never considered Melissa vulnerable before, and she certainly was not frail. If anything, she had as much spark and fire within her as Dana, if not more. The sight of her in that condition fueled the flames of his protective nature, prompting him to ask a question. "Why?" he sighed softly, turning his face toward Keith. Keith brought his head up and momentarily stared into space, seemingly unaware that a question had been directed at him. Mulder nodded toward Melissa and repeated his question more boldly, eliminating any doubt as to who he was talking to. "Why do you want to hurt her?" Keith stared at Mulder but didn't answer. Dana closed her eyes and fervently wished Mulder would learn when to shut up. She understood that out of all their captors, Mulder felt Keith was the weak link, that perhaps by trying to understand him, Mulder could reason with him. At least, as much as you could possibly hope to reason with a deranged man. She also knew, however, that Keith was extremely unstable. If Mulder, decided to pursue this line of questioning, he would be navigating some seriously treacherous ground. Not that she was any better qualified to deal with the likes of Keith. Med school classes and academy training never really prepared a person for facing a lunatic out in the field. When you were in a situation, you did your best, tried to say the right things, and hoped like hell it would all turn out right in the end. The best tool a field agent had was instinct, and the only one she'd ever met with instincts equal to, if not better than her own, was Fox Mulder. She trusted Mulder with every fiber of her soul, and in spite of all the flack most people at the Bureau dumped on his shoulders, she couldn't help but admire him. There had been a time when she wouldn't have been able to admit this to herself that she could admire a man like Mulder, but that time was long passed and now she was scared. Dana Scully was scared and she didn't feel ashamed of that fact. Mulder had taught her that it was all right to be scared. She'd made a crack to him once, long ago, about him being a hero. He'd calmly stated that he'd been scared shitless--and that 'heroes' were no different than anyone else. "Heroes" were just normal people placed in abnormal situations who, in spite of their 'fear,' managed to survive and possibly take some one else with them. He'd called her *his* hero that day, informing her that she was the best thing that'd ever happened to him since he'd discovered peanut butter. She'd hoped that was a compliment. "Just tell me why, Keith. I really want to know," Mulder continued, his voice deceptively calm and steady, yet quietly insistent. The object of Mulder's interest slowly arose from his chair. Melissa flinched back against the wall at Keith's movement, but he ignored her. Instead, he strode across the small room, stopping only when he'd reached a position that placed him directly above the couple on the couch. Mulder felt Dana's grip tighten on his arm as Keith stood looking down at them, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. Sensing her apprehension, Mulder nudged her away from his side under the pretense of getting a better look at Keith. In reality he'd been vaguely aware of her being hurt earlier when she'd tried to protect him from Jordan's wrath. He wasn't an experienced clinical psychoanalyst and he'd just as soon have Dana out of reach in case he made a mistake in his conversation with Keith. He wasn't about to let her get injured on his account, not again. Banishing what emotions he could from his face, Mulder concentrated on the few positive feelings he could find within himself, getting his mind ready to deal with Keith. He didn't like doing this. It drained him and gave him headaches but it was a necessary form of communication of sorts. It worked for him when he was in the VCS. Hopefully, even though he didn't understand it, it might work for him now as well. He considered it 'meditation'...a clearing of the clutter in his mind to allow him to consider the possibilities... to understand the motives of another human being. Mulder knew some people considered this ability a gift, but he was more critical of himself than anyone else could possibly be. He refused to think of himself as gifted, choosing instead to think of his 'spooky' ability as nothing more than another useful investigative technique. Keith locked his suspicious, troubled eyes on Mulder's. Seeing only sincere questions in their smoky depths, not he revulsion or ridicule he was used to, Keith relaxed visibly. Maybe this man really did want to understand, and for some reason Keith found himself wanting to explain and justify his actions. Somehow he knew he'd be understood. " I...I d...d... don't really want to hurt her," Keith stuttered, his face reddening as he realized that was not quite the truth. He didn't want to hurt, but he *did* need her to be afraid of him, to be afraid that he would hurt her, otherwise he couldn't complete the task. But he couldn't tell this man that, not yet. What he really needed to tell him was about salvation...and Sanctuary. "She's so beautiful, I want to save her soul from eternal damnation. I *have* to save her, and if you knew how you'd want to save her, too. "But how can hurting her save her, Keith?" Mulder asked, still in the same calm, reassuring voice. Keep him talking, Mulder told himself, and stay calm and focused, no matter what he says. Keith tilted his head and looked at the man on the couch like he was a small child you had to explain everything to. He could see by Mulder's expression that he wanted to understand, but he just didn't get it yet. "The evil in her soul has to be purified before she can have sanctuary, Keith explained patiently. "I don't want to hurt her, but I have to be joined with her for the evil to be removed. That way I can take her evil into myself and her pure soul can be freed to join those in sanctuary. It's the only way," he said reasonably. "Who told you this," Mulder inquired, "Jordan? Did Jordan tell you this?" "Of course Jordan told me," Keith said with a grin and a slight roll of his eyes. Had this been any other circumstance, Keith might have resembled the stereotype teenager saying 'no duh!' to a parent's stupid question, but Mulder didn't need to remind himself that this was deadly serious. One wrong move and this 'teenager' would issue all their souls into sanctuary. "Jordan knows everything," Keith continued. "He takes care of me, loves me. He's the only one who ever has. My parents didn't understand me, you know," Keith said, his face clouding over at the memory. "They hate me, I know it. They think I'm a monster. They've always hated me. They told me I was evil. Everyone told me I was evil until Jordan found me and showed me that what I did was righteous." Keith's face lit up again at the mere mention of Jordan. That son of a bitch, Mulder told himself. He found a poor, love-starved, delusional boy and turned him into a disciple. Mulder knew what he had to do. Somehow he had to make Keith see that whatever halo Keith saw on Jordan's head, there were horns underneath holding it up. But knocking Jordan off the pedestal Keith had set him on had to be done delicately, and Mulder was beginning to get one hell of a headache. "He told me that I was right to save my girlfriend, Jenny, before she was defiled," Keith was saying, nodding his head up and down as he began to pace excitedly in front of the man on the couch. "But to do it right, to really cleanse a soul, there must be a joining first to remove the sin. Then I must destroy all the temptations of the flesh and the soul will be free to enter Paradise. There's evil everywhere, in everyone. There are so many souls to save. You know, Jordan said that it was the evil in my dad that made him beat me and that it was my right and duty to slay that evil and I did," Keith added proudly. "Keith, how can you know if someone is evil? Do you just look at them and know? Or does Jordan decide that for you as well?" Mulder asked. "Everyone has evil in them," Keith replied. "Everyone except those who accept Sanctuary, like I have, like Jordan has." "How can little children be evil, Keith? Jordan has molested and murdered children. Keith...how much 'evil' can a 4 year old girl have?" Mulder pleaded, his eyes wet with emotion as his damnable memory showed him an internal slide show of every crime scene photograph, every tiny mutilated body. "*Everyone* is evil!" Keith insisted. "It even says so in the Bible, my mother told me so! Everyone is born with original sin, and you have to accept your savior before you can be free from that sin. My mother made me pray every night until my knees hurt and my back ached asking God to relieve me of my sin, but he never did. The only one who ever did that was Jordan. He was my savior, and he's your savior, too. You have to accept Jordan and Sanctuary before you can be clean, or we have to cleanse you ourselves to make you pure and ready for salvation." Mulder suppressed a shudder. Keith's mind had taken religious dogma deeply ingrained into him by his mother and twisted it into a fanatical obsession with Chambers. The only way to combat that was with a little religious dogma of his own, and Mulder wracked his brain for an appropriate response. Finally coming up with something he thought might work, he took a deep breath before beginning to speak. "Keith, my family was never too religious, but I do remember something I read in the Bible. It says not to put false prophets before God, doesn't it, Keith?" Mulder waited as Keith stopped pacing, clearly trying to remember. Finally, Keith nodded slowly. So far, so good, Mulder thought. " Jordan tells you he rapes, murders, defiles, and mutilates to save his victims' souls from evil, Mulder continued cautiously. "A savior doesn't kill, Keith. A savior lays down his life for others, he doesn't take lives. Keith, Jordan Chambers is a false prophet, the very evil that you seek to destroy. He has tricked you, he has lied to you. He told you that all of this is for the salvation of souls from eternal damnation. People like Jordan Chambers are what the Bible warned us about." Keith held himself very still in front of Mulder, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. Mulder wished he knew what was going on in Keith's mind, but he didn't have a clue. When Keith didn't say anything, Mulder took that as his cue to keep on talking, and he decided to try and push the point home. "Keith, anyone can make a mistake. Everyone wants to be loved and accepted for who they are, and when people we love don't accept us, we look around for someone who will. But it has to be the right kind of love and acceptance, not the kind that Jordan has taught you. Mistreatment by those you love is not an excuse to pass that sorry family tradition to other innocent people, and it's definitely not an excuse for torture and murder." A synapse finally fired in Keith's brain, and a single thought broke through -- this man had just insulted Jordan. Although he tried hard, Keith didn't understand a lot of the rest of the stuff the FBI man had talked about, but he did understand that he said Jordan was wrong, that *he* had been wrong. How could he possibly know what Jordan had saved him from? "Wh..what would y...you know!!" Keith screamed into Mulder's upturned face, his hands balled into fists by his side.. Mulder's eyes shone with a remembrance of his own private hell. "What do I know??!! I'll tell you what I know," his voice shook with the force of emotion that he could no longer control. "I know the pain of loss of part of my soul and the agony of guilt and blame for something beyond my control. I know the disappointment of rejection by a father who damned me to hell on more than one occasion and the indifference of a mother who'd given up trying; the feel of a lighted cigarette on a young boys flesh, the blood in my mouth as punishment when I'd cried; the embarrassment of explaining to doctors how I fell down the stairs five times in two months; the anguish of wanting to tell someone --anyone -- and the agony of not knowing how... And most of all, the fear that maybe it was all my fault. The list goes on. But one thing is certain. I will never raise my hand to any child of mine in anger--never. The abuse stops here with me and I will not allow it to ever go further. Your decisions are yours alone...not your parents, not Jordan's, and not mine. When all is said and done, what you become is *your* responsibility, Keith...*Yours*." Exhausted, Mulder leaned back against the couch as a single tear ran down his cheek. Dana's mouth fell open in shock. She'd known that there'd been problems in Mulder's family, especially after his sister's disappearance but she'd refused to speculate on the severity of the dysfunction until now. Suddenly a lot of things were much clearer to her. This revelation explained a lot about Mulder's behavior and his obsessions. The signs had always been there, she'd just refused to acknowledge them. How could she have been so blind? Dana had always known that Mulder was a mentally strong person. He had to be, putting up with the 'Spooky Mulder' nickname and reputation and not flying off the handle at someone. But the simple fact that he'd been able to handle the weight of all that emotional baggage he'd just unloaded for all those years and not wig out totally said volumes about the kind of man he had become. She had never been more proud of him or more protective. Though she knew it was illogical, she prayed silently that if she could help it, no one would ever hurt him again. She wanted to reach for him, to hold him, comfort him...but she knew why Mulder had pushed her away and touching him wasn't necessary. He knew how she felt. "Just know this, Keith, Mulder added after a long pause, "Jordan Chambers doesn't kill and maim for the sake of salvation. Jordan Chambers kills because he likes it." Keith had taken a small step backward in reaction to Mulder's outburst, realizing that the hurt he perceived in the Agent's eyes reflected his own pain and emptiness. Agent Mulder understood, yet he still called Jordan evil. How could Jordan be evil? Jordan Chambers gave Keith's life meaning and his work validated Keith's existence. Jordan wouldn't mislead him...Keith had always believed that. But this man's eyes revealed only sincerity and truth, and he said Jordan had lied, that Jordan was a false prophet and Keith had been misled. If Jordan had lied to him, then his parents had been right -- He *was* devil's spawn and the souls that he had freed, all the work he had done, it was all in vain. But no, it couldn't be....no, no, on...because if that was true, then his own life was forfeit . He had sinned, had followed a false god, and he knew the punishment for that, oh yes he did, and he heard his mother's voice inside his head berating him once again for being an evil child. Keith's uncertainty fed his confusion and a dim flicker of conscience appeared to glimmer within his dark soul. But Keith was unprepared to bear that kind of guilt and he was certainly not willing to pay the price of his sins, and the fragile spark of conscience died. No, Jordan would never lie to him!!! He believed in Jordan's truth and his faith would not be shaken by this man who would try to trick him. Not willing to listen any more, Keith turned and stalked away, opting to sit on the stairs rather than return to his own chair. Mulder closed his eyes. He could almost hear the door slam shut in Keith's mind. He just refuses to see the truth, Mulder thought. He felt Dana's hand squeeze his arm gently, and he opened his eyes to look into hers. Although she didn't say a word, Mulder knew she believed he had given it his best try. Too bad the best hadn't been quite enough. He closed his eyes again, trying to get a little rest for whatever the next crisis would be. Mitchell had observed the exchange between the two men with interest. No wonder the Black Ops had considered Agent Mulder such a threat. Anyone who could even remotely sway Keith's fanatical allegiance to the all powerful, all knowing Jordan Chambers, had to be one persuasive son of a bitch. An honest, intelligent man with a sense of purpose was one to be feared by an oppressive, manipulative authority in any society. That was a historical constant. Feeling a familiar stirring inside himself, Mitchell frowned. The man-made demon was pressing his sanity once more, the need to kill pounding at the dam in his brain like a river in flash flood. He knew that soon his control would be gone and someone else would have to die. In a way, he envied Keith, for that poor demented soul had no awareness of his insanity. He fully and totally believed that the horrors he committed were righteous and justified and in his heart and mind he held no remorse or regret. Mitchell had only told a half truth when he'd said that he'd turned into something that killed without conscience. The animal demon within him that destroyed and maimed, that creature reveled in the act. But to his sorrow and anguish, the man that he still was, the man trapped by the demon's fury, was aware of the demon's actions and remembered every deplorable and horrifying scene with perfect clarity. His superior had not seen fit to remove his conscience when they'd destroyed his humanity and for that...he would pay, and dearly. ****** end part seven From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 25 17:17:27 1996 SANCTUARY BY: CHERYL COHEN (ALIAS-THE STINKER) AND ANNIE REED (ALIAS-FANCYKATZ) Forward ************************************ Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence, insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life. Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story. I like to leave a little bit to the imagination. DISCLAIMERS ETC. ******************************** This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. ************************************