Dark Angel
An X-Files Story 
by Jennifer Lyon 
Jenni10647@AOL.Com
JennyAnn@ix.netcom.com

(The characters of the X-Files are the property of FOX BC, 
Ten Thirteen Productions, and Chris Carter. The remainder of 
this story is the property of the author. Please note that this 
story contains graphic violence and some sexual content. Also 
note that this story will be published in volume four of the X-
Files fanzine "Property of the FBI" by MacWombat Press. 
Contact Macwombat@aol.com for more information on this 
outstanding fanzine.)


(9:30pm January 23, 1995)
(Route 33, near Haverford, Michigan)		
	The wind whistled through the bare, ice-glazed tree 
limbs. Anna James shivered and drew her coat tighter around 
her as she stumbled along the edge of the two-lane country 
road. This had to be one of the worst nights of her life: getting 
drunk at the party, fighting with her boyfriend, then stuck 
walking home alone in the dark. Stories she'd heard about the 
things that happened out here in these woods kept flooding her 
mind.
	The sudden flare of headlights made her draw back 
towards the shoulder. She blinked and pushed strands of blond 
hair back into her cap with a trembling, mitten-encased hand. 
She wasn't certain whether or not to chance flagging the driver 
down for a ride home. It was only another mile or so, but she 
was so cold. 	The car drove past her in a whoosh of sound, 
splashing up a mix of sand and snow, then slowed to a stop. 
Cautiously Anna walked forward as the small cream-colored 
car slid slowly backwards. Coming up to the passenger side 
window, Anna's breath caught in her throat as the window 
slowly opened, then expelled in a sigh of relief in response to a 
familiar face.
	"What are you doing out here alone, Anna?" asked a 
soft-throaty female voice.
	"Eric and I had a big fight. I...We...he just drove off 
and left me!" The pretty blond teenager's voice broke in a sob.
	"I'm sorry. Why don't you get in the car, I'd be glad 
take you home." A leather glove enclosed hand reached over to 
release the door-catch.
	Anna gratefully opened the door and got into the car, 
pulling the door shut behind her. She closed the window then 
rubbed her reddened, numb hands in front of a heating vent.
	"Thank you so much."
	"I'm glad I was here. Its not safe for you to be out 
alone like that. You could get hurt."
	"I know, I was kind of scared." Anna said, with a 
tremulous smile, beginning to relax.
	"Here, have some cocoa, its still warm," the woman 
said, handing Anna a small thermos.
	"Thanks," Anna said, unscrewing the cap and drinking 
the thick chocolate in deep gulps. The warmth of it spread 
through her. As the small car drove on down the highway 
quietly, its off-white color blending into the snow and shadows 
among the trees, Anna rested back and closed her eyes, dozing 
off into a deep dreamless sleep.
	Her face barely visible in the gloom, the woman at the 
wheel glanced over at the sleeping girl and drew her red lips 
back over even white teeth in a mockery of a smile. Her eyes 
glowed an unearthly luminescent green. "Sleep well, my dear, 
sleep forever."

--------------
(12:30pm January 25, 1995)
(Route 33, near Haverford, Michigan)

	Sunlight sprinkled the snow and ice, creating bright 
rainbow splashes of light across the scene. Special Agent Dana 
Scully shielded her eyes with her right arm, squinting as she 
knelt down by the black-plastic covered shape on the roadside. 
The uniformed officer responded to her nod by unzipping the 
body-bag to reveal what was inside. Scully grimaced and 
rubbed at her eyes briefly. Despite years of training as a 
pathologist, sights like this one always hurt. 
	Long strands of blond hair swirled around the face of 
the dead girl, tendrils of gold edged in brown where they were 
coated in her blood. Her face was surprisingly peaceful, eyes 
closed as if asleep, mouth slightly parted as though about to 
take a breath. It was the sight of the rest of her that made the 
experienced federal agent draw a deep, painful breath. From 
the neck down, the young woman's skin had been stripped 
away. Large chunks of muscle had been carefully removed 
from her shoulders, arms, sides, and legs. The ribs were broken 
open to expose the empty chest cavity. Frozen blood pooled in 
spaces where a heart had once beat and lungs had pumped air. 
A quick glance at the abdomen confirmed that the liver and 
kidneys had been removed as well.
	Scully studied the body for a moment, her face 
hardened into a professional mask, then she nodded at the 
officer to close the zipper over the body. Rising to her feet, she 
stood aside as the body was carried into a waiting van.
	"Agent Scully?" asked a deep male voice from behind 
her.
	"Yes," Scully responded, turning her head before her 
shoulders. The movement caused her hair to cascade sideways, 
glimmering bright red in the midday sun. 
	"Sheriff Jack Turner," said a big, bulky man dressed in 
a heavy winter uniform. His eyes were a surprisingly gentle 
brown under bushy, gray-sprinkled eyebrows. "I'm grateful the 
FBI was able to send you so soon. I'm afraid we're in over our 
heads with all this. I spent several years with the police in 
Boston before taking the job as Sheriff here, so I've had some 
experience with violent death. But the rest of my men, well, 
hunting accidents and the occasional domestic shooting are 
about the limit of their experience. God, I came here to try to 
escape this kind of thing." 
	Scully nodded in understanding.
	"Has anyone been able to identify her?" she asked.
	"Yes, her name is Anna James," the Sheriff answered. 
"Her parents own a small farm a few miles from here. They 
haven't been told yet, I thought I should do that myself." His 
face tightened in anger. "I've known her family for years. She 
was a good kid."
	"I'm sorry," Scully said in sympathy.
	"Me, too," he replied. They stood in silence for a 
moment.
	"Where are you taking the body?" Scully spoke 
quietly.
	"To the local mortuary for now. Usually we send 
them on to the hospital in Engelston, which is about a hundred 
miles away. It has the closest pathology unit. But the agent I 
spoke to at the Ann Arbor bureau told me that you were 
qualified to do the autopsy yourself?" 
	Scully nodded. "Any nearby medical facility will fine. I 
can take samples for more detailed analysis and send them on 
to Quantico if needed." 
	"There's a pretty good medical clinic in Haverford. 
They have a small surgery for emergencies."
	"That should do. I'd like to get started as soon as 
possible. Let me just..." Scully shaded her eyes again as she 
looked anxiously around her, "Where on earth did Mulder go?"
	Fox Mulder leaned back against the large oak tree and 
watched the crime scene unfold. A slight breeze lifted black 
tendrils of hair over his brow, then let them settle again. 
Mulder was no stranger to the horrible spectacle of violent 
death. He'd seen it in myriad forms, from bodies torn apart in 
vicious rage to the carefully stylized victims of a compulsive 
serial killer. But it never ceased to make his stomach churn and 
his head ache. The crinkles in his brow, the tight set of his jaw, 
an ever so brief closing of his eyes, were the only signs of the 
emotional firestorm raging inside. 
	To an observer he would have looked half-asleep, 
eyes heavy-lidded, mouth closed, head tilted back against the 
rough bark of the tree trunk. Underneath the calm exterior, his 
mind was busy photographing every image, every sensation. 
He could see his partner's bright head shining in the sun as she 
conversed with the sheriff. The body had been removed, 
leaving a crushed, darkened spot in the snow, around which 
uniformed personnel scuttled like ants around a puddle of 
spilled soda. He mentally filed a series of images: the brown-
limned mark of the girl's body in the snow; black asphalt of the 
road-edge peeking out under the muddy slush of dirt-encrusted 
snow; the trees a few feet away, branches thin and shivering, 
dripping crystals of ice; the movements of the police 
photographer. All were shaded by the smell and feel of 
unnatural death.
	Mulder knew that this was not going to be an easy 
one. This killer was smart, very smart, and careful. Four deaths 
in as many weeks, spread out over several hundred square 
miles of farmland and wilderness. No fingerprints and little or 
no useful physical evidence. The bodies had obviously been 
transported and dumped, but no-one had reported seeing 
anything. Unfortunately this was an area with a small and 
scattered population. Just too many places to hide. Which 
brought up another question. Why leave the bodies in public 
view by the road unless the killer *wanted* them to be found? 
Issuing a challenge to the authorities? Maybe... Mulder's 
thoughts were interrupted by his partner's concerned voice.
	"Mulder? Are you alright?" Dana Scully was walking 
towards him, a small figure covered in a large winter parka that 
made her look like a small child wearing her father's clothes. 
She was trailed by the hulking Sheriff, the country simplicity of 
his rough-hewn features disguising his sharp intellect.
	"Yeah, I'm fine Scully, just thinking," the tall slender 
agent replied, pulling himself to a more upright position.
	"Anything useful?" she asked.
	Mulder just shrugged his shoulders. Realizing he 
wasn't ready to say more, Scully continued speaking.
	"I thought I'd have the body moved to the clinic in 
town so I can start the autopsy. The sheriff has I.D.'d the body 
as a local teenager, named Anna James. He's planning to go 
inform her parents as soon as things are wrapped up here. I 
thought you might want to go with him. The autopsy may keep 
my busy for a while."
	"Sure, Scully, that's a good idea. If it's OK with you, 
sheriff." Mulder said, looking directly into the big man's eyes, 
which were at an even level with his own.	
	"Fine with me," replied Sheriff Turner meeting the 
agent's dark, penetrating hazel gaze with a quiet confidence.
	"Good." Mulder took one last look around then 
walked swiftly past the others towards the cars parked 
unevenly on the opposing roadside. Scully and Turner glanced 
at each other briefly, then followed him, their footprints deep 
and silent in the snow.

------------------------
(4:30pm January 25)
(Haverford Medical Clinic)

	The medical clinic lobby was quiet and empty as Fox 
Mulder entered, shaking the snow off his feet onto the entrance 
mat. He paused to take a quick survey of his surroundings, 
then moved purposefully past the receptionist's desk and 
through the inner door. His soft footsteps on the carpet barely 
made a sound as he moved through the dimmed hallway. 
Shifting the weight of the heavy file folders under his arm, he 
called out his partner's name as he poked his head around a 
corner.
	"Scully?"
	A door past him on the right edged open, spilling out 
a triangle of light onto the carpet. A familiar face poked out 
around the door, "Mulder...We're in here."
	"We?" he questioned, taking the door from her hand 
as he followed her into the room. It was a small staff break 
room containing two well-worn small couches, a round 
cafeteria-type table with four wooden chairs, a soda machine 
and a refrigerator in the corner. A cabinet topped by a plastic 
counter ran across one wall, ending in a small sink. The decor 
was light and airy with blue and white-striped wall paper, a big 
wall-calendar, a bulletin board filled with notices and 
announcements, photographs and cards, all hanging at various 
angles from haphazardly thrust pins.
	Scully resumed her seat on one of the couches, pulling 
up her feet under her, and reaching for her coffee mug. Still 
dressed in surgical greens, her hair was bound back in a 
characteristic loose pony-tail, unbound strands framing her 
cheeks and jaw. Sitting catty-corner from her was another 
woman, dressed similarly, blond hair looped up in a knot on the 
crown of her head. Mulder noticed her eyes first, they were a 
startling emerald green, framed by long thick eyelashes. The 
rest of her face was just as lovely: clear porcelain skin, full 
mouth, straight nose, strong cheekbones. Suddenly realizing he 
was staring at her, he covered his embarrassment by dropping 
the file folders onto the table, and looking questioningly at 
Scully, who grinned at him in amusement.
	"Special Agent Fox Mulder...Doctor Claire Kincaid."
	"Hello." he said, nodding professionally.
	"Nice to meet you," the woman replied, giving him a 
warm smile and meeting his eyes directly. He found himself 
smiling back, returning the eyes contact, enjoying the glow of 
warmth that infused him, though only for a brief moment. The 
emotional shutters he'd built up over his life snapped down into 
place, jerking him back into awareness of Scully's voice.
	"Claire runs the clinic here, and was kind enough to 
help me with the autopsy."
	"It turns out Dana and I went to the same medical 
school. We just missed each other by a year." Claire's voice 
was warm and throaty. The sound of it sent another wave of 
heat through Mulder. "What on earth is wrong with you?" he 
thought. This was hardly the time or place. The last time he'd 
allowed himself to give in to an attraction for a woman while 
on a case, she'd ended up killing herself. A sense of anguish 
and loss flooded him, combined with a deep sense of guilt. He 
should have been able to do something to protect 
Kristen....something...
	"Stop it!" he told himself fiercely. Intellectually he 
knew she'd made her own decision, and that she had been a 
very troubled woman. He had to admit to himself that it had 
been those emotional wounds that had drawn him to her, they 
had been an echo of his own pain. The darkness in her soul had 
cried out to his. Claire was obviously different. She radiated 
the same confidence and practicality that he had come to rely 
upon in Scully. He mentally shook his head, he was just tired 
and this case was troubling him. There was a sense of 
something different from the serial killers he'd had contact with 
in the past. If only he could put his finger on it.
	"That's great," he said, covering his thoughts with a 
bland expression. "I'm glad you were here to help, Dr. Kincaid. 
Did you find anything interesting, Scully?"
	"Nothing different from the previous victims. It'll be a 
while before we get the toxicology results, but it's likely she 
was heavily drugged with morphine as were the others. I 
suppose we should be grateful that she was probably unaware 
of what was happening to her, since she was alive through 
most of it."
	Mulder grimaced slightly, his eyes glinting, then 
silently gestured for her to continue.
	"The skin was stripped off with a sharp knife blade, 
followed by the subcutaneous fat layer. I think that the organs 
were removed next: heart, lungs, liver and kidney. This was 
followed by the excision of muscles throughout the body. The 
ribs were probably broken by hand, since the breaks were 
unevenly spaced. Technically she died from the removal of her 
heart, though her brain would have continued to function 
during the stripping away of the muscles. Time of death is hard 
to estimate due to the cold temperatures, but I'd guess 
sometime between midnight and 6 am."
	Mulder looked at her sharply, "Was it professionally 
done, Scully. Do you think our killer has medical training?"
	"Maybe," Scully said, "but not necessarily. The cuts 
didn't have a surgical pattern. Our perp was not that interested 
in neatness, and I'm certain that the weapon was nothing as 
small as a scalpel. Some kind of large knife, with a blade length 
of least a dozen inches, maybe more. Of course, there is the 
question of the morphine, which would suggest some kind of 
access to a hospital or pharmacy."
	"Morphine is street-accessible if you know where to 
look. Still, I'll have the sheriff check again with the local 
pharmacies and the Engleston hospital. See if anything is 
missing. What about this clinic, Dr. Kincaid? Do you keep any 
morphine here?"
	"It's Claire," she corrected, flashing a bright smile, 
then added with calm composure, "We have a small supply, but 
its kept locked in my cabinet. Only Sheryl, the nurse 
practitioner, and I have keys. I checked it just yesterday. The 
correct amount is there. Would you like to see?"
	"No, I guess we can take your word for it...for now." 
Dana replied, mock-seriously.
	"Thanks, I think." Claire laughed slightly. Then her 
classic features settled into a more solemn expression as she 
suggested, "It could be someone with hunting experience. A lot 
of people around here hunt regularly, as do many visitors. And 
it's mostly farms around here. I'm sure most of the populations 
has butchered animals at some time or another." She studied 
both their faces for a moment. "I'm sorry, I know that doesn't 
help, but this looked a lot to me like what a hunter would do to 
a deer."
	"No, you're right Claire," Scully responded. She 
turned to look again at Mulder, "That's exactly what it does 
look like. She was skinned, followed by organ removal, then 
the muscle was stripped away in chunks."
	Mulder shook his head in disgust, then found himself 
quipping lightly, "Storing away meat for the long winter 
ahead."
	"Ugh!!!" Scully said, pursing her mouth with distaste. 
She swiped at a particularly annoying strand of hair, and 
sighed. "Unfortunately, you may be right. None of the missing 
parts have been found from any of the victims, and the killer 
certainly took his time to remove them."
	"It wouldn't be the first time," Mulder said darkly.
	Claire shivered, focusing wide green eyes on him. 
"This is so awful. You hear about things like this happening in 
the cities, but somehow you think that it couldn't happen here. 
I used to leave my door unlocked, now I check the deadbolt 
twice every night."
	"I'm afraid size of population has little bearing on this 
kind of psychosis. It can occur anywhere." responded Scully 
sympathetically. Mulder just grimaced slightly, picking up and 
thumbing through one of the case reports he'd dumped on the 
table behind him.
	"How'd things go with Anna's parents?" Scully asked.
	"They were devastated. I'm glad the sheriff was there 
to help break the news, although there's just no good way to 
do that," replied Mulder sadly.
	"Apparently she had gone out to a party," he 
continued, "with her boyfriend, Eric Kellar, about 5 p.m. that 
night and just never returned home. The sheriff and I talked to 
several of her friends, and she was fine, albeit a little drunk, at 
the party. Anna and Eric left about 9pm. One person says they 
were arguing as they got into Eric's truck."
	"What does Eric say?" Scully asked.
	"The sheriff and I were unable to find him. He seems 
to have disappeared some time this afternoon."
	"Do you think he could be dead too?" Claire 
interjected.
	"Probably not. My guess is he got frightened when he 
heard she was dead. He was very upset when he found out that 
she'd never returned home. He told her parents yesterday that 
they had an argument and that he had dumped her out of the 
truck about a mile and half from her home. I'm sure he blames 
himself for what happened, but I doubt he's in any danger from 
anyone except himself. All of our victims so far have been 
young women. Most serial killers tend to pick their victims by 
type, and rarely alter the pattern. Anyway, the sheriff has some 
men out looking for him, just in case."
	"You think the killer just happened on her by accident 
while she was walking home?" Scully questioned.
	"Its certainly possible, though I'd guess he was out 
looking. Maybe was even following her, watching for his 
chance. This isn't like a city where there will always be people 
wandering around at night. I doubt he could expect to run into 
a potential victim at random. Though stranger things have 
happened." Mulder answered with a slight, edgy grin on the 
last sentence. He leaned his chin down into his hands and 
yawned.
	Scully suddenly noticed the fatigue in his face, which 
was drawn and tense with deep-grooved lines etched across his 
forehead and around his eyes. His normally bright and 
penetrating eyes were opaque, his mouth tight and thin. He 
looked exhausted and weak. A sudden thought occurred to 
her.
	"When is the last time you ate, Mulder. And I don't 
mean a few sunflower seeds."
	"What? Oh...I don't remember exactly. Last night, I 
think. It's not important, Scully," he protested. However, his 
stomach chose that moment to growl loudly at the thought of 
food, contradicting his words. He gave Scully a sheepish grin, 
while she just shook her head at him in frustration. Claire, who 
had been watching this exchange with growing amusement, 
offered to get Mulder a sandwich.
	"I always bring in something for lunch, though I often 
end up too busy to get a chance to eat it. I'm sure I have a 
couple of sandwiches in here." She went over to the fridge and 
examined the contents for a moment. "Here," she pulled out a 
small plastic container. "Do you want one too, Dana?"
	"No thanks, Claire, I grabbed a bite before we started 
the autopsy. I'm never up to eating immediately afterwards,"
	"I can understand that," Claire said, as she removed a 
Saran wrapped sandwich and held it out to Mulder.
	He hesitated, then took it with a grateful smile, feeling 
an electric tingle between them as their fingers touched. He 
pulled his hand away abruptly, then busily unwrapped the 
sandwich, hoping she hadn't noticed, though the sparkle in her 
eyes and the slight upturn in the corners of her mouth indicated 
that she had indeed noticed. But at the sight of food his mouth 
had started to water. He was much hungrier that he'd realized. 	
	"Thanks," he murmured, not quite meeting her eyes.
	"You're welcome," she said, watching him take a 
healthy bite.
	"Ummm...this is good," he mumbled through a second 
mouthful.
	Claire smiled. "An old family recipe." She laughed, 
her eyes glimmering a bright emerald green..
-------------------



Part Two of "Dark Angel"
by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com
JennyAnn@ix.netcom.com
Note: this story contains graphic violence and some sexual content.
It has an "R" rating for good reason. 
-------------------------------------------
-------------------
(1654 Hawks Road)
(January 26, 1995)

	Claire hummed lightly to herself as she examined the 
contents of her freezer. She was getting low already. 'These 
teenagers today,' she thought with exasperation, 'they never get 
enough excersize.' Anna James hadn't supplied her with more 
than a few days worth of the necessary reconstituting flesh, but 
it was dangerous to butcher too many of them too quickly. 
And she knew it was foolish of her to leave the bodies where 
they could be found. But she enjoyed the consternation it 
caused so immensely. Besides, it had brought HIM to her.
	She picked up a package, absently deciding that thigh 
muscle would make a good stir-fry, closed and bolted the 
freezer, and climbed the stairs back up to the kitchen. Closing 
the basement door behind her, she walked over to the 
microwave and placed the meat inside, setting it on defrost. 
Checking her watch, she realized she'd better hurry, Mulder 
and Scully were due for dinner in just over an hour. She had 
much to prepare for them. 
	A smile of pleasure transfixed her face at the thought 
of the tall, dark man she'd met the previous day. How often 
had she prayed to the Dark Powers to ease the loneliness of her 
time on earth. She again cursed the foolishness and pride that 
had caused her to be thrown down to exist on this earthly 
plane, to suffer the needs of this flesh. Above all, to struggle 
with the intense hunger that made satisfying the need to 
reconstitute the flesh she wore into a driving compulsion. 
Nonetheless, she had remained faithful to the Dark Lords, 
never forgetting to offer them their part of the sacrifice. And 
now they had finally answered some of her prayers, rewarding 
her loyalty with a companion to ease her suffering.
	She knew well that the one who called himself 'Fox 
Mulder' was presently unaware of his true being. It was only 
after years of living as a human that she had come to realize her 
own incandescent nature. Those years of suffering had ended 
when she first consumed human flesh and blood. In that 
sublime moment she had been flooded with knowledge and 
understanding. Now she knew what she had been, and would 
be again, once her time of punishment was finished. 
	Claire carefully poured a measured amount of 
morphine into the wine bottle. It would be a shock for him at 
first. He'd resist. The influence of the flesh he wore would be 
strong. But she was stronger and she'd be there to help him 
through the process of Rebecoming. And once he came to 
accept his true nature, they'd join as one. Claire smiled again. 
The woman he brought with him would be a proper sacrifice to 
celebrate their joining. Her blood would an fitting sacrament.
	<DING> <DING>...the microwave was finished. She 
removed the meat from the microwave and began chopping it 
into strips. Dinner would be ready on time.

----------------------------
(January 26, 1995)
(Junction of Route 33, near Haverford)

	Both Scully and Mulder were silent as they drove past 
the site where Ann James' body had been found the previous 
day. The last twenty-four hours had been one frustration after 
another. No evidence of missing morphine from any nearby 
medical facility. No useful leads from the sparse evidence 
found at the crime scene. No information on Anna's 
movements after Eric had left her. 
	Eric himself had finally been located - dead drunk in 
an Engleston bar. The agents had driven nearly a hundred miles 
to interview him, only to drive back empty-handed. Anna had 
been alive, well, and furious when Eric had abandoned her by 
the roadside. He'd driven straight home afterwards without 
seeing another soul. Not even one other car on the road.
	The physical circumstances of Anna's death were an 
exact replica of the previous three cases. All three were 
teenage girls, blond and blue-eyed, ordinary, but precious to 
their loved ones. All had been found abandoned by roadsides, 
bodies stripped like deer carcasses. Scully had shipped two of 
the bodies to FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. in the 
hope the killer had not been quite as careful as it appeared. 
Neither she nor Mulder had much faith in that possibility. 
	Mulder had worked up a preliminary psychological 
profile on the killer, but it seemed more full of holes than 
anything else. They were only guessing that the killer was using 
the removed body parts as more than just trophies, but Mulder 
felt an innate certainty that this killer was ingesting the flesh of 
his victims. 
	"Perhaps he feels that by eating their flesh, he absorbs 
them into himself...physically becomes them." Mulder 
suggested, breaking the long quiet.
	"Maybe," Scully replied. "But I think it may be a way 
of reducing them to less than human. He degrades them into 
animals by treating them as a food source."
	"Of course, he could just like the taste," Mulder 
quipped.
	"Oh yeah," Scully retorted. "Probably tastes like 
chicken."
	"Ahhh...more like turkey or duck." Mulder stated 
solemnly.
	Scully glanced over at him with a mixture of 
amusement and surprise. She knew her partner better than 
anyone, but there were still times when even she just wasn't 
sure if he was being serious. "Mulder..."
	"Well, that's what I've heard," he said.
	"Yeah, from who?" Scully asked, not sure she really 
wanted the answer.
	"A serial killer I helped catch my first year in 
behavioral sciences. Franklin Galston. He had a taste for Asian 
women. Literally. We found a freezer full of meat packages - 
all nicely labeled by name."
	Catching Scully's look of disgust, he shrugged his 
shoulders. "Well, at least it made identifying which part 
belonged to which victim easier."
	"Ugh!" Scully shivered. "Just once I'd like to 
investigate something that doesn't make me feel sick to my 
stomach."
	"Hope you're not feeling too sick, Scully. I'll bet 
Claire is a pretty good cook."
	"Anyone who could boil water would look like a real 
cook to you, Mulder. I've seen your attempts in the kitchen."
	"I can too boil water," Mulder rejoined indignantly. 
"And I'm a mean hand with a can opener."
	"Yep, fastest can-opener in the west!" Scully 
responded. They both smiled. 	
	"Actually, though, I really am hungry." Scully said a 
moment later. "It was nice of Claire to offer to feed us 
tonight."
	"Yes, it was. One more stale donut, and I really will 
be sick." Mulder concurred, rubbing his stomach with a 
grimace.
	"There..." Scully pointed to the branch in the road 
ahead. "Turn right on Hawks road. It should be the third house 
on the left."
	Mulder slowed the car and veered off to the right on 
the quiet country lane.
------------------
(January 27, 1995)
(early morning)

	He was frozen, unable to move. Watching through 
half-blinded eyes as his sister floated out of the room. He 
struggled to reach her. Pain coursed through his arms, his 
wrists were on fire. 
	"NOOOOO," he screamed, eyes jerking open.
	"Shhhh," said a soft, warm female voice, as a hand 
brushed over his brow. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes on 
the shadowed face bending down close over his. An aura of 
gold, green eyes, red smiling lips...Claire. Claire!?
	"What?" he breathed deeply, as an attempt to move 
brought him to the shocked realization that his hands and feet 
were bound. He could feel metal cuffs cutting into the flesh of 
his wrists and ankles. "Claire...?"
	"Just relax," she whispered to him, "Here, drink this." 
He coughed and sputtered as she poured a thick salty fluid into 
his half-open mouth. Some of it flooded down his throat, the 
rest splashed down over his chin. She smiled, as though at a 
child who has spilled his milk, wiping the splattered fluid away 
with a soft cloth. As she moved to put it aside, his gaze caught 
the bright red color and he began to shake.
	Memories flooded him in a flash of images. A young 
girl's body in the snow. Carol James's horror as the Sheriff 
broke the news of her daughter's death. Scully sitting curled up 
on a couch in surgical greens. The face of a distraught teenage 
boy. Claire smiling at him as he entered her house. Candle-light 
flickering through wine. Dinner... and then nothing.
	"You...you killed those girls," he stammered in 
shocked comprehension.
	"Of course," she replied smiling at him again, this time 
with approval. "The flesh is necessary to properly maintain my 
awareness in this form. And of course, to give the proper 
sacrifice to Those Who Watch In Darkness. I know you don't 
remember now, but it will come back to you in time. I'll help 
you."
	"Remember what?" he asked, desperately trying to 
focus his still foggy mind.
	"Your true nature. You are like me, but the trap of 
this flesh," she brushed his cheek with her fingertips, "makes 
you forget. Its like a powerful drug, robbing you of your true 
power. Only the ingestion of the flesh and blood of real humans 
can reawaken your awareness of your proper self - return to 
you your power as a force of darkness."
	As he looked up at her with stunned eyes, she 
fingered a drop of blood still resting on the corner of his 
mouth, bringing it up to her mouth to lick at it. She smiled 
again.
	"You're lucky I recognized you. I had to survive 
Rebecoming alone. I went through years of suffering and 
anguish, knowing I didn't belong with these human animals, but 
not knowing why. Only when I consumed human flesh for the 
first time did I truly come to understand. You will know too, 
soon enough, and with my help it will be so much easier for 
you than it was for me. The Dark Powers have blessed us both. 
But now you must rest. Let the blood and flesh you have 
already ingested begin the process."
	"Claire, I..." he began, reaching for words that seemed 
to be slipping away from him before he could grasp them.
	"Shhh," she silenced him with a soft brush of her 
mouth against his. The sudden tingle of physical response he 
felt made him shudder. He closed his eyes and lay still as she 
moved away and left the room, bolting the door behind her.
	He lay there for a few long moments, eyes shut tight, 
body tensed against the chains binding him. Claire was 
obviously insane. She'd killed those girls, believing she needed 
to feed on human flesh. She had fooled both him and Scully 
completely. Scully! He looked around him anxiously, but there 
was no sign of his red-haired partner. He was alone. 'Dear 
God, let her be OK!" he prayed, panic beginning to rise in him.
	He shut the fear down brutally. He had to be able to 
think clearly. He had to figure out how to get out of this, to 
find Scully. Twisting his head as best he could, he tried to 
assess his surroundings through the flicker of candlelight. It 
was a small room, the walls fully covered by dark shimmering 
panels of fabric. The same black cloth covered every surface, 
including the bed he was lying on. A multitude of candles 
provided the only source of light, creating ripples of light and 
shadow. He could feel a length of what felt like satin draped 
over his naked body. The table close to his head held an 
elaborate, branching candle holder, a small bowl whose 
contents he couldn't make out, and the large goblet that must 
have held the blood she'd fed him. The blood-stained cloth 
she'd cleaned him with was draped over the edge. 
	Leaning his head back as far as he could, he was able 
to catch a glimpse of his hands. Heavy shackles were tight 
around his wrists, linked to an elaborately carved iron 
headboard with thick metallic chains. He pulled and twisted 
against them, managing to grasp onto the chains with his 
fingers, but there was little flex available. He could barely 
move his arms at all.
	He turned his attention to his ankles, groaning with 
effort as he tried to lift his head. Pain washed over him at the 
sudden change of position, fire lancing through his temples. He 
dropped his head back, eyes tearing. The quick glance he'd 
caught confirmed the sensations from his already sore ankles. 
No chance of breaking free from those chains. Nothing he 
could do until Claire decided to come back. Somehow he had 
to convince her to let him go. But how?
--------------
(January 27, 1995)
(late evening)

	The door swung open slowly. Mulder blinked as the 
sudden inflow of light made his gloom-adjusted eyes ache. His 
automatic attempt to move his hand to shield his eyes only 
aggravated the growing discomfort in his limbs. He bit back on 
a whimper of pain, averting his eyes away from the doorway as 
Claire entered, carrying a plate and large bottle. After she had 
placed these down on the table by his head, she pushed the 
door shut and came to sit beside him.
	He glared up at her, eyes dark and piercing, lit with 
anger and defiance. She was again struck by the beauty of his 
mortal frame. In the shadowy light, his features were carved in 
stone, black silken bangs covering his forehead, jaw jutted 
forward, deep hollows underlying the arch of his cheekbones. 
The velvety skin along his neck and shoulder was warm to her 
touch as she traced the underside of his jaw with her finger. 
She sighed softly and pulled away. 
	Mulder lay unmoving, noting every movement, every 
reaction, storing it in his memory. He needed to find the points 
of weakness - the wedge he could use to gain his freedom. But 
he also needed desperately to know if Scully was still alive. 
Throughout the long hours of imprisonment, he had thought of 
his partner constantly. He had replayed his memories of her 
over and over: the first moment she had walked into his office; 
the shocked hysterical look on her face as they stood in the rain 
by empty graves on that first case; the time she had lied to 
Skinner to protect him. He remembered the moments of shared 
laughter, shared fear, and shared understanding. Losing her and 
finding her again. Above all, the moment she had broken down 
into his arms after Pfaster had kidnapped her. He could still feel 
her sobs, the warmth of her body pressed against his, the taste 
of her hair against his mouth.
	Bracing himself, he spoke in a scratchy, uneven voice, 
"Scully? Where is she? What have you done with her?"
	Having filled the wine cup, she closed the bottle and 
turned back to him. 
	"Nothing," she replied. "It is not my place to take her. 
She is destined to be your first sacrifice. Since her blood must 
be fresh to properly consecrate your awakening, she will 
remain asleep on the morphine until you are ready."
	Mulder nearly wept with relief and joy. Scully was 
still alive, and would remain safe as long as he could convince 
Claire that he might accept her plans for him. If he could draw 
it out long enough, it might give the Sheriff time to find them. 
He had to have noticed they were missing by now. Mulder 
found himself wondering what was happening outside. 
	"The Sheriff..." he began.
	Claire interrupted him with a soft laugh. "Don't worry, 
my Dark Angel. He is no threat to us. I told him that you and 
Scully came for dinner last night, then left around 8 o'clock to 
go take another look at the crime scenes. They'll probably find 
your car soon, since I left it near where I put Anna's body. I 
covered my tracks carefully so that we'll be safe, my dearest.
	"Now, please drink this. It will give you strength." 
She lowered the goblet of blood to his mouth. Mulder's 
instinctive reaction was to jerk his head away, closing his 
mouth tightly. His stomach roiled at the thought of swallowing 
human blood. It was sickening.
	She pressed her hand to his jaw, pushing his head 
back towards her. 
	"Don't make this difficult," she scolded lightly. "You 
must drink. It's the only way you can awaken to your true 
nature. I know it seems hard at first, but it will get better soon. 
I'll be with you," she urged, pressing the edge of the goblet 
against his pursed lips.
	He closed his eyes and shuddered, weighing his fear 
of angering her against his revulsion at swallowing the blood. 
The knowledge that Scully's life was hanging in the balance 
forced his decision. Grimacing slightly, he obediently opened 
his mouth to let her pour the thick fluid into his throat. He 
gulped it down as rapidly as he could, forcing himself to ignore 
the violent waves of nausea that rocked through him. After 
several choking swallows, she seemed satisfied. 
	"There now, that wasn't so bad." she said, with a 
warm smile. She wiped the corners of his mouth, then reached 
beside her for a sandwich.
	"I remember how much you liked my sandwich the 
other night. Unfortunately, I've run out of the meat I took from 
Rebecca, so I had to use Anna for this one. But I think they 
have a very similar flavor. I chopped up some fresh celery and 
pickle to mix into it for you." She chatted easily, as though this 
was a normal dinner menu.
	Mulder tried to inch away, but he was held fast by the 
chains, trapped in this living nightmare. His skin felt like it was 
crawling with a thousand angry ants. His stomach was doing 
somersaults. His mouth felt contaminated by the salty-sweet 
taste of the blood. He wasn't sure he could handle any more. 
	"I'm not hungry," he managed to croak.
	"Nonsense," she said. "You haven't eaten in over 
twelve hours. Once you taste food, you'll realize how hungry 
you are."
	The worst of it was that she was right about the 
hunger. Sick as he felt, he was starving. But not for this. The 
image of Anna's body in the snow flooded his mind. He shook 
his head. "Please, Claire," he whispered, "Please, I can't."
	"You must," she insisted. "Just take a bite."
	He turned his head away from her, muttering "No" 
through closed lips.
	As she had done earlier, she forced his jaw back 
around to face her. Her green eyes glittered as she stared at 
him determinedly. "Don't argue with me about this. It is 
necessary. You will thank me for it later."
	'Oh no I won't,' he thought furiously, struggling 
against his bonds. She sat serenely by his side, letting him 
struggle helplessly for a while, until the pain in his wrists and 
ankles made him gasp. 
	"There, you see, you're only going to hurt yourself," 
she chided, meeting his angry glare calmly. "Now stop fussing 
and eat your dinner." 
	He closed his eyes in agony. He couldn't do this, not 
even for Scully. He couldn't! But a picture of Scully's face, as it 
had looked when she was laying senseless in a coma in the 
hospital those so few months previously, kept filling his mind. 
How could he let anyone hurt her again? He prayed silently for 
an alternative, but opening his eyes, he could only see Claire's 
lovely, fixated face staring down at him. How could such 
beauty hide such horror? How could he have been so easily 
blinded by her exterior? He violently cursed his own stupidity.
	After a few minutes of deadlock, Claire put the 
sandwich down on the table and crossed the room. Lifting a 
piece of cloth, she removed a large knife. Its shimmering, 
twelve inch blade was centered in an elaborate, curving hilt, 
small jewels lining the edges. Gliding back towards Mulder, she 
brought it down on the sandwich in a series of quick, 
experienced jerks of her wrist. Once the sandwich was cut into 
small square pieces, she seated herself on the edge of the bed. 
Mulder continued to glare at her, refusing to show evidence of 
the fear that was curling its way through his body. 
	The knife blade glimmered in the candlelight as Claire 
brought it down in a slow arc towards his face. He tensed, a 
small gasp escaping through his clamped lips as it came to rest, 
cold and sharp, against his mouth. With her other hand, Claire 
picked up a piece of the sandwich and held it up.
	"I don't want to cause you unnecessary pain, but if I 
have to force your mouth open, I will. You must eat," she said 
calmly, though her eyes sparked green fire. 
	Mulder froze, terrified to move a muscle, even to take 
a breath, as she traced his lips with the point of the knife. 
	Finally she pulled it away and replaced it with the 
chopped slice of human meat and bread. Mulder found himself 
opening his mouth in acceptance, mostly out of sheer terror, 
part out of renewed determination. For now he'd do whatever 
was necessary to keep Scully alive and to convince Claire to 
give him his freedom. His eyes flared with barely-controlled 
fury as he reluctantly chewed and swallowed. Silently, he 
swore to himself that when the time came, he'd see her pay for 
what she'd done.
------------------------


Part Three of "Dark Angel"
by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com
JennyAnn@ix.netcom.com
Note: This story contains graphic violence and some sexual content. It
has an "R" rating for good reason.
----------------------------------------
------------------------
January 30, 1995
(three days later)
	
	Mulder was sleeping peacefully as Claire entered the 
room, carrying a dinner tray. She'd used up most of her store 
of meat feeding them both. If he wasn't ready soon, she'd have 
to kill again. Her thoughts turned to the unconscious woman 
imprisoned in her basement. Killing her would be such a 
pleasure. But it was necessary to be patient. Tomorrow night. 
She was sure he would be ready by then. The ceremony she 
had planned for tonight should finish his awakening. 
	She placed the tray on the table and resumed her seat 
on the edge of the bed by his side. His eyes slowly fluttered 
open to look up at her, a small smile turning the edges of his 
lips upwards. 
	"How are you feeling?" she asked, brushing his bangs 
to the side. 
	"Hungry," he replied, his smile deepening. "That 
smells good."
	"Home-made meatloaf," she said, leaning over to pour 
rich, thick blood into the mug. When she turned back to him, 
he opened his mouth slightly in anticipation, waiting for her to 
pour the salty fluid down his throat. To her satisfaction, he 
drank eagerly, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, glittering like 
diamonds under their dark-lashed shutters. As she dribbled the 
last few drops against his lips, his tongue darted out to sweep 
up the red liquid. She watched him closely, her heart beating 
faster within her breast, delighted with his response.
	As she turned her back to him to prepare the meatloaf 
for him, Mulder's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. He 
hadn't missed one bit of the satisfaction expressed on her 
mobile, flawless features. He had to get her to release him 
soon. It was getting harder and harder to maintain his 
concentration. There were moments he almost believed her 
psychotic fantasies. 
	The monotony of his imprisonment had been broken 
only by her visits. If it had not been for his eidetic memory, 
he'd have gone crazy by now. He bit back a bitter laugh. Until 
now he'd always considered it more of a curse than a blessing. 
But now it supplied a vital distraction. He'd always been able 
to visualize each page of every book he'd read, turning them 
over in his mind. During the last two days, he had worked his 
way through many of his favorite books: Shakespeare's 
"Hamlet,"  Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead,"  and Ngaio 
Marsh's mysteries. But above all, he had again read every 
precious word of Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle's "The Sherlock 
Holmes' Mysteries." How he loved those stories.
	The flow of his thoughts was shattered when he 
realized she was turning back to look at him. Instantly he 
relaxed his face, sliding back into the soft smile with which he'd 
greeted her. She smiled in return, scooping up a fork-full of the 
meatloaf and lowering it into his mouth. 
	"I hope you like this. It took me a while to make," she 
said. "Sheryl loaned me the recipe. Its supposed to be done 
with beef, but human meat is better for us." 
	He swallowed the concoction and grinned up at her, 
"Its great. Thank you."
	"You're welcome," she said, continuing to feed him.
	After he had worked his way through about half of it, 
he closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry Claire, I'm stuffed. I 
couldn't eat another bite."
	"That's OK," she said, pleased with how well he was 
cooperating. "We can save it for later. Let me just clean this 
up, then we'll get started."
	"Get started?" he questioned, trying hard to keep his 
voice from shaking. 
	"I think it's time for you to be consecrated," she said 
wiping the edges of his mouth clean. Then she picked up the 
tray and left the room.
	After she left, Mulder worked himself into a panic, 
straining against his chains, the agony in his raw and chafed 
wrists and ankles barely penetrating his mind. His thoughts 
kept tumbling in a circle. What did Claire mean by 
'consecrated?' Again and again he heard her soft, velvety voice 
saying, "She is destined to be your first sacrifice...her blood 
must be fresh to properly consecrate your awakening..."
	 Swallowing the blood of strangers had been difficult 
enough. The thought of being forced to drink the blood of the 
woman he loved, knowing she'd been murdered to procure it, 
made every nerve in his body fire, like a thousand piercing 
needles stabbing him at once. His heart pounded in his chest, 
his teeth ground as he clamped down his jaw, and his eyes 
darkened to solid black circles. He could feel the rush of his 
own blood in his ears as it burned through his veins. If Claire 
hurt so much as one lovely, auburn hair on Scully's head, he 
would kill her. Somehow, some way, if it took his own life in 
the process, he was going to carve her into pieces.
	The sound of the door being opened sent a final 
tremor through him. Then he became deathly still, unmoving, 
every muscle tensed to its limit, but paralyzed. 
	Claire hummed softly to herself as she entered the 
room, a large pitcher of blood cradled in her arms. This would 
consume most of her remaining blood supply, drained from the 
four teenagers she'd killed in the last month. But it would be 
enough. Tomorrow they would be able to siphon enough from 
Dana sustain them until they found another sacrifice.
	Mulder watched her with narrowed eyes as she placed 
the pitcher on the table, moving the candelabra across the room 
to allow space. Her blond hair was loose and unbound for the 
first time since he'd met her, and he was surprised by the 
length. It flowed all the way down her back in waves of gold. 
She was dressed in a simple black robe, no make-up, no 
jewelry. Even her fingernails had been stripped of their usual 
red color.
	She poured blood from the coppery-colored pitcher 
into a small bowl, placing it on the edge of the table closest to 
the bed. Then she calmly unbuttoned and discarded her robe, 
leaving her sleek, peach-skinned body naked. Even despite his 
terror and hatred, Mulder found himself responding to her 
beauty. A response that embarrassed him deeply when she 
reached over to remove the black satin cloth that had been 
draped over him. However, to his relief, she ignored it, even 
when she clambered up to seat herself on his chest, knees bent 
on either side of his torso.
	Picking up the bowl of blood, she balanced it against 
his upper chest.
	"Try to stay as still as possible," she told him. "This is 
the last of my blood supply until we harvest Dana tomorrow."
	He nodded, barely managing to contain a cry of joy. 
Scully was still safe. At least for now. He had to convince 
Claire to release him from his chains. He didn't know what she 
was planning to do to him tonight, but it didn't matter. He 
could cope with anything as long as it gave him the chance to 
save Scully's life.
	Claire dipped her hands into the blood and lifted up a 
cupped handful. She held it above the bowl and let it dribble 
through her fingers. Smiling down at him, she then lifted the 
bowl with blood-stained fingertips and put it off to the side. 
Then she leaned down over Mulder, her breasts brushing his 
face, as she began to coat his hands and forearms with the wet, 
sticky fluid. She worked her way down his arms slowly, 
massaging the blood into his skin, inch by inch. Every so often, 
she'd lift herself back up to dip her hands into the gory bowl, 
small drops splattering against her body and his. One tear-
shaped droplet fell onto the upper slope of her right breast as 
she arched to stretch out the muscles of her shoulder and back. 
Mulder found himself absorbed by its slow trickle down her 
flesh, circling her nipple and cascading down the underside of 
her breast.
	Her face aglow, eyes sparkling a bright green fire, 
Claire finished with his shoulders and began to rub the blood 
into his hair. Again and again she pushed wet, sticky fingers 
through the dark silken strands, coating them with a red sheen. 
She meticulously stroked his bangs, drawing each wayward 
lock between gore-coated fingers. Next she caressed his face, 
leaving trails of blood across his forehead, cheekbones, nose 
and jaw, tracing the hollows below his eyes, his upper lip and 
his chin. Finally she let one finger trail across his lips.
	Mulder slowly opened his mouth, curling his tongue 
around that finger, feeling a rush of satisfaction at her gasp of 
surprise. She shivered slightly as she lowered her finger deeper 
into his mouth. Taking full advantage of her response, Mulder 
sucked on her finger, flicking the sensitive fingertip with the 
edge of his tongue. She let him continue for a moment, her 
eyes half-closed in pleasure, then reluctantly pulled it away.
	Mulder lay still as she continued to paint his body 
with the blood: shoulders and chest, sides and abdomen. Her 
wet hands circled his belly in slow concentric circles, then slid 
to stroke his hips. He groaned slightly, leaning his head back 
and closing his eyes, as her hands found his pelvis and began to 
move even lower. To his relief she skirted his genitals and 
proceeded down his left leg, coating that limb fully, even 
drawing her blood-painted fingers between his toes. She gave 
the same thorough attention to his right foot and leg, this time 
inching her way upwards from his foot to his thigh. She paused 
there to plunge her arms, almost to the elbow, into the pitcher 
of blood, too excited to bother pouring the warm, viscous fluid 
into the bowl. Her own blood was racing with exultation.
	Mulder's control broke as she held her gory, dripping 
hands over his now fully erect penis. The splatter of wet fluid 
over his sensitized skin made him jerk against his chains. As 
her hands began to caress him, he moaned low and deep in his 
throat. He wanted and hated her touch:
	Wanted to pull her against him and release the flood 
of his desire into the furnace of her body. 
	Wanted to pull her off of him and throw her to the 
floor. 
	Wanted to devour her mouth with his. 
	Wanted to close his hands around her throat and 
squeeze the life out of her.
	Wanted... 
	His conscious mind shattered as she swooped down 
to close upon him with the moist heat of her mouth and 
tongue.
---------------
(January 31, 1995)
(early evening)

	Mulder woke with a jolt into total darkness. Yawning, 
he brought his hand down to his face to rub his eyes. Moved 
his hand? He froze for an instant, then attempted an awkward 
leap towards a sitting position. Crying out in pain, he ended up 
sprawled across the bed, agony piercing his arms, shoulders 
and legs. It felt like a thousand pins and needles were stabbing 
into his flesh. Tears filled his eyes as he realized that he was 
finally free of the chains. Free, but only barely able to move.
	Slowly he lifted, bent, and rotated his right arm, 
wincing as the muscles protested the sudden movement after 
days on being imprisoned in one position. When he could move 
that arm without intense discomfort, he excersized the other. 
Finally able to sit up, he leaned down to massage the aching 
muscles in his legs.
	He was bent over the edge of the bed, fiercely probing 
his right calf muscle, when the door opened, sending a bright 
stream of light into the darkness. Mulder grimaced, shielding 
his dark-adjusted eyes with his right hand. Peering through his 
fingers he watched Claire as she entered the room and lit the 
candles. The flames  sputtered and grew, throwing a soft glow 
over the room. As his eyes adjusted, Mulder pulled his hand 
down and sat still watching her, his mind clicking while his 
emotions boiled.
	Claire finished lighting the candles and turned to look 
at him. He was still nude, long legs sprawled out awkwardly 
off the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees, hands 
clasped under his chin. His skin was covered with a brown, 
flaking crust of dried blood, while his eyes glinted up at her 
from under a wing of disarrayed bangs.  She walked over to 
stand in front of him, reaching out to smooth down a lock of 
hair that was standing on end just off the crown of his head. 
Mulder didn't respond. He just kept giving her that intense, 
piercing stare.
	She smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead, then 
walked across the room. Opening a drawer, she removed a 
long black robe, a larger version of the gown she was wearing. 
Turning back to him, she held it out to him. 
	"Its time," she said.
	He met her eyes in acknowledgment. Taking the robe 
from her he donned it quickly, stumbling slightly as he stood 
up. She steadied him briefly, then holding his right arm, she led 
him from the room.
			------------------------
	Dana Scully struggled impotently against the ropes 
binding her wrists and ankles. Her mind was still numb. She 
had a faint memory of eating dinner with Mulder and Claire, 
then of feeling exhausted. She remembered thinking, 'I'll close 
my eyes just for a minute.' Then there was nothing until she'd 
slowly awakened here. Wherever 'here' was.
	She tried to take stock of her surroundings. The room 
was painted in black, walls decorated with surreal and violent 
paintings. She was bound to a couch-like table that reminded 
her uncomfortably of an altar. Candles flickered on a nearby 
table and in branched-holders dotted throughout the room. It 
was difficult to see what else was on the table from her vantage 
point: a few bottles and a bowl, as well as something with a 
bright metallic glimmer.
	Realizing that she was unlikely to be able to break the 
bonds herself, she stopped struggling and lay still, conserving 
her strength. She wondered yet again where Mulder was, 
praying that he was alright. 
	She knew that if it was humanly possible, and maybe 
even if it was not humanly possible, Mulder would find her. 
He'd never give up. But that was only if he was still alive. Or 
was it? Scully almost laughed. While she'd never been one to 
believe in ghosts, if there was anyone stubborn enough to 
become one, even if only to prove to her that they were real, it 
would be Fox Mulder. He'd probably haunt her just to say 'I 
told you so.' Right now she'd be willing to hear that from him. 
To hear anything from him.
	The sound of the door opening caught her attention 
and she lifted her head slightly to get a better look. She drew a 
deep breath in shock as Claire led Mulder into the room, both 
dressed in flowing black robes. Claire looked angelic. Her face 
was serene and glowing, her long blond hair cascading down 
over her shoulders all the way to her waist. Mulder, on the 
other hand, looked horrible - frightening. He walked with an 
uncomfortable shuffle that was a far cry from his usual athletic 
grace. His skin looked like it was peeling, though as she got a 
closer look, she realized it was coated with a rust-brown 
substance that was beginning to flake off.
	But it was his face and eyes and made her stomach 
cramp up in knots. The bones stood out under his skin in sharp 
definition, creating deep hollows beneath his eyes and 
cheekbones. His forehead was covered by a mass of tangled 
hair. His eyes were deep-set and cold:  iris and pupil combined 
into an indistinguishable black hole. He barely glanced at 
Scully, standing motionless where Claire placed him by Scully's 
feet.
	"Mulder..." Scully tried to speak to him.
	"Be silent," Claire responded, leaning down over 
Scully to re-check her bonds.
	"What's going on, Claire? What's wrong with 
Mulder?" Scully asked insistently.
	Without a word, Claire picked up a long black cloth 
from the table and bound it around Scully's mouth, tying the 
ends around the back of her head. Claire stood back for a 
moment, then finally satisfied with the condition of her victim, 
she smiled.
	"Nothing's wrong with Mulder, Dana." she purred. 
"He's just been awakened to his full power as an Angel of 
Darkness. Tonight, you will be his first sacrifice to the Dark 
Powers."
	Scully shook her head in shock, trying desperately to 
comprehend Claire's words. "Dark Powers? Mulder 
awakened..." He didn't look awakened, he looked catatonic.
	A flash of light caught Scully's eye and she almost 
gagged on the cloth caught between her teeth. Claire was 
holding up a long ceremonial knife with elaborately carved hilt 
and a twelve-inch blade. Scully's eyes widened as the truth 
finally struck her. Claire was the killer they had been searching 
for!
	"Nooo!" she barely managed to make the sound as 
Claire moved towards her with the knife. However, before 
Claire could begin to lower the shining edge towards the 
helpless agent, her hand was arrested in mid-air as Mulder's fist 
closed around her wrist. Her hair shimmered as she turned to 
look up a him.
	He didn't say a word, just stared fiercely at her, eyes 
glowing like twin coals. Claire leaned her head back and 
laughed, a glorious tinkling sound that echoed in the silence. 
Then she relaxed her hold on the hilt and let the knife slip into 
his waiting hand. Scully watched in shock as Mulder hefted the 
knife in his hands, turning it over, testing its balance. 
	The red-haired agent closed her eyes in anguish, 
terrified both for Mulder and for herself. She didn't understand 
what was happening. But he was her partner - and more. He 
was the other half of her soul. She sent up a silent, pleading 
prayer and lay still as he held the knife high, clasped in both 
hands, pointed downward over her breast. She looked straight 
up into his eyes, desperately trying to communicate with him, 
but his eyes remained blank.
	He stood frozen in that position for a brief second, 
though it seemed like an eternity to the woman trapped below 
the knife.  
	"Noooo!" Scully moaned through her gag, squeezing 
her eyes shut, as Mulder jerked his hands downwards, but the 
voice that screamed in pain was not her own.
	Scully's eyes flashed open and she twisted her head to 
the side.
	Claire was writhing against the table, hands helplessly 
trying to fend off the knife that Mulder brought down upon on 
her again and again. Blood spurted from wounds in her chest 
and abdomen, flowed from gashes in her hands and arms. One 
swipe came down across her face, marring its perfection with a 
jagged, dripping line of bared flesh. Another pierced her breast, 
penetrating her robe as though it was tissue paper, splitting the 
soft flesh wide open.
	The metal flashed in the candlelight, splattering red 
drops of blood over the entire scene, as it continued to strike 
her. Claire screamed achingly, in a deep groan that grew until it 
shattered into a keening wail and silenced. But Mulder 
wouldn't stop. He kept stabbing her broken body over and over 
while it slid to the floor like a rag doll. He kept stabbing her 
until he buried the knife point into her skull so firmly that he 
was unable to pull it free.
	Scully watched him with tearful eyes as he yanked 
angrily at the knife hilt. Finally he cried out in frustration, 
sinking to his knees on the floor beside Claire's mangled body. 
He reached out with cupped hands and drew up a handful of 
her blood to his mouth. Scully watched with horror as he 
lapped at it eagerly.
	A sudden loud noise at the door startled them both. 
Scully thrust her tongue against her bond, trying to push it out 
enough to cry for help. Mulder stumbled to his feet, barely 
reaching an upright position by the time the door opened and 
Sheriff Turner came bursting in, gun in hand. Two deputies 
spilled in after him, their eyes widening in shock as they took in 
the gory scene facing them. 
	Mulder let it his blood-dripping hands fall to his side 
and stood motionless, looking straight at the Sheriff, his mouth 
slowly curving into a grin.
	"Welcome to the party, Sheriff," he said.
-----------------------------------------
(February 1, 1995)
Haverford Town Green

	
	Snow crunched under her footsteps as Dana Scully 
walked across the small town green. Spotting the tall, dark 
figure of her partner standing by the edge of a frozen pond, she 
almost broke into a run. Finally coming up beside him, she 
pulled to halt, turning to look up at him with deep concern in 
her clear blue eyes.
	"Mulder..."
	"I'm fine, Scully," he responded, not meeting her eyes. 
He remained motionless, staring intently out over the ice.
	Scully sighed in frustration. She hated it when he shut 
her out like this. She'd thought she'd been making progress, but 
now the barriers were shut down tight around him again. Not 
for the first time, she found herself wishing Claire was still alive 
so that Scully could have the pleasure of strangling her. But 
Mulder had been thorough. Scully would never lose the image 
of Claire's mangled body, or the sight of Mulder wielding that 
knife. She closed her eyes and shuddered, again seeing the flex 
of muscles in his arms, the bright spurt of blood that splashed 
first over him, then onto Scully herself, and the way Claire's 
body had slid down to the floor.	
	But despite the horror of those memories, she would 
never blame Mulder for what he had done. And neither would 
the sheriff. They had both listened to his mechanically-recited 
story with sick hearts, never doubting a word. There was 
plenty of physical evidence to support him. One of the sheriff's 
men had been violently sick after finding a freezer full of the 
missing organs. Hearts, lungs, kidneys were piled haphazardly 
on top of each other in a frozen puddle. A nearly empty pitcher 
of blood was found in the refrigerator, as well as left-over food 
that was later proven to contain human meat. 
	The sheriff had begun investigating Claire after the 
agents had disappeared. Nothing more than a hunch at first, his 
suspicions of the doctor had quickly grown. People he had 
questioned about her had seemed uneasy. She had left a high-
paying job at a hospital in Chicago for no apparent reason. 
Finally, a detailed comparison of ordering and supply records 
at the clinic showed that more morphine had been ordered than 
had been recorded in the supply log. Convinced that she was 
involved in the murders, and possibly in the agent's 
disappearance as well, the sheriff had pushed for a warrant to 
search her house. Scully would always be grateful for the 
sheriff's quick thinking. If he hadn't gotten to Claire's house 
when he did...
	Lost in thought, she didn't notice that Mulder had 
stopped staring out over the pond and had angled his head 
around to watch her. He studied her silently for a few long 
moments, watching as the breeze rustled through her shoulder-
length auburn hair. The cold air had burnished her cheeks to as 
nearly a bright red as her hair. The bright blue of her coat 
reflected into the deep blue of her eyes. Each precious breath 
she released was vivid in the icy air. He wanted to reach out 
and hold her, but was terrified to do so. He felt contaminated, 
dirty, after what Claire had made him do.
	Scully finally realized he was watching her and looked 
up to meet his eyes. The anguish she saw in them struck her 
deeply. She reached out for his hands, refusing to let go even 
as he tried to pull away.
	"No," she told him firmly. "I won't let you run away 
from me, Fox Mulder. Not now." He silently shook his head.
	"Damn it Mulder, talk to me!" she yelled, tightening 
her grasp on his fingers.
	"Scully, there isn't anything to say."
	"Nothing to say? After all you've been through? 
Please, don't shut me out. I care about you."
	"I care about you too, Scully," he replied sadly. "Its just that 
I...I'm not good at this." He pulled away and turned his back to 
her momentarily, his head bent down, studying his hands. Then 
straightening his shoulders, he turned back to face her. "Scully, 
I felt something for her. I hated her as much as I've ever hated 
anyone, and yet a part of me still wanted her. And at the end, 
after I killed her, I felt so empty. Once the rage was gone, it 
was like there was nothing left of me. She thought I was like 
her, Scully, and I'm beginning to think that maybe she was 
right."	
	Scully felt tears forming in her eyes as she glared 
fiercely up at her, her eyes burning. "NO! you are nothing like 
her, Mulder. Her obsession with you was just another facet of 
her sickness. It had nothing to do with you. You were as much 
her victim as the girls she murdered, Mulder. You KNOW 
that!" she insisted vehemently.
	He shrugged his shoulders.
	"Mulder!" she said again, searching his face. "No-one 
blames you for anything. Don't blame yourself. Most people 
would not  have had survived what you went through. But you 
held yourself together and saved both of our lives. That took 
courage and strength. Don't start doubting yourself now."
	"Scully, I..." he shook his head slightly. "I guess I'm 
afraid. I'm dangerous for the people around me." His voice 
deepened with emotion. "I couldn't bear it if you were killed."
	She stepped up against him, grasping his upper hands, 
and bending her head back to look up into his face. "Mulder, I 
can't guarantee that either of us will live to see tomorrow. 
Either one of us cold be run over by a car. Our plane could 
crash on the way back to Washington. Any number of things 
could happen - but you can't live terrified of  'could be's.' I'm 
here now and have no intention of dying for a very long time. 
You have to trust me, and trust yourself."
	He looked deeply into her eyes for a long moment, 
then reached out and wrapped her up tightly against him. With 
a sigh of relief, she relaxed into his arms, resting her head 
against his chest while he buried his face into her hair.
	The sunlight glimmered on the snow and ice as they 
stood enclosed in each other's arms, grateful to be alive and 
together.
	
The End