From: Avril Brown GATEWAY "I am the Teller of Tales and I will be heard. Bad times are coming. Peace is for the dead." "Where'd you get *that* weird crap, Jonny-boy?" Rafe sniggered. "Came to me." "In a dream. Right." "Can it, ratface." Marky chugged down half his beer. "Leave the kid be. D'you guys wanna hear his stuff or not?" "Yeah, yeah - just leave out the mystic crap. Right, Jonny-boy?" The firelight gave Jonny's eyes an oddly unfocused look. The taunts eddied around him, but left him untouched. The sight in his good eye blurred in the sudden heat, until it was an inward looking as his blinded orb. He bowed his head. "G'wan, Jonny-boy. Do your stuff. Tell the - *story*." Joanne waited until the silence was absolute. Not a leaf dropped, nor a twig stirred. Even the campfire flames had dulled to a sullen glare. He began. "I am the Teller of Tales. Heed my story for Your lives are windblown leaves dragging in the wind. Only the ancient forest heard the wind laugh and saw the blue fire leap through the portal that split the worlds asunder. The trees wept a forest of leaves to cover their hurts. * * * * * "Hey, Mulder." "Scully!" He jumped up abruptly, his chair clattering back against the filing cabinet. "You're late," he accused. "Yeah," she dumped her purse, fell into her chair. "I had a doctor's appointment. Did I forget to tell you?" She looked so weary that he quite forgot the clutching fear he had felt when she hadn't showed at her usual time, hadn't answered her phone. He crossed to sit on the edge of her desk. She let him tilt her chin up. His eyes were so full of his concern for her that it was painful to look at. "What's the matter, Dana?" His thumb caressed her cheek. "I'm fine, Mulder. It's just - nothing. I'm just a little run down." Scully seemed a little flustered by his attention. She reached for her mug, made to go for her coffee. Mulder quickly put both hands to her shoulders, effectively keeping her in her seat. "You would tell me, wouldn't you," he said softly, "If there was something - wrong?" "Like you confide in me when you're hurting?" Oh great, Dana, she thought, *Kick him where it really hurts, why don't you*. She saw the sudden hurt flash across his eyes. He might be so good at masking his emotions that nothing showed in his face, his body language so under control that it took a seasoned Mulder-watcher like herself to know when something was bothering him, but his eyes, his eyes showed everything. "Dana," He let his hands drop to his lap, where he fiddled uncomfortably with his watchstrap. "I don't do the confiding thing. You know that." His voice was bitter with - contempt, irony, amusement? - he shrugged. "It's one of my many failings, I guess." Scully touched his knee, gently, quickly, feeling the muscles tense momentarily. "I know. That was a cheap shot." She sighed. "There's nothing *wrong* with me, Mulder. I'm tired, I'm stressed out. I'm just a little off-balance. Run down. Kind of a woman thing, you know." "Ah," he nodded sagely, eyes just beginning to twinkle. She caught the look. "Don't you *dare* even think it, Mulder," she warned him. He laughed as she swatted at him, easily catching her hand. "But you would tell me if -" "If what, Mulder?" Then she smiled, squeezed his hand. "Of course I would. You're my best friend." He held her hand a moment longer, then went to fetch their coffees. While he was out the fax rang, then began spewing out page after page of report. Scully was scribbling furious notes in the margins when Mulder returned, and he paused to read over her shoulder. "Something for us?" She passed him the top page, which was addressed to him anyway. "Could be, Mulder. Four teenagers were found buried under a leaf pile in the national park in Oregon. There were no external signs of injury, no signs of violence - no wounds, no blood, no bruises. Nothing at all to suggest any kind of trauma, yet in each case the blood chemistry shows every sign of violent death." She passed him the coroner's reports, complete with her notations. "Hmm. Oregon again. Better pack some warm clothes, Scully. Gets kinda cold there this time of year." * * * * * Scully awoke with a sudden jerk that left her breathless. It took her a moment to orientate herself. Their flight was just about to commence its descent; as she glanced across at Mulder, she had a sudden vivid flashback to their first trip to Oregon. It had been their first case together after she had been assigned to 'validate' his work on the X-Files. She remembered thinking then how much she hated flying, and how much she wished she wasn't on that flight, that she hadn't agreed to work with the Bureau's resident flake. When the plane had hit a massive pocket of turbulence, she even began to think that the whole thing was an elaborate joke, but - there was something about Mulder's intensity, something about the old sorrows buried deep in his eyes that intrigued her. She had heard the stories, of course. Nobody, but nobody got through the FBI Academy at Quantico without hearing chapter and verse the entire 'Spooky' Mulder legend. The eidetic memory that grossed him straight A's. The massive intuitive leaps that left even lecturers floundering in his wake. But most of all, it was the spooky way he seemed to be able to see right into other people's minds. He knew things he shouldn't, and that was where the stupid nickname started. Instead of laughing it off, Mulder took it to heart. He was shy to start with, when the ragging started he became more withdrawn, moody, more inclined to follow his own interests in the paranormal. Interest became an obsession, the obsession that kept him going, that made him keep on pushing to get at some elusive truth that even he could only vaguely grasp at. Even though it was an obsession that sometimes made her question her sanity as well as his, it was what made him the man he was. Scully smiled fondly as she watched him sleep, sprawled awkwardly in a cramped airline seat. His legs were way too long for him to be anything like comfortable, but relaxation smoothed out the lines, wiped out shadows, making him look ten years younger. She wondered idly if she looked as vulnerable in when she slept. As if aware of her scrutiny, Mulder awoke with the same jolt she had. Seeing her eyes upon him, he smiled quickly, straightening in his seat, fiddling with his seatbelt, anything to stop him thinking that maybe she had seen him with all of his defences down. They were both glad when the plane finally landed and they could get on their way. * * * * * Scully sneezed resoundingly, making Mulder jump. He quickly steered them back onto their own side of the road. "Sorry," she fumbled for a handkerchief. "You okay, Scully? You've been kind of quiet since we got off the plane." She sighed, "I think I'm starting a cold, that's all." As if to prove it, she sneezed again, blew her nose. * * * * * When they arrived at their motel, Mulder thought that she should lie down and rest while he called the local police for an update. She protested loudly, but must have dozed off anyway, because the next thing she was aware of was the bed dipping wildly as Mulder sat down beside her. "Hey, how are you feeling?" He was holding out a steaming cup of coffee. Scully took the drink and sipped it gratefully. Her throat hurt, and her head felt like Mike Tyson had been using it as a punching bag. She hoped she didn't look half as bad as she felt. "I've been better," she admitted. "What did you find out from the police?" Mulder's cellular rang before he could answer her. "Mulder. What? How many? Where? I'll be there as soon as I can." He shut off the phone. "They've found more bodies. Three this time. I'm going to meet Detective Lamara at the scene." "I'm coming with you." Her voice sounded more determined than she felt. She swung her legs to the floor, but Mulder stopped her from getting up. He tenderly swept a tousled lock from her forehead. "I think you should stay here, Dana." She swatted his hand aside. "I'm fine, Mulder. It's only a cold." He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "I'll meet you downstairs." * * * * * "Detective Lamara? I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder," he held up his ID. "And this is my partner Dana Scully." Lamara nodded briefly. "You'd better come take a look, Agent Mulder, but I warn you - they aren't a pretty sight." He glanced at Scully, a look which Mulder intercepted. "Agent Scully is a forensic pathologist." Scully flashed him a look that was half annoyance - she didn't need anyone to defend her, and half gratitude that he bothered. The bodies were in situ as Mulder had ordered, but covered by blood soiled sheets. The amount of gore was prodigious, and Mulder took a unobtrusively deep breath before tugging back the covering on the first body. "Jesus!" The expletive was out before he could stop it. The youth's torso was almost non-existent, exploded outwards by some internal violence. Amongst the wreckage of the ribcage, pulverised internal organs putrefied. The stench went so far beyond the usual death pall that it was indescribable. Lamara turned away as Scully knelt beside Mulder. "Hell of a heartburn, wouldn't you say, Scully?" Scully gave him a look that clearly told him to can it with the sick jokes. "God, Mulder, he looks like a bomb went off inside him." "Or something decided it was time to get out and about ...." Scully looked at him appraisingly, "I wish I'd never gotten you the Aliens boxed set, Mulder...." "You've got to admit, though, this is kinda what it looks like." "Not now, Mulder," she raised her voice. "Detective Lamara, can we get these bodies to the morgue? I'll need to autopsy them, although I don't think there'll be much call for scalpels on this one." As she stood, the sky did a nosedive towards her. * * * * * Scully's next awareness was of someone calling her name softly. When she opened her eyes, she found someone had managed to get her into the passenger seat of the rental. The seat was reclined as far as it would go, which was pretty near horizontal. Mulder's coat was spread over her and his folded jacket was under her head. When she turned her head a little, she found her partner in the driver's seat watching her anxiously. "Hey. How you feeling?" She let him pull her into a sitting position. "How long was I out?" "Not long. About five minutes." Scully looked at him. "Okay, okay," he raised his hands in self-defence as she struggled to get the seat back into the upright position. "It was nearer ten. Scully, what happened to you back there?" "It was nothing, Mulder. I just felt dizzy." She coughed hard, feeling the reverberations deep in her chest. "Scully, it was hardly nothing. You order an autopsy, stand up, then next thing I know you're doing a dying swan impersonation in front of one of the most rampantly sexist policemen it has ever been my misfortune to meet!" Mulder's eyes were lit by anger now, as well as concern. "Lamara is now completely convinced that you are totally unsuitable for the job, and I practically had to sit on him to stop him calling Skinner to tell him that." Mulder became aware that Scully wasn't listening to him. He touched her shoulder. "Scully?" And his voice was much gentler, "Talk to me, Scully." Scully put one hand to her forehead. When she spoke, her voice was faint, "Mulder, will you take me back to the motel. I don't feel so good." She huddled under his coat, looking so miserable that his heart gave a painful lurch, and he had a sudden vision of a time when she had lain dying in a Georgetown hospital. Mulder touched her cheek briefly, smiling with a confidence he couldn't feel. "Sure," he said, "I'll just make sure Lamara knows what it is he's supposed to be doing with those bodies first." He slid out of the car. "Agent Mulder. I hope the little lady is feeling better. Violent death can be - upsetting for a woman ...." Mulder cut him off brusquely. "Agent Scully knows more about violent death and about the inside of the human body than you or I ever could. Or would want to. "I'm sure I didn't mean ....." Mulder continued smoothly, ignoring the interruption, "However, a combination of the long trip up here, and the effects of a 24 hour virus have taken their toll on her. I'm quite sure she'll be more than well enough to carry out the autopsies tomorrow morning. I'd like you to make sure that the bodies are prepped and waiting for her at ten o'clock. Now, if there is anything else tonight, I'll be at our motel. Otherwise, I'm contactable on this number." Mulder handed Lamara a business card. Scully appeared to doze fitfully on the drive back to the motel, coughing and sneezing alternately. When they drew up in the parking lot, he had to lift her from the car and set her on her feet. She leaned on him heavily all the way up to their rooms. * * * * * Dana tossed her stained scrubs into the disposal, peeling off the latex gloves. She washed her hands thoroughly, trying to get rid of the feel of the rubber from her skin. She splashed some water in her face. Mulder hadn't wanted her doing the autopsy in the first place; she had had a rough night, barely sleeping and waking him for a change. Having him feed her aspirin and hot drinks was bizarre enough without being bumped from the job she'd come all the way out here to do, so she'd fought him tooth and nail, and eventually he'd relented. Working under the strong overhead light in the autopsy bay had brought her cold out in force. Several times she had been forced to turn away to avoid sneezing into the open chest cavity or brain pan. It had been hard to concentrate with the sweat trickling down her temple and her throat burning, but her professionalism overrode her common sense, and she worked on regardless. * * * * * Mulder was waiting for her in the staff common room, flicking idly through a medical journal. He watched with barely concealed concern as she flopped into a chair. She made no attempt to reach for her laptop which had been set up on the counter. Normally, Dana was so eager to get into her reports that she would ignore the Chinese or pizza that Mulder would bring in for her. "You look tired, Dana," Mulder said, then wondered if it was especially unwise to state the obvious. "I *am* tired," she pushed weary hands through her hair. "Come on then, get your things together and I'll take you out for something to eat. You can tell me what you found over dinner." Dana nodded, smiled faintly, but made no attempt to move. Mulder collected up the laptop, shoving it unused back into its case. When he looked over, Dana was still sprawled in the chair with her eyes closed. He brushed his fingertips across her forehead. She was warm but not hot. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty, your dinner awaits." He held out his hand, and Dana let him pull her to her feet. "Does that make you Prince Charming or the frog?" "With my luck? The frog probably. You could try kissing me though, see what I turn into." Mulder made hopeful eyes at her. "With *my* luck, you'd turn into a frog." "Then it would an X-file." Dana punched his shoulder, "Shut up and drive, Mulder." "Yes, Scully." At least he had made her smile. * * * * * Dana didn't talk much through dinner. The restaurant Mulder had taken them to was very good, but tiny, and the diners were sitting practically in each other laps. Dana thought that their normal dinner conversation wouldn't be especially appreciated by their companions. The food was good, but she wasn't hungry, instead offloading her leftovers onto Mulder's plate. He ate steadily, a pleasant change from all those sullen motel evenings when he pushed food around his plate in silence. He was in good form too, trying to make her laugh, take her mind off how she was feeling. Dana did relent at the end, and shared dessert with him, an ice cream, whipped cream and fruit concoction that neither of them could have finished alone. Even Mulder was daunted, and sat spoon in hand, wondering where to start. "When I do an autopsy," Dana whispered to him in a confidential tone," I generally start at the beginning, go on to the end and then stop." Mulder glowered at her in silence for a moment, then said, "Well, thanks for sharing that profound piece of wisdom, Scully." Dana grinned and snagged herself the cherry off the top. * * * * * Mulder had been right; Dana did feel better after dinner. They walked for a while after he paid the bill - his own credit card, not the Bureau's Amex - before going back to the car. "We should get back - I have to write up the autopsy reports." "No way," Mulder shook his head. "What?" "You're not getting the laptop back tonight. All you're going to do is get into bed and have a good night's sleep." Dana came to a dead halt, hands on hips, obviously prepared to argue with him. "That's exactly what you'd tell me. Isn't it?" She relaxed suddenly, and smiled. She nodded. "Okay. You win. But just this once." * * * * * It was nice to have Mulder fuss over her. The tucking in irritated her, but she tried not to let it show. It was no more than she'd do for him. He sat with her, hand on her forehead, until she slept. * * * * * Dana woke early the next morning feeling much refreshed. When Mulder knocked on her door, she was saving the final report. She was all business this morning, Mulder noticed. "It's the same as before, Mulder. The body chemistry shows all the signs of violent death; this time, obviously, there *was* violence. And you were right, the chest cavities exploded from the inside. But I can't find any trace of there ever having been any organism or device there to cause that kind of injury." "What do you mean?" "Well, for the ribcage to shatter like that, considerable force would have to be applied. The human ribs can take a great deal of pressure before snapping - you should know all about that. That suggests that something, some creature, or some explosive - concussive device, was lodged in each of the victims' bodies." "A parasite, perhaps?" "No, much bigger, and this wasn't attached to or feeding off any particular organ that I can see. No, it was inside the chest cavity, but ...." "But?" "If there was something there, there would be some sign. Some minute change in the body's internal architecture or chemistry that would show the presence of an alien substance." She caught the gleam in Mulder's eye. "Not that kind of alien, Mulder. Honestly, you're incorrigible sometimes." Mulder grinned. "Maybe the changes were just too minute for you to pick up. Or ...." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Or?" "Maybe they just imagined the whole thing." Dana favoured him with her top-of-the-range patented roll up her eyes to heaven, hark to my fool of a partner look. "Come on, Scully! Have you got any other explanation? Lamara's men still haven't found anything, and they've been out there 48 hours solid now. Conventional theories are obviously out, let's try the unconventional now, shall we?" "Mulder, your unconventional is not just 'unconventional', it's also unscientific and totally implausible, not to mention impossible." Ah, now it was hands on hips. This was war. Mulder leaned down to Dana's height. "On what particular scientific basis do you base that little pet theory, *Dr* Scully?" She hated it, absolutely hated it, when he did that, throwing her MD at her in that tone of voice. It made her want to rip off an arm or two and beat him over the head with the wet end. "Get real, Mulder! Lack of material evidence does *not* - listen up - does *not* mean that those boys died from a bad case of overactive imaginations! Kids that age are more likely to die from alcohol poisoning or in a car crash." Mulder folded his arms and leaned back, smirking at her. "Jesus, Mulder, I really can't be bothered getting into this with you. Get out there and find me some evidence that I can work with." "And how precisely oh-Special Agent am I supposed to find what Lamara's men can't?" "You're the genius, you figure it out." * * * * * Jonny was sitting in his clearing in the woods. The sunlight was watching him from behind the high spreading branches, and the wind was whispering in his ears. No matter which way he turned, the Gateway was always behind his left shoulder. He had seen what Gateway had done to the boys around the fire. That was the curse of the Teller of Tales, to watch and to tell, but never to be a part of the story. Gateway had ripped through their little camp, cleansing all with his burning light, and only Jonny had walked out of the maelstrom. A vague part of his soul protested that he should be appalled, upset at the least, at the havoc wreaked by his Tales, but Gateway protected him always, cradling his mind and whispering his truths in Jonny's inner ear. Jonny-inside wanted to run screaming to the detective he'd seen earlier, or else the agent who'd collapsed over the bodies in the woods, but Gateway always said no, that wasn't the way. Instead, there was always a Tale to Tell. And Jonny lit his fire, and waited for his audience. "Mulder, where are you going?" *Damn*, Mulder thought to himself, *she knows me too damn well*. He turned, trying to smile innocently. "Just out for a run." "In jeans and hiking boots? I don't think so, Mulder." Dana stepped fully into his room. "C'mon, monkey-boy, give. Where are you going?" *Go for bust, Mulder. The worse she can do is break both your legs*. "I'm going out into the woods. I have a feeling the answers are there ...." "But you just have to know where to look." Dana grinned at him. "I think that's my line." She turned to grab her coat. "I'm coming with you." "No way, Scully. You're still not well. I think you should stay here ...." "And lie awake all night wondering if you tripped over a tree root and broke your leg? No way, Mulder. I'm coming with you - I feel much happier when I know where you are. I like you," and she poked him in the chest. "Exactly where I can see you. Besides, if anyone's going to break your legs, it's gonna be me." Mulder swallowed hard, and followed her out of the room. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night. * * * * * Jonny added wood to the fire, making the flames caper in the cool night air. Gateway sat on his shoulder, smiling his gape-mouth grin. Jonny sat back. The audience were coming. * * * * * "Why does it always rain when we're out here?" Water, icy cold rainwater, was trickling down Scully's neck as she tried to keep pace with Mulder. Sometimes she just hated guys with long, long legs, and right about now she would much rather be tucked up nice and snug in her narrow bed at the motel, or better yet back home in DC. Mulder grinned over his shoulder at her. "Why, Scully, I don't know. Maybe it's just our spooky luck." Scully made a face at his back, wishing she was close enough to kick his ankle. "Do you have any idea at all where we're going, or are we just going to wander around out here all night?" "Having a cold doesn't do much for your temper, does it?" "Working with you does nothing to improve my temper." "Touch2," Mulder tipped an imaginary hat to her, then stopped so suddenly Scully bounced off his broad back. Mulder sighed. "All right, let's go back. As usual, I've got absolutely no idea what I - we're looking for. I came out here on a hunch that there would be - I don't know - something, but I've got no idea what it is." He reached out a hand to lightly touch her sopping hair, and Scully thought she saw the faint gleam of his teeth against the dark. "Besides, you should be in bed resting, not tramping through Oregon rain with me. If you get pneumonia you have my permission to beat the crap outta me." "I wish." "Me too." "Move it, Mulder, before I start beating up on you right now." "Oh please," He was definitely grinning ear to ear now. *Smug .....* she thought. "Scully, that hurt." "Good." They had turned back on the trail, walking in silence for some minutes. Scully led the way, the thought of being warm and dry propelling her forward when all her aching body wanted to do was rest. "Scully? I don't think this is the way we came." Mulder's voice was hesitant. "What!" Scully realised she'd just been walking, following the path without thinking. "What happened to that much-vaunted memory of yours?" "You were in front," he said, not a little shamefaced, and the apology in his voice if not in his eyes. "Oh great, it's peeing down and we're lost in the woods in the middle of the night. It just doesn't get any better, does it? I don't suppose you thought to tell anyone where we were going?" Mulder shook his head. "You weren't supposed to know, either." "No cellular?" Again the head shake. "I didn't want you calling me at an - inopportune moment." "Why oh why do I keep letting him do this to me? Scully asked the uncaring heavens. "Because secretly deep down inside you're madly in love with me?" Mulder asked hopefully. Amazingly, she laughed. Before her flathanded shove sent him stumbling backwards over a tree root. "Hey!" he yelled more in surprise than hurt as he landed on his butt. "In your dreams, Mulder." "I was only ..... Hey, Scully, come take a look at this." Scully hunkered down beside him. "Flames? In this?" "C'mon, let's check it out." Mulder slid his gun loose in its holster. Underneath his soaking jacket the cold, silent metal rested snug against his hip and its was a reassuring weight, a comforter in the dark and cold. * * * * * In the flames, Jonny saw the Audience lost in the dark. He sighed, and sent flamelets to light their way. He had thought the man a better seeker of truths than to stray from the clearest of paths. The woman was a distraction in his life; he was losing the tightness of his focus. Sometimes it was so damn complicated. * * * * * "It *is* a fire!" Scully wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or offended that a fire could burn so easily and welcomingly in the same downpour that had soaked both her and Mulder to the skin. The chill in her bones was trying to draw her to the comforting warmth of the flames, but training and commonsense made her draw her gun a fraction ahead of Mulder. A slight tilt of his head and she moved around to cover him. Not a twig cracked nor leave stirred, but the figure sitting crosslegged behind the flames looked straight at them and smiled. "Be welcome." A courteous hand waved them to the dry ground by his fire. * * * * * The night seemed to have gone on forever. Anyone who has lain out on a summer's night knows that the stars move, appearing to shift and change as the Earth rotates on its axis. Tonight the sky was frozen, caught in a snapshot of time, trapped in amber. The arch of stars were silent and cold, not a breath of wind nor whisper of cloud to obscure their unwinking gaze. Beyond the fire, the rain continued undiminished. "Who are you?" Scully had always admired Mulder's directness; it had helped to cut out a lot of the crap in their investigations, but tonight it somehow seemed inappropriate. She touched Mulder's shoulder, one fingertip, featherlight. "Mulder...." "Please. It is perfectly all right. Your curiosity is only natural." The urbane smile was a little too natural, too unforced for such a young man. Still, Mulder found himself responding. He holstered his gun. Scully had long since put her weapon away. "My name is Jonny. I am the Teller of Tales," and he smiled as if that encompassed Life, the Universe and Everything. When nothing further was forthcoming, Mulder ventured, "What are you doing out here, Jonny? Shouldn't you be at home with your family?" "I am beyond family. I am waiting. That's what I do. I wait." "What do you wait for, Jonny?" This from Scully. "I wait for the Audience. Then I Tell my Tale. Tonight I was waiting for you." Mulder let his hand creep back to rest on the soothing slickness of the butt of his gun. Jonny saw the subtle gesture. "I mean you no harm, Fox Mulder." He saw Dana start at the use of the name. "Nor you, Dana Scully. " I am the Teller of Tales, and my stories are your lives. Heed them well. That did it. Mulder's weapon was out, held doublehanded and out straight, his hands never wavering in his perfect kneeling stance. His eyes were cool above the barrel. Scully didn't understand, thought she had missed some nuance in the all too brief exchange of words - such things were Mulder's province anyway, the spooky stuff that gave him his nickname. He saw pictures in the shadows, heard the intention behind the words long before the speaker had even thought it. A second later, Scully was covering Jonny as Mulder got to his feet. Mulder moved cautiously around the fire. "Stand up and turn around." His voice was harsh. Jonny remained sitting calmly. Scully moved around the other side of the fire, shining her torch on the man. "Mulder, he's just a kid!" Mulder looked, looked again, then stretched out a hand to haul Jonny to his feet. Jonny rose easily, his smile appearing unbidden. Gateway was still on his shoulder, biding his time for the right moment. *He doesn't mean to be harsh*, he thought. *Fear motivates even this one.* "Come on, Jonny, what are you really doing out here in the storm? What do you know about the deaths?" "Fear is the killer, Fox Mulder, not I." Again the smile. It was a calm and beatific smile, one that had adorned the faces of saints and demons over the centuries. Scully recognised it without knowing precisely what it was. Its very serenity could drive a man to senseless rage. Mulder glared down at Jonny. The gun felt slippery in his grasp as he pushed the boy back and raised his weapon slowly, slowly .... Scully's resounding sneeze startled birds from their roosts and made Mulder fumble his gun. He turned angrily, then the light was upon them, a tumult of chaos and wind and white noise that tossed them both from their feet and buffeted them into silence. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: Avril Brown Subject: Gateway 2/3 Date: Mon, 01 Jan 96 14:12:10 GMT GATEWAY PT2 The morning sky was the worst kind of grey, the grey that makes you wish for spring. The storm had passed, but had left behind the lethargy that said "Winter's but a breath away". Waterlogged, even the ferns looked sullen. It was droplets of rainwater, dripping from the tall pines that finally brought Mulder back to awareness. *Scratchy pillow*, he thought without opening his eyes. *Hell of a motel - what comes of letting Scully pick this time. Even the ceiling leaks....* Mulder's back hurt, his head ached and the smell of damp loam assaulted his nostrils. Last time he had felt this bad, he'd been on the outside of a bottle and a half of meths loosely masquerading as vodka. He opened his eyes slowly. Trees trailed before him, looming tall and damp. Mulder sat up abruptly. Too abruptly. He reeled, clutching his head. When the world had stopped dancing round the stars that were punching him, he opened his eyes again, noting detachedly that there was blood on his fingers. Then he saw Scully. Mulder scooted over to where she lay sprawled on her back, one arm outflung, a gesture that reminded him oddly of a supplicant before an uncaring altar. Scully's face was pale, but calm, and her chest rose and fell gently with her breathing. There was no blood, nor any bruises, that Mulder could see anywhere on her. He gripped her shoulder. "Scully?" Then her cheek, "Dana? C'mon, Dana, come back to me." Her eyelids fluttered and she stirred, just a little. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty." Scully muttered something incomprehensible that might've been, "Just five minutes more, Mom." Mulder grinned. "Up an' at 'em, Agent Scully. Can't lie here all day." Suddenly here eyes were open and she was aware. At such close quarters, Mulder noted - and not for the first time - just how disconcerting was the blueness of her eyes. He helped her sit up. The change of position brought on a fit of coughing that doubled her over and brought a high colour to her otherwise pale cheeks. Mulder touched at her forehead. "I think you're running a fever, Scully." "What happened, Mulder?" her voice was rough, rasping and hoarse. "Last thing I remember, you were about to shoot that kid." "We were attacked," Mulder's face was calm and set. "By something." * * * * * In the end, Mulder had had to virtually carry Scully to the road, where they were able to flag down a passing motorist. The middle aged driver had taken in Mulder's proffered ID and his semi-conscious companion in one startled glance, then packed them both swiftly into his station wagon. They had made the motel in record time. Dr Briggs knew incipient pneumonia when he saw it, helping Mulder carry Scully up to her room and put her to bed. "I'm tempted to get her to hospital, Agent Mulder. Her lungs sound none too great, her colour's so bad it's almost non-existent and her pulse is way too rapid. A night in the woods in that storm was exactly what she *didn't* need." "I know that. She insisted on coming." "Redheads are like that. My wife's exactly the same. So stubborn she had our firstborn on the back porch because she was determined not to call the ambulance until it was absolutely necessary." Mulder grinned. He could see Scully doing precisely the same thing. "Damn woman's a nurse too, should've known better." "She's a doctor," Mulder offered. "I thought she'd have known how to look after herself better." "We're the worst kind," Briggs said softly. "So busy putting other people first to care about ourselves." He finished tucking the comforter around Scully. "She'll sleep most of the day with the sedative and the anti-biotics I've given her. Now, I know you're likely here to investigate the deaths in the woods, but I need you to take good care of her right now. She needs warmth and fluids and plenty of ...." Briggs paused, "TLC, if she's going to get better." Mulder met the older man's eyes for a long moment, then nodded once. "Here's my number. Call me - any time at all - if you're the slightest bit worried about Dana. She'll probably be cranky as hell when she wakes up." * * * * * Scully was propped up in bed when Mulder returned. She was still a pasty grey, enhanced only by a flush high on each cheek. Her eyes were fever bright. "Hey." Mulder sat on the edge of her bed, stretching out a hand to brush hair away from her face. Scully glowered at him and batted his hand away, then fell to coughing. She leaned forward, trying to clear the fluid from her lungs. Mulder rubbed her back soothingly. When she had recovered, Scully slumped back against her pillows, breathing hard. Mulder rested his hand on her forehead, concerned at the heat he felt there. "Thirsty," she pointed to cup on the nightstand. "It's empty. Do you want some water?" "No. I want to throw the cup at you." Scully opened her eyes and glared at him. *Cranky doesn't even come close, Briggs,* Mulder thought ruefully, *Deeply homicidal is probably more like it.* "I'm sorry, Dana," Mulder said softly, letting his hands drop into his lap. "I'm sorry I dragged you out into the woods last night and let you get sick." Scully looked up at him. "It should be me lying there today, not you." "I wish it was," she said heartily, then suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. "I didn't mean that, Mulder. I'm sorry. It was my own fault. I should know better by now than to go traipsing through a forest at night with you, especially when I've got the 'flu ...." "Aha, so you're *finally* admitting it was more than *just a cold*, eh?" "Gimme a break, Mulder." They sat in silence while Scully dozed a little. Occasionally Mulder would reach out and tenderly smooth her hair. It wouldn't matter what she said, here, now or later, he would still feel guilty about her being sick. Finally, she roused a little to ask, "What's the latest on our case? Did you find him yet?" "Find who?" "The boy, Jonny. *The Teller of Tales*?" "He was long gone. We found the ashes from his fire, and our tracks in the mud on the path, so at least we know that part happened." Scully looked at him oddly, and Mulder continued, "Do you remember what happened when we were attacked?" Scully frowned. "No, nothing, nothing at all. Just some rhyme the boy said, then a light, bright light, then - nothing." "There was another death last night, not long after we were attacked." "What!" Scully sat up abruptly, bringing on another coughing fit. "Damn! I knew I shouldn't have told you." "No, no, I'm okay. Where did they find the body?" "There was an accident on the interstate - nothing serious - just someone who skidded in the rain and went off the road. When the rescue crew went to winch the car out they found the body." Mulder stopped, staring down at his hands. "Was it like the others?" Scully asked softly. "No," he shook his head. "Nothing like the others." "What then?" "She drowned, Scully. Drowned by the side of the road." "She must've fallen into the drainage ditch. There would be several inches of water after that rain ....." "She was by the side of the road, Scully. There was no ditch, no water, nothing. She was lying in the undergrowth, her lungs full of water and her skin wrinkled. When they moved her, her face fell away from her skull like she'd been in deep water for hours and hours." Mulder's voice was rising. Had it been anyone else, Scully would have thought them on the edge of hysteria. She fought her own sickness and exhaustion to reach out to him. "That could've been us, Scully. Could've been you and I lying there today." "Could she have drowned, or been drowned somewhere else and the body put there?" "No. We checked. The ground was like a quagmire, mud everywhere. There were only her tracks leading from the forest. No-one else's. And get this - when we backtracked we found traces of a fire. It was right where we met 'Jonny' last night." * * * * * Gateway was angry, Jonny knew. Gateway had not sat on his shoulder for an age now. Instead, he sulked in a corner of Jonny's mind, a dark spot that could not be touched or probed. Jonny sighed. The world was a colder, damper place when Gateway was like this. Hunger gnawed and snapped, and his bones ached where the cold had settled. His feet hurt and the thorns snagged and tore his flesh greedily. Gateway made the world recede so that Jonny sailed through, a summer breeze that no-one and nothing could touch. "I'm sorry," Jonny said aloud. "I didn't expect him to resist. He's a believer. I thought he would be easy to handle." The whispering grew louder, the last leaves of autumn falling as one inside his mind. "The woman? Yes, the woman. I know him now. This time, this time, I promise you." The whispering soothed into the bubbling of a summer brook, fish leaping and the smell of honeysuckle. Jonny smiled and the world went away. * * * * * "It's definitely a drowning death, Agent Mulder." Cornelius Quinn tossed his gloves into the disposal. "What's interesting is how the body came to be out on the interstate." Mulder found it hard to keep from curling his top lip in disdain. There was something about the man's attitude and demeanour that set his teeth on edge. "I've taken the liberty of reviewing the reports that Agent - uh, Scully has already filed on the previous deaths. She came to some - shall we say - *unorthodox* conclusions." Quinn raised an eyebrow, his smirk inviting Mulder to agree with him. "You have a point to make, *Dr* Quinn?" Quinn shrugged quickly. Mulder's tone was as brooding and dangerous as his eyes. "Detective Lamara tells me Agent Scully was sick when she arrived. Fainted at one of the crime scenes even." The innuendo was clear. Rage, pure and clear, surged through Mulder. It was all he could do to stop from slamming Quinn off the wall. Instead he drew himself to his full height. "Sick or not," his voice was quiet, measured. "I have *never* known Agent Scully come to anything less than a carefully reasoned, logical and scientific conclusion. Furthermore, *Dr* Scully is the most rational, sceptical and ultimately sane person I have ever known or worked with, and I value her for that alone. If you have some complaint or comment you wish to make about her work or her competence, then as her field superior, I would ask you to make it here and now." Quinn dared to look Mulder in the eye, quailed at the threat he saw there and capitulated. Lamara's description didn't even come close - the man wasn't insane, or even a kook or a government geek, just a dedicated agent fiercely loyal to his partner. "I'm sure I didn't mean to suggest anything improper, Agent Mulder. This - all of this - it just isn't something I'm used to. It just doesn't seem possible ...." "Most of the cases we work on seem impossible," Mulder commented dryly. "I don't envy you, if that's what you're used to. How do you stay sane when you have to deal with that every day?" Mulder stared at the floor for a very long time before answering. "When you start out, you try to be gung ho, like nothing touches you, but you're so green everything but *everything* gets past your defences. In time you learn not to let it show. Time builds better defences too, sometimes less gets through. But you feel it all just the same. The violence, the horror, the senselessness ...." Mulder shuddered, and Quinn thought he had never seen a man look so haunted outside of his death bed. "They tell me the FBI is sending someone up to fill in for Agent Scully." "Yeah, it's someone she recommended. Someone she used to work with at Quantico." "How is she, Agent Mulder? Dr Briggs said she wasn't too good this morning?" "If she takes it easy, she's gonna be just fine." Quinn pretended he hadn't heard the desperation in Mulder's voice. * * * * * "Agent Mulder, so good of you to drop by and see us all again," Lamara's voice purred with saccharine disgust. Mulder pointedly waved away the cigarette fug before he sat down. The hostility was more than evident, the room positively reeked of it. Mulder realised that Lamara had pulled his particular cronies to sit in on this meeting, and they were ranged against him on the detective's side of the desk. They were openly grinning, waiting for the fun to start. Mulder sat very still, determined not to give them the satisfaction of him squirming in his seat. He felt very naked without Scully at his side. It was a long time since he had been alone in a situation like this. He had gotten used to the ignorance and the prejudices of men like Lamara; in fact, he sometimes found his kind far easier to deal with than the openminded who asked questions he didn't have the answers to. It felt odd, though, not having Scully to play 'bait the sucker' with. He would catch her eye and grimace, just a little, then they would take turns preparing verbal grenades which they would bat one to the other before finally lobbing it at the hapless sap. Worked every time. No-one expected Special Agent Dr Dana Scully, neat in a suit, and terribly precise to say some of the things she did. Her unexpectedness was one of things he liked most about her. He hadn't wanted to leave her, but Briggs assured him that he would call if there was the slightest change for better or for worse. Mulder suppressed a sigh. "And how is the *little lady* today? Better I hope." Lamara's voice was so sugar coated Mulder wanted to vomit. "She'll live," Mulder said shortly, his voice calm and face neutral. "So what's her problem? She on the rag? Got PMS? Maybe she's got one in the oven she didn't tell you about." It was terribly hard not to beat Lamara's head to a pulp. Mulder noticed the red creeping in at the edge of his vision and steadfastly ignored it. He wondered if this was how it had been for his father all those years, before he flew into one of his rages. "Agent Scully is suffering from pneumonia. She has been very lucky since it was caught in the early stages, and I am assured that she will recover very quickly with the appropriate treatment. I'll be very sure and pass on your good wishes to her - I'm sure she'll want to thank you all in person when she feels able to deal with them *appropriately*. I do know that Chief Worthington will be pleased to know what high regard you all hold Agent Scully in. I know he's a personal friend of the Director of the FBI." Mulder met and held each man's eyes in turn. Mulder's eyes were grey today, cold and bare as the sky, holding a promise of such violence that even Lamara shrank back in his chair. He stubbed out his cigarette quickly. "Yeah, well you tell her we said to get better soon, huh?" Lamara turned to Orton, who generally served as his deputy, ADC and brownnose. "Okay Hugh, what details we got on the drowned woman?" "Name of Annie Sykes. Lived out on Whyte's Causeway. She was a divorcee, no kids. Been unemployed for the best part of a year. Lived on Welfare." "Where did she used to work?" Mulder leaned forward in his chair. "On the fishfarm. Apparently she quit after the accident last year. Coupla workers drowned when a bridge gave way over the deep salmon pool." Orton added by way of answering Mulder's unspoken question. "Sykes saw them go in, but she can't swim - terrified of water - and by the time she raised help, they were dead." "The ex?" Lamara asked. "In England. Professor of -" Orton consulted his notebook, "English at Edinburgh." "Scotland." Mulder murmured, "Edinburgh's in Scotland." "Whatever. Was the split amicable?" "Apparently so. He wanted to go back to - " Orton glanced over to Mulder, "Scotland, but she didn't. Since there were no kids, they agreed to go their separate ways." "Check up on the ex. Make sure he's still in Scotland." Lamara snapped. "Mulder, you got any ideas yet?" "A few. What do you know about a teenage boy, aged around 15 of 16, maybe 17, who might hang out around the woods?" Lamara laughed without humour. "Christ, Mulder, they *all* hang out in the woods at that age. Smoke, drink, do dope, make out. About the only thing they don't do there is fight. *That* they like to bring into town." Lamara sighed. "You got a name or a description?" "Called himself Jonny. Referred to himself as 'The Teller of Tales'. Skinny kid, about 5' 7" or 5' 8", dark hair, cut ragged. Looked like he had an eye injury, or maybe even blind in one eye." Mulder pointed to his left eye. "Jesus," Mulder turned to Orton. "You know him?" Lamara frowned, and Orton ducked his head. "It only *sounds* like the Briggs kid. That kid's been gone for years. Hell, must be all of five years now since he disappeared." "Briggs? Dr Briggs?" "Yeah. You know him?" "It was him picked us up this morning." * * * * * Scully's first awareness was that she was wet, soaked through in fact. She wondered if the motel had flooded in the night and somehow they had forgotten to tell her. It would be just like Mulder to take off and forget all about her .... Scully coughed and groaned; her inside of her throat felt like someone had been stropping their open razor on it all night. Her head ached, and so did her blocked sinuses. Then she remembered. Last night. In the woods with Mulder, and getting lost. Scully pushed herself gingerly to a sitting position. Every movement triggered a coughing fit. This time she was going to kill him for sure. Then she saw Mulder. Lying face down on the ground, unmoving. From this distance, it was hard for Scully to tell whether or not he was still breathing. His face was terribly pale as she turned him over, and he was bleeding into the soft, damp forest loam. The gash above one eye was more than superficial, Scully could tell from an examination made less than professional by suddenly trembling hands and a desperate need to be in out of the cold and the wet as soon as humanly possible. Then she froze. She remembered Jonny and the verse he had recited just before the light. Oh god, the light .... Mulder roused a little at her touch, mumbling incoherently and opening his eyes without focussing. Scully shook herself a little. There would be time to brood on her memories later. "C'mon, Mulder. Come back to me now. I can't carry you back to civilisation over my shoulder." When his eyes slipped shut again, Scully shook his shoulder just a little harder. "Come on, you big lump. I need you to sit up now." And with her help, he sat. Scully gave him a moment to orientate himself before she pulled him to his feet. They made it in one remarkably easy go. Mulder reeled and clutched at her for support until Scully was heartily glad when he was at last able to hold his own body weight at least semi-upright. "Okay now, monkey-boy, that was the easy part. Now I need you to walk for me." She pulled his arm across her shoulders and wrapped one arm around his waist, allowing him to lean on her as much as he needed to. "Come on, you can drag your knuckles on the ground later if you want." The stagger - it could hardly be described as a walk or a journey - to the road took far less time than Scully had ever dared hope. She never would have thought it possible to be so glad to see tarmacaddam that she would want to drop to her knees and kiss the ground. *God*, she thought, *we must've been closer to the road than we realised last night. How come we never found it?* Scully let Mulder lower himself to the shoulder of the road to rest, glad not to have his weight on her for a while. It took her a moment to realise that the rumbling she could hear was not a rushing in her ears, but the sound of an approaching vehicle. She flagged the startled motorist down, trying to offer the middle-aged driver her ID, but he was way too busy loading her semi-conscious partner into the back seat of his station wagon to pay too much attention. * * * * * Mulder had been treated in the Emergency Room and admitted to the hospital for observation, before Scully had even had a chance to properly talk with their rescuer. >From their reception at the hospital, she had quickly realised that he was a doctor, the local general practitioner in all likelihood. He was certainly well enough liked and definitely well respected by all the staff. Remembering Lamara as one of countless hostile reactions, Scully felt a pang of loss for the camaraderie of the health care professional. She took a moment to wonder if she would still have joined the Bureau if she had but known what she would be giving up. Then she gazed down at Mulder's face, calm in sedated sleep, and smiled, slow and beautiful. Not for all the respect of the saver of lives would she have given up knowing him. At a clearing of the throat, she looked up. Dr Briggs was beckoning to her. She followed him out into the corridor. "I'm so glad I was passing by, Agent Scully. It's such a quiet road through the forest, and you've never have managed to get him back to town all by yourself." "I know. I'm very grateful to you." Scully broke off to cough. Briggs laid a worried professional hand on her arm. "You sound a little under the weather yourself." "It's nothing," Scully shook her head. "Just a cold I've had since I got here. It'll pass in its own time." "You want to take care, though. It could easily become something else." Scully laughed. "That sound exactly like something I would say to Mulder." When Briggs frowned a little, she quickly added, "I'm a doctor, too. Did my residency in Washington General. When I qualified, I joined the FBI as a forensic pathologist." The clouds lifted from Briggs' brow and he grinned at her. "Way out of my league, *Dr* Scully!. I presume you and Agent Mulder are here to investigate the murders?" Scully nodded, suddenly too tired to talk about the case. Briggs saw her try to smother a yawn. "Here, whatever am I thinking of! Let me take you back to your motel. You must be exhausted. I'll leave word for the hospital to contact you there if there's any need." He saw her hesitate, looking towards Mulder's room. "He'll sleep most of the day now. He's quite safe here." Scully let Briggs guide her back to his car. She showered and changed on autopilot, remembering only to set her alarm for her early afternoon meeting with Detective Lamara before she fell into bed. God, but she hated substituting for Mulder at these things .... * * * * * Not for the first time, Scully wished Mulder would write his notes down instead of carrying them around in his head. A photographic memory was all very well, but when the person so blessed is out of action, then things get just that little bit more 'difficult' for the partner. Scully decided to share the difficulty around. She downloaded the last of their work to disk and shut the computer off, and smiled without humour. Let Lamara deal with that. The guy was such a Neanderthal she seriously doubted that he even knew where the power switch was on the ancient 286 gathering dust in one corner of his paper-strewn, smelly office. Scully checked her reflection one last time. Even to her own critical gaze she looked every inch the professional pathologist and capable FBI agent. She fully intended to knock Lamara dead at this meeting, quite literally if necessary. * * * * * "Why, *Agent* Scully, how good of you to join us today. Where's Mulder? Out chasing little green men?" Lamara grinned round the room, "Or maybe he found a little green woman instead." Lamara had pulled his especial buddies in for this meeting, and Scully was confronted with four equality-challenged, testosterone-overdosed, overweight buffoons. Strangely, it relaxed her. She was used to this. It was just like being back home. "Let's cut the crap, shall we, Detective. Agent Mulder is in hospital. We were attacked last night chasing down a lead out in the forest." There was a snort of laughter. "You have a relevant comment to make, Detective? No? Fine, then please keep your schoolyard humour to yourself. There is a time and place for that." Scully knew she sounded like a schoolmarm, but didn't care. She let herself go in full teacher bitch mode, enjoying herself immensely. It had been way too long. Scully always got the unruliest of rookie classes at Quantico. Being one of the younger female lecturers on campus, and by far the shortest, they thought of her as a pushover. The really difficult ones took her to the end of the day to quell. The rest were eating out of her hand by lunchtime. "Agent Mulder has worked up a profile on the killer," Scully handed over the disk. "You'll also find my autopsy reports on the latest bodies, along with my comments on the previous deaths. If you care to review them now, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have." She sat back in her chair, clearly prepared to wait. Lamara looked at the disk in his hand. He licked his lips. "I'd - um- like some time to review this." Scully smiled. Her only regret was that Mulder wasn't here to witness Lamara's discomfiture. This had to be the ultimate 'bait the sucker'. "Is there a problem, Detective?" "Uh - none, none. I'm just a little - um - I'd just like more time to study your - uh - work." Lamara dropped the disk onto his desk. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us instead about what you were doing out in the forest last night...." "Sir, sir?" Sergeant Orton ducked around the door. "There's been another one." * * * * * "Subject's lungs are full of water indicating that death was by drowning. Age of subject is difficult to determine. On detailed examination, facial tissue sloughed clean away from the skull. That, and the puckering evident over the entire body would lead me to conclude that the subject has lain in deep water for a number of hours. At this time, I am unable to say where or when death took place. The only certainty is that death cannot have occurred where the body was found." * * * * * "Hey." Mulder was propped up in bed. He was a little pale, and bruising showed around the edges of the bandage on his forehead, otherwise he seemed well recovered and already chafing to be out of the hospital. "Hey, Scully. You here to bust me out? Did I miss anything exciting today? You find that kid yet?" Scully held up a hand. "Whoa - one at a time. Hassle me and I'll see they keep you in 'till the end of the week." He made a face at her, "The ultimate deterrant ...." "A week in hospital?" "Nah, a pissed-off Scully." He tried a grin. "Right. That's it." Scully got up. *Uh oh.*" Hey I was only kidding. Honest." He grabbed for her hand. "Sorry. Did you meet with Lamara today?" "Uh huh." "And?" Scully sat down. "Strike one to the G-men." Mulder grinned."Damn, and I missed that. Life is not fair. Anything else?" "Yes. There was another death." Mulder's shoulders slumped. "Tell me." "She was found about the same time we were attacked. An unemployed divorcee by the name of Annie Sykes. Lived on the other side of town. Welfare claimant, no children." As if those details were important. A woman was dead, her life gone. That was what really mattered. "Where was she found?" "A motorist lost control out on the interstate, and when they went to winch his car out, they found the body." Mulder sensed there was more. "And?" "Mulder, she drowned." "An inch of runoff in the ditch is all it would take, I guess ...." "There was no ditch, Mulder. No runoff. She was lying in the undergrowth. I did the autopsy myself before I came here. Her lungs were full of water. And you know what else? Her face peeled off in my hand. Jesus, Mulder, she looked she'd been in deep water for hours, maybe days." There was a sharpness to Scully's voice that took Mulder a moment to recognise. It was the first notes of hysteria. He chose his next words carefully. "Could she have drowned, or been drowned, somewhere else and the body dumped there?" Scully shook her head. "Already checked that. Remember how soft the ground was last night? There were no tracks there except the victim's. And the winch crew." She forestalled his next question. "They checked out fine, and so did the driver of the wrecked car." She studied her hands, "I'll tell you what I did find. The remains of a fire." Scully met his eyes again. "She died right where we met that boy, Jonny, last night." * * * * * "Detective Lamara, do you know of a young boy, aged around 16 or 17 living out in the forest? He looked to have defective vision in his left eye, possibly even blind in that eye, scar running from here," Scully indicated the outside corner of her own eye, "Down to his chin. Calling himself Jonny." Lamara sighed, "Agent Scully, I'd like to help you, really I would, but I need more to go on. I need a last name or a fuller description." "Sorry, no last name, but I would judge him to be around 5' 7" or 5' 8" in height," She remembered how easily Mulder had towered over the boy, "Dark hair, almost to his shoulders, ragged cut like he'd done it himself. It was too dark to make out his clothes, looked like jeans and a T-shirt though, all pretty torn up. His good eye was blue. He spoke well, recited some verse at us ...." "Jesus!" Orton couldn't help himself. "That's the Briggs kid." "Hugh! Jonathan Briggs' been gone five years now. Wasn't him they saw last night." "Sure sounds like it ...." "Briggs? *Dr* Briggs?" Yeah. Do you know him?" "It was him who picked us up this morning." * * * * * Mulder's room was empty when Scully got to the hospital, the bed stripped and bare. Scully groped for the single hard chair and sank down. The memory of another empty hospital bed impinged, and her mind screamed. She wondered faintly when it had happened. Her cellular had been switched off while she met with Lamara, not wanting to be disturbed. They must have given up trying to reach her .... "Dr Scully? Dana? Oh my dear, I've been trying to reach you." "Dr Briggs! When did it happen?" "My dear? Oh, Agent Mulder. My dear girl, I'm so sorry. I *told* that idiot girl to make sure you got the message. Your partner was so set on checking himself out of the hospital tonight that they said he could go so long as he remained under medical supervision. When we couldn't raise you, I took the liberty of taking him home with me. My wife's a nurse," Briggs glanced at his watch, "I would imagine she's feeding him right about now. He'll be occupied for some time, I should think." The relief made Scully's knees weak. "My dear, I'm sorry for the upset. Look, you'd be more than welcome to stay with us too whilst you work on your case. Since the boy left us .... Well, it's a big house, and lonely. We'd welcome your company." "It's very kind of you. The motel's very nice - better than some that Mulder's landed us in." "But it's not home?" Briggs smiled. "You must travel a lot," He guided her out to his car. "Come on, we'll pick up your things on the way over." "All over the country." In the car, Briggs asked, "Tell me, how ever do you manage to stay sane? How can you do what you do and not go off the proverbial deep end?" Scully stared out of the window so long that he thought she wasn't going to answer. "It's very hard sometimes. The things you see ,,,, I have nightmare, such dreams," she shook her head. "You know, when you first train to be an agent, you think that you're going to be so cool, that you know exactly how you'll handle yourself. Once you get out there? It's so different. You learn how to build your defences in time, how to hide what you feel or what you think, but if you're any good at your job, then you'll always take some of it home with you." "I don't envy you. I don't envy you at all." And she quite forgot to ask him about the boy. * * * * * It was happening, the Tale was growing, taking on a life of its own. It was good, and Gateway was happy. Jonny smiled. When Gateway was like this, he didn't need his fire to keep him warm. All was as it should be. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: Avril Brown Subject: Gateway 3/3 Date: Mon, 01 Jan 96 14:12:42 GMT GATEWAY PT3 "Briggs! Where the hell is she? Why didn't you call me?" "Agent Mulder? Whatever's the matter?" "Scully, where is she?" "She's upstairs, sleeping." When Mulder made to go up the stairs, Briggs put a hand on his arm. "Agent Mulder, I *did* try to reach you. Your cellular was switched off nearly all day." "I was in a meeting." "Didn't the girl at Reception give you the message I left?" When Mulder shook his head, Briggs continued, "Idiot girl! I did tell to make sure it was passed on. You see, Agent Scully called me when she couldn't get you. She said she was feelingmuch worse, and I'm afraid I took the liberty of bringing her home, rather than pack her off to the hospital. There's really no more they can do for her than we can do here," Briggs touched Mulder's shoulder. "Come on up. You'll be able to see for yourself how much easier she's resting now." They peered carefully around the door. Norma Briggs was sitting knitting by Scully's bedside. Mulder eased across the wooden floor to study his partner, lightly touching her face. She certainly felt cooler and her colour was definitely better. Scully stirred a little at his touch. "Mulder? That you?" "Yeah, it's me Scully." "How - how'd it go today?" "Peachy. Lamara's now my biggest fan." Scully managed a watery smile at that. "Give 'im hell, Mulder." She closed her eyes again. Briggs tugged on Mulder's arm. "Let her sleep. I'll sit with her while Norma gets you some supper, then you can sit here a while if you like." Mulder let Norma lead him down to the kitchen. * * * * * In the forest, Jonny smiled. Gateway was back on his should, his mouth wide in a smile full of the ultimate nothingness. This Tale was going to be Told. * * * * * At breakfast, Mulder's cellular rang. "Mulder. Another one? Where? Okay, I'll be right there. No, she won't be coming with me. She's still out sick. Agent Callaghan should be with us tomorrow. He can do the autopsy when he arrives. All right, I'll see you shortly." Mulder looked to Briggs for directions. "Where's Connor Street?" "I'll drive you." They both ran for Briggs' station wagon. * * * * * The body was so charred it was impossible to tell sex, age, colour or appearance. The stench of cooked flesh was putrid in the air, and Mulder had to concentrate hard to keep his stomach under control. *Hell of a barbecue* was what he wanted to say, but Briggs' eyes were so full of - well, what exactly it was Mulder couldn't rightly say. Briggs wasn't Scully; Mulder just knew he couldn't say it. He knew Scully didn't appreciate his sick jokes, but at least she understood them for the coping mechanism they were . God knows, but she terrified him sometimes, the way she could see through all his camoflagues and disguises like they were non-existant. Ah, but he wouldn't change her, nor be without her for anything. As the coroner's people bagged the remains, Mulder felt a sudden blast of bereavement, a sense of such loss wash over him that it made him shiver and his eyes water. He blinked rapidly, telling himself it was only the residue from the fire. Fire? The cellar was stone, sheathed internally in inches of concrete. So solid and bare, one entrance only, and nothing combustible in sight, except the pathetic remains they'd just carted up the steps. Lamara approached them, "Theories, Mulder?" Mulder shrugged, "You tell me. Seems like a classic locked room mystery to me. There's nothing to suggest that the victim immolated themself, nor do we have any conspicuous evidence of murder. Alternatives? Well, until the autopsy report comes back, all I can think of is spontaneous human combustion." "Human combustion?" "Spontaneous. It's well documented, but still largely unexplained ...." Mulder's voice faded as he followed Lamara out of the cellar. Briggs remained in the centre of the room, his face devoid of expression. The darkness clustered around him, welcoming its own home. A whispering breeze rushed around the cellar, and Briggs cocked his head to listen, nodding once. "Mulder! Wait up!" He ran up the stairs. * * * * * "it's escalating, isn't it?" Mulder sighed. Briggs thought he had seen Mulder looked haunted before, now he looked positively wraithlike himself. He had heard Mulder moving around the house the previous night, the sounds of voices talking softly. He had found him in Scully's room, trying to confer with his once more feverish partner, the desperation evident in his eyes, his posture and his gestures. Briggs had shooed him to bed, as much for his own sake as Scully's, and had had Norma make hot chocolate, hiding a mild sedative in the powder. It was harmless, just something to make him sleep; the boy was going to need all his sleep to be able to function. Mulder slept late the next morning, waking up heavy-eyed but refreshed, and with a vaguely panicked feeling that he had missed something important, like Christmas. He dressed slowly with clumsy hands, and padded downstairs to find Scully sitting at the breakfast table. She smiled as he slumped into his seat. "Thought you'd gone and died on me, Mulder, you've been out so long." "I *never* sleep like that," he shot her a glare full of suspicion around the toast rack. "I'm sure you needed the rest," Scully commented sweetly. Mulder simply grunted as he helped himself to toast, "You must be feeling better. You look better today." "Her fever broke in the night," Briggs came in through the back door. "She still has a long way to go, but she's made such wonderful progress. Now," Briggs sat facing Mulder. Mulder paused, toast halfway to his mouth, "I know you now. No dragging her off to look at dead bodies, or to do autopsies." "There's been another death?" "Yesterday. It has all the hallmarks of spontaneous human combustion." "Mulder!" "Well, you tell me how someone can immolate themselves with no combustible materials on them, or how they can be murdered whilst locked in a cellar made of inside nine inches of concrete, encased in three feet of stone?" "Locked room mystery?" "That's the one?" "Dana, my dear, you know you're not ready to work yet," Briggs tried to lead her to the living room, but the Scully determination was back. Mulder ate toast and hid a smile. "Give it time, dear. Mulder has everything under control." *I wish* Mulder's eyes clearly telegraphed to Scully. Much of the night had been hazy to her, full of impenetrable light and dazzling darkness, but she remembered the coversation with Mulder clearly enough. He was out of leads and options. The deaths were escalating, a killer out of control, and Mulder needed her, needed her insights and her talents. She had tried so hard to tell him the things that Callaghan should be looking for, but so much of her work was instinctive, prompted by circumstance and reactions fuelled by intuition. Sometimes she saw her own thought processes as a huge logic flow chart, full of IF/OR statements. Mulder's mind was a gigantic pinboard, like the ones other analysts used to plot information and connections, full of coloured strings charting the tangled warp and weft of his thoughts. Scully sighed. How could she tell someone to look for things they should be able to see for themselves. Hers wasn't just a job; the work of forensic detection needed to be engraved on the soul, an instinct as basic as breathing. Scully had been glad when Briggs sent Mulder to bed at last. When he hadn't surfaced before dawn, she knew they'd picked up on her casual suggestion to doctor his drink. In the hall, the phone rang. Norma moved to answer it. "Agent Mulder? It's for you." "Mulder. What have you got, Lamara? You have? Okay. Where? Again> Okay, keep him right there. I'm on my way." Mulder came back into the kitchen, "Can I borrow your car? Ours is back at the motel." "Sure." Briggs tossed him the keys. Scully looked up, "What is it, Mulder?" "They found the boy," His eyes signalled for her to say nothing. "Where?" "In the forest." "I'm coming with you." "No, you're not. You're going to stay right here." When she stood, he said, "Scully, I don't have time to argue with you ....." "Exactly," And she grabbed her coat. She was already dressed. Mulder spread his hands as if to say *What can I do?*. Briggs frowned as they left. In the car, Scully looked pale and tired, but nowhere as wiped out as she had been. "I just wanted you to know that I'm not happy with this, Scully. I think you should still be in bed, not out here with me." "Duly noted, Agent Mulder. Not that you've ever done anything this dumb, of course." "Of course," Mulder cracked his first real smile in days, and she smiled back. At last, Mulder saw the squad cars and pulled over. It was the same place as before. He frowned. Lamara was leaning casually against the front bumper of his car, whilst the rest of his team hung around in similarly relaxed poses. As far as Mulder could tell, they had neither arrested the boy, nor made any attempt to watch or contain him. "Where is he?" Curt, conveying all the disdain he felt for Lamara's lack of professionalism. "Oh, back a ways, Mulder. You know the path, I think." Mulder looked hard at Lamara, wondering what was in those cigarettes the man always had either in his mouth or his hand. The permanent fog that surrounded him wasn't just unpleasant, it brought back memories stretching back into childhood. "Come on, Scully. Looks like it's down to us." Scully nodded once, and unsnapped the strap of her holster, loosening her gun. At least she knew what was expected of her. The first couple of hundred yards were pleasant, a walk in the woods. Apart from hands which strayed too close to weapons at every explosion of startled woodland bird, or cracking underfoot, it could easily have been a casual stroll on a summer's day. Then the path swallowed them up in one angled corner and plunged them into the depths of the true forest. The trees were no longer spread out and regimented by the inroads of man. This was ancient growth, half a hundred years and more, the underbrush thick, malevolent, life springing there from the death of a thousand other lives. Tree cover blotted out the sky, and the damp air grew chilly. The first spots of rain slapped down at them, bouncing from fat leaves. Scully wished she had stayed in bed. "Not again," she muttered softly. And then they saw it. The fire. He looked not to have moved since they had last seen him. Inside his fire grove, it was warm and dry. Outside, the rain became a downpour. "And so we come almost full circle, Fox Mulder. Please. You have nothing to fear. Not here. Fear, and fear alone, is the great mind killer. Please put away your weapons, and sit awhile by the fire with me." Still they stood, guns down by their sides. "I have a Tale to Tell, and at the end you will understand." "Mulder?" Jonny had spread his arms wide, conciliatory. The words had come from Jonny-inside, not Gateway's puppet. He could feel Gateway circling, watching. "Please," he said again, little boy voice. "Quickly." *Before Gateway comes and changes everything,* he thought. "All right," Mulder stowed his gun and sat, Scully following suit scant seconds later. * * * * * By the road, Lamara straightened up. He tilted his head, as if listening to the wind. "C'mon, boys," he said suddenly. "Reckon I know where to find us a couple of murderers." A second dawn chorus, the taking off of safety's, echoed, the first volley that preceded any hunting party, then the trees swallowed the policemen in one gulp. * * * * * "It's him, isn't it? It's happening all over again?" Norma spoke quietly, her words more of a statement than a question, but there was no mistaking the terror in her voice. She noticed how her husband's eyes had lost their focus, how his face appeared to have lost some of its substance. He was fading, Jonathan was going and Jonny was coming. "Oh, God," she said quietly. "Please don't let him come again." The stars shone through Jonathan's skin. * * * * * "It has lived in the forest since before Time began. It is so very old and It knows secrets from the beginning and from the end of Time. It told me It would be my friend," Jonny's voice broke on a sob. The Teller of Tales had retreated again, and Jonny was breaking through. "What is this 'it' that you keep referring to?" "Gateway, of course." *Fool, did he know nothing?* "Gateway?" The woman's voice, cool and clear. Jonny sighed, and was silent a long moment. "It is a hard thing to explain. It is a portal, a path to dimensions not our own, and yet It is alive at the same time." "A - demon?" Scully asked carefully. "Perhaps. It is not - evil. At least, not knowingly or willingly. It is simply - different." "And it tells you to carry out these killings?" "Oh no, no. I have never killed anyone. Gateway has taken no lives either. I Tell the Tales Gateway whispers in my ear, and the Audience kill themselves at the end." * * * * * "How is he?" "He's resting, my dear. I took the liberty of mixing a little sleeping draught - just an old-fashioned local remedy, you understand, no harm in it - into his hot chocolate. He'll sleep like a baby 'till morning." *You take a lot of liberties,* Scully thought, staring at Briggs. His pleasant smile slipped askew under the scrutiny of her stare. Then she smiled - undisturbed sleep was so rare for Mulder. Briggs relaxed, his breath coming in a sigh, "Now, if you don't mind me saying so, dear, you look like you could do with a good night's sleep yourself." Right on cue, Scully yawned hugely. "In here, dear, in here. Just make yourself right at home." It was wonderful sleeping in a real, comfortable bed instead of the lumpy pasteboard contraptions motels tried to pass off as suitable for human use. *Should be a Federal statute against it ....* Scully thought muzzily as she drifted, drowsy and content. *He drugged my tea ....* * * * * * When Scully came downstairs in the morning, she felt a little heavy, but very refreshed. She had decided not to hold the sleeping draught against Dr Briggs, since he obviously meant well by his actions. Mulder was already at the table, polishing off what had clearly been an immense breakfast. He looked up, and she saw that the ever-present dark circles had gone from beneath his eyes, and the bruising on his forehead had subsided overnight. He grinned. "What kept you?" "I was tired," she changed tack slightly. "You look as if you slept well." "Like a baby," he sounded surprised, as if this was something entirely new to him. "Not that I slept much as a baby. Drove my parents insane .... I feel good today." "Well, you should still take it easy though, that was quite a crack on the head you took." "I'll be fine, Scully." Dr Briggs interrupted this promising argument by choosing that moment to come in through the back door. "Dana's right, Agent Mulder," *Dana? When did she start being 'Dana' to him?* Discomfort clawed at Mulder's belly as he looked from one to the other. "You still have to take it easy," Briggs was still talking to him. "You were lucky your skull wasn't fractured. Lord knows what they hit you with, but it looks like it must have been either a boulder or half a tree." "Good thing he's got such a thick skull." "Good for you you're so thick-skinned." Scully stared at him, trying to figure out what *that* was supposed to have meant. Just then, the telephone in the hall rang, and Norma moved to answer it. "Agent Scully?" Scully looked up from her plate. "It's for you, dear." Sighing, she took Norma's place in the hall, "Scully. Good morning, Detective. What? When? Okay, give me half an hour. No, he won't be. He's not ready to return to duty just yet." Scully sat back down heavily. "There's been another one." "What!" Mulder's fork clattered to the floor. "Where?" "Connor Street," Scully glanced at Briggs, as if for confirmation. Briggs nodded, "Bout a mile from here. Nice area." "Lamara asked me to meet him there. He'll give me all the details then." "I'm coming with you," Mulder made as if to rise. Scully grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. "Oh no, you're not. You're staying right here until I'm sure you're fully recovered." Scully pushed him back into his seat, "Stay here, and stay out of trouble," Then she bent and whispered, "Remember, I'll break both legs if I have to ...." Briggs had put his coat on and was hefting his car keys, "Come on, Dana, I'll drive you over there." Mulder watched them go, feeling a hollowness that had absolutely nothing to do with the greasy food congealing in his stomach. "More coffee, dear?" Norma filled his cup again as the station wagon backed out of the driveway. * * * * * Scully had seen some awful sights in her time as a pathologist, some possibly worse ones in med school, and things that her mind still shied away from in her career as Mulder's partner, but the one thing that had always churned up her stomach was the sight of a badly crisped, charred body. Like this one. Lying on the bare, virgin floor of cellar locked from the inside. No-one knew when exactly the call had come in, nor who had notified the police, but there it was, human flesh heavily barbecued inside nine inches of newish concrete encased in three feet of stone all around. There was nothing combustible in sight, no windows, no passages, no tunnels, only the one - locked - entrance. No sign of any other person or creature, either. Classic locked room mystery. Mulder was going to love this one. "Bag it. I'll do the autopsy myself this afternoon." She stood, peeling off the latex gloves with some distaste. "Theories, *Dr* Scully?" She jumped a little, so deep in thought, she hadn't seen Lamara coming. *What was with the emphasis on her title?* she thought. "I'll have more to go on once I've completed the post mortem. Until then, I wouldn't care to hazard a guess. "Awful way to go," They watched the coroner's people cart the body to their waiting vehicle. Scully nodded her agreement without speaking, and she and Lamara made their way up the stairs. Alone in the centre of the cellar, Briggs' eyes lost their focus and he cocked his head as if listening to mice scratching inside the wainscoting. A rushing wind whispered around the walls, caressing and probing. Briggs smile once, then turned and hurried up the stairs. "Hold on, Agent Scully!" * * * * * "It's escalating, Mulder, and we've got no leads, nothing to go on. I did the autopsy this afternoon, but it told me nothing more than that the victim burned to death. Mulder shuddered. Fire. The thought of fire, of burning, of feeling fire crisp and char the flesh, it brought him out in a cold sweat. He always thought it was hospitals and needles he hated the most, thought he'd gotten over his fear, but no, living flame made him want to turn and run. He swallowed hard. "Details?" "Edward Barnes, aged 43. Married with three teenage children. Computer technician with a local company. No marriage problems, no financial worries. He'd just spent several thousand dollars refurbishing the cellar to use as a workshop," Scully paused. Mulder was watching her expectantly, and she thought he might pat her on the head at any moment. She was deliberately not referring to her scribbled notes. Two could play the memory game. "No enemies that anyone knows of, appears to have been well like and respected. Kids all in school, no problems with drugs, alcohol or unwanted pregnancies." "Very good, Scully," he commented dryly, "Anything else tucked away in there?" *Goddammit! He knew, he damn well knew! Sometimes,* Scully thought, with a rare uncharitable feeling, *Sometimes I could just choke that smug look off his face.* "Lamara's still no further forward in tracing the call. He's almost convinced it was suicide." "What do you think?" Scully shook her head, "There's no evidence to show depression. In my experience, a suicide almost always leaves either a note to explain their actions or else it's something they've been threatening for weeks or months. By all accounts, Barnes was a happy family man with nothing in his life to drive him to suicide. Besides -" "Yes?" "There was nothing he could have used to immolate himself. No traces of combustibles on or in the body. No lighters, matches or tapers. No gas, no petroleum, no diesel. From the way the body burned, there's no way he did this elsewhere and staggered down to the cellar to die. Once he burned, he would have been dead in seconds." Mulder was impressed. His silence said that. *Gotcha!* "The killer could be starting to advertise what he's doing. We've seen that happen before." Scully shrugged, *You're the analyst*, it seemed to say. "Is there a pattern?" Mulder shook his head, "No, nothing. Nothing I can see. It seems totally random. And *that's* not normal. That's -", he paused, "Inhuman, almost. Humanity finds patterns in everything, the stars in the sky, cracks in the sidewalk, the arrangement of animal entrails on an altar. It's the nature of the beast." "Could it be ....?" "Extra-terrestrial?" Mulder smiled without humour. "No, no evidence. Could possibly be some kind of possession, but I doubt that too. I need more to go one. This is good, but not enough, Scully. Can we pull the previous autopsy reports again, see if there's some pattern we've missed." * * * * * Mulder laid his forehead against the tabletop. It was cheap, but at least it was cool. His head was throbbing in time to his heart, and he recognised the beginnings of a killer migraine. His eyes burned. "Mulder?" Scully gripped his shoulder. He pushed himself upright slowly, blinking carefully at her. For a second he thought there were two of her. "Come on, you need to rest. You're not doing yourself any good." She helped him lie down, and this time he didn't need anything to make him sleep. * * * * * The next morning's breakfast scene was a vastly different one. Mulder refused all food except toast, although he let Norma refill his cup from her seemingly endless machine. Scully managed a little cereal, and she shared Mulder's toast. Juice was all she could stomach while she watched Mulder staring moodily at the table. The shrill of the telephone made everybody jump. Mulder swore viciously as he upset his coffee cup all over the table. Norma hurried to pick up the 'phone, although everybody knew already that it would be for Scully. "Dana?" Norma held out the 'phone. "Scully." Even her voice was tense, jumpy. "You have? Where? We'll be right there." Scully tossed the handset back down, grabbed for her coat. "Come on, Mulder. They've found the boy." Mulder jumped up. The passed by Briggs in the doorway, "In a hurry?" "Lamara got us a suspect," Scully's hand on Mulder's arm told him to say nothing. Briggs had been more than kind to them, but that didn't mean she had to trust him. When they got outside, Mulder gazed at the car, "Tell me, Scully, is that parked, or maybe abandoned?" "Knock it off, Mulder. It was late and dark and I was tired last night. I just misjudged the sidewalk a little. I'd like to see you do any better." Mulder tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin and she snapped at him, "Get in, and wipe that smirk off your face or I'll make you run behind the car." And there was something he hadn't done the whole time they'd been here. Never once gone out or even tried to go out running. She once known him try to jog on a broken ankle, another time with a fever of 102(. She always berated him for endangering his health, but she did understand the comfort he found in the rhythms of putting one foot in front of the other, the rush of endorphins in the brain that set the mind free. God knows, she'd done it herself, exercising to the point of exhaustion to forget the horrors chasing each other around her brain. Scully shivered once, hard and sharp, causing Mulder to turn and look at her. She pretended to be concentrating on the road. Sometimes she thought she might be turning into a clone of Mulder. She had gotten cable a few months ago because it ran endless game shows, and mindless B movies all night, reruns from her childhood that reminded her of carefree days when all she had to worry about was if Ahab would be home for Christmas that year. When was it exactly that she'd started sleeping on the couch, her gun in plain view on the coffee table? At least it was better than dragging a quilt into the bathroom and huddling on the floor behind the locked door, to wake sweat-soaked and chilled in the early hours. Scully was glad when she saw the squad cars and pulled over sharply, braking hard. Business now, time enough for introspection later. Scully frowned at the sight of Lamara leaning so casually against the hood of his car, his officers gathered around him, smoking and talking, all relaxed like it was an office outing. "Who's covering him?" "We are, *Dr* Scully. Don't worry, he's going nowhere. It's your bust." Mulder said nothing, but she saw him look at Lamara a little curiously. Scully unsnapped the strap on her holster, loosening her gun a little. "Come on, Mulder. Let's go get him." As soon as she stepped onto the path, she recognised the feel of the forest. It was something she couldn't ever hope to describe, but that path was like a doorway, a gate into another world, one where Man was anything but supreme. A tight angle in the path, and they were plunged into the forest proper. It was old here, growth dating back to times before the coming of the white settler. Scully guessed that some of the trees might be anything from five hundred to a thousand years old. The smell of rot overlaid with the subtly sweet smell of the flowers that feasted on decay was almost overpowering. Flies buzzed and bothered them in the heady atmosphere. Heavy leaf cover blotted out the light, and time seemed to flee. The first drops of rain were so light, it might have been the brush of a tiny discarded feather. Then fat drops splatted off broad leaves and hit down on them with increasing force. "Not again," Mulder groaned. "I think we're cursed in forests. "Don't say that!" Scully spoke sharply, glancing around. Somehow, his saying that seemed unlucky in this place. Mulder was amused, "Don't let the place spook you, Scully. It's only -" He stopped. It was the fire, flames shining faintly through the trees. Scully drew her weapon, Mulder following suit. He might never have moved since the last time they'd seen him. It was the same smile he offered, the same courteous hand that invited them to share the dry ground in front of his fire. Outside the clearing, the downpour fell unchecked. "And so we come almost full circle, Dana Scully. The time has come for the Tale to be Told to the very end. Then you will understand. Please, put away your weapons. Fear is the only danger here. Fear it is that is the mind killer." Scully glanced at Mulder, who shrugged. She holstered her weapon, but left it loose in case it was needed in a hurry. "Thank you. Now it begins." The boy took a deep breath, summoning Jonny-inside who had been quiet for so long. When he spoke again, his voice was so young. "It has been here in the forest since before Time began. It knows the end of everything and the souls of Man. It has seen stars die and worlds born. It is made of nothing and everything, and it is alive but does not live." "What is 'It'?" "It is Gateway, who is the path between the worlds." "A - demon?" Mulder asked carefully. "Perhaps. It is not - evil. At least, not knowingly. It is - different." "And it tells you to carry out these killings?" Scully paused. There was an echo in her mind, deja vu, that told her she had said these very words, here in this clearing, before. "Oh no, no. I have harmed no-one. Nor does Gateway take mortal lives. I Tell the Tales Gateway whispers in my ear, and the Audience kill themselves at the end. It is very sad, tragedy or farce it is, that the Audience brings with it the means of its own end." Scully saw Jonny's good eye lose its focus, saw the stars collide, moving beneath the skin of his face. She tried to go for her gun, but she was frozen, trapped in a eddy, a backwater of time. The voice came from far away, right beside her ear. "It is coming. Gateway will be with us soon. This Tale is still not Told." * * * * * Lamara stood abruptly, dropping the cigarette carelessly. "Come on," the officers followed him into the trees, "Reckon I know where I can find us a couple of murderers. Flamelets chewed eagerly on a solitary patch of dry grass, spreading and devouring as their strength grew. * * * * * Mulder stared at the boy. Jonny's head was flung back, the hair hanging carelessly from the lumpy forehead. Blue fire ignited in the dead orb of his left eye, rising to swallow his face until the night sky was reflected under his skin. "It is coming. This Tales is not yet all Told out. It will be here soon." An icy wind raced around the grove, dancing with the fire and burning exposed skin. Mulder tried to stand, to pull Scully clear, but he found himself caught, unable even to call her name. He felt the flesh being scoured from his skin, devoured in the fire that rushed along the path they had taken earlier. It was agony, mortal terror, but it was oddly cleansing. Dying cleared the mind wonderfully, he knew that already. He had stood halfway on that bridge. So had Scully. Mulder opened his eyes. Gateway was watching him. It was a - thing. Even Mulder's subconscious mind had no name for it. That's what the demons were, the entities that mankind had no names for, the hideous, the deformed, the forces that moved things over than life and death and sex. Mulder met its gaze and knew. He heard it whisper in his mind, and he denied it. He had faced too much and lost and come back from his loss to give it all up now. Again he denied it; once more and he was waking by the fire. "Now it *is* full circle, Fox Mulder. Wheel turns, man is born. Wheel turns, man is dead. You have faced your fears and lived. You thought you had lost her, but love brought her back. You saw failure before you, but found success instead. You burned but were cleansed in the fire. You have lived your life and learned, so go now from this place." Mulder opened his eyes wide, seeing Gateway clearly for the first time. It sat on the boy's shoulder, feeding off him. Mulder slipped smoothly once more into his perfect kneeling stance, pulling up the gun at the same time. His aim was straight and true, bypassing the brain, shooting straight from the heart. Gateway split asunder, and the scream was the death of a thousand thousand worlds. The concussion shook the forest. Mulder fell and everything faded to black. * * * * * "It is here." Scully felt the demon, saw it with each sense except her sight. It was all of the things and none that her faith had taught her. A burning wind out of icy wastes tossed the trees and made love to the fire. Their children danced beyond the grove and died in the downpour. Then the host descended, a million million flying, crawling things, multilegged insects from Pharaoh's plague that plunged into every orifice, devouring her inside outside in. And it was such agony. Sheer mortal dying pain. But seeing her flesh dissipate, stripping her bones was oddly cleansing. She could still see with her spirit eyes, and she was being forged anew. Scully faced the demon. And knew it. It was a primal force beyond death and life and procreation. It was the change of state that surrounds all things, that is in all things, brother to entropy. Its seduction caressed her mind and she denied it. She had seen her fears made real, the night terrors crawling unconsumed in the day, and she had survived. Twice she denied the embrace. Once more and she was kneeling by the fire. "Now it *is* full circle, Dana Scully. Wheel turns, civilisations rise. Wheel turns, civilisations fall. You have faced your terrors and lived. You thought to lose him, but love found him again. You tasted failure, but swallowed sweet success instead. You were consumed from within, but were cleansed. You have lived your life and learned, so go now from this place." Scully's eyes snapped wide open, and she saw Gateway shimmer into being on the boy's shoulder. She saw how it was fastened at skull and heart, and she took careful aim with the gun that was already in her hand. It knew, it had always known. Everything changed, even it. The forest shook with the concussion, even the trees. Scully pitched forward, and everything faded to black. * * * * * "They're here!" "Sir, the FBI agents are still alive, at least. The other one's dead." Scully's first awareness was of being wet, then of someone shaking her shoulder hard. She let the shoulder shaker pull her to a sitting position against a tree. She coughed long and hard, that small hurt clearing her head. Lamara crouched beside her, blocking out the light. The reek of smoke clung to him. "What are you doing out here, Detective?" "Looking for you two. You've been missing more than twenty-four hours. We've had search parties out all day." Scully digested that, trying to match it up with the overlapping memories at war within her head. She glanced around the clearing. "Mulder!" He too was propped against a tree, blood on face. Scully scooted over to him, ignoring the nausea and blackness that tried to overcome her. She probed the cut above one eye, realising that it was just superficial. Mulder squeezed her hand without speaking; she wondered what he remembered. Then she saw Jonny. The boy was a man, middleaged, sadfaced. The eyes were open, unblemished. "Dr Briggs." "You've heard of him?" Lamara was amazed. "Killed his wife and son 'bout four years ago, then disappeared into the forest. We had dog teams out for weeks. Never did find him. So he was the killer, huh? You were very lucky." Mulder and Scully pulled each other to their feet, and stood hand in hand staring to the ashes of the fire for a very long time. END