Title: Not Even the Angels (1/35) Author: David Hearne Rating: PG-13 Category: XA Summary: A powerful telekineticist poses a threat to the alien colonization while a cult leader plans his own version of Armageddon. Spoilers: Overall, the whole crazy, twisting, turning mythology. And "Unusual Suspects," too. Disclaimer: It's yours, Mister Carter. Are you satisified? Notes: This story comes in three parts---"He Walks Among Us," "The Madman's Logic," and "The Destoryer of Worlds." Furthermore, I wrote this story awhile back. It contains characters who have been dealt with in various ways on the show. Put the timeline between "The Beginning" and "One Son." Archiving: Any archive that wants it is welcome to it. Put it on your feet, give your dogs a treat, what a wonderful shoe. Just before I start up, I'll like to throw in some musical suggestions while you're reading this. Everybody seems to be carrying their own soundtracks in their heads nowadays so here's one for "Not Even The Angels." For general mood---Tom Waits' "Bone Machine" album, Robbie Robertson's self-titled album, Peter Gabriel's "Passion" album and Michael Tippet's "A Child of Our time"(classical.) Also note the Leonard Cohen songs "Everybody Knows" and "The Future." For Scullyangst---Tricky's "Makes Me Wanna Die," Anne and Kate McGarrigle's "Mother Mother" and Linda Thompson's "Walking on a Wire." For Mulderangst--- Tool's "Forty-Six and Two" and PM Dawn's "I Had No Right." In fact, PM Dawn's whole "Dearest Christian..." album could be a Mulderangst soundtrack. For a little humor--- Mose Allison's "Tell Me Something" and "Ever Since The World Ended." For sheer paranoia and anger--- Rancid's "Something In the World Today," Fugazi's "Exit Only," Fishbone's "Psychologically Overcast" and "Those Days Are Gone." And finally...for a little MSR---Linda Thompson's "Dimming of the Day," Nick Drake's "Time Has Told Me," PM Dawn's "I'd Die Without You," "Faith In You" and "Broken." Again, thank you for your indulgence. This has been a public service announcement. PROLOGUE This is a dream. This is not a dream. Howard Ellis was considering both of these possibilities as he laid in bed. He was examining the current situation and looking for a way to declare it imaginary. In his head was the kind of argument you have with yourself when you have a gun pointed at your face or when an earthquake seethes through your house or when you look down at your dead child. You don't want to believe this is happening to you. It's the kind of event that should occur in other places and to other people. It only happens by chance and chance usually plays its meaner tricks on someone else. Why should it choose now to hurt you? However, this event originated in something other than chance, nature or the unpredictability of evil. It had the scent of a design to it. It was happening because an unknown person set it in motion. Nothing abstract like luck or fate was involved. He was being targeted. An order had been given, a button had been pushed, an agreement had been made. Then, again, it was just a dream. But it wasn't. Either way, he had to come up with a response. He tried getting out of bed. That didn't work, even though nothing had been tied around him. None of the people (though they weren't people) around his bed were touching him. Still, his muscles were locked tight. Breathing itself had become difficult. He could barely choke out the word "help." Those words. They had come from... ...inside his mind. The words had the opposite effect they intended. Howard began to squirm and yell as much as he could. The voice in his head said nothing more and the people...the creatures around him waited with impassive faces. Whether Howard went along or resisted was besides the point. Their politeness was just a formality. The latch on a window twisted open and Howard felt warm air flow across him as the window pushed itself up. A light stormed into the bedroom and it had the brightness of fire. There was a sound like a knife being sharpened, only a hundred times louder. Then he began to rise. The sheets slipped off his body as he floated upwards. This was not a dream. And there was nothing he could do about it. Oh, yes, there was. That awareness came to him as his body suddenly halted its rise. It was as if an unseen third arm had instinctively grabbed ahold of a bedpost. The creatures began to twitch and look at each other. The voice said, Howard responded that he was doing just that. He felt more fear than defiance but his third arm held tight. The light and the sound got more intense which Howard had thought impossible. Pain drained the arm of its strength and his body was hauled towards the window. At first, he prepared to surrender. Then, through the light and the sound and the agony, a memory slipped in. It came with the smell of beer, a man's curse, a woman's cry and a child's protest. And then he remembered a slap of flesh that was no less coldly dominating than the creatures in his bedroom. With that, Howard got angry. He felt his third arm lengthen and it coursed with heat. It shot out, wrapped around the invaders of his room and then went through the window to charge at the source of his misery. What happened next surprised everyone. PART ONE HE WALKS AMONG US "Other said, 'How can a man that is a sinner do such miracles?" ---- John 9:16 CHAPTER ONE GOT THEM CONSPIRACY BLUES "For although we may not be alone in the universe, in our own separate ways on this planet, we are all alone." --- Jose Chung "It comes down to a matter of trust," she had said. "I guess it's always been about that." It's been about a hell of a lot more than that, Fox Mulder thought. But let's leave it there. He paced back and forth in his apartment. He stopped doing this to dribble his basketball against the floor. Then he paced some more. He tried reading a book. Then he turned on the television. When he could find nothing that interested him, he put in a videotape and watched women with big hair and ridiculously pink lips act aroused for the camera. After a few minutes of this, he turned off the VCR and went back to pacing. He knew that he could try working. Even though he was still trying (against orders) to reconstruct the paper documents of the X-Files, there was still a network of information he could use. He could look up his e-mail and see if one of the several cranks that revered him had something to offer than their heated imaginations. In the midst of their rantings, there was always that bit of truth which could keep him going on his personal quest. Then he remembered that he was no longer a saint of paranoids. He was more likely to receive insults and caustic grumblings on his computer. The believers would never forgive him for his comments at a UFO conference months back. He could still hear the audience's gasp when he told them that aliens didn't exist and that they were being used to perpetuate a lie. It wouldn't matter that he had changed his mind. It was irrelevant that he believed... What? That it was about to all fall apart? That human existence was about to be warped into something indescribable? Than the entire history of the planet was going to be swallowed and then coughed up as a horrid future? Pretty much. Mulder once caught a televangelist earnestly diagramming events on a chalkboard as he lectured his viewing audience. He explained that Israel, credits cards and Bill Clinton were all signs that the Rapture was upon us. After he was done, a grin stretched over his face and he said, "Isn't that amazing?" Mulder speculated whether the reverend actually believed his spiel or if it was just a con for money donations or if it fell between those two attitudes. He also wondered how the televangelists would fit his own experiences onto his chalkboard. What would the preacher make of chips planted in human skin, living black oil, aliens bursting out of human bodies and a big goddamn spaceship floating over the Antartctic? Was this the apocalypse that the good brother had in mind? Could you call it an apocalypse? Mulder didn't know what else to call it. That left him with one question---what was he going to do about it? Was he going to waste his time on pacing, dribbling basketballs and watching porno? Or was he... The phone rang. Mulder snatched it up right after its first ring. "Hello!" "Whoa! Rein it in there, stallion!" Mulder had to smile. When he had first heard that voice smugly try to sell him a cable hook-up years back, he never conceived that it would belong to a future friend. A creepy friend, maybe, but he couldn't look any ally in the mouth. "Sorry, Frohike. I was just a little worked-up when you called me." "I guess so. How are you and Scully?" How are we? That's a good question. After we had gotten back from the Antarctic, I assumed that things would be different. That she would understand the full magnitude of what we were facing. Instead, she walks into a hearing with me needing her to back me up and she tells me that science has left me up the creek with... "We're fine." If Frohike heard any doubt in Mulder's voice, he didn't mention it. "Good. I understand things are a little tense over in FBI land." "They could be better. So, why did you call up?" "Some weirdness is going down in Vermont. There's a report from the city of Rutland of a giant flash in the sky followed by half the power in town going out." "Uh, Frohike, there is something called lightning." "There were no weather conditions that would create a discharge big enough to knock out power." "It's a freak occurence. It doesn't mean anything." "There were also reported sightings around the area before the occurence." "Sightings of what?" "Oh, come on, Mulder..." "Look, I don't hear anything here worth sticking my neck out over, especially not now." "Mulder, did you just lose a foot in height and grow red hair?" "What are you implying?" "Meaning you're sounding awfully skeptical. You're not back on that whole 'UFO government hoax' kick, are you?" "No. It's just...look, Frohike, I appreciate it. But I've got this new AD who does not have a kindly attitude towards my previous work." "Okay. I see. I understand." "Not that I don't appreciate your help. In fact...I hope you guys keep in touch. Apparently, I've lost a lot of admirers over the past year." "Infidels, the whole lot of them. The Lone Gunmen will always be at your side." "Thanks." "Oh, by the way...that red hair comment...I didn't mean anything..." "I know what you meant." "She's the best thing that you've got right now, Mulder. Don't forget that." Mulder hesitated, then said, "I haven't. See you later, Frohike. Give Byers and Langley a kiss for me." "Now, you're scaring me, amigo." Mulder hung up. The best thing you've got right now. Maybe so. But maybe he needed even more than what Scully had to offer. He dialed another number. "Hello?" "Diana, it's me." A slight pause. "Hello, Mulder." "I was wondering if you heard about what happened in Vermont." "What happened in Vermont?" As he relayed his information to the woman listening, he imagined that quiet face under the dark hair. He wondered if her current apartment had some of the same furnishings that he saw in her living space years back. Probably not. Diana Fowley was not too sentimental about the past. Her main concern was the present and how it led to the future. Anything interfering with that was to be discarded. Almost anything. Maybe. After he was done, Fowley said, "Do you see anything special here? Anything that distinguishes it from the standard sighting?" "There's the power outage." "Lightning, Mulder." "Yes. I know. Lightning." "I don't see anything worth following up on. We probably wouldn't look into it even if the Bureau gave us carte blanche to pursue our interests." "You said 'we' and 'our,' Diana." He heard her pull in a breath and then let it out. "There's always that possibility." The silence was the only thing going back and forth on the line for awhile. "Mulder?" "I'm still here." "So...where did you hear about this Vermont sighting?" "Frohike." There was a brief, low chuckle. "Oh, yes. How are he and the rest doing?" "Still crazy after all these years." "Hmm." Mulder laid back on the couch and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Diana." "Nothing to be sorry for." "I shouldn't try to contact you unless it's absolutely urgent. They're probably listening in on us right now." "Don't worry about it." There was a small pause, then she said, "Don't lose track of what matters most, Mulder." "I'll try. Good night." "Good night." Mulder stretched out an arm and hung up the phone. What do you do when the world is going to end? You just close your eyes, lie still and wait for it to happen. "You made me a whole person," he had said. If you feel whole, she thought, then you're the only one who does. Dana Scully looked at a photo of a little girl celebrating her birthday. She knew that looking at the image brought nothing but pain, but she was always taking it out of its hiding place. It was like a wound that she couldn't resist touching. She wasn't whole at all. Her body had been invaded and a vital part had been stripped away. There was nothing she could do to change that. The only balm for her pain was a vague possiblity of justice. She knew who the enemy was and had a sense of his plans. When Scully held the photo, she would promise the girl that the world she had left was not under the sole control of the ruthless. She would think these things, but they felt ridiculous. What justice had she created? What damage had she done to the responsible men? What had seen accomplished? That's when the anger started. She used to be afraid of this anger, but now she welcomed it more and more. If the need for justice could no longer sustain her, then her rage would suffice. The one thing that worried her... She turned to the ringing phone. "Hello?" "Um, Agent Scully?" "Frohike?" "Yeah. Uh...I know it's late." Her first inclination was to tell Frohike that it really was too late. Then she thought of the short man who brought her roses at the hospital and showed up drunk at her doorstep to mourn a friend that they believed dead. For all of his strangeness and adolescent behavior, Frohike was dependable and even innocent in a twisted way. "It's not too late," she said. "What do you want?" "I just...I was talking to Mulder. He sounds down." "I see." "Maybe you ought to talk to him, you know." So, he's down, is he? Well, I'm feeling kind of down myself, Frohike. That's what happens when you have faced death by cancer, a sister takes a bullet meant for you and you find out that you've had a daughter and then watch her die. It kind of gets you depressed. So I'm supposed to feel sorry for Mulder? I'm supposed to comfort him in... Scully snapped these thoughts off. "I think I will talk to him," she said. "Thanks for telling me." This was what she was afraid of. When you have this much anger, it had to come out in some way and it didn't care who it hurt. She didn't want to direct it at Mulder. Didn't she? When he heard the knocking, he instinctively knew who it was. He felt partly glad to know she was here. He just hoped that they would avoid talking about the only thing they ever talked about. He opened the door and he felt the same tingle he always got in her presence. He remembered the first time that she came into his office. The careful planning behind her assignment had amused him. Not only had he been saddled with an ambitious, scientifically rigorous partner, but they had given him a pretty one as well. They must have thought her looks would be a distraction from the work. He was determined to prove them wrong and to give his partner the headaches of all time. Now, she was here. "Sorry, I already bought some girl scout cookies." "Not one of your better lines, Mulder." He nodded and stepped aside for her. He followed her into the living room. She awkwardly sat herself down on a seat and he resumed his laying position on the couch. "Frohike said that you were feeling down." "What, he called you?" "Yes." "Huh." "Well, are you down?" "Aren't I always?" A sharp comment rose to Scully's mouth, but she held it back. Instead, she asked how the reconstruction of the burnt files was going. "As well as it can, considering that I have to keep looking over my shoulder while I'm doing it." "Maybe you should lay off it for awhile. Your job at the FBI is on a thread right now." "This is beyond my job. Everything is at stake here." "When you say everything, what do you mean?" Mulder silently let out a breath, then said, "Have you ever read Revelations?" Scully paused, then replied, "Only the Cliff Notes." Mulder gave her a mild smile. "It's wicked prose, Scully. Saint John is a hell of a writer. 'And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen and has become the habitiation of devils...'" "You sound like you know it by heart, Mulder." "It's kind of hard to forget." "Are you saying that Revelations is applicable to our situation?" Mulder closed his eyes. "You know there is a virus out there, Scully. You know how dangerous it is." "Dangerous enough to end the world?" "I've seen what it can do. And I can think of only one reason for it to be used." "Mulder...don't you think that's presumptuous?" Mulder's eyes snapped open. "You make it sound like it's your job to save the world. But you're a FBI agent, not a god." Mulder got off the couch and went up to the window, focusing on the night sky. "You used to want your sister back. But now if that burden wasn't big enough, you see yourself as the only person standing between the human race and destruction. Don't do this to yourself." "Scully, I don't know how you can avoid the truth of..." "Dammit, Mulder, don't start that!" He quickly turned and was shocked to see the fury in Scully's eyes. It was hot and bitter and unlike anything he had seen from her before. She clenched her fists and let out a long sigh. The anger left her face, but Mulder knew it hadn't gone anywhere. "I'm sorry," she said as she stood up. "I shouldn't have come..." He crossed over to her and took one of her hands, quickly yet gently. "No, wait. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." His skin was warm and soft. She rubbed her thumb just once across the palm. "I want the same thing you want, Mulder." "I know. It's just..." "Frustrating?" "Yes. But, more often, rewarding." She smiled slightly. "It can be." They took just a moment to stand still and look at each other. Then their hands slid apart and she said, "Did Frohike say anything else to you?" "Yes. There's been an unusual event up in Vermont. I told Diana about it..." He could see the stiffening in Scully's shoulders, but she had to know everything. "...and she said that they can't look into it." "Neither can we. Do you think this is important?" "To tell you the truth, I doubt it." "Then, why are you concerned?" "It's not so much a question of concern as...I preferred it when I had a choice of what cases to look into. Or more of a choice. I would just like to know if there's anything here because...you know..." She nodded and thought about it. "Why does it have to be us?" "Who else could look into it?" "Well..." He realized what she was thinking and nodded. "Sure. Why not?" CHAPTER TWO WHAT THE LONE GUNMEN SAW "Paranoids are not paranoid because they are paranoid but because they, poor fucking idiots, keep getting themselves into paranoid situations." ---Thomas Pynchon "If you kids don't shut up, I'm going to turn this car right back around!" John Fitzgerald Byers didn't say that, but he wanted to make a statement along those lines. However, there were two problems with that---the passengers in the back seat were as old as he was and turning the car around would please at least one of them. "Frank freaking Miller, man," Langley muttered. "I'm missing a chance to see Frank 'The Dark Knight Returns' Miller. One of the greatest minds in..." "Would you shut up about that already?" Frohike barked. "I had tickets, man! I had tickets for the comics convention! And I had to give them away because of this damn snipe hunt!" "We're here because Mulder and Scully asked us to do this." "We're here because her name causes your mouth to drool." "No one tied your arms, buddy." "I had to come! You two would be lost without me!" "Oh, ho! Get this! Look, pal, if you leave this organization, there are a million long-haired Ramones-loving hackers we could get..." "If I said it once," Byers told them. "I've said it a hundred times...will you two pipe down?" For once, Frohike and Langley did just that. Maybe because they all knew the real reason why they were in Vermont. It wasn't just that they owed Mulder and Scully. They could sense the strain that the two agents were under. Something felt like it was going to snap. If they could alleviate the stress by a little investigation in the Northeast, Byers would consider the time to be well-spent. Byers would never forget when Mulder sent him to warn Scully about the doctor treating her cancer. She had been in her hospital bed, asleep and color drained from her face. As carefully as possible, Byers had stirred her awake. Her eyes stared at him without blinking as he explained that the doctor she trusted was likely trying to kill her. She slowly nodded, then asked if he could help her up. There was another patient that she needed to see. Her arm felt tiny and frail in his grasp. She can't die, he thought. The world would feel empty without her. Another image floated through his mind---another woman, only with blonde hair. He had known her for barely a day and he would miss her for the rest of his life. He could only imagine what losing Scully would do to Mulder. So, he was going to drive around Rutland, interview people, look for clues and see if he could bring back anything that... "What the hell is that?" "Excuse me?" "That," Langley said. "Slow down." Byers pressed the brake and looked where Langley's finger was pointing. They were currently on the outskirts of Rutland, surrounded by farms and long open spaces. Most of the houses in this area had at least half-a-mile between them. If any farming had been done on this house's land, that was a long time ago. Fertile soil was clogged up with weeds. The house badly needed the assistance of carpenters and painters. However, the damage to the house couldn't be the sole responsibility of time and neglect. The slant of the roof enabled the Lone Gunmen to see a wide black spot planted on its tiles. It looked like a burn. Byers, Langley and Frohike looked at each other. Then Byers drove the car up the long, rough driveway and parked it next to another car with rusty holes in its skin. Equipment was unpacked from the trunk and the trio went to the door. Byers knocked. There was no sound at first. Then feet padded towards the door. It was opened and two eyes greeted them. The eyes had a story to tell, one with disappointment, pain and anger in it. The eyes also belonged to someone who wasn't thrilled about seeing three strangers at his front door. The Lone Gunmen took in the rest of the man. Unlike the eyes, the man as a whole made no impression. The face was stuck with ordinariness, being neither handsome or ugly. His thin body was covered with clothes that the man had owned for years. The man said, "No, I don't believe the world is coming to an end." "Huh?" Byers said. "I don't believe the world is going to end, I haven't accepted Christ as my savior and I don't want to read your magazine." "Sir?" The man looked over Byers' suit and tie. "You're not a Jehovah's witness?" "Uh, no. We're investigators for a newsletter called 'The Lone Gunman.' Have you heard of us?" The man's eyes informed Byers of the inherent stupidity in his question. "Yes, well...we're investigating the strange occurence of three nights ago. You know, the flash and the power outage?" The man's slumped posture stiffened. "We were wondering if anything unusual had happened to you on that night." "Why are you asking me?" "Because, um...there's a big burn mark on your roof." The man hesitated before saying "Lightning." "Well, that is one possibility we're considering." "What other possibilities could you be considering?" "Um..." "Look, I have to go to work in about a hour. I don't really have the time..." "What's the problem?" Frohike squawked. "This will only take a few minutes. I promise that you won't miss a second of flipping burgers." Byers winced. "I work for a mass-mailing company," the man grumbled. "Whatever. Why be hard-assed about it? Are you hiding something?" A new shade crossed the man's eyes. It indicated a threat. And maybe the knowledge that he could carry out that threat. Then the man shrugged and said, "Go ahead." Byers nodded to his companions. Langley and Frohike began walking around the house with microscopic goggles and a geiger counter. Byers got out his notebook. "Your name, sir?" "Howard Ellis." "Where were you when the power outage occurred?" "In bed. Asleep. I had just gotten home from the second shift at Metromail. I work from three to eleven so I was asleep by around midnight." "On the way home, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" "Yeah. I noticed that I hated my job even more than usual." Byers cleared his throat. "Did anybody at work talk about any experiences they had?" "I don't talk much with the others." Oh, boy, Byers thought. Then Howard rubbed his neck and Byers noticed the red inflammations on his hands. "How did you get those burns?" Howard looked at his hands, then back at Byers. "Cooking," he said flatly. Byers knew that he had gotten everything possible out of this man. "Well..." he concluded, then put away his notebook and shuffled on his feet until his fellow Gunmen returned. Frohike and Langley were chirpy as birds. "You wouldn't believe what I found!" Langley declared, holding up a tiny plastic bag full of dirt. "This is one weird-ass soil sample!" "And check out the readings on this place!" Frohike pointed his geiger counter at the house. The static from the counter was strong. "Something happened here and it sure wasn't light---" As Frohike excitedly talked, he swung his arms and the counter pointed at Howard. The static grew in volume and the needle wavered further to the right. They all looked at Howard. He looked back at them. He didn't like what he saw in their eyes. It was as if they were mirrors that reflected a repulsive countenance. Howard Ellis got angry. "I've had enough of this shit! The last thing I need are a bunch of geeks---" The rough crackling got louder. It sounded like rats trying to chew through wood. "---invading my property! You better leave right now---" The needle had crossed into the numbers marked red. "---or I'm going to do something about it!" The Lone Gunmen were already running back to their car. When Mulder called up Scully and told her to meet him at a bar, his voice had a tone that she hadn't heard in awhile. He was excited. She didn't know whether to be encouraged or nervous. At the bar, she found him in a booth situated at the back. As she walked over there, she noticed that a female bartender with short blonde hair was watching the FBI agents with an odd look. "What's with her?" Scully asked. "Long story," Mulder said, then related what Byers had told him about Howard Ellis. "When he got angry, they knew that he...there was something in the air, Byers said. They knew that this man was not a person to get angry." "Mulder, you know how jumpy those three are." "I think they're on to something this time." Scully took in the eagerness on Mulder's face. She had been with him long enough to take his instincts seriously. "What do we do if they are?" she asked. Mulder leaned back and scratched his lip. "I don't know." "Kersh is not going to let us look into this." "I'm aware of that." "So, what do you want to do?" "Keep Byers and the rest down there. Get more information." "Why is this important to you? Just something in the air?" "I'm getting the same feeling that I got with Gibson Praise." "Well, you remember what happened with him." "Of course, I do." Scully nodded. "All right. Let's see what they can found out about this. But we only go forward when we're absolutely sure that it's worth it." Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that I'm reckless, Scully?" "If swan diving into empty pools was an Olympic event, Mulder..." The men who gathered in the sitting room at West 46th Street did not like to be noticed. Power could make other men yearn for cheering crowds and seeing their names in the history books. These men spent a lot of effort on being the ghosts of history. No one would ever connect them with the events of the past or the events yet to come. Adam Bridge was one of the people given the job of maintaining that secrecy. He would hover around these men, notice the chinks in their armor and then seal them up. His superiors hardly acknowledged him and he rarely made eye contact with them. It was as if they were afraid that self-awareness of their relationship would expose its fragility. These men must always assume that their power is complete and total. If they don't, doubt happens and that is toxic to them. Arrogance is not just a price. It's the foundation of all their plans. There were days that Adam could sit in on their meetings. This was not one of them. This time, he had to stand outside. He would wait in the hallway for his direct superior---a large-jowled man with a dead voice---to be done with the meeting. After which, he would drive him home or any other destination he desired. The meeting had not started yet. Adam waited until a man arrived. This one trailed thin white clouds from his cigarette as he walked down the softly carpeted hallway. Adam opened the door for him and the man stepped past him. Adam took a brief glance at the smoking man's expression. He noticed that there was something different in his face. Usually, the smoking man was the most arrogant of the bunch. This time, there was a trace of uncertainity about it. Adam would have missed it if he had not learned to read the faces of these men. Over the years, he had been carefully watching them when they were looking away. He searched for clues and signs in their expressions. Information to pass on. Adam assumed that the meeting would begin now. Yet there was one more person to arrive. He arrived a few minutes after the smoking man. Adam had perfected the art of keeping emotion off his face, but his talent was strained by the sight of this tall, wide-shouldered man walking towards the door. Unlike the men in the room, this newcomer made direct eye contact. The sureness of his power was clear across his sharp features. Adam quickly opened the door and the man strode inside. Adam got a glimpse of the others straightening to attention before he closed the door. This meeting was obviously even more important than usual. Adam had never seen this man present at any of their gatherings before. That's why he made a call that night to a man whom he considered his real superior---the man that he followed above all others. "One of the colonists' own people were there, Reverend...I can't think of any reason why...Yes, Reverend...Sir, might I ask...is this what we've been waiting for? Is it beginning?" A smile appeared on Adam's face, full of gratitude and relief. "Oh, thank God...I'll keep you informed of everything I know...God bless you, Reverend." The next day, Frohike called up Mulder to tell him that he had been arrested for being a murder accomplice. CHAPTER THREE PUNISHMENT "I am determined that my children shall be brought up in their father's religion, if they can find out what it is."--- Charles Lamb Susan Jones remembered a time when she had defied her mother. It had begun as an argument over ear piercing that had gotten hotter and angrier until Mrs. Jones ordered her daughter to her room. "No, I will not!" Susan shouted back. Her mother's face went from angry to flat and cold. When Mrs. Jones told her daughter to go see her father, Susan knew that she was trapped. Just telling her father about what happened would be a heavy task, but not telling would only make things worse. It was a long, long walk from the living room to the garage. The details on the way there---a picture of a hazy-faced Jesus, the checkerboard patterns on a sofa, flower-shaped magnets on the refrigerator---were sharp to her eyes as they changed from symbols of domestic security to emblems of the household that trapped her. As she continued towards the sound of nails being hammered, she wondered why she continued to rebel even when she knew exactly what would be the final result. She knew what would happen when she entered the garage... Her father would look up from whatever project he was working on. (This time, it was a bookshelf to hold the family's ever-growing collection of books on the Rapture.) He would know from the timidity in her eyes that a transgression had been committed. She would quietly give him the details. He would nod, then pull of his belt. Ten. Ten lashes for ten Commandments. With the first lash, she would have to call out, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me." The second lash would have her recite the second of God's rules. This pattern would continue with what would hopefully be the last eight remaining lashes. The trouble was that confusion was easy. Even though those laws were written on a plaque hanging in front of her bed, the pain and the crying would interfere with her memories. If she forgot one or mixed up the order, her father would tell her where she went wrong. Then they would start over again. They once got up to thirty-eight lashes that way. (If her mother was ever disturbed by the red lines that she had wash off Susan's panties, she never spoke of it.) This time, they only got up to fourteen. Not too bad. Afterwards, Susan would be sent to her room and left alone for awhile. Then both parents would come in and explain that they only punished her for her own good. Susan agreed with that and promised to honor her mother and father. Hugs would follow, maybe even ice cream. Twenty-five years later, Susan was walking through the many rooms of the Ezekial Ranch. She passed by comfortable displays of furniture that no longer seemed so inviting and cozy. Her friends went by her but they no longer felt like her friends. She was headed for the office of Reverend Michael Forester, feeling the same way she did as when she walked to the garage of her childhood home. Only this was worse. She knocked on the office door, but there was only silence from the other side. She briefly toyed with the hope that Forester wasn't inside. However, the truth was evident. Forester was in the middle of prayer and would only let her in after he was finished. Nearly a minute passed. Then he spoke in a voice so unique in its timbre that it could make the simplest phrases sound authoriative. "Come in." She could only do that and nothing else. Forester's office was an utter mess, a puddle of chaos in the middle of a house where taste and organization tended to every other room. Covering the desk and shelves was a hodgepodge of files, papers, photos and books. The literature delved into subjects like biblical prophecy, conspiracy theories, infectious diseases and military weaponary. The files contained geological maps, messages from distant countries and graphs whose curves went steadily upwards. Photos of white blurs in the skies and scientists who were young men in the 1950's poked through the rubbish. There were also many photos of a brown-haired man and a red-haired woman, both of whom were attractive in fairly unconvential ways. The clothes on Michael Forester continued the unkempt motif. His white dress shirt and black pants hadn't been near a hot iron for weeks. His black shoes were scarred and scruffed. This was not the appearance of a leader. He didn't even look like he could find his own car keys. Then he looked up with grey eyes that seemed to know everything. They rested inside in a face whose marks and lines seem to attest to the eyes' knowledge. When he stood up, he bore himself straight and with no uncertainity. "Miss Jones." "You wish...to see me, Reverend?" "I understand that you have doubts about the Church's mission." Susan went mute. "Am I misinformed?" One lash for each Commandment. And her father never had Forester's sense of authority. What possible punishment could he think up? Why the hell did she... "Well, Miss Jones?" "I, um...I was talking to Linda and...I said that ours is not the first church that claimed this era was the final generation." Forester said nothing, only continued his powerful gaze. Susan kept talking out of sheer nervousness. "The Millerites, the Jehovah's Witnesses, you could go on and on, everyone thought their time had the right signs, they could see it playing out, but...here we still are..." "Yes. Here we are." "I just thought...I would point it out, sir." I just thought that I would open my mouth and stick my smelly foot in it. Couldn't stop it when I was a girl and I still can't stop it. Forester pointed at a timeline pinned to the wall. "You don't consider these to be the right signs?" Susan didn't have to read the timeline. Everyone at the Ezekial Ranch knew it by heart. August 1994...a man claiming to be an alien abductee takes hostages at a travel agency... December-to-January 1995...identical doctors working in abortion clinics disappear... April 1997...a schoolground full of children is attacked by bees... March 1998...Over a hundred abductees are burned alive, allegedly in a suicide pact... In between all of this, there were stories of unknown craft in the sky and visitors with strange intentions, more and more of them with each passing year. "Well, yes, sir, but..." No, no, stop it. For once, use your head. "But?" "But what does it all add up to?" Oh, Christ. Forester stepped forward until he was a few inches from her face. "So, you do have doubts." His voice seemed to make her head vibrate. Susan looked down. "So do I." Her head straightened up in astonishment and she stared at the old man in front of her. He was no longer so imposing. His expression was more withdrawn and his gaze cloudy and unfocused. The change was so sudden that it left her a little dizzy. "S-sir?" He nodded. "That's right. I have doubts. Not about the events facing us, you understand. Rather..." He turned away. Susan got the impression that he wasn't aware of her presence now. He stepped over to a window and regarded the rough land outside. Even within the secure coolness of the Ranch, the brutal heat of the Arizona desert could be sensed, if not felt. He was silent for a long time. Then he said--- "Who am I in all of this? Am I playing my role correctly? Is there something I should be doing? Or not doing? It's so hard to see..." When he turned to Susan, he was neither the all-powerful Reverend or the bewildered old man. He now looked like a tender, caring grandfather. Susan had known Forester for almost a year and this was something that she had never seen before. It was strange. And gratifying. And maybe a little scary. "If you want to leave, Susan...if you don't have the strength of belief...then you should go." Susan almost commented about what happened to people who wanted to leave the Church, but even she knew better than that. Furthermore, she could sense that Forester was telling the truth. She could leave right now. But she didn't want to. She couldn't. Not after all the way Forester had opened up to her. How could she not follow a leader capable of showing the weakness in his soul? "I'll stay." "That's good. I need someone like you in charge if something should happen to me." Her body felt weak. "Someone like me?" Forester went over to her and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "Yes. You." "But what about Sheldon? Or McDonald?" "They...are believers through and through. But they don't have your intelligence and insight." "You would want me to lead? Even with my doubts?" "It's been said that faith without doubt is just flabby sentimentality." Susan searched in her memory for the quote's source. "G.K. Chesterton?" "Actually, I think it was a 'MacGyver' episode." Susan burst out laughing at the sheer unexpectedness of the joke. Forested smiled at her. Then he stopped smiling and Susan's laughter was cut off as those grey eyes fixed upon her. "I know what will happen, Miss Jones. I have seen the Great Beast in the flesh. What I don't know is when the final events will occur. Jesus said, 'But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.' It may occur in the next fifty years. Or five. Or next month. Or tomorrow. Or just as I'm finishing this sentence. That's why we must bear a strong, unwavering faith because the moment of Judgment could occur at anytime. Do you understand?" "Yes, Reverend." Susan felt far away from herself, disconnected from her body. "Now, there is somewhere I have to go. I'm taking McDonald and Sheldon with me. There's a very important matter that needs attending to." He paused. "If my sources are correct, it may be the most important event of our lives. May I trust you to look after the Ranch in my absence?" "Of course, Reverend." "Good. Now, leave, Miss Jones." She turned, left the office and the door closed behind her. She went to the women's sleeping quarters, saying not a word to anyone she passed. She went to her bed and knelt at its side, thanking God that she had not been punished. Her prayers also thanked Him for bringing Reverend Forester in her life and expressed her joy that he had talked into staying and that he trusted her, a weak person with a weak faith. She ignored the small suspicion that Reverend Forester may have done the worst possible thing to her. CHAPTER FOUR WHAT NOT TO DO AROUND HOWARD ELLIS "The rival sergeants run about. But more to squabble than find out..." ---W.H. Auden It happened like this. Byers, Langley and Frohike decided to keep an eye on Howard Ellis. Byers watched the house while Langley and Frohike hung around Rutland's downtown area in case Howard went there. Around eleven o'clock, Howard left the house and drove his car downtown. He parked on a long street containing stores and the town library. At the time this was happening, Langley was in a music store just a block away from the library. He was talking with the store owner about the long line of autographed celebrity photos on the wall. One in particular caught Langely's interest. The signature and image belonged to the lead actor of a popular science fiction series. Right next to the photo was a letter from the star's personal assistant. The letter said that the star received thousands of autograph requests and this was only one of two that the assistant personally sent to his employer. "Why's that?" Langely asked. "Read what he wrote on his photo." Under the star's handsome, laconic face was a scrawl that read "Where's my free shit?" Langley burst out laughing. "You didn't actually..." "Sure." "You do this for all of these people?" "Oh, no. Only the ones that I think will like it. For some reason, I get the feeling that this guy wakes and bakes occasionally." "You don't think he actually wanted some free shit, didn't he?" "Hell, he doesn't need me. He can get all the free shit that he wants." "Well, if he doesn't want it, I..." *Byers to Langley, Byers to Langley, come in.* Both Langley and the store owner jumped. Langley yanked out the walkie-talkie from his jacket. "Langley here." "Ah, man, you're a goddamned narc!" "I am not!" *Subject is headed for the library. Pick up and follow.* "Then what's with the walkie-talkie?" "It's...ah, forget it. What was that, Byers?" *I said, the subject is headed for the library. Pick up and follow. Understand?* "Yeah, yeah." Langley went up the street to the library, a medium-sized building. He found old people reading magazines, homeless folk sleeping in chairs and college students studying microfilm. He also found Howard Ellis. Keeping his face hidden behind a newspaper, he observed Howard wandering around the shelves and occasionally taking a book down for a quick perusal. Howard finally settled on one book and sat down in a chair with it. He read it for a few minutes, then tossed it aside with disgust. He heeded for the exit. Langley walked after him, but not before observing the book's title. 'Stranger in a Strange Land.' As he followed Howard down the sidewalk, Langley saw that he was headed for the Rutland shopping plaza. He notified Frohike who had that area staked out. Frohike waited on a bench until Howard had crossed an intersecting street. He then followed Howard through a parking lot and towards a movie theater located between a grocery and a shoe store. He managed to overhear which film Howard bought a ticket for. He waited a few more minutes, then told Langley and Byers of his current position, recommending no communcation until it was absolutely necessary. Then he bought a ticket, got a big box of popcorn and went to theater number three. He sat four rows behind Howard. He and Howard were the only ones in the theater. No wonder. The film was some horrible thing about a doctor who got his medical license removed for drug use. He ended up working for the mafia which was made up of gaudily dressed actors trying to act tough as they cursed and strode cockily. There were voice-overs about destiny, an artsy shot of the doctor reflected in a crooked mirror and a dame torn between two men. It made Frohike curse the day Quentin Tarantino was born. He would have walked out on it under other circumstances. Judging from the way Howard's head lolled about, he wanted to leave as well. What kept him there? Maybe because the film only fulfilled his expectations. When Howard walked, his shoulders were slumped and his hands were tucked into his pockets. He looked like a man who expected disappointment whether it was from work, entertainment or life itself. Frohike thought about other people he knew in his unique circles. They were losers, obviously---people with lousy jobs and empty love lives who suddenly found a way out of their existence's tedium. Instead of being ordinary people, they would be alien abductees or the ones smart enough to see hidden forces controlling world events. (Of course, *he* wasn't like that.) Most of them barely had proof to support their claims beyond a dream they had. However, something real and tangible had happened to Howard Ellis. Witn an experience like that, you could make a fortune, tour the talk shows, be famous. Why didn't he take this opportunity? What made him that bitter? Frohike was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the three new people in the theater. Of course, these men were experts in being unnoticed. It was as if Frohike had blinked and there they were, seated around Howard. Then they were standing up and leaning towards him. "Excuse me, sir?" one of them quietly said. "But would you come with us?" Frohike ducked for cover and got out his walkie-talkie. "Langley! Byers!" he hissed. "Code Black! Get your butts over to the theater!" He put away the walkie-talkie and looked back up. He saw one of the men standing over him. Even if they had been in daylight, Frohike would have been hard-pressed to come up with an exact description of the man. However, there was one thing he would always remember---the way he looked at Frohike as if he was a misspelled word that had to be erased. "What are you doing, sir?" Frohike was saying something along the lines of "ummm...uh..." when he heard--- "GET YOUR GODDAMNED HANDS OFF ME!" Both Frohike and the man looked towards Howard. He was shoving one of the other two men away from him. The pushed man only went back an inch and then leaped forward to ram Howard into a headlock supplied by his companion. "Be calm," the man holding Howard said. "Just be calm. There is nothing you can do." That was when Frohike felt it. It was the same tingle in the air when Howard had gotten angry at the Lone Gunmen. Even in the dim light, the rage on Howard's face was evident. "Let...go...of...me," he growled. "You cannot resist," he was informed. The man that Howard pushed took him by the arm to lead him out of the theater. That tingling got more intense. "Wait, guys!" Frohike warned, but then he felt a hand clamp down on his neck. Howard pressed a foot against an arm rest and his body tried to stretch back against his captor. His hands trembled. His breathing was as loud as the movie's soundtrack. Frohike knew something was going to happen. He wanted to push aside the sharp pain in his neck and yell a warning out. Couldn't the dummies see it coming? If they did, they had been too well trained. Orders overrode their instincts. "Sir, if you don't come with us, we're going to have to..." Then it happened. Long thick streams of...something leapt through the light of the projector, accompanied by a sound like a big plastic bag being popped. Then the projector light went out. There were two dull thumps. Frohike felt the hand release him and he almost collapsed. He heard the third man pull out a gun. Then the popping sound occurred again and a warm substance splashed over Frohike. There was another thump. By then, Frohike's eyes had adjusted to the emergency lights that lined up the aisle. He could see Howard watching him. He had no words to say and no way of avoiding what was sure to happen. Then Howard turned his head towards the back exit. Frohike looked there as well. There was another man in the theater. A big man. Frohike could faintly make out thick lips, sharp cheekbones and unblinking eyes. He held a metal rod in his hand, carefully judging its potential use. Then the man returned the rod to his pocket and left the theater. Howard left by the front door exit Frohike sat down until an usher came in with a flashlight. The usher found the three bodies as well as a short man stained with blood. The man blinked in the light and said, "I can explain." Detective Patricia Brand was having enough of a headache with this case without having the FBI involved. Yet here they were, two representatives of that grand institution, sitting right in front of her desk at the Rutland Police Department as the clock reached nine p.m. "What brings you two up from Washington?" "We understand that you have a Melvin Frohike under arrest for complicity in murder," the tall, dark-haired agent said politely. "You understand correctly." "Could you explain the circumstances of his arrest?" "Not before you explain why you're here." The male agent looked at his female partner. Brand noticed that the red-haired woman was more noticeably tense. The two agents had a quick silent communication and then the male agent said, "Mister Frohike was doing unofficial business for the FBI." He added nothing more after that. "O-kay," Brand said carefully. "Well, there was a power outage in one of the theaters at the Rutland Plaza cinema. In fact, the power went out in the whole Plaza." Brand noticed the slightest flicker in the male agent's eyes when she mentioned that. "When an usher went to check out one of the theaters, he found your Melvin Frohike with three dead men." "Dead how?" "Well, it wasn't due to natural causes. I've heard of spontaneous combustion, but not a spontaneous explosion in your chest." "But you're not sure what the cause is." "No. Not from a cursory examination. My guess would be a gun with a lot of firepower. No one heard any shots but you know how loud movies get nowadays." "Well, I would like Agent Scully to be attendant at the autopsy." Brand turned her eyes over to Scully, making the female agent even more uncomfortable. "Sure," Brand said. "The more the merrier." "Why do you think Frohike was involved in this?" Mulder asked. "Let's just sat that his unwillingness in telling us what happened is a little suspicious. We know that there was another person in the theater. We'll ID that person eventually but your friend's cooperation would be appreciated." "I'll talk to him about that." "Goody. Now tell me why exactly you're here." Nothing came from either Mulder or Scully. "Look, I've got a lot of problems with this case. It's bad enough that a triple-murder occurs right in the middle of glorious center of commerce, but I've got three bodies with no form of identification. We ran their fingerprints and faces through the computer and nothing came out. And you didn't look too surprised when I said that." Another tense exchange of unspoken words flowed between the two agents. Then Mulder said, "We need to know more before we can say anything conclusive. But trust us, Detective Brand. We're here to help you." "All I know is that you're here. And I can't do anything about that." Mulder and Scully hoped that Detective Brand wouldn't learn that her last statement was wrong. "You've got to get me out of here, Mulder! The way people are looking at me, you would think I was some kind of pervert." "I wouldn't go there, Frohike." Frohike grimaced at the man on the other side of the iron bars. "What happened?" Mulder asked and got all the details Frohike could remember. "So, you see? I'm clean! You've got to go tell that Detective Bitch Brand..." "Ease up, Frohike. She's just doing her job." "Oh, pardon me, Mister Politically Correct. But I'm in jail!" "Well, the best way to get out is to tell who else was in that theater." "I knew that you wanted to keep my mouth shut there. But now that you're here..." "Frohike..." "...I can get the hell out of this roach motel..." "Frohike..." "...and get working on a lawsuit that will knock the Rutland Police Department so hard..." "Frohike?" "What?" "You're...going to have to stay in jail awhile longer." "Pardon me?" "I need you to keep quiet for now." "What for? Mulder, it's not going to take them long to know who was in there!" "I know. But I need all the time I can get." A long frown settled on the prisoner's lips. "Please." Frohike crossed his arms. "This is going to cost you." "Frohike, if you're going to ask for naked pictures of Agent Scully..." "Oh, grow up, Mulder. I'm past that." "Good." "Love is temporary. Money is forever." The autopsy of the three murder victims hit a snag. When the police forensics specialist and Scully went to the morgue, they found all three bodies missing. Upon hearing this, Detective Brand blew a fuse. "What the hell is going on here, Agent Scully?!" "I don't know. And that's the truth." After Mulder's interview and Scully's aborted autopsy, they met to compare notes. Then Scully reminded Mulder--- "We're in it deep enough just being here. The last thing we need is an angry police detective." "I know. But there's too much that's important at stake. Not to mention the lives of Detective Brand and her fellow officers." "What do you mean?" "From what Frohike told me, it looks like we're dealing with a telekineticist. A telekineticist who does not like to be cornered." Scully took her traditional pause, then said, "Are you saying that Howard Ellis willed those men to die?" "Through the projection of some mental force. I don't want the local police charging after them because I doubt they're going to accept my little theory. They'll be unprepared to deal with him." "Mulder, I don't accept it. At least, I can't without any evidence." "The evidence has been removed, Scully. You willing to guess by whom?" "Kersh is not going to be interested in our guesses. He's going to see us down here without authorization and impeding a local investigation. We have nothing to justify ourselves being here." "Maybe not in this murder case." "What does that mean?" "I had Langley hack into the Rutland police records..." "Oh, beautiful." "He found a similiar case that occured twenty-three years ago. In it, a man died as the result of violent trauma to his chest. It was ruled that the man died of a shotgun blast, but there is a lot of uncertainty in the coroner's report. This case also involved a nine-year-old boy named Howard Ellis." Scully took all that in, then asked, "Who was the victim?" "His father." CHAPTER FIVE A MEETING BY THE LAKE "Behold, we put bits in the horse's mouths that they may obey us and we turn about their whole body."---James 3:1 Conrad Strunghold entered the sitting room and memory hit him. The grim looks on the other men's faces, their stiff posture, the way they regarded him---it reminded him of when they learned of the infection in Texas. "I take it this is important news if I must come all the way from Tunisia," he said mildly. "Nor will it be particularly encouraging news." "We have a new problem," the smoking man said. "Something none of us anticipated. And I mean...none of us." "What do you mean?" "There was an attempted abduction of a man in Vermont." Strunghold looked puzzled. "An abduction by one of the colonists?" "Of course." "An *attempted* abduction?" "The man in question---Howard Ellis---resisted. Successfully." Strunghold clenched his hands inside his pockets. "How?" he said as quietly as possible. "He appears to be a telekineticist. A very powerful one. He was able to obliterate his abductors and their ship." "He also killed three of our men as they attempted to contain him," a heavy-set man added. "One of the colonists' own people witnessed this." "Where is this Howard Ellis now?" "No one knows." Strunghold looked at everyone in the room. "I should have been informed about this before any action was taken." "We had to move quickly," the smoking man explained, rolling his cigarette between his fingers. "The colonists wanted this problem taken care of immediately." "Did anyone consider the possibility that this man could be an asset for our side?" A tiny smile appeared on the smoking man's mouth. "Why, Herr Strunghold...is that rebellion you're talking?" Strunghold fixed his eyes on the smoking man who quickly lost his smile. "Rebellion has never been a real option because we never had the right weapon," Strunghold said evenly. "Howard Ellis could be our weapon." "It's too late for that," the heavy-set man said. "The colonists already know of his existence. We have no time to harness his abilities, yet alone know if he's capable of mounting a full-fledged resistance to their plans. Furthermore, he sounds too unstable to be controlled." Strunghold's eyes turned down to the floor. "Very well. The question is---how will this problem be solved?" "There's a more important question," the smoking man said. "Who will do the job?" Strunghold looked quickly up. "If they get involved..." "Then it's a whole new game, isn't it?" Investigating a case without bureau sanction. Impeding a murder investigation. Computer hacking. And now, breaking and entering. "While we're in town, Mulder, why don't we knock over a liquor store?" Mulder said nothing as he entered the house of Howard Ellis. Scully sighed and went through the door whose lock Mulder had picked. She followed him through the rooms of the house, looking for anything significant. They surveyed the dust on the rugs, the smeared windows and the furniture held together by tape. "Mister Ellis is not the most sanitary person in the world," Mulder observed. "Messiness is the least of his offenses," Scully replied. "We're talking about self-defense, Scully. Those men were trying to take him away." "And you're saying that those men worked for the government?" "I would say that it's a fair guess." "And these men wanted to use Howard's powers for their own purposes?" "Well...if they knew what he could do, they should have been smart enough not to manhandle him. Maybe someone sent those men to make sure that Howard's powers were real." "But why send them in the first place?" "Must have something to do with that flash from a few nights ago." "Must have?" Mulder sighed. "We've got a lot of pieces. Now it's a question of finding the one that connects them all." Scully said nothing more. What was there left to say? What was that point of complaining after coming this far? Or complaining about anything after all these years? Besides, like it or not, there was an odd smell to this whole affair. If nothing else, Mulder had given her an inclination for following this kind of scent. They reached Howard's bedroom with its unmade bed and dirty clothes scattered on the floor. Mulder looked over the room and suddenly felt frustrated. Why hadn't he learned anything? Once again, he had dived head-first, assuming that the dry cement below was just an illusion. Not only that, but he had yanked someone down with him. He glanced over at Scully. She was examining the room but with the expectation of finding nothing. Yet she was here. She had followed him on nothing more than trust. Same as it always was. And this was the woman he had first regarded as a young brown noser? She had given him everything she had to offer. What had he to give back? Somebody's dirty laundry. He kicked a shirt on the floor. That's how he saw it. "Scully, come over here." She knelt with him before a dark spot on the rug. "It's a burn mark," she said. Mulder pushed aside other piles of clothes until he found two more burn marks. Then he noticed the window---singed around the frame. He rubbed his finger around the window, as if those black streaks could tell him a secret. "Mulder? What is it?" No, he thought. It can't be possible. But... "Scully, I think we are on the verge of..." "Of getting your ass blown away if you move." The blue car moved gingerly down the state route that passed through Rutland and in front of the house of Howard Ellis. It pulled to the side across from the house, right behind a pickup truck that had arrived a few minutes after Mulder and Scully. Inside the car were three men. The driver was a huge man with wild curly hair and a full mustache. He wore a blue denim jacket and frayed jeans. A tattoo of a snake wrapped around a skull was visible on his right hand. In the back seat was a man who was five-foot-three in height but with a body that was obviously fit and muscular. He looked like he spent at least a half-hour of every day making sure his appearance was presentable, down from his hair to his dress suit to his loafers. The driver and the back-seat passenger were mirror opposites. Yet the expressions in their faces were very alike. They looked like they were awaiting orders. The short man opened up a black case. He pulled out a small radio dish and pointed it at the house. A wire ran from the dish to an earpiece. Through the earpiece, he could hear--- "...federal agents. There's no need for the gun." "Up against the wall." "I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. Please, sir, would you..." "Mulder and Scully are here," the short man said. "I see," the third man commented. He sat besides the driver, scanning the house with his grey eyes. "They sound like they're in trouble." "Don't worry. They'll get out of it." The third man smiled. "I should have known Fox would be here. You know his parents could never keep his birthday and Christmas presents hidden? He would always find them, no matter where they were stashed. He neved did like secrets." The smile vanished. "Unfortunately, secrets mean nothing unless you can see the truth that binds them. I hope he realizes that before it's too late." The old man looked at the ID badges, then handed them back to Mulder and Scully. He placed his gun back in its holster where it snuggled against a hefty belly with yellow suspenders across it. "All right," he said. "Why are you here?" "Mind if I ask who you are?" Mulder replied. "I'm John Taylor." Mulder looked surprised. "Detective John Taylor?" The old man returned Mulder's look. "Former detective. How did you know?" "You investigated the murder of Rob Ellis." "You seem to be a few steps ahead of me." "Actually, I think we're walking right in sync. I assume you've heard about what happened in the movie theater." "Everybody's heard about it. On a hunch, I called up a few friends on the force and got some details." "It's just like the death of Rob Ellis, isn't it? You know that Howard was in that theater." Taylor let out a lengthy sigh. He sat down on the bed. "I've been dreading this for years." "Mister Taylor," Scully said. "what happened in that other case?" "What do you know?" "That it was ruled that Rob Ellis was killed by his wife, Angela. Apparently, he had been abusing both her and their son." "That's the story that was given out. But, sometimes...well, maybe it's better to believe the lie." Scully looked at Taylor's sad eyes. "You think that Howard did it." "Angela confessed to the murder, but there were a couple of problems with her story. The autopsy indicated that the shotgun blast occurred after death. Furthermore, powder burns on the floor show that she had shot Rob while he was lying down. Yet blood patterns on the wall pointed to him standing up at the moment of death." "And you wonder if he had been shot," Mulder said. Taylor looked at Mulder with a raised eyebrow. "Well. It does look like we're in sync." "What are you saying?" Scully asked. "Judging from the wounds in Rob's body, it looked like something long, wide and round had gone through his chest," Taylor explained. "Something a lot bigger than a bullet." "Such as?" Taylor shrugged. "No one could answer that. No one could explain any of the inconsistencies. Because of that and Angela's confession...well, there you go." "What about Howard?" "I questioned him. I just knew that he was hiding something. Both he and his mother. But I couldn't get anything out of them." "Couldn't or wouldn't?" Taylor looked at Scully. "Rob was a son-of-a-bitch. That's a fact. If Angela wanted to protect her son...then who am I to say no?" "But now three men are dead." Taylor looked down, silent for a few moments. Then he said, "Life wasn't easy for Howard, as you can imagine. After the trial, things got more and more bitter between him and his mother. Eventually, he stopped seeing her in prison. One year later after that, she died there. He didn't come to her funeral. I could never understand what that was all about." "You've been keeping an eye on him," Mulder observed. "Trying to. It hasn't been easy. He's got a lot of anger inside of him. I can't think of any friends that he has. I've tried to be there for him, but I'm more of a reminder of the past than a help. He's never been able to hold down a steady job. He's only been able to keep onto his house because it's inherited, but...you can see how much he cares for it. It's where Rob died after all." "And now that anger is loose." "He's been able to hold onto it this long. I can't imagine that he would snap for no reason. Something set him off." Mulder glanced at Scully and she could almost hear the wild theory singing inside his head, even though she didn't know what it was. "Have you told the police about this?" Mulder asked. Taylor gazed straight at Mulder. "No. Have you?" "I believe that the last thing anybody needs is for Howard to be hunted down like an animal. We need to find him first." "You know, it's funny how well we agree. What are you guys doing her anyway?" "It's a long story. The important thing is that we need to help each other." Taylor nodded. "Okay. So, what do we do?" "Right now, I would say that Howard is lost emotionally. He's repeated something that he enjoyed doing but was forbidden by his mother to do again." "What makes you say that?" "This kind of rage you say Howard has...it can only be checked by one thing. A promise." "To Angela?" "Angela knew what her son was capable of. And knew that he was more than willing to do it again." "So, that's why he was so bitter with her. She took the heat for him so he felt obliged to keep the promise. But he always hated it." "Right. So now the promise is broken. He can't return to this house. It's too much of a symbol of the past. He has to find a place that's comforting to him.' Taylor scratched his beard as he thought. "You know, I once took Howard on a fishing trip down in Ludlow. I think that if we ever connected...it was there. Maybe if I had done more things like that with him..." He shook his head. "You think he might be there?" "It's as a good place as any right now." "Okay. We'll go down there. Scully, you should stay here in case Howard decides to come home." "Right," she said. "Let's go," Taylor said, getting to his feet. "We don't have much time." The old man left the room. Before Mulder could follow him, Scully touched him on the arm. "You're thinking something big, Mulder." "I am. But it's another long story." She sighed. "All right. Go." "Scully?" 'Yes?" "If Howard does come here...don't get him upset." The blue car had driven to an out-of-sight spot down the road before Mulder and Taylor stepped outside. The short man turned on a laptop computer. The computer was hooked up to a machine that was gray, flat and beeping. While Taylor and the two FBI agents had been talking, the grey-eyed man had authorized the placing of tracking bugs on both Taylor's pickup and the agents' rental car. A map of Rutland appeared on the computer screen. There were two tiny flashing lights on the map, one blue and the other red. The blue one began to move. "The pickup is in motion." "Follow them." The big driver turned the car around and followed the pickup's trail. He asked his leader, "If they take us to Howard Ellis, what should we do?" "Then it might be necessary for each of us to do what we do best." "Sir?" "You know what your talents are. Mine is speaking the truth." Ludlow was a small town located just over twenty miles south of Rutland. A lake was close by, ringed with houses on its shore. As Taylor drove his pickup down the interconnecting highway, Mulder thought about everything. Among his thoughts was the belief that he may have found something more than a Holy Grail. He may have found the Sword of Excalibur---a mighty weapon. If Howard could do what Mulder believed he could do, then he would make an invaluable ally. Then he thought about the other times when he had believed the end was in sight. He thought of things that he had held in his hand...a human corpse altered into something inhuman...a computer disk...another body, frozen in ice... All of them had been taken from him and been replaced with another weight to hang around his neck. He had knowledge and the responsibilities that went with that knowledge, but nothing more. And there were the losses. And the near-loss. Had the past made him more careful? He wasn't sure. He had a greater sense of what matters most, but when the Grail shines in the distance, it was so hard to resist the chase. He once considered leaving the quest behind him. However, it seemed that the quest had chosen him, not the other way around. It kept its hooks in Mulder and was now dragging him down this dark highway to another probable disaster. Or maybe a victory. Scully had done more searching in the house after her partner had left. She found an old photobook. Held under the plastic were images of the Ellis family. She examined the smiles of father, mother and son. Where was the hurt and anger? In these displays of happiness, where were the signs of this family's approaching self-destruction? She wondered if Mulder looked at his photobooks in the same way. What did he see when he looked at his father? Was it the man who had given him life? Or the one who had betrayed him and his sister? She also wondered if Mulder was projecting his own feelings onto this case. Undoubtedly, he could relate to an anger that culminated in patricide. Scully, however, was inclined to believe the mother's story. If Angela Ellis had told Scully that she had shot her husband to protect her son, she would have accepted it, understood it and sympathized with it. What mother wouldn't commit murder to protect her... Now, who was projecting her feelings? She quickly closed the book. Then she heard the door open. She was about to call out, but cut that short. Mulder's theory was more than a bit improbable, but she wasn't going to give away her position either. She undid the strap on her holster. She waited. Footsteps creaked through the house. They went left and right through the rooms, passing by the hallway that would lead to her. Scully noticed that the footsteps were too light for a man. As the footsteps finally turned to the hallway and headed for her, she realized that there were some things almost as bad as a murderous telekineticist. "Why, Agent Scully. Fancy meeting you here." A very angry police detective, for example. "They've taken a turn off the highway," the short man reported. "They're right alongside the lake." "Any cover we can use?" his leader asked. "Yes. There's a forest around the road and lake. Should we bring the necessary equipment?" '"Of course." As Taylor and Mulder went down the highway, a forest closed around them. Taylor eventually look a left and slowed down for a residential road, the one that went around the lake. At first, houses blocked Mulder's view. Then the truck passed over a small bridge and Mulder could see a black plate of water stretched out under a sharp night sky. A few lights could be seen in the windows of houses, brighter and clearer than the stars but still punier that those cold gems. "There's a place where you can load your boats into the water," Taylor said. "We can try looking for..." "He's here." Taylor glanced over at Mulder. Mulder has his eyes fixed on the dark around him. He could sense the coldness outside. This is where you go to be alone. This is where the pain can't reach you. This is what we want death to be like---a coldness that has the comfort of warmth, a darkness to protect you when the light becomes painful. This is where Howard Ellis is, Mulder thought. In a way, it's where I am as well. Drowning is widely considered one of the worst ways to die. Perhaps because it's shocking to find out that a soothing and loving element would destroy us as readily as fire. Or perhaps what scares us is that it murders as lovingly as it bathes. Fire is hungry and merciless. Water flows calmly around us. Fire destroys the land and then promptly leaves. Water transforms the land and stays like a caring mother. When we swim, don't we often slip below the surface and see how long we can stay there? We remain there to feel the softer side of death. As Howard sat on the lake's edge and dipped his feet into the water, he considered that loving kind of death. When he heard the car coming, he considered the kind of death that he could make. The car parked next to his own. The lights drew a wide circle around him, pulling his shadow over the lake. He heard the doors open and feet step onto the ground. He said, "If you don't leave right now...well...you know..." "Howard?" He turned his head and blinked until he could make out the features of one of the men. "Detective Taylor." "Yeah. Hey." Howard looked the old man over. "It's been awhile. You've gotten fat." The old man smiled. "Yes, I have." "Who's that with you?" "That's Agent Fox Mulder. He's with the FBI." Howard turned his eyes towards the tall, dark-haired man, but addressed his words to Taylor. "What have you told him?" "I told him that I'm worried about you." "I'm not the one to worry about. You should know that by now, Detective Taylor." "I'm not afraid of you, Howard." That was the dark-haired man. Howard was about to laugh at him, but then he saw the expression on the man's face. The FBI agent looked...expectant. "Then you don't know who I am," Howard replied. "I know you're someone who will only use his gift if he's being attacked." Taylor looked at Mulder in confusion. Now, Howard laughed. "Get that, Detective Taylor. This guy has figured me out and we've barely met. You've known me for over twenty years and you still haven't solved my little mystery." "I think Detective Taylor has known for a long time," Mulder said. "But it's hard to accept. Isn't it?" Taylor nodded slowly. Mulder stepped forward. He took his time doing it. "You've very important, Howard." "Oh, I'm sure the government is very interested in me." "Believe me, Howard, I'm not here as a representative of the government." Howard looked at the faces of the two men as if he was seeing them for the first time. "You're here alone?" he asked. "We are." Mulder, Taylor and Howard were in the middle of a clearing. Surrounding them was a thick cover of trees. The three men following Taylor and Mulder had left their car up the road and followed the beeps of a portable tracker. When they reached the boat-launching area, they stepped into the cover of the trees. The twigs and dry leaves did nothing to give them away. The big man and short man were skilled at that kind of stealth and they had taught what they knew to their leader, just as the leader had taught them what he knew. The car headlights gave them more than enough light to work with. All that was needed now was an order. "So, what do you want?" Howard asked Mulder. "Quite a lot, actually. I've been looking for someone like you for a long time." "Why?" "Because my life depends on it." Howard looked this agent over. A handsome guy, this Mulder. Probably very good at what he does and very smart as well. All the elements you need for a nice life, but Howard had a nose for desperation and the scent was strong on Mulder. "Buddy...if you need me that bad, you're one sorry son-of-a-bitch." "Look, Howard..." Taylor said. A voice whispered, "Now." "...maybe you ought to..." There was a muffled snap from the trees and a piece of Taylor's head left him. The rest of his body stumbled to the ground. Mulder thought, run for cover, pull out your gun, call for back-up. Yet his body instinctively resisted this. He knew that eyes were looking at his heart through cross-hairs. He could only stay still and wait for the watcher's decision. He was completely helpless. Mulder was, anyway. Howard had been paralyzed by shock as well. Then he shook himself and went over to Taylor's body. He did not rush over there. He walked in a heavy way, his bare feet leaving wet prints on the ground. He stared down a the corpse, knowing that there was no hope. It had been a great shot. He turned to the forest. And Mulder felt a tingle in the air. "Come on out, you bastards!" Howard screamed. "You come on out or I'll..." "HOWARD!" The voice seemed to blast over their heads to the other side of the lake. It denied them any will of their own, any action they might take, any thought except what the voice allowed them. Howard's anger snapped off his face and Mulder saw the boy who had been terrorized by his father before he learned that he was a little god. But, now, it seemed that another god was usurping him. "Howard, I wish to speak to you." The voice was much gentler this time. There was no duplicity in it and no hints of secret agendas. "May I come down?" Howard silently nodded. A man stepped into the clearing. As he got nearer, a memory came to Mulder. The man was familiar and he opened his mouth to say so. "Please, Agent Mulder," the newcomer told him. "I would rather do the talking. And I would rather you not end up like this unfortnuate man." He walked up to Taylor's body. There was an unmistakable appearance of sadness on the old man's features. He lowered his head and closed his eyes for a few moments. Then he turned to Howard. "A friend of yours?" "Sort of. Enough to make me want to kill you and your buddies up there." "I understand." "You know I could do it. Nothing can protect you." "Except for the Lord." The man's grey eyes looked into Howard's without blinking. Howard found himself curious about this man. Of course, why wouldn't you be curious? "What do you want?" "I'm here to use you, Howard." Howard closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face. He looked about ready to collapse. Mulder watched this scene, not even beginning to understand what it was about. "Did you hear me?" the grey-eyed man asked. "Yes. I heard you. You want to use me." "I don't want to. I have to. Just as you will have to use me. Just as we are all being used." Howard lowered his hands and stared at this lunatic with the resounding voice and penetrating eyes. "I know it sounds scary," the grey-eyed man continued. "But, if you think about it some more, it is...in fact...the great glory of life." "It's glorious that we are used?" "That we have a purpose. We might not always know the reasons why. But there is a plan. God has created a plan and we are all key parts in it." Howard groaned. "Shit, you sound like..." "A character from 'Touched By An Angel?'" Howard saw the man raise an eyebrow and he found himself giggling. "Yeah. Now, that you mention it. Yeah." Mulder watched Howard giggle, the grey-eyed man smile and John Taylor's head drip blood and wondered if any of it was really happening. Come on, Scully, wake me up and tell me it's all a bad dream. Then the man stopped smiling and he placed his hands on Howard's shoulders. Howard didn't mind this. "I bring pain as well as hope, Howard. The things I will tell you...the things I will show you...they won't stop the questions. There's only one place where all questions are answered. But I will give you more answers than anyone can provide." "Answers to what?" Howard said quietly. "Ask yourself this...can you think of any reason why you should be given these powers?" For a long time, the only sounds were a gentle wind and the rippling of water. Then Howard tried to speak through trembling lips. "I...I..." Very gently, the man pulled Howard to him. He patted him on the back as Howard cried onto his chest. The man turned his grey eyes to Mulder. Coldness settled into the agent's stomach, a cold sharper than anything felt in the night. The grey-eyed man waved to the trees. A large man and a short man smoothly stepped into the clearing. The large man kept a rifle trained on Mulder as the short man took out a small leather case. He unzipped it and removed a hypodermic needle filled with a clear liquid. "It's time for us to leave," the grey-eyed man said. "All of us." The short man tripped Mulder to the ground, planted a knee in his back and stuck the needle into his neck. Mulder fell asleep... ...while someone else woke up. This person was an old man with weathered skin and long grey hair. He came out of a dream with a quiet gasp. He carefully sat up in bed and remained like that for a long time. Then he left his bedroom and went outside. He stood before the star-laden skies as they rested against the mountains. The fading memories of his dream whispered in his mind before finally disappearing. He was left with no recall of his dream's events, but the meaning was still left with him. He spoke words in an old, old language. The last time he spoke these words had been over a black, twisted corpse. They had been right that time and undoubtedly would be right again. In English, they meant, "They will be coming soon." PART TWO THE MADMAN'S LOGIC "My poor friend Smart showed the disturbance of the mind by falling upon his knees and saying his prayers in the street or in any unusual place. Now although, rationally speaking, it is greater madness not to pray at all than to pray as Smart did, I am afraid there are so many who do not pray, that their understanding is not called into question." --- Samuel Johnson. CHAPTER SIX NOVEMBER 20, 1979 "Humor me while I humor history."---Robert Littel Jim closed the door, trying to stop the trembling in his body. He sat down on his bed, rocking back and forth as sweat slid down his chest. He looked at the walls around him---the walls that he himself had built. They had never looked so tight and confining. He picked up a Bible off a nightstand and tried to read it. He searched its exquisite poetry for the assurance that he could usually find there. Until now. Now, the words seem to blur on the page and become unintelligible. He hurled it at the floor and bent over until his head was on his knees. There was a knocking at the door. "Go away!" he screamed. "Jim, it's me." He held in his breath. "We need to talk. May I come in?" Jim said in a small voice, "Yes." A grey-eyed man entered the room. His face was perfectly calm. Jim always marveled at how the man never let the heat and madness of the jungle get to him. They grey-eyed man closed the door. "Things have taken a sharp turn," he commented. "Many are dead, including a Congressman." "I know," Jim said. "They'll be coming soon. They'll take everything away from you." "I know that, too." "So, what are you going to do?" "What do you mean? There's nothing I can do! It's over!" Those grey eyes stared at Jim who suddenly felt ashamed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sorry." The grey eyes turned down to the floor. It was an array of wooden planks. Through the slats, you could see grass thick as a horse's coat. Jim's visitor picked up the Bible and flipped through its pages. "'These all died in faith, not having receiving the promises, but having seen them afar off and were persauded of them and embraced them and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.'" The voice took ahold of Jim's ears and the meaning that had been lost before was now present again. It was as if the speaker was laying out God's secrets to him. "'For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek out a country. And truly, if they had been mindful of that country from whence they came out, they might have had opportunity to have returned.'" The man turned the Bible back over to Jim. His finger pointed to the Book of Hebrews. Jim read aloud when the visitor had left off. When he spoke, he found his voice to be strong and firm. "'But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly; wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for he hath prepared them a city.'" Jim looked up. "You wanted to lead your people to that better country," he was told. "But you will not find it here. You must take the lead again and show them a new direction. Show them the way home." "Where is that?" The man waved his hand in dismissal. "It has always been your plan, Jim. Your own logic. You must follow that logic to wherever it takes you." Jim pressed the Bible close to his heard. When he stood up, his bearing was straight and proud. "I know what to do," he said. "Good. Now, I have to leave." "You will not stay with me?" "I'm afraid not. I have...my own logic to follow." JIm nodded. "I understand. But I would like to know why you've helped me. You've done so much and have asked for nothing in return." "Oh, I got plenty in return. I got an understanding." "Of what?" "Of the way people like you think." "What do you mean? People like me?" "Paul wrote that the foolishness of God is wiser than men. Perhaps His madness is saner than men as well." The man gave Jim a weak smile, then left the room. Jim wondered what he meant, but decided to put these thoughts aside. There were preparations that needed to be made. CHAPTER SEVEN THE FAITH OF TWO WOMEN "They saw the Messiah, but I guessed I missed him again. That brings my score to a hundred and ten." ---Pete Townshend "Let's review, Agent Scully. You and Agent Mulder involved yourself in a murder investigation that you had no business looking into. Your only connection with this case was that this Melvin Frohike was doing some spying for you, another questionable action. You withheld information from the detective assigned to the case including the name of the most likely suspect. Now that suspect is missing along with Agent Mulder. And we have one more dead body, a man who was last seen with said missing agent." Alvin Kersh coolly regarded the woman seated on his desk's other side. "I hope you know how to speak Chinese, Agent Scully, because you've dug your grave that deep." "I'm aware of that, sir. But, with all due respect, I don't think my offenses should be the focus of the Bureau right now." Kersh was silent for a moment, then he said, "Unfortunately, you're right. Not to say there won't be serious consequences down the line. For now, however...the main concern is finding Agent Mulder and Howard Ellis. Your assumption is that they're together, correct?" "I believe so." "Have you considered the possibility that Mulder is dead?" "If that was the case, sir...I believe his body would have been there with Detective Taylor." Kersh nodded. "Then what is he doing right now with Mr. Ellis?" "I think the most likely explanation is that they've both been taken by an unknown party." "Others would differ, Agent Scully." Scully tightened her fingers in her lap. "Sir?" "There are some in the Bureau who believe that Mulder is on the lam with Howard Ellis. That he is now an accomplice in Mr. Ellis's crimes which include the murder of Detective Taylor." "Sir," Scully said in a voice that fought for control. "I find that idea deeply offensive." "It's not the first time Mulder has been implicated in a murder. There was the incident involving the man from the DOD in which both of you participated in a cover-up..." "Because there were other issues at stake. The same goes for here." "What are the issues here?" "I doubt Howard Ellis had anything to do with Detective Taylor's murder. His death does not jibe with the circumstances surrounding the death of those three men in the theater. At least, I assume that it doesn't because those bodies are still missing and unidentified, another interesting issue. There are questions that need to be answered. For whatever errors he had committed in protocol, Mulder wanted those answers. If we are to find him, we must continue on the road that he started on." Kersh examined the firm look on Scully's face. He had often wondered why Walter Skinner had put up with so much crap from her and her partner. Maybe they had found some soft spot in Skinner's exterior. Or maybe the passion they had was convincing. Not totally convincing, though. "The main question I want answered, Agent Scully, is the question of Mulder's disappearance. I'm getting a lot of heat over this and I plan to track him down in whatever condition he is in, dead or alive, kidnapped or running away. For that, I need your help. No one knows Mulder better than you. However, if I find that you're causing trouble in any way...that's it." Scully nodded. "Now, with all that being said...where should we start?" Susan opened drawers and sifted through filing cabinets, knee deep in the paper maelstrom that was Reverend Forester's office. She was looking for a cable television bill, but having no luck. "The man's a goddamn pack rat," she muttered. "Really?" She looked up and saw Forester watching her from the open doorway. "Oh, sir, I..." He waved his hand. "It's an apt description." "I, uh, I didn't know you had returned, sir." "I have. So, what happened when I was gone?" "Well...Kathyrn sprained her ankle. Harry think there's a problem with the water heater." "Is there?" "I don't think so. You know that Harry is kind of a hypochondriac with machines." "True. Anything else?" "There's been a lot of posts on the UFO mailing lists you're on. They all report a lot of activity over the past few days." She gave him a long printout to study. "Hmmm." "Sir?" "Yes?" "What happened?" He looked up at her. The smile on his face seemed almost...sly. "We have two more residents here at the Ezekial Ranch. One of them is named Howard Ellis. He's very, very important. He's the man who is going to make us something more than a desert cult. Much more." "And the other man?" Forester pointed at a photo. "Agent Mulder?" Susan said, excited. "Has he joined us?" "No. Not exactly." "Let's just say that Agent Mulder's freedom will be severely limited while he's here." A queasiness filled up Susan's gut. "That obviously worries you," Forester observed. "Oh, no, sir. I'm sure..." "Susan, we already had this talk. I need you to be honest with me." Susan Jones reviewed her words before she spoke them. "The FBI will come looking for him, sir." "That goes without saying." "I follow you because I need guidance. I did not come here to get arrested. Or worse.' She expected Forester to turn on the intimidation. Instead, concern leaped onto his features. He laid his hand quickly over hers. "Oh, no! No. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not going---repeat, not---to let this become another Waco. In fact, I'm going to insure that the very opposite will happen." "Nevertheless, you are taking a risk. For all of us." "Susan...how long can you face Armageddon and not take a risk?" His fingers tightened around hers, but not too hard. "You believe in what I've taught you, don't you?" "I want to." "But...you need something more." "Doesn't everybody?" Forester nodded. "Just wait a hour or two. There's something I going to show everybody. Something that will reward your faith." "And if I don't feel properly rewarded? Is the open door policy still in effect?" Forester looked away from her. "Sheldon and McDonald would call you a security risk." "I promise that I will tell nothing of what goes on here." Forester said nothing. "It comes down to a matter of trust, Reverend." He turned back to her. "I guess it's always been about that." He took a breath. "Very well. You may still leave anytime you wish." "Then I will trust you to reward my faith." She gave his hand a squeeze, then left the office. Forester sat heavily down in his chair. He closed his eyes and folded his hands together. "Lord, give me the strength to trust Susan Jones." He paused. "While I'm at it, give me the strength to trust You." Late in the afternoon, a call was made for everyone in the Ezekial Ranch to come outside. All sixty-two Church members assembled in the final hour of daylight as it streaked red across the sharp bushes and dry ground. Susan looked over some of their faces. There was Kathryn Morgan, tall and athletic, though walking with a limp now...Harry Hall, who regarded everyone with belligerence (except for Forester)...Pete Gillipsie, the sixteen-year-old who never talked about his parents...Joanne Wang, the once-owner of a successful boat shop...Harlan DeBarr who was probably as devoted to watching 'Twilight Zone' reruns as working for the Church...Miguel Robez who was still learning English...Roger and Aretha Chrisman with their two sons, David and Joe... And there was Sheldon, the short man, and McDonald, the big one. They were former "company men" who were supposed to be dead. Instead, they were here, working for Forester. They were his left and right hand. (In order to keep blood off his real hands, Susan thought and regretted that thought like so many others.) They whispered and murmured amongst themselves. One of their discussion subjects was the rusty, useless car that now rested in front of the ranch house. McDonald had bought it in the nearest town the day he had returned, then towed it back to the Ezekial Ranch. They talked until Forester stepped out of the Ranch and walked to the front of the crowd. Then they were as quiet as the desert. "First of all," he said. "the government will be here soon. They will try to shut us down." There was a rise of gasping and yells which Forester stopped by a raising of his hand. "They will have reasons that are actually valid. In the name of the Church, I have committed crimes." *I* have committed crimes, Susan thought. *He* was taking responsibility. Why did she continue to doubt this man? "I have committed crimes under the law because I felt these actions were required by God's law. Undoubtedly, many of you are disappointed in me." He glanced at Susan. She looked away. "However...I hope to show you that I was right to do these things. I would like you to meet someone. Howard?" No one spoke up. "Come on, Howard. It's all right." A thin, unremarkable person came around the corner of the ranch house. He shuffled to Forester's side, his hands in his pockets. "This is Howard Ellis, our newest member." Howard mumbled a greeting to the others. "Howard has something to show us." Forester motioned Howard in the direction of the car. Howard looked at it, then at Forester. "Go ahead," Forester said. "Knock yourself out." Howard looked at the group, then he smiled and shrugged. He turned to the car. Susan felt the hair go up on her arms. She noticed that everybody was having the same feeling. They looked around, scared and bewildered. But they were hopeful as well. Instinctively, they knew what was about to happen. Michael Forester was finally going to give them a miracle. First, the windows exploded. Then great holes were punched into the doors. The tires burst. The frame began to bend inward with a teeth-grinding shriek. White fluff erupted from the seats. The engine collapsed into tiny metal pieces. Within ten seconds, the car was a ragged pile. Howard glanced back at the stunned faces behind him, then turned to the remains of the car. As if a great breath had struck it, it vaporized into a cloud of shiny particles. They watched it drift away. Forester spoke, quietly yet perfectly audible. "The time is upon us. We have been given a Protector for these final days. Now, you have to decide---whose side will you be on? God's or the..." Jeanne Wang rushed forward. Howard almost jumped back as she knelt before him, took his hand and kissed it. Then the others gathered around Howard. They touched him as well, kissed him, knelt before him. Susan didn't. Instead, she walked over to Forester. She was crying. He was smiling. The two of them embraced each other. "I will never doubt you again, " she said. "Ever." As they held each other, Susan looked at Howard over the Reverend's shoulder. The miracle-maker was overwhelmed by the attention he was getting. There was something else, though. Was she misreading him? Was it just her imagination or did his smile looked a little too tight? That he looked like a man searching for a way out? Oh, God, she thought. No sooner do I throw the doubts aside... She held Forester tighter. CHAPTER EIGHT REASONS AND REASONING "Do the devils lie? No, for then Hell could not subsist." ---Sir Thomas Brown Mulder was wondering if you could pick a handcuff with your fingernail when Forester walked into the room. He carried a steak on a plate and a sheepish look on his face. "Hello, Fox. I brought you your dinner." Mulder looked firmly back at the man. Forester added, "I hope you'll do me the courtesy of not throwing it in my face." "My brain is considering it but my stomach is against it." Forester nodded. He laid the plate on the bed where Mulder was handcuffed on one wrist. "Oh, isn't that nice?" Mulder observed. "You had it cut into little pieces for me." "I'm afraid that you're not going to be allowed anything too sharp," Forester said, handing Mulder a plastic fork. "What would you like to drink, Fox?" "Look...you seem to know me fairly well." "I do." "Then you know that I'm not particularly fond of my first name." Forester smiled slightly. "You know, your father never explained why he gave you that moniker." He pulled a chair closer to the bed. "How well do you remember me?" "Barely." "Not surprising. We only met once or twice when you were very young." "I'm assuming that you did the same work my father did." "For a long time." "You still seem to be doing it." "No, Mulder. I am now on a completely different path than our government." "And you've taken Howard Ellis along with you." Forester nodded. "You know what he is." "I know he's important enough to you to commit murder." Forester looked down. It was quiet for so long in the small, windowless room that Mulder felt obliged to speak. "He's a telekineticist." "And?" "He used his powers to kill his father. As well as three men whom I believe were working for the government." "What else?" "A few nights ago...Howard was the victim of an attempted abduction. By extraterrestrials. He used his powers to resist them." 'Yes. He vaporized them and their ship." "How did you know about this if you're no longer involved with the government?" "I have a few followers in the right places. I was able to collect enough information to guess what was happening." "Mister Forester..." "Reverend Forester." "Reverend Forester...Howard Ellis is a very confused man." "Then I must clear away his confusion." "He possesses the ability to bring this whole house down on our heads. You really think that you can control him?" "And if you could control him? What would you do if you had his power at your disposal?" "You worked on the same project that my father participated in. You know the forces that are..." "I know everything, Mulder." Forester raised his head and those grey eyes robbed Mulder of his ability to speak. "I know more than you know. Or your father knew. Or what the men we worked with knew. They could see the facts, but they couldn't see the truth." Forester stood up. Suddenly, he looked impossibly tall. "I have been given a vision of the future. And I've been given a responsibility which I will not deny. And, yes, I will kill for it. I'll even kill you, Mulder. 'Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation." Forester touched Mulder on the cheek. Mulder almost flinched, but his body was stiff. "I would worry less about your life than your soul, Mulder. I think you're capable of seeing what I see. To do so, you must make that final leap of faith. Only then can you witness the glory of God." Forester left his hand on Mulder's cheek for one more second. Then he left the room. The door was locked. A minute later, Mulder's hunger reasserted itself. He ate his meal, but the taste barely registered. What do we have? We have two missing men---one of them a FBI agent, the other being the most likely suspect in a murder case. The FBI agent believed that the suspect had telekinetic abilities which could be used to kill others. The FBI agent has a (damnable) tendency to go to far lengths for the sake of his beliefs. This makes his coinciding disappearance with the suspect unsettling. It is not improbable that the agent is hiding out with the suspect, protecting him for some reason. We have a crime scene. The victim is a former police detective. He was found on the shores of a lake along with his pickup and the murder suspect's car. When last seen, the FBI agent and detective were headed for the lake in the hopes of finding the suspect. It is likely they were successful. The detective was killed by a high-powered rifle. This rules out the (execrable) theory that the agent was a participant in the murder, considering that he had his own handgun to use. There is the possibility that the murder suspect killed the former detective as well as... ...as well as killed the agent. Or kidnapped him. There are problems with the murder theory, even if you exclude the missing agent's inevitable explanation that a telekineticist does not need a high-powered rifle. If the agent was killed, why wasn't his body left with the detective? There is also no evidence that a second murder took place. Furthermore, why leave two means of transportation behind? The only car theft that could be connected with this murder was committed eighty miles away and three hours later, if we believe the coroner's report. Why wait that long to get transportation? And since the body was discovered just over a hour after death, how could they evaded police so easily on foot? What conclusion can be drawn here? There is another party involved here. The suspicious disappearance of three murder victims from the Rutland hospital morgue supports this notion. Whether the two missing men have been captured by this third party or on the run from them is unknown. However, steps should be taken to learn the identity of this third party. And that's why Agent Scully set up a meeting. She waited in a park under a lamppost's glow. The leaves on the bushes looked like knives. Paths led away from her into darkness and seclustion. Then a tiny light appeared in the darkness, brief and red. He stepped forward to let smoke pollute the lamppost's illumination. "Evening, Agent Scully." Good evening to you, you deceitful, soulless, black-lunged bastard. "We've never really talked, have we? Most of what you know of me is through Mulder." "It doesn't matter. I didn't like you from the moment I first saw you." "I like you. I've always liked you." The smoking man inhaled and exhaled, then said, "You're here about Mulder." "Do you have him?" "Agent Scully, let me state the obvious and say that I am not a man who easily tells the truth. However...this time...I will tell you the truth. Or as much as I can." Oh, really? Scully thought. You're going to be honest? Well, let me tell you something. My gun holster is unstrapped. I didn't come here to play your little mind games. I'm through with that. If I don't like what you've told me... "We don't know where Mulder is," the smoking man said. "Or where Howard Ellis is, a fact that unsettles my group greatly." "Why? Is it because he's a telekineticist?" The smoking man raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe that?" "Do you? "Fair enough. There are a few of these specially gifted people around. They are barely more than parlor magicians. However, not only is Howard Ellis very powerful, but circumstances have placed him at the very center of events governing this world." "How?" "I said that I wouldn't tell you everything." It was as if the gun was talking to her. Bring me out. Tear that insufferable smile off his face. "I will tell you that it is better to stay out of this. And don't worry. We're not interested in Mulder. Only Howard Ellis." "But if Mulder gets in your way?" "Will he? Is he hiding Mister Ellis from us? Did he kill this man in Vermont?" Blow that cigarette right off his lips..."Of course not." "Are you sure?" "Mulder wouldn't do that." "I have seen the murderous side of Mulder up close. You know what kind of demons he's got living inside him. You've managed to keep them in check all these years which is no small feat. But how long before a man like that breaks?" "I take it Agent Mulder has threatened your life." "Oh, yes." "If he didn't kill you...he certainly wouldn't kill an innocent man." The smoking man made no response. "That's all I wanted from you." Scully turned to leave. "This is dangerous territory you're entering," the smoking man called out. She stopped short. "We're dealing with the future, the most tender and fragile of substances. You're an admirable person in many ways, Agent Scully, but don't pretend you are up to the task ahead of you." Scully wasn't thinking of the future. The past was flooding her mind. She was seeing an empty hospital bed, a crucifix lying in a pile of sand and her pale, wan face. These images wouldn't go away and there was only one way she could think of that could make them stop. That was to turn around and send this man to the hell where he belonged. She stood still for a long time. The smoking man couldn't see her face, had no idea what she was considering. However, he didn't feel that he was in any danger and, after all, he was a man with tremendous survival instincts. If there was a threat present, then he would know about it, wouldn't he? Scully walked away. Then he left in his own direction. CHAPTER NINE MARCH 19, 1995 "The pure products of America go crazy." ---W.C. Williams Timothy was kneeling on the rough dirt ground. He could see vague remains of the building that once occupied the land around him. As the sun pressed its heat against his neck, his unusually blank face looked over the blackened concrete. He studied it for a long time. Finally, he said, "They should pay for this." "Last time I checked, vengeance was God's prerogative." Timothy quickly turned. He saw an old man sauntering up to him, hands in his pockets. Timothy stood up and regarded the man with his flat expression as the man took his own look over the burnt remains. The old man said, "It's a tragedy, isn't it?" "It's a crime. A crime against the American people." "How do you figure?" "How do I...?" Timothy's inexpressive voice suddenly became impassioned. "They killed these people! For no other reason that they were exercising their Second Amendment rights!" "From what I understand, they immolated themselves." "From what you understand? What do you do? Work for the government?" "I used to." "Well, take a good look at this place. Because this could be your house one day." "No. This was different. The ATF went after this place because the people were unique. They needed publicity so they decided to bust a gun-toting apocalyptic cult." Timothy advanced on the man. "Who are you to call them that?" The old man turned his grey eyes upon Timothy. The younger man stopped in his tracks. "I'm the leader of another gun-toting apocalyptic cult." The old man turned back to the ruins. "Well, actually, we don't have too many guns. Those things always make me a little jumpy." Timothy took another look at the man, trying to understand him. "Why are you here?" he asked. "I wanted to see this place. I've been wondering about my own beliefs and asking myself if I would ever die for them." "Well, I don't have to ask myself that," Timothy declared. "I would certainly die for my beliefs." The old man gave Timothy a raised eyebrow. "You're not some kind of racist cracker, are you?" When Timothy couldn't think of a reply, the old man continued. "Maybe the better question is---do you think anybody would try to make you die for your beliefs?" "Well, if they tried that, they better come in full armor." The old man rolled his eyes. "What?" "I didn't ask you if you wanted to kill." "What are you asking me then?" The old man sighed. "Look, obviously, you have some strong beliefs. Ask yourself---where do those beliefs take you? What is their logic? You can either follow that logic or discard the beliefs. There's nothing else you can do." "What about your beliefs?" Timothy snapped. "Are you willing to die for them?" "I'm not looking for death. I believe that death is looking for me." "You're crazy, old man." "And you're rather ordinary, sir. Desperately, pathetically ordinary." With that, the old man turned and walked away. Only the eyes in Timothy's still face indicated the rage inside of him. Where did that man get off talking to him like that? How dare he ridicule his beliefs? Would Timothy die for what he thought was just? Yes. Would he kill? Oh, yes. CHAPTER TEN CONVERSATIONS AT NIGHT "Doubt may be the antibody that saves a body ravaged by the toxins of blind faith." --- Steve Erickson "How are you feeling, Howard?" Howard turned from the window. Forester was standing in the doorway of his room, looking strangely relaxed. "I'm not sure," Howard responded. Forester closed the door. "All this adulation you're getting...it feels good, doesn't it?" "I guess. I don't know. Just a few days ago, I was making eight dollars a hour for running an mail inserter. Now, I'm being worshipped. I'm called the Protector." "Hm. You like your room?" "Oh, yeah, this is real nice. My own computer, my own television...does everybody's room look like this?" "No, most of us sleep in bunk quarters." "Oh." "Don't get me wrong. Everybody lives well here." "I guess so. I mean, that dinner...that was great." "That was a little fancier than usual. But there's no gruel here. By the way, have you seen our rec room yet?" "No." "Try breaking Oliver's top score on the pinball machine. I should warn you that he is a fierce competitor." "Where do you get the money for all this?" Forester smiled and scratched behind his ear. "I used to work in certain circles where there is a lot of loose change that no one accounts for. The BCCI, the S&L's, the Pentagon's black budget...it's very easy to siphon off a few bucks for yourself." Howard nodded and looked around his room. "You wonder if this is going to come crashing down, aren't you?" "Well...um..." "It could. Very easily. In fact, the whole theology here is based on things falling apart." Howard turned his eyes straight into Forester's grey ones. "You think that the end of the world is coming." "I think that the final battle between Heaven and Hell is upon us. I believe that this world will be replaced by a better one." Howard shifted on his feet. "You're not sure if you buy that." "Hell, I...I don't know..." "The visitors that you had...the ones that tried to abduct you...what did you think of them?" "Well, I knew they were different. I mean, that's why I just wiped them out instead of...you know, killing them in a more messy way...like my dad..." "You were right to. Their blood is poisonous to us. But how did you know that?" "I just knew." "I see. Go on." "After it happened, I thought, 'This is perfect. This just fits in with the rest of my life.'" "You knew they were aliens." "I figured that out. But...it just didn't impress me." "That's why you didn't tell anybody about it." "I didn't tell anybody because I promised..." Howard grimaced. "...I promised my mom never to do anything like that again." "You never used your abilities until then?" "To tell the truth, I sort of forgot about it. What happened to my dad was so long ago, I started to doubt what really happened. I knew that I was responsible. I just didn't knew how." "If you stay with us, Howard, you'll have to shatter that promise for good. Does that make you feel guilty?" A mean smile crept on Howard's face. "Are you kidding?" he said. Forester gave Howard an askance look, robbing the smile from his face. "Your mother was a strong woman," Forester observed. "She went to jail to protect you." Howard clenched his fists. "I don't need protection. You know that as well as anybody." Forester didn't blink. Instead, he stepped right up to Howard's face. "You're revered in the Church right now," he said evenly. "How do you think the people here would feel if they knew that you killed your father?" "They would be scared!" Howard snarled. "That's right. They would. That's what your mother didn't want. You think the world needs that? More fear? There are very few telekineticists, but there are too many killers. You don't need to be one of the latter." "Well, you're a killer, too, aren't you? Or, at least, you get someone else to do it." "Again, you're right. I have killed and ordered killings. Eventually, my followers here will find that out. Perhaps they'll lose faith in me. Perhaps not. That doesn't matter. I'm nothing. I'm grist for the mill. But you---" He poked his finger in Howard's chest. That small prodding make Howard flinch and hunch his shoulders. "You are a sign," the Reverend told him. "You are a worker of miracles and an angel walking among us. When the fires of Hell erupt over this world, you will be a leader of God's army." Forester sighed and shook his head. "At least, that's what I want you to be and not some emotionally twisted man who hates the mother that saved him more than the father who hurt him." It took some time before Howard mumbled words in reply. "What was that?" "What should I do?" Howard whispered. Forester took a breath, then said, "I want you to listen to me..." Mulder's sleep was disturbed by the sound of a creaking door. He jerked and got a sharp pain around his manacled wrist. "Sorry," Forester whispered. He walked in and closed the door. "Mind if I turned on the light?" "A bright light would be the least of my discomforts now." A lamp clicked on. It had a soft glow that barely hurt Mulder's eyes. Forester pulled up a chair next to the bed. "I'm sorry to wake up, but I felt that we should talk some more. Are you still hungry?" "I'm okay. That big guy with the tattoo..." "McDonald." "Yeah. He came in and took my plate away. Then he took me to the bathroom under gunpoint. I tried to engage him in conversation, but he's kind of shy." "I'm afraid that I'm the only person you'll be allowed to talk with here." "Why? Are you afraid that I might corrupt your followers with my heathen ways? Or that I might tell them that you're a murderer?" "If you want to put it that way..." "What is the name of your little congregation anyway?" "It's called The Church of the True Angels." "Who are the false ones?" "You know who they are, Mulder. You've seen them." Mulder examined the old man, then nodded. "So that's your theology." "What, you've already figured it out? You are a smart guy." "I'm assuming the false angels are supposed to be aliens." Forester smiled and nodded. "It is our belief that..." "...that extraterrestrials are the false prophets warned about in Revelations. That they will seduce people with promises of a better future to disguise the rise of Satan's kingdom. That alien abductions are signs of a Biblical armageddon." "You've...pretty much covered it there." "Because I've heard this crap before. I've studied all bodies of thoughts about aliens, Reverend, and nothing amuses me more than this half-assed premillennium garbage that people like you are spreading." Forester's lips squeezed tightly into either a smile or a grimace. "Tell me, Reverend, do you believe that the devil built that face on Mars?" Forester chuckled. "No. I don't believe that. Frankly, what's the big deal if there is a face on Mars? I once saw a rock formation in this country that looked just like Richard Nixon. Now, consider the theological implications of..." "How did it happen, Reverend? How did you crack so badly? I bet that it was your work, wasn't it? It must be hard living with those kinds of secrets for so long. Day after day, knowing things that you want to scream out in the street. Then, suddenly...you...just...snap. And that pain is so bad that you look to anywhere for relief. You found it in this twisted theology." "That's a simplistic way of describing me," Forester said quietly. "And I wouldn't go pointing fingers if I were you." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Do you believe in God?" Mulder gave out a small laugh. "I'm not interested in debating religion with you." 'Yes? No? I'm not sure? Which answer is it?" "Not...interested." "You believe in some kind of afterlife, I know that. You believe in ghosts and specters and demons. And reincarnation, too." Inside his mind, Mulder batted away images of a dead woman with a torn photo at her side. Or tried to. "Yet you don't hold with any religion. Why?" "I believe in the truth." "And you've excluded God from this truth." "You're going to keep bugging me about this, aren't you?" Forester shrugged. "Okay," Mulder sighed. "I don't think that the temporal plane we've termed the 'afterlife' is strictly defined by Christianity or any other religion." "So, you hold with some kind of New Age philosophy in which all beliefs reflect a..." "I don't believe that the universe is really constructed in our favor. I don't think that there is a cosmic system that punishes the wicked and rewards the good. Chaos reigns as much in the next world as in this one." "What you're saying is that...you don't believe in God, but you do believe in the Devil." Mulder sat quietly. "And you called me twisted." "I didn't shoot an innocent man down." "No, but I didn't let a quack doctor drill a hole in my head." This time, there was no hope of keeping the memory away. Memory was what the memory was about. Mulder would always remember the explosions that had gone off inside his mind as he fought to construct a picture out of shredded images and sounds. He had risked everything for it. He had risked Scully. "You've obviously been keeping a close eye on me," Mulder said bitterly. "Both you and Agent Scully. I've watched your struggles, your defeats, your tiny victories, the improvement in Scully's wardrobe." "Are we supposed to be a part of your prophecy?" "I don't know what you're supposed to be." Forester was silent for a long moment. In the dim light, the lines on his face and his disordered strands of white hair made for a depressing sight. "Your father didn't believe in God, either," Forester finally said. "He believed in science. He believed that it could save us. But there is only one way to salvation. Deep down, you know it, Mulder." "What does Howard Ellis have to with this? What is your plan?" "What would do with him, Mulder?" "If he can protect people against abductions..." "He can do more than that." That's when Mulder realized what Forester was planning. The sheer, fantastic lunancy of the Reverend's mind unfurled itself before Mulder. "You're going to wage war on the aliens," Mulder whispered. "You know what's at stake as well as I do. The men I worked with---they're too scared to use Howard. But they've made two mistakes. They've underestimated his power and they want to control him too much. However, I know the extent of Howard's might. And I don't want to control him. I just want to push him in the right direction." "But what if you're wrong? How do you know this is the right direction?" The corners of Forester's mouth lifted slightly. "How do I know? What a silly question, Mulder." The smile drifted off. "The question is...when? I can prepare Howard, but when I do set him loose? God still hasn't told me that." The Reverend shook his head, then stood up. "I'll let you go back to sleep. I hope you'll think about what I've told you." He went to the door. "Wait a minute!" Mulder exclaimed. "There are side effects to Howard's telekinesis. Power outages. What if that's only the tip of the iceberg?" With his back turned to Mulder, Forester opened the door. "'And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to seven angels, Go your ways...'" "Dammit, Forester, would you get your head out of scripture? Look at Howard! You can't..." "...and pour the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth." Forester stepped outside and closed the door behind him. "'And the first went...'" "...just unleash someone like that! There's no telling what kind of destruction he'll cause!" The door locked. "'...and poured out his vial upon the earth; and there fell a noisome and grevious sore upon the men which had the mark of the beast...'" "Forester, listen to me! FORESTER!" The voice receded. "'...and upon them which worshipped his image...'" I'm a dead man, Mulder thought. Maybe the whole damn planet is dead. Susan Jones couldn't clearly explain why she went to see Howard Ellis. That odd, uncertain look on Howard's face had stuck with her all day, but that still didn't explain why she went to his room in the dead of the night. She had been watching Howard all through the dinner held in his honor. As she listened to the praise given to 'The Protector,' she just couldn't shake some damnable doubt away. One thing she was sure of---she should have knocked on the door first. Except for Forester's office, the members of The Church of the True Angels went anywhere they pleased in the ranch. In a place where people slept in bunk quarters, privacy was not an ingrained concept. Also, to her regret, Susan was still impetuous and prone to acting without thinking. That's why she opened the door and then her mouth to say "Excuse me, Protector?" Nothing came out of her mouth, but it stayed open. The bra had just been clipped from the shapely back of Poppy Hathaway. Her heavy breathing was arrested as she quickly turned to the door. Underneath her was the Protector Himself who had the kind of ridiculous expression that only coitus interruptus could produce. There were two ways that Susan might have properly responded. She could have blushed and left the room immediately, spewing out apologies. Or she could have been indignant and raged at Poppy for soiling the Protector with her wicked ways. Instead, she laughed. Poppy ended up leaving the room, gathering up her bra and blouse with her. She sneered at Susan's laughing as she went by. "Wait, wait!" Howard begged to no avail. "What's the matter with you?" he complained, zipping up his pants. "I...I'm sorry," Susan chuckled. "You just looked so..." "You shouldn't have come in here." "I'm sorry. Really. Don't worry, I think she'll be back." "You shouldn't have come." "I said, I'm sorry." Howard stood up from the bed and faced Susan. "Don't you know who I am?" he said in a low voice. Susan tired to get out another apology, but found her throat feeling hollow and dry. "You came in here without my permission. How dare you?" Susan could feel the air tingle. "No one does that to me. No one." What Susan should have done---beg for forgiveness or run. What she should have felt---fear. "And you have the nerve to laugh at me?" What she really felt---anger. In that self-righteous face of Howard's, she saw her parents and she could feel the sting of leather and she could hear herself screaming the Ten Commandments. "You know what I could do. You know what I'm capable..." "Oh, shut up." The tingling lasted just a moment longer. Then it vanished along with the anger on Howard's face. He blinked at Susan in confusion. "I didn't commit blasphemy," she said. "I just walked in on your hanky-panky. I'm sorry that I did that, but don't you dare...don't you dare bring down the wrath of anything on me. Okay?" She turned to leave, but then she heard a timid voice said, "I'm sorry." She quickly looked back and she saw a lonely, uncertain man in his early thirties. She didn't know what life this man had before, but she could make a fair guess. She could see an excess of dull jobs and a shortage of friends and lovers. She saw a loser. She saw herself. "It's all right," she told him kindly. "I understand that you were embarrassed. But I wasn't laughing at you. Really. It's just that...before she came here, more men were in and out of Poppy than a twenty-four-hour supermarket. When she joined us, she said that she would only use her sexuality for 'spiritual causes.' You were spiritual enough, I guess." Howard smiled weakly. Wait a second, Susan thought. This is the man that is supposed to ready the Church for the Apocalypse. But all I'm seeing now is another awkward guy who wants to get laid. The thought first horrified her. Then she found it strangely comforting. "Really, I'm the one who ought to be embarrassed here," she said. "I shouldn't have come in the first place." "Why did you come?" Susan laughed nervously. "Don't know, really. Maybe I just wanted to see how you're doing." "Well...why don't you sit down?" Susan looked uncertain. "You might as well." So she did. She took a chair and Howard plopped down onto his bed. "Anything you want to ask me about?" he said. "I guess...how do you do it? You know...the thing." "It just feels like a part of me. Like an arm. I extend it and things happen." "Things get destroyed." "Yep." "Can you do anything besides that?" "What, you want more?" Susan smiled. "I'm just curious. Seems like there should be all kinds of fancy things that you can do. Read minds. Levitate." "I don't really know. I..." Then a change came across Howard's features. The discomfort and shyness melted away and was replaced by an expression that Susan had never seen on anybody's face. He looked like a man listening to a song that nobody could hear. She found herself wanted to hear it, too. "Sometimes," he said. "I get this strange feeling. That something is brushing up against me and trying to get my attention. It's hard to explain. I've never thought about it before." "I see." "Why are you looking at me like that?" "What do you mean?" "You were looking at me in the strangest way." She had been. She was trying to connect this calm, distant man with the nasty person who almost hurt her out of embarrassment. "Sorry." she said. "Are you afraid of me?" "I'm more afraid of Michael Forester." He nodded. For a brief moment, he wanted to tell her about John Taylor, but decided not to. He didn't want to scare her off. "What has he told you of his past?" he asked. "That he worked for the government. That there has been a secret power cabal participating in a colonization of Earth. By aliens." "You believed in that?" "Well, I have to believe in it now, don't I?" "I mean, before I came. Why did you believe this crazy story before then? Were you abducted?" "Oh, no. There are some people here who said they've been abducted, but not me." "So, why did you come to the Church?" Susan thought for a long time. A long time. Finally, she said, "I'm thirty-three years old and I've already indulged in most of the world's belief systems. I was raised Methodist, but since I left my parents, I've indulged in Catholicism, Judaism, Buddhism, a whole host of isms. I've meditated with crystals and been a member of The 700 Club. I've even considered being a Satanist...for the sheer hell of it." Howard grinned. She really liked his smile. "I went through all that. And I got nothing. It all flowed in one ear and out the other." "Maybe you just didn't believe in God." "I considered that, too. Then I found about Reverend Michael Forester. I read about him in some fringe magazine and decided to attend one of his sermons here at the ranch. I figured, hey, I tried everything else..." She took a breath. "After the sermon, he came up to me personally. He said, 'You've been searching for a long time, haven't you?' I just nodded my head. Then he said, 'I'll try not to disappoint you.'" "I guess he didn't." "What he said...it just sounded so right. I took his words and looked at the world and it all fit together. So here I am." She sounds less than convinced, Howard thought. Yet here she is, still in the Church. Why? Because she doesn't know where else to go. Just like me. Susan now felt uneasy. The look on Howard's face was too...sympathetic. "It's late," she said quickly. "I should go back to the bunk quarters." "Sure. But come back anytime." She nodded, then went to the door. She looked back and said, "Again, I'm sorry about..." "Don't give it the slightest thought." "Okay. Well, good night." Howard thought about her after she was gone. He remembered the way that her smile and laugh shone through her plain features. And he thought about what he could do. The only use I've put these powers to is destruction, he told himself. Surely there's more I could accomplish. He laid back on the bed. As the minutes went by, he could sense something touching him. Something in the far corner of his mind or something at the far end of the world. He had never touched it in return. So he closed his eyes... ...and saw a mist. It was strange having images in your mind and knowing they don't belong to you. Yet he wasn't scared. He asked the mist to come towards him. Even though he knew that he had already done it, he closed his eyes. The old man opened his eyes. He had deliberately escaped from his dreams. An intruder had been in there. No, it hadn't been an intruder. He had all but asked the visitor to come. Now, he must have the courage to face him. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes. The man approached... No, it wasn't a man... Yes, it was. And he could destroy the world. CHAPTER ELEVEN KURTZVEIL, YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD, I'VE READ YOUR BOOK! "If coincidences are just coincidences, why do they feel so contrived?" ---Fox Mulder For each day Mulder had been missing, Scully had stopped by his apartment and fed his fish. She had done that three times so far. On the third night, she had stayed in the apartment. She looked around at Mulder's couch, his computer, the television with the collection of porno videos underneath it, the books ranging from Tocqueville's 'Democracy in America' to Barbara Ehrenreich's 'Blood Rites' to Michael Ventura's 'The Zoo Where You're Fed to God.' She spotted a basketball and started bouncing it. Did she think that she would find some inspiration here? Well, she couldn't look anywhere else. Three days into the investigation and they had nothing more than one dead body. They had distributed photos to every police station. They had investigated all the planes that had left the Northeastern part of the United States. They had inspected the DNA of hair fibers at the crime scene. Everybody who knew Mulder and everybody who knew Howard had been questioned. Any house or building or secluded area that looked remotely suspicious had been given the once-over. She considered any other possible alternative as the ball hopped. Nothing came to mind. No inspiration struck her. She was left with nothing but the sense that time was running out. The phone rang. She stared at it in surprise, but only hesitated a moment before answering it. "Hello?" she said. "Oh," a voice replied. "You really are there." Scully held back a sigh. "Hello, Mrs. Mulder." "It's strange, but...I tried to call you at your home. You weren't there and I was trying to think of where else you could be. For some reason, I thought...well, I guess I was right." "Yes. You were." "You're trying to get inside his head, aren't you?" "What do you mean?" "I remember seeing Mulder around the time he was investigating the case with those missing girls. The one with the cloth hearts." "I know that one." "I could tell that nothing else was on his mind. It frightened me. They say that profilers have to walk in the same steps as the...I'm sorry. I shouldn't be going on like this." 'It's all right." "Agent Scully...are they responsible for Mulder's disappearance?" Scully was about to ask who was "they," but then she realized that it was a foolish question. She thought, well, why don't you tell me, Mrs. Mulder? You know these people. They visited your house. They went to your picnics. It's even alleged that you were very close to one of them. You know these people in your goddamned blood. You tell me if... "I don't think so, Mrs. Mulder." The silence from the other woman was so long that Scully said, "Hello?" "Would you promise me something, Agent Scully?" "What's that?" "If something happens to Fox...don't let that go unpunished. Do something about it." Do? Just what in God's name do you expect me to "do," you stupid old woman? Am I supposed to take up arms and find out wherever the hell "they" are and start blasting away? The thought made Scully turn stiff. Because it was not unpleasurable. "I promise you," she said. "I will see that justice gets done." "Thank you, Agent Scully." That ended the conversation. Scully laid back on the sofa and covered her eyes. Was she seriously considering an armed attack? Gearing up like a militiaman and kicking down the doors and shooting every cigarette-smoking man in sight? But she had considered it before, hadn't she? Just a few nights ago. And on many nights before then. They have to be held accountable. They should be brought down. They should pay for what they had done to her, Mulder, Melissa, Emily and the countless others. They should suffer. They, they, they. She had never thought that she would view the world like this. She had never thought that she would be thereatened by her own government to the point that... She sat up straight. They. She had thought up a question that hadn't been asked before. The problem was not so much that the FBI hadn't found Mulder and Ellis. It was that "they" hadn't found the vanished men, either. If there was one thing "they" were good at, it was tracking down missing people. She had witnessed this skill first hand. So, why hadn't they found Mulder and Ellis? How do you keep a secret from people who specialize in secrets? You use their secrecy against them. She quickly left the apartment, her anger set aside for the moment. Michael Forester was pleased. He was also a little uncertain. He had been keeping a close eye on Howard Ellis over the past three days. Undoubtedly, a change had taken place in the Protector's soul. The anxiety in his behavior had gradually given way to a quiet thoughtfulness. He was accepting his new role. Another encouraging thing was the way Howard tried to make the Church members feel comfortable around him. He would play with the Chrisman boys and helped Miguel with his English lessons. The pinball machine became a scene of constant competition betwen him and Oliver. (Howard insisted that he left the ball alone.) He watched 'The Twilight Zone' with Harlan. Poppy kept her offer open, but he politely declined. He did his best to convince them that he was no better than any of them. It would work for fleeting moments, but then the awe would return to their eyes. Howard was the Protector. He would defend the Church of the True Angels from the dark forces. They would follow him, no matter what. And Howard followed Michael Forester. In the past, Forester had carefully manipulated his flock into staying on the Ezekial Ranch. Sheldon and McDonald would always be ready with strong-arm techniques, but Forester kept them (usually) on a tight leash. He preferred to use the power of his voice. Whenever someone wanted to leave, he would question them long and hard. Eventually, he would steer them back to his own logic and fill them with fear of the outside world. He wasn't real proud of this. However, with Howard Ellis at his side, Forester's control over the Church was absolute. He was glad that Howard had left behind his anger and hate and become a worthy prophet. He mentioned this to Howard. The Protector smiled and said, "I guess I have changed." "Why?" "Over the past few days, I've been...extending myself." "What do you mean?" "I've found this connection that goes through every mind in the world. You touch this connection and you know what everybody feels. What they hope for. What they fear." Forester felt uneasy. "You mean, you've been reading people's minds?" "Sort of. In any case, I've comparing what you said with what goes on in the world." "And?" "I agree with you. A change is needed." Michael Forester felt very pleased. But why was he still uncertain? It was because of Susan Jones. Howard spent as much time with her as he did with Forester. She was also the only one not in awe of him. He knew this because he had a listening device in Howard's room. Sheldon or McDonald would give him the transcripts of their private conversations. As he read them, Forester was startled by just how much she had been holding back from him. He knew that her parents had ill-treated her but he had never understood how it had twisted her life. The religious leapfrogging had only been a part of it. There had been spiteful boyfriends, mind-numbing jobs, aimless wanderings all over the country. She would often cry in Howard's arms. Forester would turn away from the transcripts and feel like crying himself. Susan would also express her doubts. This made him sigh but he should have expected that she remained unconvinced. While everybody else had accepted Agent Mulder's captivity at the ranch, she still worried about the day that the FBI would come. Howard tried to assure that his protection was complete and that there was no need to doubt Reverend Forester, though he still left out the details of John Taylor's death. Susan and Howard would argue a lot about the Church, yet there was obviously a lot of care and respect there. It was also obvious that Howard needed a friend and not just a worshipper. Yet, could Forester afford this? Could he let Howard get exposed to Susan's doubts? What if the Protecter turned away from... No, no. What mattered was that Howard fulfilled his duties before the Lord. Forester was not the one in control. The Almighty was the designer of this plan. God, as the Koran said, is the master plotter. However, Forester still desired a bigger and clearer viewpoint. He wanted to know what his final role in this plan would be. When you know all the secrets of this world, you get anxious to know the secrets of the next one. "What do you want to know?" Langley asked as his fingers danced across the keyboard. "I'm not interested in what they were doing there," Scully replied. "I don't care what was in their planes. I just want to who they were and their times of arrival and departure." "All right. Piece of cake." >From the office of the Lone Gunmen, Langley set out his little electronic armies to invade the targeted systems. As code spread across the screen, Frohike looked at Scully's face. As usual, she was focused and intense. However, there was something else in her expression which unsettled him. "You okay, Scully?" She looked at him as if she didn't want to answer that question, but she did. "I'm fine. How's life as a free man?" He grinned awkwardly. "Oh, pretty sweet. You know, I'm not mad at Mulder or you because of that whole..." "Forget about it." She turned her attention back to the computer screen. Byers and Frohike glanced at each other. Something was wrong. They could both feel it. Langley finally broke in, got out the necessary information and then sneaked away with no one the wiser. He did this to the computer system for every government-owned or military airport within three hundred miles of Ludlow, Vermont. The information he got was the list of every flight that had arrived and departed around the time of Mulder's disappearance. Scully's theory went something like this: "They" could keep a tight cloak of secrecy because they compartmentalized everything. Information was transferred very grudgingly from one section to another. No one provided any knowledge unless it was asked for by the right authority. In this case, the right authority never thought to check their own lines of transportation. And the people who could give them the needed information never provided it because....well, no one asked them. Those underlings never knew their superiors were looking for Mulder and Ellis because their superiors wanted the fewest people on a need-to-know basis. So Mulder's kidnapper hoisted them on their own petard. The records were still there to be looked up, though. That is just what Scully and the Lone Gunmen did. They perused the flight schedules that Langley printed out. "Jeez, look at this traffic," Langley commented. "Makes you wonder what all these people are doing." "I'm only interested in one plane," Scully said, her eyes fixed on the schedule. A minute later, Byers said, "Wait a minute..." Scully snapped to attention. "What?" "I've got a private plane arriving at Anton Military Base on eleven-forty-five A.M. of the day of Mulder's disappearance. And I see leaving again on three-twenty-five of the next morning. When do they estimate Taylor's death?" "Around eleven p.m." "Anton is near Boston. Four hours is enough time to get between there Ludlow." "So the times check out." "And that's not the only thing. The plane is registered to a Michael Forester. He had an old low-level clearance, but it was enough to get him in and out with no questions." "What's special about Michael Forester?" "I don't know how, but the name sounds familiar." Byers checked a shelf full of books and then took one down. He searched until he found the page he was looking for. "'You may ask why God would allow events like these to occur. Why would we let His beloved children be set upon? The answer is---this is a test of us. A test of us and our faith.'" "Byers, what is this about?" Scully asked impatiently. Byers closed the book and handed it to Scully. The title was 'The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.' The author was Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil. "The quote I read came from the mouth of Reverend Michael Forester. He worked with Kurtzweil in the State Department." "Then he must have known Mulder's dad," Langley said. "That is just a little too interesting," Frohike added. Scully stared at the book's dark cover. The next day, Kersh sat at his desk and read the report given to him. Very carefully. Scully kept the most professional composure across her face and her body. Finally, he looked up at her. "How did you get these records?" "The military provided them to me, sir." "I wasn't aware that you had made contact with them." "I had just realized that this was an avenue yet to be explored. You will, agree, sir, that the information is relevant." "Any relevancy is rather strained, Agent Scully. The most that you can come up with is that this man might have known Mulder's father." "But, sir, what would Michael Forester be doing at a military airport at three a.m.? He quit the State Department over fifteen years ago. And the times coincide..." "I know. I've read the report. This wouldn't have anything to do with the man's religion, would it? The Church of the True Angels?" "It does give him an air of suspicion, sir." "The last time the government pursued its 'suspicions' against a cult, the results were nothing but a black comedy." "I'm not proposing a raid..." "Not yet." "...but I am proposing a quiet investigation. I would like to go to Arizona and talk with Michael Forester personally." Kersh looked at Scully. She could literally hear him adding up the expenditures for an airplane flight inside his head. "I merely bring this up, sir, because we have no other leads. I assume that you're still feeling the heat." Kersh looked down at the report, then pushed it side. "All right. You have the go-ahead." "I have one more request, sir." The Assistant Director raised his eyebrows. "As I said, I want this to be a quiet investigation. I would prefer that no one beyond this office know about it." "Why is that?" "You said it yourself, sir. We don't want another Waco. Someone might hear about this and decide to proceed with more extreme actions." Kersh took off his glasses and looked straight at Scully. "So you want me to withhold information." "If you feel it's necessary to inform others, please do do. But where is the necessity of doing so now?" Kersh sighed. "God, you're a pain in the butt, Agent Scully." He waved his hand. "All right. It'll be done as you request." "Thank you, sir." "I'll still be watching you, though. No matter where you are." Scully thought, Just as long as it's you doing the watching and not somebody else. CHAPTER TWELVE AUGUST 28, 1968 "Change the DNA."---a slogan found written at the Koresh compound. When you are driving in the middle of the night towards an event usually considered outside of the spectrum of reality, you fall back on banalities like "How are the kids?" "What?" "How are the kids?" Bill Mulder glanced at Michael Forester, then said, "They're fine." "Fox is what? Near seven now?" "Yes. Samantha's close to four." "Hm. You know, I've been thinking of raising a family myself. If Elizabeth and I get married, that is. If we do, I hope the Lord will provide us with healthy..." Bill smacked the dashboard, then hit it again. "Dammit! When are they going to take this seriously?" "I don't think anybody isn't, Bill." "They why didn't those troops have proper protection when they went to the crash site? I'll tell you why! Because they didn't know what they were dealing with! And they didn't know because we didn't warn them!" "It was a mistake, I agree. We should have sent in troops that were properly briefed. But we have to keep this information in as small a group as possible." "Why? Why should we?" "Bill, haven't you been listening to the news? Don't you know what's going on in Chicago? The whole country is tearing itself apart. Can you imagine what it would be like if this secret got out? It would be like dropping a lit match into gasoline." "How long are we going to keep telling ourselves that?" Forester had nothing to reply to that and Bill had nothing to add. They were silent the rest of the way to the military base. They had to go through three security checks before they got to the basement. The checks were fast, though. Bill Mulder and Michael Forester were unknown men to the public but, in places like these, they were according unthinking respect. When they reached the basement, they found a man waiting for them. "Hello, Bill," the man said. Bill stared at the man through a cloud of smoke. "Excuse me, but I don't think we've..." Forester began, before he felt Bill touch his shoulder. The message was clear. Don't even ask for a name. "Where's the infected soldier?" Bill asked. "Corporal Marsh's body is being kept in room six." "His body?" "Apparently, a soldier in Marsh's platoon panicked upon witnessing Marsh getting infected. Put a bullet right into his brain." The smoking man smiled, much to Forester's unease. "The soldier has been crying his eyes out over killing Marsh. The poor idiot doesn't know that he may have saved his platoon." "And the virus?" "Still inside the body." "Why?" "Perhaps the shock of the host's death killed the virus as well. Or the virus needs a live host to be communicable. In any case, it should prove to be an interesting opportunity for a study of..." "We want to see the body." The smoking man shrugged. "This way." As they headed for room six, Bill muttered, "I thought you were in Chicago." "Chicago is apparently taking care of itself," the smoking man replied. Forester pretended that he didn't hear that. These were the contents of room six---a grey slab, a few tepid light bulbs and a body with one eye left. The three men assembled in the room. Forester and Bill stood on opposite sides of the slab, looking at the one-hundred-and-seventy pounds of flesh laid before them. The smoking man stood near the door, occupied with his Morley. After getting his fill of the corpse, Bill turned towards the smoking man. "This does not happen again. The next time, we only send a team that know what it's doing. I don't care how antsy the rest of the group gets. We rush nothing. Is that clear?" "I caught every word, Bill." Bill sighed. "There is something else we need to talk about." He turned to Forester. "Alone." "I would like to stay here for a few moments, if you don't mind." Bill nodded, then signaled the smoking man to step outside. They were speaking low, but Forester caught the words "vaccination records." He looked down on Corporal Marsh with a sad face. Closing his eyes and intertwining his hands, he said, "Lord, please take the soul of this man, Corporal Marsh. He became the victim of our mistakes and of events beyond his control. Accept him into your kingdom where he might have life everlast---" A cold hand grabbed him. He knew before he opened his eyes that he would scream. And scream he did when he saw Corporal Marsh look at him with his one good eye. A black mist flowed across its soft surface. Marsh's body was sitting up by the time Bill and the smoking man rushed back inside. Once he saw what was going on, the smoking man yanked Bill out of the room. The door was closed and locked. Marsh planted his bare feet on the floor, then backed up Forester against the wall. Forester tried to pull away from Marsh's single hand, but it was like fighting iron. Small worms slid under the skin of Marsh's arm. Forester stopped his screaming and watched in fascination as they swam towards him. Then they were inside him. Marsh dropped to the floor, finally released from this world. Forester remained pressed against the wall. He realized that he was no longer himself, but who was he now? He was darkness. Darkness without hope of light. Then he was himself again. "Michael?" Yes, that was him, wasn't it? And that was Bill Mulder standing over him. And he was lying on a bed in a white room. "Can you talk?" he was asked. He didn't expect to be able, but his voice was surprisingly clear and normal. "What happened to the virus?" he asked. "It...transferred itself to the proper place. The doctors say there hasn't been any physical effects to yourself." Forester nodded, then said, "I guess this means the virus can manipulate the host even after death." "Yes." "By the way, how long was I gone?" "Two days." "Well. Imagine that." "They will want to know what you remember." "Of course." "What...what was it like, Michael?" Forester took his time before answering. Then he said--- "It is later than you think." Bill cleared his throat. "Well...um...I guess I should let you rest." "Thank you." Bill left the room, putting that look in Forester's eyes behind him. Forester spent a hour in his bed without speaking or moving. Then he called a nurse and asked it they had a Bible he could read. They did. He started reading it all the way through. CHAPTER THIRTEEN HOWARDS THINKS ABOUT IT "It may be the Devil or it may be the Lord, but you're gonna have to serve somebody."---Bob Dylan Agent Scully was on a plane a few hours later after her meeting with Kersh. At the airport, she got a rental car and took it to the town nearest to the Ezekial Ranch. After checking in a hotel, she drove to the ranch. By the time she got there, night had fallen and Howard was playing chess with Susan in his room. At least, that's what Susan thought they were doing. Howard hadn't made a move for over two minutes. "Howard?" He made no response. He was looking at the board, but was obviously thinking of something besides rook and queen. This wasn't a surprise. Howard had been spacing out like that more and more over the past three days. As expected, the Church members regarded it as a sign of his ethereal nature. Susan, on the other hand, couldn't help feel annoyed when someone stops your conversation to become one with the universe. "Howard, do you want to stop playing?" His eyes rose up to her and he said, "I killed my father." Susan stared at Howard for a moment, then she began putting away the pieces. Howard continued to talk as she did. "He used to him me and my mother. One night, I wished him dead. And then he was dead." She folded up the board. "I'm still glad that I did it. In fact, I wish I could have done the same thing to your parents." "Shut up!" Susan yelled. "Are you telling me you never wished such a thing?" Howard said, unperturbed. "That's not a point! It's wrong to do that!" "Wrong for other people. But not for me." Susan winced. "Don't you believe that's true?" "You believe it because Reverend Forester keeps telling you to believe it." Howard looked down at his hands and rubbed them slowly together. "You know...he killed a man right in front of me." Susan's lips trembled. "Or, rather, he ordered McDonald to do it. This man was...was sort of a friend to me. He didn't deserve it. Should I punish Forester for that?" Susan wrapped her arms around herself and let out a sob. Howard walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You've suspected for a long time what he was capable of. Yet you stayed here. Why?" "I don't know, I don't know, maybe I believe in the Church, maybe I don't know where else to go, maybe I just...maybe I just want to die." Howard nodded as if this was the information he needed. "You should know that they've been listening to us." She looked sharply up at him. "They put a listening device in this room. Don't worry. They didn't hear what we were just talking about." "How do you know?" Howard smiled. "Because you were right. I can do many, many things. For instance, I know that Agent Scully is here and that she wants to speak to Michael." "Agent Scully?" "M-hm. I suspect that things are really going to warm up now." He lowered his head and kissed her very lightly on the mouth. "I need to be alone. I need to think about a lot of things." Susan felt like she was drifting out of the room and then the door closed behind her. She went back to the sleeping quarters and tried to pray. Yet nothing she told God could convince even herself. After all so many years of watching her, Michael Forester was sure about one thing---you don't cross Agent Scully unless you're holding the right cards. Or if you don't really care about winning. He met her in the front hall of the ranch. She gave him a look that...unnerved him a little. He knew that there was a core of steel in the woman, but there was something more than determination in her eyes. Nevertheless, he threw down the glove. "Hello, Agent Scully. I assume you want to see Mulder." That gave her a start. "You admit that he's here?" "Handcuffed in one of our rooms." She was instantly on her guard. "You should know that attempting to detain me..." "I don't wish to do anything like that. I would like to talk, though." "About what?" "Your faith." "I'm sorry?" "We both believe in God. I want to know what that belief means to you." She regained her composure. "Don't play mind games with me." "This is not a mind game. This is an attempt to clarify where we each stand." "There's nothing to clarify. It's obvious that you're a lunatic." "And what are you?" "I'm a FBI agent who insist that you..." "You're someone that I want to be." Scully drew a complete blank for a response. Forester continued talking, his voice gently humming in her ear. "I wish I could stand with one foot in the realm of science and with one foot in the realm of faith like you. It's been difficult to maintain your balance, but you have succeeded to a surprised degree. And I know, Agent Scully....I know that God looks after you. I know about Kevin Kryder and the four twins." "Apparently, God is not the only one who has kept an eye on me," Scully finally said. "What else do you know?" "I know that you've been hurt. By the people you have trusted. By monsters, both human and inhuman. By loss. Even by Mulder. And anger folllows hurt. So you fight back as hard as you can. You use your science and your intelligence and whatever authority that a FBI agent has. But you know it's not enough. You know that victory can only be found with God. He is the one who gives us the strength to go forward. He gives us the power to overwhelm our enemies. He is the one who gives us the comfort for our tribulations. Trust no one, Agent Scully...except God." Forester looked at her so intently and his voice was so commanding (and his words felt so truthful) that Scully didn't notice how close he had gotten to her. Or that he was touching her hand. She quickly stepped back and fixed him with a harsh stare. "I want to see Mulder." Forester looked back at her in disappointment. Then he nodded. "Well...I don't want to make you come out all this way for nothing." When you've been locked in a room away from everyone you know and had no one to talk with except a crazed cult leader, the sudden sight of your best friend can produce an extreme reaction. In this case, Mulder felt elation. Then, cold fear. "Scully, what are you doing here?" Scully gave him a quick look-over. Other than being unkempt and showing signs of stir craziness, Mulder looked surprisingly well. Still, she wanted to make sure. "Leave us alone," she told Forester. The Reverend closed the door with no complaint. She sat down on the bed. "Are you okay?" "Did they get you, too?" "Mulder...are you okay?" "I'm...I'm fine. Really. But what are..." "Don't worry. I don't think I'm a prisoner. Even if I am, Kersh knows I'm here." "I don't understand. You're not a prisoner?" 'I don't understand it, either. The important thing is that you've been found. Is Howard Ellis here?" Mulder sighed. "Oh, yeah. He's their new prophet." "Because of his telekinetic powers?" Mulder gave her a brief look of surprise, then smiled slightly. "Partly. But also partly because Forester has everyone here under his control." "Including Howard?" "I think so. He's shaping him up for..." Mulder stopped himself. "For what?" "I'm not sure how to say this." "Just go ahead and spill it." "Well, Scully...Forester plans to wage war on aliens." Scully took a few moments to run that through her mind. Then she said, "Whether that's true or not...this is a very dangerous situation and we need to get you out of it." "How? Are you and Kersh going to lead the troops in?" "Are you worried this might become a Waco?" "No. With Howard Ellis on his side, Forester may have you outmatched." "I don't think Kersh is going to believe that." "Then don't tell him." Scully closed her eyes and rubbed between them. "Think about it, Scully. If you're right that Forester isn't keeping you here, why is that? Maybe he wants a confrontation." "I have considered that." "He's waiting for something. A sign or whatever he'll call it. It could be anything. It could be you. After that, God only knows what he will do." Scully nodded. "We have to think of a way around him. We have to get to Howard Ellis somehow." "Any ideas?" "Scully, I'm stumped. Not to mention handcuffed." "Why is he keeping you here if I can go free?" "He wants me to watch what happens. He thinks it'll convert me." He grimaced. "He seems to think that it's a favor to my dad." "So the pressure is on me." "I'm afraid so." Scully's eyes wandered away from the tension in Mulder's face. "Mulder?" "Yes?" She was still for a long moment, then she looked back at him. "If anything should happen to you...I won't let that go unpunished." Mulder saw something that he had never seen in Scully's eyes, heard something in her voice. "What...what do you mean exactly?" "They've taken a lot from me. My sister, Emily, my certainity in the future..." She held Mulder's hand so tightly that it hurt. "I'm drawing the line at you. And if Forester or anybody else crosses that line..." Mulder wanted to speak. He wanted to warn her. He wanted to say that he recoginized the look in her eyes. He wanted to tell her that she was entering territory through which he had passed before and had barely survived the visit. Nothing came out of his mouth. Even as Scully let go of his hand and headed for the door, he could only watch her, unable to think of any right words. He was left alone, now more frightened than ever. McDonald knocked on the door of Forester's office. Sheldon was at his side. "Come in," they heard. When they entered, they saw the strangest sight they had ever encountered at the Ezekial Ranch. Forester was cleaning up his office. He saw the surprise on their faces and smiled. "I am a pack rat, aren't I? Scully has left, I take it." The two men shook off their surprise. McDonald said, "We were listening in on her and Mulder." "And?" "Apparently, she will not go to the FBI with what she knows." "I didn't think she would." "But she will interfere if she can," Sheldon commented. "I didn't think she wouldn't." "Should we eliminate her?" Forester looked straight at the two men. "You will do no such thing. You understand me?" "Yes, sir," McDonald and Sheldon promptly replied. Forester looked back down at a stack of papers, trying to organize them. "Is there anything else?" "Well, Reverend..." Sheldon said. "Yes?" "What is it exactly that you're planning to do? The Protector has been with us for several days. Obviously, something important is going to happen. But what? And when?" Forester didn't look up at them. He continued shuffling papers for a few moments, then he begin to speak. He sounded like he was talking to himself. "It's all in place. It is here that the first battle with happen. Not between us and the False Angels, though. Our initial conflict will be with those who have cast their lots with the Devil. That will be the prelude to the Great War. I can set it all into motion. I need something, though. I need assurance that it's..." Then the Reverend looked up. "How is Howard doing?" "That's the other thing we have to tell you, sir," McDonald said quietly. "The bug in the Protector's room has gone out." "How?" "We don't know. But the failure occurred when he and Susan Jones were talking." "They've been having a lot of conversations since the Protector got here, sir," Sheldon noted. "They're not exactly private if we listen in, are they?" Forested said with a small smile. "Susan has been an influence on the Protector. She is as close to him as you are." "We've gone over this before. If Susan has been an influence, it's been a good influence." Neither McDonald or Sheldon looked convinced. Forester sighed. "All right. I'll go talk to him." Forester went to Howard's room. The Protector, however, was elsewhere. The door unlocked, then opened. Mulder expected Forester or one of his goons to come in. Then he noticed the door was moving by itself. Howard stepped in. At least, Howard assumed that it was Howard. It had been four days since he had seen him last. The man he had known before had been emotionally twisted. This man before him looked much too calm. The door closed and locked itself. Then, Howard asked--- "You have seen evil, haven't you?" Undoubtedly, an odd way to open a conversation. However, an answer was needed and the only honest reply Mulder could say was "Yes. I think I have." "I've never really seen it before I came here. Before, I knew that it existed but I didn't care. I was so lost inside my resentment and my anger that I could never see the world around me." "And now?" "Now I see more than anyone. I see it in my dreams. I see the evil and the desperation. I can see children dying of salvation. I can feel cold seep into the bodies of old people sleeping in alleys. I can hear bombs exploding in churches and schoolyards. Surrounding all of this are the politicians who serve only themselves, the thieves with their twisted principles and the ones who simply enjoy inflicting pain. Every attempt to better the world is destroyed or simply futile." Howard sighed. "I know, I know. So what else is new? Everybody knows this. It's become a cliche. It's different, however, when it's not longer an abstract concept. When it's right in your face." "Why are you telling me this?" "Because it's in your dreams as well. Not as sharply in mine, but you can feel this evil." That was true. When Mulder started out criminal profiling for the FBI, he reasoned that it was the best way to apply his psychological knowledge. However, he knew that he didn't choose the occupation so much as it chose him. It was the only way of handling the nightmares. "That still doesn't explain why you're here," Mulder said. "Your dreams made you a FBI agent. What am I supposed to become?" Mulder knew that he had an opportunity and he damn well better take it. "Not a prophet," he said. "Hmmm." "If you want to talk about evil, Howard, look at Reverend Forester." "No. I wouldn't call him evil." "For God's sake, have you forgotten about John Taylor?" "Of course, I haven't. But Michael is caught up in something so large that he has to make difficult decisions. As I have to make a decision now." "For yourself?" "For everyone." "No one is responsible for everyone, Howard." "You feel responsible, don't you? You feel like a great task has been handed to you." "That's different." "The difference is that I'm not so ineffectual." Mulder felt a sudden urge to hit Howard. The man was so arrogant, so casual in his judging... Howard lifted an eyebrow towards Mulder who quickly stifled his violent impulse. "Don't get mad at me because I can do what you can't do," Howard told him. "I will not deny the responsibility." "What is your responsibility, then? What decision do you have to make?" Howard slowly closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know. It's so hard to see. There's an old man who can help me. He's been talking to me in my dreams. You know him as well, Agent Mulder." "I do?" Howard opened his eyes. "All he can do is help me, though. In the end, the choice is mine. I will not turn away from it. Unlike you, Mulder." "I haven't turned away..." "You don't want the responsibility. I can see that now. You're so afraid. So very afraid. You're not able to help me." Howard took a breath, then said, "It's time to put everything into motion." Then he grinned at Mulder. "Don't go anywhere." With that, he left the room. "Oh, beautiful," Mulder muttered. "He's a comedian." Forester saw Howard just as the Protector was leaving Mulder's cell. "Howard?" Howard turned to the old man. Then he casually walked over to him. Panic suddenly hit Forester. Maybe they're right, he thought. Maybe Howard is straying from the path and all my work is... "Shouldn't we be doing something?" Howard asked. "What?" "You brought me here for a purpose. Shouldn't you get started on that?" Then Howard walked past him. Forester got down on his knees and gave his praise to God. Adam Bridge tried to keep still. He had to look like he was just sleeping. He had to look completely at home and unaware of what was going to happen. He glanced at a clock. Eleven-twenty-two, eastern standard time. What was taking them so--- The door flew off its hinges and then two large men grabbed him. He was pinned to the floor. He caught the scent of tobacco. "Where are they?" "What are you talking about?" he said in a suitably nervous voice. After that, there would come the expected---beating, torture, his eventual confession and execution. Through it all, he would feign resistance and scream, but joy would consume his heart. The Reverend had told him that his superiors would receive information. This information would lead them to this house. He had to tell them of Ellis and Mulder's location. He also had to convince them that he was only an informant that got caught. After his phone conversation with the Reverend, Adam felt a peace that he had never known before. He would finally make that great sacrifice for God and the Church. That peace sustained him through the entire interrogation. Nobody saw that smile on his face right before they shot him. After trying to pray, Susan decided to sleep, hoping that dreams would take her away from her confusion. This is what she found in her dreams--- A strange, high-pitched sound that could be heard everywhere. The beating of drums. A man saying, "I've made a terrible mistake." A cold breeze against her naked skin. A rock with a stain on it. Darkness. Then light. "Susan, wake up. Wake up." Her dream ended and she saw the last face that she wanted to see. "It's time for a service," Forester told her. "A service?" Susan looked around her. Everyone was getting out of bed and putting on their clothes. "Michael, it's...what time is it?" "It's just past midnight." "Oh, for God's sake, Michael, you can't..." Then she noticed the tears on Forester's cheeks. They slid down the lines on his face and past his smile. He looked so happy, so grateful, so relieved. "What's going on?" she whispered. He waited until the others had left. Then he said--- "This is it, Susan." Her body froze. He took her hand and pressed it between both of his. "This is the moment that I've been building up to for thirty years. Ever since the Devil himself crept into my body, I've plotted and schemed..." "And killed?" He didn't let go of her hands and he didn't stop smiling. "Yes. That, too. But all of it will find justification in this moment. I'm glad you're here with me." "Why me?" "I wished that I had a child. There was a woman once in my life, but...we drifted apart. If I had one...I would have wanted her to be like you." He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then he stood up. "I'll be with you shortly," he said. "There's something that I have do first." He left the quarters. This is the end. Susan remained in her bed for several moments. Then she thought, if it isn't the end of the world, then I wouldn't mind if it was the end of myself. She went to join the others. Scully didn't go back to her hotel room. Instead, she stopped her car with the Ezekial Ranch at the edge of her sight's horizon. She sat and watched it for several hours, staying there past midnight. That's how she got to see the troops moving in. CHAPTER FOURTEEN TAKING LEAVE "Then one night in history, the nature of fear changed, maybe it was the night that the wall came down and there was nothing on the other side to be afraid of anymore except for some horror too personal to tear down as easily a wall..."---Steve Erickson November 20, 1970 A man with a dark beard was giving a speech. "I can't judge any of you," the man said. "I have no malice against you and no ribbons for you. But I think that it is high time that you all start looking at yourselves and judging the lie that you live in." The man had been going on like this for several minutes and it looked like it would be awhile before he stopped. Yet no one in the courtroom tried to stop him. The man sitting in the witness box had eyes that were too bright and his voice was too intense. What could you do that would stop him? One listener had been so lost in the man's speech that he had to be tapped twice on the shoulder before his attention could be broken. The woman standing besides him said, "Sir, are you Michael Forester?" "I am." "You have a call for you outside." He blinked. "Who is it?" "She said that her name was Elizabeth." Forester could feel his stomach turn. He didn't want to leave the courtroom. He didn't want to talk with Elizabeth. He did want to talk with Elizabeth. He did want to leave, very badly, he wanted to leave and pull himself out of the man's voice. He decided that he should leave, but he knew that he would return. It took him a few moments for him and the woman to get out of the courtroom. It was filled with rapt listeners. The woman directed him to a pay phone whose receiver hung down like a dead rat. He took a breath, then lifted the receiver to his ear. "Elizabeth?" "You didn't tell me you were going to California, Michael." The woman on the other end spoke with no bitterness. She just sounded tired and sad. "No, I didn't," he said quietly. "I know you're not there for Department reasons." "That's true." "You're there because you couldn't keep away from the trial. You had to be there yourself." He said nothing. "I think I still love you, Michael. I..." The voice stopped. "I love you, too," he said, his voice still quiet, calm, unrushed. "I've always understood that your life has its secrets. I've accepted that. But these...I don't know what to call them." "Obsessions?" "Yes. These obsession have been going on for two years. I don't know what's behind them and I don't think you're ever going to tell me." Again, Forester was silent. "It's coming down fast, Michael. I can feel it. And I don't want to hit the ground." "You're right not to." Forester pressed a hand against the wall. "I'm sorry." "No need to be." Forester took one last pause, then said, "Good-bye, Elizabeth." "Good-bye." They both hung up. Forester stood there for a long time, leaning against the wall. Then he went back to the courtroom. Someone took his seat while he had been gone. He listened to the man while standing up. He also watched the young women who had been present throughout the trial, their faces shining with a rapture no one could understand. The man pointed at the women and said, "These children were finding themselves. What they did, if they did whatever they did, is up to them." For the first time, Forester experienced a great disgust towards the man in the witness chair. He's being doing this all wrong, he thought. August 8, 1974 Two men were watching television. "You know what that is?" "What is it, Bill?" "That's what happens when you mess with the wrong assholes," Bill Mulder said, then laughed and took another slug of whiskey down his throat. On the screen, a man with a sharp nose was addressing the camera. "I would have preferred to carry through to the finish, whatever the personal agony it would have involved, and my family unanimously urged me to do so." "His family?" Bill snorted. "Bullshit. No family would stick with any man who put them through this. Not one of them." "We don't know his family, Bill." With his blurry eyes, Bill examined the man sitting next to him in the living room. Then he said, "You were lucky, Michael." "In what way?" "You were never close enough. Never close enough to the inner circle. You didn't have to play by their rules. You didn't have to make any sacrifices..." "We all have to make sacrifices, Bill." Bill said nothing. His head lolled back towards the television set. "I've heard the stuff they cut out of the tapes. The eighteen-and-a-half minutes. You know what's on it?" "Like you said, Bill, I'm not close enough." "On the tapes, you can hear our illustrious commander-in-chief...our illustrious EX-commander-in-chief telling a man to stick his cigarettes where the sun don't shine." Bill laughed, then changed his voice into something deep and quavering. "I'm, I'm the President of the United States, you bastard! Nobody talks to me like that!" Bill laughed again, shaking his head. They listened to the rest of speech in silence. Then, Bill said, "Turn that damn thing off, will you?" Forester cut off a newscaster in the middle of commentary. "So, why did you come over, Mikey? Was it to share this moment of history with me?" "You know why I came over." Bill lifted the glass to his mouth, then lowered it. He lifted it again, then put it back down on the table. "She has every right to leave me," he said clearly. "Maybe. The question is, what will it do to Fox?" "I don't know. Maybe nothing." "Nothing?" "He's a survivor. I can tell, Michael. The look in his eye---he's a real smart one, you know that?" "He's still young." "Yes, well...young enough to inherit what we have..." He stopped himself, then looked right at Forester. "You have no idea what is really being planned, don't you?" "I might know more than any of you do." Before Bill could ask what he meant, Forester walked up to Bill and said, "Come with me to church this Sunday. Maybe you can bring Teena and Fox, too." "Are you serious?" "Very." "Michael, I don't go to church. Teena doesn't go to church. In fact, you don't go to church. You're the only evangelical I know that doesn't go to church." "I don't think I'm an evangelical. But you're right. I don't go to church. Maybe we should all go and find out what we're missing." Bill rubbed his forehead, trying to sort out the haze of alcohol and tension in his mind. "I think I know where almost everybody stands," he muttered. "But you...just what are you thinking? What secrets do you have?" Forester changed. It seemed like a change, an almost physical change. It was all in his eyes. Those grey eyes were staring at Bill, holding him down, trapping him. Judging him. Then Forester's expression softened and he was just Michael Forester again---decent, Bible-beating, relatively harmless Michael Forester. "The only secrets worth learning are God's," Forester said in a mild voice. "They are open to everyone who wants them." Then he smiled, patted Bill on the shoulder and told him to call if he needed any help. Bill was left alone in his house. He remained still on the couch for a long time. Then he reached for his glass. November 9 1989 In a bar, three old men were drinking a toast. "To the end of history," one of them said. As he held a glass in a well-manicured hand, another one of them looked at the toaster. "'The end of history?'" he said in his British-accented voice. "Well, it certainly looks like the end of something," the toaster replied and pointed at a television set. The screen was displaying people gathered around a long grey wall, standing on it, attacking it with sledgehammers. "There will be intense changes, I agree," the Englishman said. "But how can history come to an end?" "How can it not?" the toaster replied with a grin. "It would be very impolite of it not to end, instead of just plodding on into infinity." "It can plod on. Just as long as it takes no notice of me as it took notice of you." "I wouldn't say that it noticed me." "Your name is on the history books, my friend." "As a code name. A name derived from a pornographic film. Not exactly how anybody wants to be remembered. Though I will say that it was nice not to..." "Not to what?" The toaster looked at the Englishman and said, "Not to hold back secrets for once." "It's not a role I would advise taking up again," the Englishman said lightly. Then the two men became aware of the grey-eyed man at the table. The grey-eyed man smiled and said, "I heard nothing." "Well, what do you think?" the toaster said. "Is this the end of history?" "For it to be the end of history," the grey-eyed man said. "it would have to be the end of myself." "And that would be a bad thing, wouldn't it?" the Englisman asked. The grey-eyed man said nothing at first. He took a sip of his drink, then he said, "I'm quitting the State Department." "Really?" the toaster said. "After all these years?" "I don't think I'm doing any real work here." "So, what do you plan to do?" "Start a religion." The toaster and the Englisman laughed, but then they saw the look of seriousness on the grey-eyed man's face. If he saw how uneasy they were, then he took no notice of it. Instead, he looked at the television. "This is a grand event," he said. "But it will be small and trifling compared to the events to come." Then he drained the rest of the glass and placed a few dollars on the table. "If you will excuse me..." he said and stood up. He took a few steps towards the door, but then he looked back. "The end of history means the end of myself," he mused. "Actually, I wonder if the reverse is true." With that, he left the bar. The Englishman said, "Why do I have the feeling that when that man dies, he'll take many people with him?" "If he does, I hope it's only a small, personal Armageddon." "I believe he just told us that there is no other kind." CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHEKHOV'S RULE "Now is the end come upon thee and I will send mine anger upon thee and will judge thee according to thy ways and will recompense upon thee all thine abominations." --- Ezekial 7:3 Sheldon entered the cell. "It's time," he told Mulder. He unlocked the handcuffs. Mulder rubbed his wrist and considering taking a swing at the shorter man. However, it was evident from Sheldon's careful poise that he knew eight ways of making the prisoner feel funny in his vital organs. "Come with me. Forester has called a meeting." Sheldon took Mulder through the Ranch. It was Mulder's first chance to see the rest of the place. He discovered that it was large and very well-furnished. If you're waiting for the Apocalypse, he thought, you might as well do it in style. Their stop, however, was the simplest room of the Ezekial Ranch. The walls were white and unadorned. Foldout chairs were lined up in rows. The entire membership of The Church of the True Angels was seated in them, talking amonst themselves. They didn't seem upset about being deprived of sleep. Obviously, this room was the worship area, but there was nothing facing the chairs. Just another blank wall. It was as if they had come to worship whatever they perceived in the wall. People turned to Mulder and gave him big smiles. Sheldon prodded him to the front row where an empty chair was being kept for him. "I should warn you," he said. "You don't want to hear me sing hymns." Some of them actually laughed. As Mulder sat in his chair with Sheldon right by him, he noticed a few things. Neither Forester or Howard were present. He also took notice of the average-looking woman seating in the front row with him. She stood out because she was the only one who didn't look happy. "My friends..." Everybody fell silent and turned. And gasped. Forester was standing there naked with blood covered over his pale, wrinkled flesh. "It's pig blood," he explained calmly. He walked up the middle aisle, leaving a trail of small scarlet drops behind him. His followers watched him as if he was a bull that might charge. Mulder closed his eyes. Susan looked like she wanted to vomit. "I wear it to demonstrate the human blood on my hands. I stand before you as a sinner. Perhaps the worst kind of sinner, one who has killed in God's name. How will I answer for these sins, I have no way of telling. But this I can tell you...you who have followed me for so long...you who have waited...you have cried out 'how long, O Lord, how long?'...I can tell you..." Mulder opened his eyes. A sound had reached his ears. Distant, but very strong. Engines. Lots of them. "...the Day of Reckoning has come." In his room, Howard didn't bother to look out the window. He concentrated on a tiny crucifix in his hand. Forester had given it to him as a gift. It floated away from him and spun in the air. By the time Scully got there, the Ezekial Ranch was already surrounded. Soldiers were taking positions behind jeeps, their rifles aimed perfectly. A tank was rolling out of a truck. Lights were set up to cover the Ranch with their hot glare. And he was there. He stood at the back of the surrounding platoon, talking with an army captain. She stopped her car right in front of him. Soldiers immediately pointed their guns and barked at her to leave the area. "It's all right," he declared. "Let me speak to her." The soldiers silently acquiesced and Scully strode up to the man, his smoke invading her nostrils. "I should have known you would be here," he commented. "Call this off." "We have already committed ourselves." "To what? A slaughter?" "To any action needed to deal with Howard Ellis." Scully could feel a pulse inside her head. She tried to stop it. It kept on going. "What is going to be your cover story?" she demanded. "Will this be another Waco?" "There are no cameras here. The nearest town is twenty miles away. We can put out any story we want." "Now, wait! I've talked with Agent Mulder..." "You have? How did..." "Just shut up and listen! We believe that Reverend Forester is trying to provoke a confrontation with..." "Son-of-a-bitch," a voice muttered. Scully and the smoking man turned. Forester stood on the front porch, the harsh light striking him. He held his frail body as if it was a shield. His naked, bloody body. Then they all came out. All of them were as naked as he was. Sixty-two in all, male and female, old and young, all races. They blinked in the light, but showed no other sign of weakness. They faced the guns with calmness and composure. It was hard to tell at this distance but Scully knew Mulder was among them. "Well...this is interesting," the smoking man said. The pulse in Scully's head beat harder. The closeness of flesh did nothing to warm Mulder in the evening chill. Sheldon and McDonald kept him close, pressing his hands against his back. It didn't matter even if he could break free, though. He was not inclined to rush forward in the face of those guns. He just wished that he could shout out past the tape across his mouth. If Scully was there, he wanted to call out to her. He wanted to tell her not to watch this. He glanced over at Forester, standing proud and confident. And there was that average-looking woman. She was the only one trying to cover herself up with her hands. She undoubtedly felt trapped. Howard Ellis was still nowhere to be seen. Was Forester expecting the Protector to save the day? What was he trying to accomplish? And what would be worse---Howard leaving them to die or Howard rescuing them? I'm not going to watch this, Mulder thought. Forester wants me to watch but I won't. His eyes remained open. "Should we round them up, sir?" the captain said. The smoking man looked at him as if that was a stupid question. The captain hesitated, then called out in a loud clear voice. "All right. On my command..." "For God's sake!" Scully screamed. "There's no point to this!" "Howard Ellis is in that building," the smoking man said quietly. "We can't give him a chance to strike back. We need a full-frontal assault." "Everyone in their positions!" the captain ordered. The sound of cocking guns snapped in the air like cracked bones. The tank swerved its turret right at Forester's heart. "Tank team, prepare to fire!" The pulse was hard in Scully's head. "I apologize for it coming to this," the smoking man said. Hard. "I actually didn't want it to work out this way..." And there was only one way to stop it. "...but I am left with no other alter..." "EVERYBODY STOP OR I BLOW THIS MAN'S DAMN HEAD OFF!" Mulder heard that. He knew that voice, but it sounded like it belonged to a psychotic. Forester heard it as well. He blinked, not knowing how this would affect things. Ellis felt the anger before he heard the voice. He turned towards the window. He looked like a man who had discovered a bright new gem. The smoking man heard the voice as well, full volume in the ear that was under the gun barrel pressed against his temple. The captain and his troops spun around. Fifty men with guns stared at one woman standing behind a man with a cigarette stuck comically in his mouth. They honestly weren't sure of what to do. Scully did a quick glance to the side. She noticed a van that was a few feet away. Its back doors were open. "Move it!" she hissed and tightened the hold that she had on the back of her captive's jacket. The cigarette finally slipped out of his mouth. She jerked him into a sideways walk. She had to do this fast while she had the advantage of surprise and the platoon's bewilderment. Just as they were behind a door's cover, she twisted the smoking man around and jumped back so that she was seated in the van. "You're not going to..." the smoking man began. "Inside!" He crawled backwards with her into the van. The captain was approaching them, slowly but steadily. "Close the doors!" He complied. "Tell everybody to back off!" she ordered. The smoking man sighed and said, "Don't come any closer!" Scully waited a few moments to see if anything would happen. When nothing did... "Now tell them to call off the attack!" "They're not going to..." "Tell them!" The smoking man closed his eyes. "Stand down!" he called out. Again, she waited and listened for a second, then her hand shot into his jacket and searched until it found something long and plastic. "Now, you get on that phone and you tell your buddies to get these toys out of here. Or bang. Got me?" Howard searched out the angry presence. He carefully examined its facets and qualities. He found himself impressed. "I said, call them." "No, I will not, Agent Scully," the smoking man said with perfect calmness. "For two reasons. First, this will not stop this attack. Your threat will have no effect on my colleagues. I can plead, but they will not listen. In fact, shooting me will be completing a job that they tried before. "Second, you're not going to pull that trigger. You're angry, but you'll stop yourself before you shoot. If Mulder couldn't kill me, you won't, either. He's capable. You're not." The smoking man took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He extracted a new cigarette, put it in his mouth and lit it up. "So, let's stop this charade..." Scully snatched away the cigarette. She pressed the burnt end against her prisoner's neck. The smoking man howled. Then she pushed him hard onto the van's floor. She shoved her gun against his mouth. Above him, he saw eyes as cold as the moon. The voice that spoke was almost a whisper. "You think you know me? You think I'm incapable of killing you? Don't be stupid. Haven't you been paying attention? My life, you bastard, my life...these past five years...after all the things that have been done to me..." The gun was jammed between his lips, its metal banging against his teeth. "I...am...capable. And if Mulder dies, you die. If I can't get anything else out of this, I want that satisfaction." She pressed the cellular phone against the smoking man's cheek. "Call them. Try. Your life depends on it." This is not Dana Scully, the smoking man thought. This is not the woman that he had wanted to use against Mulder years ago. Whoever she was, though, she was going to kill him. His trembling fingers had difficulty finding the right numbers. Just as the smoking man was dialing, the army captain turned off his own cellular phone. "The attack goes ahead," he declared. "He's expendable." Forester saw the troops retake their positions. He sighed his relief. "It is almost upon us," he said. "It's..." A sob choked off his words. I don't want to die, Susan thought. I really don't want to die. Mulder had to restrain himself from breaking free and finding Scully. That madness he heard had to be stopped now. He was also thinking, Howard, if you're going to do something... As fierce as the angry presence was, it could do nothing to stop the forces gathered around the Ranch. While it was hot and pained, these forces were as cold and impersonal as an avalanche. Howard looked at the crucifix spinning in the air. It began to bend and twist into a hard ball. The smoking man heard the sixth ring. Even after that, he was still holding out for the possibility that his call would be answered and that all of his work wouldn't come down to an end seen in a woman's cold eyes. Scully held out a similiar hope. All these years of risk couldn't suddenly come to an end now. Death had gracefully left her and Mulder alone for so many years. Why should it choose this moment to ignore any faith? The only sounds in the van were a man's panicked breathing and a faint sharp ring that continued unabated. Inside the tank, the turret man prepared to shoot. If there was anything in his mind that questioned firing upon unprotected people, then it was too buried under his training. His conscience was overwhelmed by his captain's voice. "Ready..." He watched the old man in the center of the naked crowd. He could vaguely make out the man's smile. "Aim..." A tingling formed on his skin. He assumed that it was because of the anticipation. A two-syllable word flew across the air, immediately followed by a boom that fanned its sound across the desert. At the same time, the lights went out. She heard the cannon. She didn't take notice of the silence after it. The cannon shot was the only thing that reached her ears. The only thing she could see was the man underneath her. The only thing she could feel was the metal against her finger and the pulse that filled her whole mind. She pulled the trigger. The lights came back on. No. Not the lights the platoon had set up. This glare came above their heads. It feel upon every upturned face. Howard Ellis looked down at them. The glow was from his skin. His feet rested on the air as easily as on rock. He had the face of a king. The army captain took note that the Ezekial Ranch was unscathed. He concluded that the man floating in the air could make him disappear as easily as a speeding cannon shell. Therefore, he ordered his troops to do the only thing he could imagine. "Shoot him, you idiots! Shoot him!" It sounded like a good idea to their panicked minds. Unfortunately, they found that their guns didn't work anymore. After a few moments of getting nothing but useless clicks, they chose other options. Some ran. Some began to cry. Some got on their knees or just stood still. Forester knew what he had to do. He stepped forward and he tesitified. "Behold! Behold the glory of the Lord!" Inside the van, Scully pulled the trigger again. She kept pulling it, even after it was apparent that the gun wasn't working. The smoking man kept still at the gun's hammer snapped back and forth. He couldn't comprehend why he had been given a reprieve. It took him awhile to realize that he should take advantage of it. He shoved Scully off him and crawled like a wounded dog to the back doors. He pushed them open and literally fell out of the van. Scully watched him escape with a flat expression. She took no notice of the bright light streaking into the van. She just stared at the gun, her finger still pulling the trigger. Susan Jones had trouble breathing. She had trouble thinking. What could she feel about that man floating in the air? She knew that he wasn't a god. She knew the pain in his human heart. Could she separate what she knew from what she was seeing? Mulder found himself actually thinking that this was God before him. He knew that was wrong. This was no god, just man with the luck of biology on his side. Yet, as the people around him fell to their knees, he wanted to join them. He wanted to bow before the Protector. The words of Michael Forester filled up his mind. "The time of His return is at hand! The final battle has begun! You soldiers have come here in the belief that you are serving the government but your real master is Satan! Satan has drawn you to this place that he might slaughter God's people! But what has happened? Did God allow you to perform the Devil's work? No! He sends Howard Ellis to stop you! And now you understand the might of the Lord!" Forester saw the smoking man lying down on the ground, shaken and pale. He laughed. "There! There is a man who saw the signs but ignored them! There is a man who was close to the truth but ignored it! But now he knows! Oh, yes, he knows! As everyone shall know! The Church of the True Angels shall march forward from this desert and proclaim the Good News to the world! We shall cry 'Repent!' and 'Know God!' And this man, Howard Ellis, the Protector, he shall march to the battlefield and throw down the gauntlet before..." "Michael?" Forester's mouth kept moving up and down as if the transition from speech to silence came too abruptly. Then he closed his jaw. He looked up. Howard descended to the cold desert ground. The glow subsided off him and all the search lights turned back on. He looked at Forester as a father might look at a disappointing child. "Howard..." Forester whispered. "You sure like to talk a lot, don't you, Reverend?" Howard said. Then he turned to Susan. "Get your clothes on." She replied with a look of confusion. "Susan, get your clothes on." She nodded, then backed up into the ranch building. "Howard, what are you doing?" Forester's voice was hoarse. "You wanted me to fight your war." He waved his hand over the area. "This occurred for a reason. I don't know why. But it's not the beginning of a war. I've come to believe that I have another purpose." Forester opened his mouth, but Howard held up a finger. All the words that had sustained Michael Forester through his insanity left him. Howard smiled. "Don't get me wrong. You helped me. You started me on the right path. However, I have to travel the rest of the way without you." Susan stumbled out of the ranch, her wrinkled clothes hastily assembled. "Wh-wh-what's going on? What are you..." "Everything will be explained. When I understand everything." Howard Ellis turned to everyone else. "Return to your homes and families. Please pray that I might find the answers I search for." He then looked back at Forester. "And now for you, my friend. One last gift before I go." He placed a hand on Forester's chest. "May you find the peace that you could never find in life." The old man's eyelids fluttered. He let out one last breath and then he collapsed. "Michael!" Susan dropped to one knee and felt the old man's cheek. It was already turning cold. She heard crying and looked towards the porch. Bewilderment and anguish were all over the faces of the Church members. Tears ran down their necks to their bare torsos. Even Sheldon and McDonald were crying. Only Mulder watched with tearless eyes in a numb face. She wanted to cry, too. Then she felt Howard touching her shoulder. "Let's go." He helped her to her feet, then he looked at the soldiers. "Could anyone please give me the keys to their vehicle?" Key rings were tossed before him, striking shrill notes before they hit the ground. "Thank you." Scully stepped out of the van. Her gun was still clutched in her fingers. She had been aware that a dramatic event had been taking place outside, but she couldn't get past what happened to her. Something had been taken away from her and she would never get it back. Howard Ellis and another woman crossed her sight. Howard stopped to look at Scully. He nodded as if in acknowledgement of a fellow artist. Then he took one of the jeeps and rode off with the woman. No one else was leaving at first. Then the smoking man saw Scully. He rushed to his car and started it up. That started a chain reaction along the whole platoon. Their retreat was clumsy and they avoided looking at each other. Scully passed, oblivous of them, oblivious of everything including the wailing from the naked people. Then she heard--- "Scully!" Mulder ran from the porch, babbling. "Jesus, Scully, what the hell happened, I saw it but I don't believe it, I don't even understand it, what is he doing, where is he going, are you all right, what did you do---" "Mulder?" "What?" "Get some damn clothes on, will you?" A few hours later, another meeting was held at West 46th Street. "We have given you a chance to handle this," the large man said. "Now it is our turn." "Are you sure?" Strunghold asked him. "I am never unsure," the large man replied. Then he left. "If they get involved in this," the heavy-set man said. "it will not be a silent visitation. They will show their hand." "Undoubtedly," Strunghold said. "The side effects of such a battle will be, at the very least, a revelation of their existence." "All our work," another one of the old men in the room moaned. "It'll be for nothing." "Our work? That could be the smallest cost. A war like this...who knows what the casualities will be?" Strunghold went over to a window and looked out. "Forester may have gotten his Armageddon after all." PART THREE THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS "The fishes are silent deep in the sea. The skies are lit up like a Christmas tree. The star in the east gives its warning cry. 'Mankind is alive but mankind must die.'" ---W.H. Auden CHAPTER SIXTEEN MAN AND WOMAN "The harvest is past, the summer is over and we are not saved." ---Jeremiah 8:20 The sun lit up the sky, having risen a few hours ago. This was considered its normal behavior. Scully and Mulder were sitting in a diner. She felt the light touch her face, but regarded its warmth with indifference. Mulder watched her stony expression as he tried to eat a sandwich. After taking a few bites, he put it down and reached for her hand. "Scully..." She snatched her hands out of the way. Mulder kept his hand outstretched on the table. It was a long time before she even looked at him. Then she finally spoke. This was the first time that she had spoken since they had headed back to town. The Ezekial Ranch had been left in the hands of the Arizona state police. The Church members---dazed and grief-stricken---had made no protest over being detained. "He told me that you had a chance to kill him. Why didn't you?" "Because I felt that it wasn't right. Because I thought that it was against what you believed in." "Well, now, you know better, don't you?" "No. I don't believe..." "I pulled the trigger, Mulder. And I'm angry that the gun didn't go off." Her voice was dead and hollow. "That's how you feel now, but you have to look beyond..." "What did he tell you? What did he say that kept you from shooting him? He must have said something." Mulder looked down at his sandwich. "What was it?" "He said...'You could kill me, but you'll never know the truth.'" Scully slowly nodded. "I see. I understand." She looked away and said, "You knew what was more important than me. The truth." "Now, wait..." "I've always understood, Mulder. The big quest came first. I came...maybe second or third." "You know that's not true!" Scully's eyes turned back to him. They could have been holes in her head for all the feeling they showed. "I would have killed him for you," she said. "But you couldn't do it for me." Mulder wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream and throw things. He wanted to tell her of the ache that losing her would cause him. He wanted to make her understand. But this wasn't about him. This was about something that was a long time coming. All the crimes that had been committed against Scully were finally taking their toll. The pain was overshadowing her mind. There was nothing else in her now except a need for revenge. And who was he to deny her that? The silence held itself for a long time. "What did Kersh have to say?" Scully quietly asked. "He...he wants us to get back to Washington as soon as possible." "You told him what happened, of course." "I told him what I saw. You plan to tell him something different?" "I'm sure what you saw happened, Mulder," she said with complete indifference. Mulder pulled back his hands and clenched them under the table. "What about Howard Ellis?" she asked. "What to do about him?" "I don't think there's anything we can do about him." "You mean, you don't want to go chasing after a bona fide telekineticist? Mulder shook his head. "All right," she said. "What about The Church of the True Angels? Sheldon and McDonald can be prosecuted for murder, but what about the rest?" "The best thing to do is just let them go. Enough has been done to them already. With Forester and his cause both dead, chances are that some of them will be lost for the rest of their lives." "Only some? I will say that the whole lot of them are screwed up." "People can come back," Mulder said evenly. "They can go so far into their own souls that they think they'll never be a part of the world again. But nobody is beyond hope, Scully." "The Gospel According to Fox Mulder." She turned away from him. The silence fell on both of them again and didn't go away. She hadn't said a word since they had left the Ranch. She watched the wide land pass them with a stiff expression. Her arms were tightly wound over her stomach. He decided to speak first. "It's what he wanted. Deep down, he just wanted to die." "Did you have to be the one who killed him?" "I'm the only one who could have done it with understanding." Susan finally looked at Howard. His face was as unremarkable as ever. Yet she knew that a vista was inside his mind, one that expanded past the horizon and should have made her seem so insignificant in his eyes. Yet she was here, right beside him. Riding alongside a god. "I don't know what to think about it," she told him. "Was it necessary?" "I wasn't going to follow his plan anymore. I killed his soul when I did that. Killing his body after that was a mercy. So, should I have gone along with his plan?" "No. Michael was wrong. But..." Susan let out a long sigh and rested her head against Howard's shoulder. She closed her eyes. "I don't know if I can judge you, Howard. I don't know if anybody can." "Do you want to leave me?" She shook her head. "Why not?" "Because you are part of something larger than I ever known." She opened her eyes. "I can't turn my back on that." Howard nodded. "And because it feels so right being here." He looked at her and smiled. She reached up and ran her hand through his hair. "So where are we going?" she asked. "There's a man I need to see. And then I'll make my decision." "What kind of decision?" "One that will change the world, I'm sure." She let out a small laugh. "Is that all?" "Yes. That's all." "Why do you need me?" "Because you started this. It was you who first got me to understand what I am." "And what are you?" He laughed. "You know..." Yes, I do, Susan thought. You're Howard Ellis and that's good enough for me. Meanwhile, behind one of Saturn's moons, something was being created. They reached Two Grey Hills, New Mexico before noon. Howard steered them towards an area with houses pressed into the red desert. Susan watched the small, low-rent buildings pass by and knew that she was being watched. Eventually, Howard parked in front of one house. "Well," he said. "Here we are." He stepped out of the jeep, then stood at a respectable distance from the front door. He waited casually with his hands in his pockets. Nothing happened for over a minute. Then an old man with long white hair stepped out. There were many other men with him, all looking strong. As they regarded Howard with inexpressive faces, Susan was reminded of a lynch mob. Howard was unafraid and, of course, rightfully so. He smiled genially at the old man. "It's the weirdest thing, but I still don't know your name." "Albert Hosteen," the old man said in a voice as straight as his face. Almost straight. Fear crept at the edges of it. "What is your name?" "Howard Ellis." Howard contemplated the answer, then he said, "That doesn't sound right. Someone like you should have a different name." "You mean, a grander one? A name with more significance?" "Maybe." "No. Howard Ellis will do just fine." "If you wish." "Now...let's get started." They took Howard to a small hut with a grass roof. Susan wanted to follow them inside, but Hosteen told her that it was best to keep away. "Why?" she snapped. "There is nothing you can find here. This journey belongs to Howard." "So, I'm just along for the ride." "No. You are very important. I don't know how, but..." "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I'm so sick of hearing that. I would like a straight fucking answer for once." "I can't give you answers. But maybe you already know them." Hosteen stepped through the doorway of the hut. Susan sat down on a large rock and listened for any hints of what was going on inside. No sound came. In fact, there wasn't a sound to be heard anywhere. No coyotes, no eagles crying in the sky, no wind. The sun started on its descent. This was also considered its normal behavior. Just as the first stars peeked through the thick blue streaks in the sky, the drums started. Scully left like she was the last person in the world and she liked it. It felt so good to just lay in her hotel bed and keep everything away from her. She denied the existence of any person who could touch her. She anaylzed over how it soured. Not that she cared, but she was just curious. She had gone from a desperate need to find Mulder to not giving a damn about him in a split second. She decided that it was because he never been a real person to her, no more real than she was to him. They were only abstract concepts to each other---faith and reason, hope and rage, light and darkness, baloney and peanut butter. Whatever. They had kept close these years because they needed to believe in something. In this case, their friendship. They kept up the illusion in order the keep away the loneliness of their lives. If they were in this together, then the world couldn't be so bad, couldn't it? So they believed the lie and now the lie had exploded in their face. It had blown up because love was an illusion. Love between children and parents, love between a follower and a flock, love between diametrically opposed people---it was all a fantasy. Because humans had sharp teeth and nails. There was only one possible use for them and that was to strike back. That's why she was waiting for the pulse to start again. She wanted the hatred to warm itself up. She would deny it no longer. It would sustain her. She would hate and curse and plot with all the agility of her opponents. When the next opportunity came for murder, she would not miss. She smiled when the pulse finally started. It felt like a drum. Hosteen looked down at the thin man lying naked across a grass bed. He imagined what one quick knife blow could do to that tender skin. Yet, he knew that this was a foolish notion. This man would be instantly aware of any threat. That's why Hosteen continued the chant of the Blessing Way. His fellow Navajos kept watch over the naked god sweating in the hut's thick air. They knew that everything depended on properly guiding him into the spirit world. If Howard Ellis did not return any wiser, then not even their ancestors would be able to save them. They beat their drums and chanted because there was nothing else to do. Near Saturn, others continued their own work. Howard had never gone walking among the stars before. He was surprised that so few people did. It was a piece of cake. Just step over the horizon and then they were swimming around you like little fishes. He indulged in the sheer pleasure of being among them. "Careful, young man. It's easy to lose yourself here." Howard turned. (Did he turn? Or did space just revolve around him?) He faced an old man in a suit. The man had a charming yet distant face. He looked like he had just heard a story sad in its details yet rich enough in irony to be almost amusing. "Who are you?" "I used to be a friend of Agent Mulder. I came to him when he was in this place before." "Why are you here?" "Because no one else will come to you. Normally, your parents would be here, but..." "I don't want them here." "Apparently not." The stars began to arrange themselves into straight lines. "You want answers about the future," the visitor observed. "Yes." "A truth only means as much as what you can do with it. If you knew the future, would you try to stop it or let it happen?" "That is my affair only." The man looked down, his expression sad. The stars began to flow towards Howard. "Remember my question, Mister Ellis. I left the world a long time ago, but I still care for it." He looked back up. "Very well. Here is the future. Ready or not." The stars covered Howard's body. He opened his mouth and they crowded inside. Swallowing them made his eyes as bright as the sun. He looked... INTERLUDE "I got to scrub the whole human race and it was fun!"---Stephen King The first ones who will see it coming will be those gifted or mad or both. Bill Patterson had been drawing pictures of faces every day he had been in prison. If they didn't let him have pen and paper, he would scratch the faces into walls. The faces always had long jaws, pointed ears and black eyes. One night, he will draw something different. It will be of a tiny unknown person. The person will have his hands outstretched to a large circle hovering above him. It will be the first drawing that he won't regard with panicked eyes. Instead, he will sigh with contentment and say, "It will all be over soon." The woman had often tried talking with the two girls. They had been in their nearby cells for many years and she would babble about anything to them---gene therapy, God, the enjoyment of smashing in the skull of some poor sucker. The girls would never talk back, even though she could sense the occasional thought from them. They only talked to the woman who shared the same face as her, the one planning her own agenda with them. Occasionally, the girls would whisper to each other, but they had grown up in their dark, confined spaces on little more than silence. One night, the woman will hear a sound that she has never heard before. It will take a long time before she can identify it. Even after she recognizes it, she will think it to be another of her frequent hallucinations. It will be no hallucination, though. The girls will be crying. She will find that she feels like crying, too. Zirinka will run her figures through the computer for the fourth time. She will try to do her calculations as precisely as she can. She will peer through her telescope and see if the stars are in the actual positions she discerns. She will do this over and over again and the results will be the same. "Son-of-a-bitch," she will mutter. "This is it. Do or die. The final countdown." She then will drink everything remotely alcoholic in the house. In a desert cave, a young boy and his companion will step to the opening. They had been hiding there for some time, rarely showing themselves. They will look at the night sky and know what is out there. "Something bad is going to happen, isn't it?" the boy will say. His companion will nod its grey head. Donnie Pfaster will press himself against his cell wall. He will feel a presence building up in a faraway place. He will let out a hot breath, wanting so bad to know this presence. He will want to get close to it and know its power. Then something familiar will touch his mind. Touch it like a hot poker. He will stumble to the floor. He will lie there, shaking and crying. A man will stand in the desert... Will it be a man? It will have to be, won't it? The man will stand in the desert and he will wait, watching the stars. One of the stars will move. It will head towards him. In a few moments, a smooth ball of light will be hanging over him. It will be nothing more than light, but everything that a light can be. He will hold out his hands.... A man. Nothing but a man... He will hold out his hands to the light. The light will respond in a way that only he can notice. His feet will leave the ground and he will rise within an inch of the light, its brightness only troubling him slightly. A note will slowly build in the air. Shrill and discordant, it will be no music that a sane person could bear hearing. It will seep into the ground, making it shift. Every animal in the desert will stop and look in its direction. Their bodies will be tight as if death had already struck them. The music will get louder. The man will smile. The music will spread beyond the desert to all the nearby cities---Flagstaff, Austin, Los Angeles. All action will cease as people stop their cars, their late-night work, their sex. They will feel it hum in the ground at their feet. Buildings will vibrate ever so slightly. A tingling will fill the air. Bill Scully will be woken by the music and the cry of his baby. "What the hell is that?" his wife will shout. They will stumble out of bed. Tara will make her way to their baby's room. Bill will open a window and look outside. He will see others standing in their doorways and looking out their windows, wincing at the noise. Then he will hear another sound. Screaming. His wife screaming. He will rush into the baby's room. Tara will be standing in front of the crib and her screams will be directed at the still body of Matthew Scully. He will look down, his hands gripping the sides of the crib and he will see blood gushing from his baby's mouth and ears. He will start to scream himself, but then an explosion will be felt inside of him. His throat will be choked with blood and he will fall to the ground, a shaking mass of flesh. The last thing that his collapsing mind will recognize is his wife fallen at his side. The music will vibrate along every mountain and road as if the country is a wire. When it reaches the ocean, it will create ripples that can be seen from satellites. Marita Covarrubias will be in an underground cell, the place that she had been kept ever since her exposure to the virus. She had been cured, but she had also been revealed as a traitor. They had been keeping her as a study object. It had been the only thing that had kept her alive up until this moment. The music will resonate against a grey ceiling, turning it into a long blur. The ugly flourescent bulb will flicker out, giving her eyes a comforting darkness. She will hear the cement crack around her, then crumble. She will think about the people who had been imprisoning her. They had been invading her body with their humiliating, painful tests, all the while making no promises that they would keep her alive. She will know that their fate will be the same as hers. She will be laughing as the walls come down on her. The man beneath the light will not listen to the pain around him. He will only know the battle at hand. He will revel in it, showing the light that he is as powerful as it is. He wants the light to know that every animal bites back. Alex Krycek will be in a late-night bar, wondering about his life over a glass of bourbon. He had returned to the organization that he had betrayed. They had not been very pleased to see his return. However, the Englishman had taken him under his wing and promised protection as long as he followed orders. Krycek had thrown in his lot with the Englishman to survive, yet he had also admired the man who had believed in something beyond manipulation and control. Now, the Englishman was dead and Krycek had to watch his back. He will hear the music after he steps out of the bar. He will stop on the sidewalk with the others out at that late hour. He will cover his ears, trying to keep it out. He can't avoid hearing it, though, any more than the other sound. This one will be lower in register and growing in volume. Krycek won't recognize it until he looks in the right direction. The insects will swarm at a mad speed, desperate to get away from the music that will wreak havoc with their simple instincts. Everything from flies to wasps to locusts will be in this flying herd. Krycek will see them as a great cloud rolling through the streets. There will be so many of them that they will look like a solid wall. Others will turn and run, but Krycek will know there is no escape. He had known that his time to die would be instantly recognizable. He will close his eyes and the insects will cover him. The man will realize that he can't win this battle. His anger and pride will be matched by the light's thoughtless need for domination. He will decide that if he can't win, then he will go for mutual self-destruction. He will plunge his hands into the light. For the first time in this fight, he will cry out in pain, but the light will finally quaver. Sparks will spring off them and get carried along on the music's wave. "So, there is nothing that you can do," Jeffrey Spender will tell the man visiting his apartment. "No. It is completely out of any earthly hand except for Howard Ellis." Spender will think over what this man has told him and then say, "Dad?" The gloom in the man's face will vanish. This will be the first time that Spender will ever call him that since their reunion. "Yes, son?" "Was it bad enough that our lives had to be screwed up? Must we screw everybody else in the process?" The happiness will leave the man's face, but he will still smile. "It's just life," he will say. "Everybody gets screwed eventually." He will take out a cigarette pack. "Want one?" "Sure. Why not?" Spender will accept the proferred cigarette and put it in his mouth. The man will also hold out a lighter. Spender will bend his cigarette towards it. Just as the lighter flicks on, the music hits them. The flame will burst into a fire that will instantly eat up the two men. In a few minutes, the entire apartment building will be an inferno. "I've got blisters on my fingers!" the man will yell out, laughing hysterically. Walter Skinner had kept himself going through life with his sense of duty. He had pledged himself to his country, his platoon and the FBI. He took it upon himself to look after those around him and those under his command. That's why when he hears the music, he will decide not to stay in his apartment. He will sense a bad craziness coming and he will want to be out there, trying to keep things sane. This is his town and it is his duty to keep it safe. Despite the pain that the music causes him, he will leave his house. It won't take him long to find trouble. A group of men will attack a woman in the street. They have been turned crazy by the music. He will get out his gun and yell at them to stop. They will charge at him. His gun will bring down some of them, but there will be too many of them and they will be too quick. He won't be able to save the woman or himself. The man in the desert... It must be a man... The man in the desert will feel himself falling apart into insignificant motes. Above him, the light will spread into the clouds formed around them. The light will feed the clouds whose bellies change from white to black to white. Then the lightning will come, lightning that will strike the ground and leave craters as big as houses. The clouds will expand, determined to show their strength all over the world. Just before he will finally fade away, the man will see everything he has caused and call it good. Margaret Scully will sit on her front porch, having been woken by a nightmare. She will know that this one will come true. She will wait for it to happen. She will want to speak to her family, but she will know that there will be no way of contacting them. She will be weighed down by grief, but will not cry. She will feel like she has exhausted her tears a long time ago. She will wait for the clouds to pour across the sky. She will watch the great explosions that get closer and closer to her, her face grimly stoic until something touches her mind. She will leap to her feet and call our her daughter's name, just before the lightning strikes her. Yes. This will be good. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN HOWARD MAKES HIS DECISION "I am guided by a signal in the heavens. I am guided by this birthmark on my skin." ---Leonard Cohen Howard Ellis sat up. The drumming and chanting immediately ceased. In a very careful tone of voice, Hosten asked, "What did you see?" "I saw how I could destroy the world." Hosteen nodded. "If I fight them, everyone will die." Hosteen nodded again. Howard took a moment, then said, "I'm not going to do that." Hosteen let out a very long sigh, then smiled. "I'm glad. When the visitors come, you must give your power to them. Then they will leave you alone." Howard stood up. His legs were remarkably steady. "Thank you all very much," he said, then he left the hut. As he stepped out, Susan rushed up to him. "What happened? What did you..." "Shhh." Howard touched her cheek and then took ahold of her hand. He started to lead her away from the hut. "Howard...?" "It's going to be all right, Susan. Everything is going to be all right." He took her far away from everyone else. He gently laid her down on the ground and removed her clothes with equal gentleness. Susan had to agree with him. Everything was going to be all right. The pulse in Scully's head had become different. It was less of a pain to be relieved than a signal. It was calling to her, telling of a direction to travel in. She obeyed it with no hesitation. Mulder wasn't sleeping in his hotel room. He had been walking alongside the highway that ran through this small town. He had let the night sky soak into his mind, trying to clear out the hurt. Everything had gone wrong and he knew no way of making it right again. Then a car rushed by him, well above the speed limit. It took him a moment to register that it was Scully's rental car. He yelled out her name as the car's rear lights faded away. Then he stood there, stuck in the middle of a small town with no transportation and no way of knowing where to go. He had only the certainity that he needed to catch up with her fast. First, he rushed back to the hotel and talked (and almost threatened) the manager into lending him his car. Then he tore out after Scully, hearing the screams of the manager who watched Mulder's reckless driving. As Mulder stepped on the gas, he knew that Scully already had too much distance on him. He also knew that the long highway would eventually branch out. Which direction would she go in? Where could she be headed? He ransacked his memory for a clue, a hint, a rememberance of anything she might have said. He couldn't come up with one blessed thing. Then he remembered Howard Ellis. "There is a man who can help me. You have met him before, Mulder." It couldn't be... That would be crazy. And why Scully would be headed towards Albert Hosteen? But what else did he have? When the time came to make a decision, he steered toward New Mexico. He arrived at Scully's destination, ten minutes behind her. However, by then, it was too late. They completed their work near Saturn. It rested in a large iron ring, glowing and singing. They released it and it flew smoothly towards Earth. Some scientists noticed its approach on their telescopes and satellites. They scratched their heads, not knowing what it was. Others knew precisely what it was. They were also aware that everyone would soon share their knowledge. Right now, though, that wasn't their primary concern. "It has started," Conrad Strunghold said after receiving a report on the object. "Our fate lies completely in the hands of one man." He was wrong. When he arrived in Two Grey Hills, Mulder took straight to the house of Albert Hosteen. He found the old Navajo's grandson who told him about Howard and the Blessing Way ceremony. Mulder ran with his flashlight towards the hut, stumbling twice in the dark. He found Hosteen along with several other Navajos. He was about to shout his questions when he saw the pain and terror in Hosteen's face. All of them looked like a bomb had just killed their families. Hosteen looked at Mulder and said, "I've made a terrible mistake. I thought that if he knew what the future could be, he would turn away from it, but..." He closed his eyes for a moment, then he pointed in a direction. "They are over there." Howard was sitting in the ground, naked and looking very content. He heard footsteps and then a flashlight's glare hit his eyes. He flinched as Mulder yelled "Where is she?" "Calm down, will you, Mulder?" Mulder completely forget about what Howard was supposed to be capable of. He backhanded the man and Howard fell over, blood gushing from his lip. Mulder froze, waiting to explode. Nothing happened. He heard a woman crying. He spun around and his flashlight caught her in the dark. It was the plain-faced woman from the Church of the True Angels. She was also naked. He knelt carefully by her. "What happened?" he whispered. After their lovemaking, she had laid at his side. The desert coldness couldn't touch her after she had been in his warmth. Susan kept awake for a long time, pushing away the sleep. She wanted to watch Howard's face under moonlight forever. Sleep came to her, eventually. She dreamed. There were two people in her dream, one man and one woman. A light was pouring down on them like hard rain. They were looking at each other and crying. When she awoke, she found Howard standing far away from her and talking to another woman. "I give my power to you," he said. "Do what you will with it." Howard touched the woman's hand and there was a brief moment when they both seemed in great pain. Then Howard looked like a great weight had been taken from him. The woman... Even in the darkness, Susan could make out her beautiful face, but she could also see the cruelty in her eyes. It reminded her of Howard when she had walked in on him and Poppy. Only this was worse. That had been merely the rage of an emotionally adolescent man. This was an anger against the whole world. The woman took a few breaths as if she was readying herself. Then she walked away. "Howard?" "Yes, Susan?" He sat himself back down at her side. "Who was that?" "Don't you remember? That was Agent Scully." "What did you do to her?" "I gave my power to her." "What?" "I gave my..." "I heard you, but...why?" Howard's smile shined in the darkness. "So she could destroy the world." After Susan explained what happened, Mulder slowly turned to Howard. "You're crazy." "No. I saw it. I was given a vision of the future. The aliens have sent a weapon to this planet. It was meant to destroy me or whoever has my power. Scully will fight this weapon. The result will be the end of life on this world." Mulder stared at Howard, speechless. "I know what you're thinking. Why her and not me? Because...well, in the end, I'm just a loser who killed a few people. Scully is something else. She's been wronged so badly that there's nothing else she wants except revenge. That is what is needed here. A person so full of wraith that they won't care about the consequences. An anger that could crack the Earth itself." "No," Mulder said, his voice tight. "She wouldn't be so careless. She'll never rush into something..." "Maybe not before. But now..." He's right, Mulder thought. That coldness in her eyes... "Why, Howard?" Susan cried. "Why did you do this?" "Because Susan, I have seen the world and it looks like your childhood. And my childhood. What we went through is being repeated in a million different variations. I've had enough. So have you. Everybody has." Howard closed his eyes and laid back down. "It's over. It's time to be done with it. There's really no point in continuing..." "Where did she go?" Mulder demanded. Susan pointed a direction. Mulder went running, faster than ever before. "She won't listen to him," Howard said in a lazy voice. "Everything has been leading up to this. This is the real apocalypse. Not the one that Michael really wanted but..." He looked over at Susan. "...I know it's the one you wanted. Isn't it?" Susan buried her face in her arms. Howard looked up at the stars. He could hear the dirt chipping under his feet. He could smell the rough grass. He could feel a tiny wind go by. He just couldn't see worth a damn. The flashlight only gave him a few feet out of the miles of desert around him. He would scream Scully's name over and over, but there was no response. He was so caught up in his search that he didn't notice the bright light moving across the sky. He almost didn't notice the edge of the cliff. He stopped himself just in time. He forced himself to slow down for a moment, just to calm his pained chest. That's when he finally saw the light. It was descending into the canyon in front of him. He swung his flashlight around until he found a trail that lead down a hill. He carefully made his way as the ball of light dropped like a stone. When he reached the bottom, he headed for the light's point of descent. And there she was. Her arms were folded across her chest. She appeared very calm. The light was still floating down, a smooth white ball that was fifty feet in diameter. "Scully!" She made no reply. "Scully, you have to stop..." That was all he could get out. His throat couldn't work anymore. Not a sound could rise from it. "I know you want to talk me out of this, Mulder," Scully said quietly. "Maybe you could. Maybe you could convince me that vengeance only belongs to God. There's just one problem with that." She turned to him. "For this night, I am God." A light filled up the canyon, making it bright as day. The pitiless look on Scully's face was clear to see. "And here comes the Devil." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A BALM IN GILEAD "That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you..."---Dana Scully "You and I have always been sent back to the beginning, Mulder. This is different. This is the end. One way or another, it ends tonight." Scully smiled. "I once told you that it was presumptious to think that you were the one to save the world. Now here I am, about to face...yes, Mulder, aliens. I don't know why I've been given the task. I don't know if it was planned or if it was just pure chance. What matters most is whether I accept it. "I do. Oh, you bet I do. "You want the truth, Mulder. Truth with a capital 'T.' You want these aliens to give you some grand and cosmic outlook on life. The only truth they've taught me is that pain only makes sense when you give it back in return. "I'm going to destroy every last one of those grey-skinned bastards. "Watch carefully, Mulder. It's going to be quite a show." The ball of light was now just a hundred feet over their heads. Mulder could just feel what it was capable of. He also instinctively knew that the aliens never used it before because it was too much of an attention-getter. The moment that it used its full power, it would leave all the evidence needed---radiation, climate changes, signals to radar everywhere---that could prove an alien presence. No one could plausibly deny this. It would expose the silent colonization. Of course, that hardly mattered now, didn't it? Scully held up her hands. From inside the light, a high-pitched sound started. *Don't do this, Scully. I know this seems like the only way to stop this evil once and for all, but this battle will destroy us all. Stop it now. Please.* She left the ground behind her. As she soared into the air, he was completely overwhelmed. How could he stop her? What could he say that would change the mind of a goddess? But Scully wasn't a goddess. She was human---beautifully human. Only now her humanity had been shredded apart and all that was left was a hollow version of Dana Scully. The destruction of the world would flow from the destruction of her soul. *Come back, Scully.* She stopped floating and looked down at Mulder. There was a puzzled look on her face. She had heard...? Then she continued her rise. She stopped within a few inches of the light, caring nothing for its blinding radiance. Yes, she had heard him. She had the ability to know his thoughts. He had concentrate hard, get her attention, beat his fist against the wall of her mind. *Listen to me, Scully...* She closed her eyes and raised her hands. Even from down on the ground, he could tell that she was smiling. He made it the voice in his head louder. He made it a scream from the deepest part of his heart. *Listen...* Then she pulled back her hands. She opened her eyes. She looked out over the desert. She looked over even further. She saw everything. The horror of what she was about to do hit her in the face. *Good. She understands. Thank you, God, she understands. Now, back away, Scully.* She remained hanging like an old puppet. The light filled up a tear that ran down her face. The tear fell a hundred feet to the earth. *Give the power away, Scully. Give the power to them. It will do you no good. Just give it away and they won't hurt you.* She curled herself into a ball, knees against her elbows, still hanging in the air. Something was wrong. She wasn't attack, but she wasn't retreating, either. It wouldn't matter to the light, though. It would kill her as long as she remained a potential threat. That's when Mulder realized that she hadn't heard him at all. She had figured it out for herself. Howard had been wrong. Her anger hadn't overwhelmed her. But her shame had. She had saw what she had almost done and it filled her with disgust. She saw the genocide that she could have unleashed on the whole world, her family, her friends. She wanted to be punished for it. She wanted to die. NO, NO, NO... The screaming inside Mulder's head became real. His voice had been returned to him and he was hollering for her to come down. A ripple appeared on the light's surface. It stretched out a tentacle that slowly reached for Scully. It was tentative, not understanding this meek behavior. It wouldn't throw away this opportunity, though. Mulder yelled and yelled and yelled. His anger would not be ignored. He was not going to let it happen. She did not deserve this, but there was no way of telling her... Yes, there was. It would take something more than screaming. So he opened up his mind and gave her his past. Once upon a time, there was a man who lived in the basement of this big building where a lot of knights worked. He was a knight, too, sort of. Nobody else could really accept that because this man was kind of weird. Kind of out-there. Kind of spooky. He got so spooky that they sent a woman down there. Her job was to tell him just how spooky he was. She did more than that, though. She told him that she admired his courage. She liked the way that he stood up for what he believed in. She developed an affection for the plucky son-of-a-gun. Then it turned out that the spooky man saw dragons that really existed. She decided to fight the dragons with him, even though she wasn't sure what kind of dragons they were. Eventually, the spooky man found out that she was the best dragon-hunting partner he could have. She was brave and smart and caring and understanding. They still got into arguments because he thought the dragons were red and she thought the dragons were green, but they always stood by each other in the end. You know what? I think that the spooky man kind of liked the woman. Maybe she kind of liked him, too. Scully lifted her head. The tentacle stopped, unsure if it was going to attacked. She wasn't going to attack. She was just watching and listening to what Mulder was sending her. There she was... ...on a hotel bed and listening for the first time to his story of a long-lost sister, coming to an understanding of the man... ...examining his back for signs that he could be a murderer and then he would do the same for her, their first real test of trust... ...sitting at his side on a hospital bed, telling him that she had faith in her father and he smiles his understanding... ...listening to him tease her about the contents of her bag... ...comforting him in a dark garage... ...lying on a hospital bed and he was telling her that he would be with her, no matter what... ...shedding tears onto him as he held her... ...accepting his embrace as she looked at the bed where her sister had laid... ...performing a last-ditch effort to prevent him from shooting her... ...telling him "I know who you are"... ...saying "You'll be in my prayers." ...still and pale as he broke through the ice... All of that and more. Everything in his mind was about her. She looked below and saw his agony. He needed comfort. She brought him up to her. He came face-to-face, startled and afraid to be floating in the air. Then she opened up her mind to him. It was his turn to understand. She gave him all of the moments that she had with him---the joyful, the uneasy, the hard, the comic. However, one second of their lives stood out. It was when he stopped her in the middle of a hallway and told her how much that she meant to him. That it was impossible to go on without her. That he owed her everything. She had never really know. Deep down, she had felt that she was just a passenger on his insane ride. Did he truly know how much that confession meant to her? I think I do know, Scully. They held each other under the light. She rested her head against his shoulder as he kept his arms tight around her. Dancing in the sky. Then she pulled away just enough so they could look at each other. Their faces were washed out in the brightness, but there was no mistaking how the other one felt. Scully leaned forward and kissed him. Forget about history and the fabric of control that holds it together. Forget about the death of loved ones. Forget about the death of those we barely knew. In this moment, there are no killers and no manipulators. There are no threats from above or below. The power that darkens our lives---call it a conspiracy, an alien colonization or the Devil---has no influence in this moment. It means nothing to what we know about each other. Push it aside. Deny all of it. Deny everything. Except you and me. Scully's lips left his mouth, then she looked back up at the light. She held up one of her hands. Then nothing happened. Howard had seen the light descend into the canyon. Then it went back up to the skies and vanished. He waited for a long, long time. Still, nothing happened. He sighed. 'Something has gone wrong," he commented. Susan made no reply. "Oh, well. There will be another opportunity." "There will be?" "That power was in me before. I can get it back somehow. Then I will start over again." One of Susan's hands slowly stretched out from her. It felt like it was acting of its own accord. "It is my job to end this world's suffering. I will spend the rest of my life doing that." "What about me?" Howard moved towards her. "You? You're the woman I love. You're the one who understands, I hope." "I do understand." Her hand found a rock. Just the right size. "Do you?" he said. "Yes." Howard reached to embrace her. He was close enough for her hand to swing a perfect arc towards his head. It took several blows to get it done. He whimpered all the way through it as his skull got softer and his shaking became less violent. He gasped one last word before he died. "...light..." She sat down by the body, clutching the rock like a newborn baby. CHAPTER NINETEEN THE HAPPIEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD "Though he slay me, yet I will trust in him; but I will maintain my own ways before him."---Job 13:15 The little snot was actually making him wait here in the park. He tossed another cigarette to the ground and lit his third one up. Then he heard, "Good evening." Fox Mulder stepped from behind the cover of bushes. He had a grating little smile on his face. "You know, a man your age really shouldn't be out all alone at this time of night." "What the hell do you want, Mulder?" "Oooo, aren't we touchy?" The smoking man angrily let out a puff of smoke. "Actually, I just want to see how you're doing." "How I'm doing?" "I understand that Agent Scully gave you a little scare." The bile rose to the smoking man's throat. "You didn't have to change your underwear afterwards, did you?" "Enjoy the moment, Mulder." "Oh, I will." "You must be very proud of her." Mulder looked down at his feet, then back up. "She's not proud of what she did. Yet I can't exactly blame her for it." "Oh, really? What happened between you two in Mexico anyway?" "What makes you think that anything happened in Mexico?" The smoking man wasn't going to tell him about the alien weapon that had visited Earth. The bizarre readings that astronomers and scientists had picked up on their equipment could be explained away. Furthermore, there was no data that indicated that the weapon had been in New Mexico. It had left without using its full power. Secrets had been kept. Denialibility was intact. "You were both found near a Navajo reservation. You both claim to have no memory of what had happened there." "That's the truth." "I see." "Would I lie to you?" "And what about Howard Ellis?" "Howard Ellis...is no longer a problem for anybody." "My group will need more than that." "Tell them that Howard is a buried secret that no one will learn. Unless you want people to learn." The smoking man exhaled again. "Very well. Then this matter is done." "For once, we agree." Mulder took a few steps away before the smoking man called out. "Tell Agent Scully that if she wants to play hardball, then I'm ready for our next match. And that you don't get a second shot at me." Mulder looked back. "She's not playing that anymore." "Really?" A smirk formed around the cigarette. "She's getting to be as erratic as you, Mulder." Mulder looked the smoking man over, then said, "You'll never beat me. You know why?" "I can't imagine." "Because you'll never beat her." With that, Mulder left the smoking man who didn't move for a long time. "I trust that you didn't tell him about Susan." "I didn't see much point." Mulder gave Scully a careful look. "Are you still having doubts?" "We are now officially accomplices to murder. And I'm not sure why Susan killed Howard, but..." Scully remembered Susan's face, almost collapsing under its grief. There was too much pain there to ignore. "...I don't see any point in sending her to jail," she said. "And I trust that Hosteen will look after her. As for Howard...whatever he was, he was dangerous. Susan may have done us all a favor." Mulder nodded. They were both silent for awhile. Then he said, "You don't remember anything." "All I remember is that one moment I'm in my hotel room, the next I'm in the middle of New Mexico." "And all I remember is chasing after you. At least, I think I was chasing after you." One thing they would both remember, though, was waking up at each other's side, her hand in his hand, his hand in her hand. They had looked at each other and knew that something important had happened. If they had no memory of the event itself, they were still left with the feelings that it had aroused. "I asked Albert Hosteen what happened," Scully said. "What did he say?" "He said that he didn't want to tell me something that I would have trouble believing." "Smart guy." "He did say that I had changed." "In what way?" Scully sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. "What happened to me, Mulder?" she whispered. "How did I get that bitter?" "You got pushed too far." She looked down. "I acted as if I had no conscience. I behaved...horribly..." "Hey." Mulder touched her chin and tilted her head gently up. He looked into her eyes. "No one could take everything you've been through. Not without going to the edge. I've been there myself and I haven't been hurt like you have." "You haven't?" "Well...maybe seeing you like this hurts enough." She held her breath for a few long moments, then let it out. "What matters most is that you pulled through," Mulder told her. "I know who you are, Scully. When you have to make the decision, I know it'll be the right one." "What decision is that?" Mulder paused, then said, "The future is not going to be easy on us, Scully. But the best weapon we have is right here. That's what gives me hope." "Do you really have hope, Mulder? I haven't been so sure that it's with you anymore." He just smiled at her. She smiled back and a passer-by would swear that they looked like the happiest people in the world. "Hmmm," Mulder said. "What do you mean by 'hmmm?'" "Speaking of the future...there's something that I haven't told you." "Oh, great." "Mind you, I don't know if this is true." "Well, what is it?" "I mean, I really don't know..." "Mulder, out with it." "Susan Jones is pregnant." Scully looked at Mulder blankly. "With Howard Ellis's baby." "What? How do they know?" "She says that she just has a feeling." "Susan knew Howard for a week at most. And we left her less than a week ago. How can she be sure about a two-week..." Then the look on Mulder's face gave her a weird feeling. "Mulder, I know what you're thinking." "Of course you do." "Howard Ellis was a genetic anomaly..." "Which could be passed down." "Unlikely." "But not impossible." "And if it is? What then?" "There's going to come a day when the world will need someone that has what Howard Ellis had. Only this time, maybe that person will know there's more to the world than just pain. Hopefully...well, hopefully, he'll know about hope." "Mulder, you sound like..." "A character from 'Touched By An Angel?'" She sighed, then laughed. He laughed, too. Susan laid in bed, her room dark. She was wondering about the future. The Hosteen family had been taking good care of her. Albert had been especially kind to her. As much as she tried to convince him to feel otherwise, she couldn't take away his guilt. He had been mistaken about Howard. He didn't want to make the same mistakes with his child. Yet the burden was really on her. What could she tell her child? How could she explain who Howard was and what happened to him? She didn't have the answers to that. She also knew that God wasn't going to give them to her. It was time to stop looking for His influence in her life and start looking for her own. That's what she prayed for. She also prayed to be as worthy of this world as much as the next one. She prayed for faith in herself. She also hoped that endings---happy or otherwise---were strictly an earthly invention. _____________________________________________________ "Whenever I start thinking of my love for a person, I am in the habit of immediately drawing radii from my love---from my heart, from the tender nucleus of a personal matter---to monstrously remote points of the universe. Something impels me to measure the consciousness of my love against such unimaginable and incalculable things as the behavior of nebulae (whose very remoteness seems a form of insanity), the dreadful pitfalls of eternity, the unknowledgable beyond the unknown, the helplessness, the cold, the sickening involutions and interpenetrations of space and time. It is a pernicious habit, but I can do nothing about it." --- Vladimir Nabokov