Author: Philiater
Category: Case file, MSR.
Timeline: takes place early season eight during Mulder's abduction. I know, but just read it.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were. They belong to CC and company.
Ordinary Mansions's page: http://www.philiater1.com/OrdinaryMansionsPage.html
Ordinary Mansions 15/17
I've been tinkering with this for months and only dear Lidia could induce me to actually finish it. Word of warning: this section is long, raw and unbeta'd.
Part 16 is nearly done and 17 is 'in the can'.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After descending the porch steps outside the Lizze's farm, Scully pauses by the car to watch the lightning as it splits the sky above her; bright energy branching unimpeded into distant clouds on an endless horizon. The worst thing about a storm in the country, she thinks, is that you can see everything coming at you; lightning, rain or tornados. No tall buildings or neighboring houses interfere with the broad horizon, or to impede the storm's wrath.
In the next moment, she hears a familiar voice whispering in her ear.
Mulder. Mulder was suddenly speaking to her.
The voice told her to go to the farm; that he was waiting for her there. Oddly enough, no dream accompanies this auditory message, but she doesn't care. She's so focused on answering that she doesn't see Doggett come up to her.
"Mulder?" is his incredulous response when she tells him with whom she's speaking.
Suddenly embarrassed, she murmurs "Sounded like him," before opening the car door and getting in. Doggett runs to the other side and dives in after.
"What's this about Mulder?"
Scully smiles self consciously. "I thought I heard his voice."
"What did he say?" Doggett asks with mild curiosity.
"He said he was at the farm and he was waiting for me. He said Crane was there too."
"He happen to mention if Crane was alive?"
"No."
"You know we shouldn't go over there doncha? The Lizzes' are safe and I don't think he'll try anything else in this storm."
"Shouldn't we find out if Crane is alive and help him?"
"We should drive back to town and get the troopers to come out with us. It's too dangerous otherwise. If he is alive, he knows procedure."
"Call and have them meet us there."
"Agent Scully-"
"Please." Her quiet pleading is his undoing.
"All right," he says pulling out his phone, "but only if we can reach the main dispatcher."
After several attempts, Doggett finally gets through on a connection filled with bright static. He gives her information and directions, repeating himself several times before the line goes dead.
"I hope she got all that," he says after hanging up.
"I'm sure she did. You made her repeat it back three times," Scully says dryly.
"Always pays to be thorough, Agent Scully."
As they start for the farm, the wind is blowing the rain in a nearly horizontal direction, making the car skitter dangerously along the road. Scully feels Doggett struggle several times to keep it from careening off into a ditch.
After what seems like an interminable length of time, they finally pull up in front of the old farmstead. Scully has a moment of déjà vu looking at the woods again, but this time, Mulder doesn't materialize. She half expected him to, but the only movement she sees is caused by the wind in the trees.
Doggett tries several times to recall the dispatcher to ensure their backup, but they must be far from the nearest relay tower and the storm is wreaking havoc with the cell phone. Most of the calls don't go through and the ones that do connect are too full of white noise for him to hear the other person.
While he's busy with the phone, Scully scans the woods, looking for a place of egress. She believes the killer is hiding behind a simple façade; that there's a deliberate impression of impenetrability to the woods that secretes an easy entrance. He would need one to carry out murder with such stealth.
Suddenly, she sees a faint light flickering through the trees at the far end of the forbidding lot. Shifting forward in her seat, she attempts to get a better look through the rain spattered windows.
In between the frantic swaying of branches and tall grasses, a bluish-white beam is cutting into the darkness.
"John," she says, drawing his attention.
Hanging up the phone with a deliberate frown, Doggett pockets it and looks to where she's pointing.
"I see it."
"We need to investigate," she says and opens the door before he can protest.
Outside she pulls up the hood on an oversized windbreaker the Lizze's gave her before she left, telling her that she needed better protection against the elements than her simple pantsuit. The coat had been abandoned by a grandson, long gone to college. Doggett refused an equal offer, preferring a bare head and his own FBI issued jacket.
"You'll catch your death of cold," Mrs Lizze had scolded.
"Presumably."
Scully thinks she might catch her own cold, the hood is far too big and keeps slipping back as she runs toward the light. She lets it go, allowing rain to soak into her hair. Cold water drips down her face and the back of her neck, reminding her of the first X-File she investigated.
Dodging around the lot's far corner, she encounters a rotted plank fence. A large section has been taken down and the imprint of muddy tire tracks mars the ground. Following the shallow ruts with her eyes, she sees what's at the end near a tree line. By then Doggett has caught up with her and they make a dash toward it.
Deputy Fischer's police cruiser is stopped some one hundred feet inside the lot with the headlights turned on high beam. The brights pierce the dark recesses of the woods ahead of the it, illuminating the trees like a search light.
Doggett stops short when he reaches the vehicle, searching for signs of a driver or occupant. Seeing neither, he moves forward toward the front, gun out and ready. Scully follows suit on the other side, mirroring his cautious approach. A quick visual search of the vehicle's interior as they pass, yields nothing unusual.
"It's still warm, he says placing a hand on the car's mud spattered white hood. Across from him, Scully emits a started sound. Looking up, Doggett sees what's troubling his partner.
'I Want to Believe' is scrawled in blood-red letters inside the windshield. She sees Doggett peer at the ghoulish message with skeptical eyes. Reaching inside the driver's open window, he puts a finger to the dripping red scribble and comes back with a faint smudge of crimson across the tip.
"Magic Marker."
Scully purses her lips, but says nothing.
"I'm sick of this guy's games," Doggett says in frustration and wipes his fingertip clean of the offending stain.
"You know he's not done by a long shot."
His head snaps up to look at her with a mixture of anger and frustration. "No, but that doesn't mean we have to play along."
"What do you mean?" she asks in an edgy voice.
"I mean we stop this right here. We don't go any further until the troopers arrive. I don't care if Crane is alive or not at this point, the risk is too high."
Don't look any further… the strains of that tune now play in the back of her mind to remind her that monsters can deceive the best of intelligent people.
Scully knows Doggett is right, but every cell in her body is screaming for her to move on; to follow the headlight's direction until she reaches its destination. She hasn't felt a pull this strong since that day she was drawn to Pennsylvania and the fiery nightmare that awaited her at the Ruskin Dam Bridge.
That notion brings her speeding thoughts to screeching halt. Throughout this case, she's sensed Mulder's presence and assumed he was on a ship nearby. Could that same ship be responsible for her compulsive behavior? Is Jimmy harnessing that energy and focusing it for his own dark reasons?
All thoughts of ships scatter as a scream rends the air, competing with the noise of the storm. Startled, she and Doggett look at one another to confirm what they heard. Another scream ushers the vision of a bloodied Agent Crane standing between two trees and illuminated by the cruiser's lights. Lacerated hands reach out to them in mute appeal and the face is contorted into a grotesque mask of pain. The apparition lasts only a moment and then melts like sugar in the rain.
"It's a trick," Doggett says bluntly.
"Yes," she acknowledges, but takes off running toward the trees in pursuit anyway.
"Agent Scully!" Doggett calls in warning behind her, but she ignores him completely. Heart pounding in her ears, breath hitching in her chest, she stumbles forward over the rain soaked earth. She's so concentrated on her goal, that she hears nothing but the storm and sees nothing but the tree line.
Suddenly her right arm is grabbed from behind in a vise-like grip bringing her up short. Nearly pulled to the ground by the force, she angrily turns around to face an equally furious Doggett.
"Agent Scully, I said stop!"
"Let go of my arm."
"No, not until you listen to reason."
"I need to go to the house. He's there."
"Crane?"
"No. I can't explain it, but I know I'll see Mulder in there, the *real* Mulder, but not if a hundred troopers are in there with us. I'm going. You can stay here or come with me."
"I can stop you."
"What are you going to do, handcuff me? Toss me into the car until help arrives?"
"Don't think I won't," he answers in a deadly quiet tone.
She knows he's not above doing just that, and it causes her to pause. Whether he'd do it in actuality was another matter and his expression speaks volumes: 'What do you do with a partner hell bent on pursuing something to the exclusion of all else?'
Welcome to my club, she thinks.
Several seconds pass while the storm howls around them. She knows there are a hundred reasons for him to refuse, but his hesitation gives her hope.
"If we do this, you follow *me*, understand?"
"Yes," she says immediately.
"Wait. I want your word. I want your word as an agent and a partner; the same you'd give Agent Mulder."
"What?" she asks angrily.
"You heard me."
A variety of emotions roil through her in response to this request. He's hitting below the belt, trying to elicit an emotional promise to ensure her cooperation. Finding no other option, she capitulates.
"I promise as an agent and partner."
"Good," he says, finally loosening his grip, but not letting her go completely. "Here, take this," he says fishing a large flashlight out of his pocket. He reaches into another pocket and pulls out a Maglight.
The flashlight reminds her that she does need to slow down a little; to prepare better than she has been for what lies ahead. A feeling of gratitude that Doggett is with her, surges through her.
"Thank you."
Taking the lead, Doggett moves toward a rough looking trail and she follows close behind. It seems to take forever for them to traverse the uneven terrain. Between the wind, rain, and clawing undergrowth, their progress is greatly hampered. Scully stumbles more than once, requiring Doggett to lend a steadying arm.
What will they do when they reach the house? She hates dark buildings. How many of them had she and Mulder lurched into only to meet their resident monsters? How many times had they been shot at, stabbed or bludgeoned? Too many times to count, and too many homicidal maniacs to ever keep track of.
Yet here she is again, about to face another murky building that is, quite literally, a haunted house. Malevolent ghosts inhabit its old frame and there's almost certainly a homicidal maniac waiting for she and Doggett to come in.
Honey, I'm home.
As is customary in the X-Files, they'll have to be on their guard for more reasons than the usual ones. Just as she's completing this thought, the woods end and the house comes into view.
She and Doggett pause for a moment at the tree edge, just looking at it. Lightning gives them bright and occasional flashes of its battered exterior. It's old, musty, and vastly different from the visions either have had of it before.
It's large and intact, but hopelessly dilapidated. 'No Trespassing' signs adorn several posts on a rusted chain link fence out front. Someone has evidently ignored the signs because the fence has been pulled up and back to permit entrance to the weed-choked yard.
Windows on the top floors are still boarded up, but the bottom floor windows are free of their wooden prisons. The pristine white paint that once graced its boards has long peeled off, revealing gray and rotted siding. The porch roof has collapsed at one end but the porch swing, 'their' swing, is still attached at the other. It's just as gray as the house and only sways a little in the wind. Rust has made its hinges a solid mass, but the chain apparently still has some give. They can hear its creaky protests over the howling wind.
In the middle is the front door and it's wide open.
"Like breadcrumbs on the trail," Scully murmurs.
"You reckon Mulder's in there?"
"He's there," she says with more confidence than she feels.
"Well, let's go find him."
They duck under the fence and cross to the rotted porch. The steps are surprisingly strong and make no sound as they climb. The porch itself shows evidence of recent repair with new boards shoring the up the old ones from underneath. Scully realizes that it's all hidden; unless someone stood on the porch, they wouldn't see the work.
She loses interest in the porch and fixes her eyes on the porch swing. Up close it's in even worse shape than she thought and experiences a feeling of inexplicable sadness at seeing it in this condition.
"That mean something to you?" Doggett whispers.
"Not to me. To Emma."
"Then it's important to Fischer too."
"Yes."
He gently pulls on her arm, distracting her from the sight. "Let's go."
He approaches the door and motions for her to stay put. Crossing swiftly to the other side, they now flank it. What's left of a screen door is all that's covering the front entrance. It sags with the rest of the house, rusted hinges pulling out of the door jamb.
"On three," Doggett mouths, and Scully nods.
He pulls the screen door open at the proper count and it protests with a squeaking wail. If they were going to surprise anyone, that opportunity vanished with that harsh sound.
Scully follows Doggett into the dark house, heart pounding, muscles tight in ready for a potential fight. The living room is empty and no one is lurking behind the open front door.
They listen for sounds of movement within the structure and watch for any sign that someone is coming for them. After several seconds, Doggett relaxes his stance.
"I'll be damned," he says looking around. "This has gone to hell."
"This isn't the room you saw last time?"
"No. I saw a couch, a table, and a TV in that dream or illusion we had. I thought it was how the house looks now, but it musta been much earlier."
"Looks like teenagers have been coming up here and making themselves at home," she says indicating a mattress and blanket on the floor.
"Or a killer."
"Um," she answers absently.
She moves over by the stairs which look sturdy enough, but she's not sure how much weight they'd hold. Peeling layers of paint partially conceal boards filled with dry rot and the banister wobbles precariously when she puts a hand on it.
She walks past the staircase toward a photograph on the wall that has caught her eye. It's old and faded, but seems recently placed. The frame holds a photo of the living room from years long past; the kind of photo a new owner might take to document a recent purchase. Is the killer trying to recreate the old living room?
Just as she's turning around, her foot encounters something solid. Swinging the flashlight in front of her, it takes Scully a moment to comprehend what's on the floor. The body of Agent Crane lies in a heap under the staircase on a moldering braided rug before her. She bends to touch his neck and finds it pulseless and cold.
"John."
Doggett joins her and a glance at him confirms that she isn't imagining it.
"Dead?" he asks.
"Yes, and for a few hours anyway by the looks of things."
Doggett crouches next to her and pushes apart the sides of Crane's coat. Halfway down, he encounters two bullets holes in the agent's chest. Dark powder marks are visible on the blue shirt indicating he was shot at close range. Pushing the coat further to the side confirms that the agent's gun is missing from the holster and a quick search indicates it's nowhere in the vicinity.
"You think he was another hallucination outside?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know what's real anymore," Scully answers softly.
"We need to check the rest of the house."
"Kitchen first," she says automatically.
"Kitchen?"
"He's there, or has been," she says remembering that the corn fields and electric tower can be seen from its window. The only other room in the house that she's ever 'seen' in detail was in the attic and that belonged to Emma.
"Remember, I'm goin' first," Doggett says.
Scully nods, holding her gun at the ready and shines the flashlight ahead of them.
The kitchen is in the back as it has been in the other farmhouses. Scully thinks viewing the others was just dress rehearsal for this one; *the* kitchen.
With Doggett leading Scully follows close behind. The flashlight cuts through the murk and dust revealing spiders in webs but no other creatures in the hallway.
As they round a short corner into the kitchen, Scully's light flashes on a figure by the sink. She and Doggett check all the corners and behind the kitchen door which is rusted open before cautiously entering the room.
The body of a man is sitting propped up against the cabinet underneath an old sink filled with a disgusting black substance. When Scully and Doggett walk closer and she shines her light on his face and they both pause.
"Deputy Fischer," they chorus.
They both drop down to exam the body. Doggett pushes the sides of the deputy's windbreaker apart, exposing his chest. Again, they are confronted with several bullet holes from a gun shot at close range. As with Agent Crane, his gun is missing.
"Not self-inflicted either," she murmurs.
"This kinda puts a crimp in our theory," Doggett says ruefully.
"Yes, it does."
Neither say anything as they rise and look around the kitchen. Scully is a little more than unnerved and thinks Doggett shares the sentiment. An entirely different killer than the one they envisioned is on the loose and they don't know who that is.
"Is there no one he's come in contact with that he hasn't killed?"
"Us, and I'm keepin' it that way."
She looks up at his face to see it set with grim determination. Say what you liked about Doggett, he was fiercely protective of her and would defend her with his life.
"I hope so, but this man is so single-minded." She bites her lip in consternation, contemplating the many ways this killer could make good on a threat.
"Look, he's doin' the show and tell thing again. He wanted us to see this. He wants us scared."
"He wants me," Scully murmurs, "so he can make the dreams a permanent reality."
"It's beginnin' to look like that. Look, there's no reason to stay here now. Crane and the deputy are dead. There's nobody we need to save. Whoever is killin' people can wait. We can wait for the state troopers to get here."
She notices that he leaves Mulder out of the conversation.
"He could get away."
"I don't think he's goin' anywhere."
Scully knows he's right, but suddenly feels herself drawn irresistibly toward the window that overlooks the back yard. She steps around Fischer's body and leans over the repulsive sink.
She can see a patch of earth that had once been a backyard just outside. More weeds and grasses choke the ground as do several small trees. Portions of it appear to have been cut back so it's more traversable and slate stepping stones have been unearthed and recently replaced.
With the next lightning flash, a figure appears in the center of the yard. He stands immobile, looking back at her through the inky darkness. More lightning illuminates his smooth countenance.
Mulder.
A ghoulish half-grin crosses the face as he raises a hand and crooks a finger in a 'come here' gesture.
She's suddenly turned away from the amazing vision and confronted by Doggett's earnest eyes.
"It's not him."
"But,"
"It's not him. You know that. Think hard."
She blinks several times, barely seeing him; her eyes suddenly distant and glazed over. To her surprise Doggett shakes her.
"Agent Scully!"
Her vision clears and she sees a pair of worried blue eyes staring into hers.
"You looked like you were fadin' out there for a second," he says in explanation.
Whatever she was going to answer is interrupted by the sound of the front screen door screeching open. Before they can react, a gunshot is heard and, a bullet slams into the wall above them a split second later.
~*~*~*~*~*
end part 15
