Salve Mea
X Files: VCU 1x03
By Humbuggie
Copyright 2003


DISCLAIMER: Characters not ours.
ARCHIVE: Yes.
RATING: PG13.
SPOILERS/TIMEFRAME: Set eighteen months after The
Truth.
CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: Post-series, casefile, XFVCU,
MT, angst, profiler, MSR and Skinner friendship.
SUMMARY: The Green Fairy took them away, into a
world where nothing was, as it seemed. Time
seemed to stand still, or move slower at least.
He couldn't grasp that at first, but then he
could. As their feelings became an abyss of
emotional rampaging, there was nothing left for
him to do but enter the void. To be like them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: since my specialty is writing
Mulder/Scully case files, I have put my focus
there.
VIRTUAL SERIES SITE: http://xfvcu.deslea.com
AUTHOR SITE: http://www.sv-tales.com
FEEDBACK: san@sv-tales.com



Yeah, can you feel it? When I get deep, wanna
hear myself sleep,
Not drowning, tumbling around and around in the
voices.
Like a crowd in my head so loud, I wonder what
it's like to be dead
I hope it's quiet, noise in my head like a riot
any remedy you have for me I'll try it.

I'm going deep, so deep that I can't sleep, the
pills ain't cheap but the bills are steep,
Put down the drink, try not to think, let it go,
fundamental movement below
And so, reality is dreaming, just below my skin
I'm screaming...
   -- Faithless, Salva Mea


Prologue

They say that you know when it's over. When
Death, in whatever form it comes, is ready to
pull you out of human life and into the next. The
second your body is ready to perish, to give up
its mortal existence. The instant the pain
endured forces you to capture something else,
than the reality you have known up until now.

They say that there are things out there that can
help a mortal to reach that point where you
almost feel the tethers of death: tools like
drugs, alcohol, or anything artificial that
crumbles away the boundaries of life, and pushes
one towards the edge.

They say so many things and yet, he never chose
to believe anyone. He always thought that he
would hold onto dear life for what it was worth,
and that he'd never give up the sense of reality,
the urge to live and breathe. However that
morning, as he entered their realm, he knew his
hopes and beliefs had never prepared him for
anything like this. Soon enough, he found himself
ready to cave in, to fixate on that which was
always out of reach for him.

It was in the warmth of that room, with its
closed windows and bright colors, amidst the
paintings that seemed to have taken on a life of
their own and the statues that seemed to have
become alive, that he decided to go for it.
Everything he had ever wanted from life meant
nothing anymore in here, and yet he didn't care.

And then there were the mortal anxieties that
somehow became senseless - useless even - after
he had crossed the sea of no more fear and became
the conqueror of monsters. He thought he could
maintain the shadow of who he was. After all, he
was always the stronger one. But the little nooks
and cracks inside his skull became stronger;
enlarged and expanded, changing him into entirely
another man. Even if he had still been sane, he
would not have recognized himself. What he saw
now in the mirror was a reflection of himself.
The hair stood out, the eyes became wide and
wild, the face was distorted. He reached out to
himself and could not.

He had always been a sensible, wise man. He had
built a company, raised a family and had good
friends. He had become rich doing what he loved
to do, using his talents. He was well liked, well
loved and cherished. He had no enemies. He had a
gift. Yet, now all of that no longer seemed to
matter. Now, he had only this.

And then it became clear within the luxury of the
thought, the fantasies that he so cherished, and
the dreams that he'd always wanted to fulfill,
that he needed to be here in this room and with
these people. He'd never felt so alive before.

With one small step, he was where he had always
wanted to be: in heaven. Sheer, utter, pure and
perfect bliss leading into the ultimate
perfection that he had only dreamed of. It could
not get any better than this.

He licked his lips hungrily as he looked up at
the ceiling with the large white cracks in them.
Then he turned to his side, and looked towards
the others who sat in a circle around him. They
watched him anxiously. He delivered his biggest
smile, opening up his heart to those who wanted
him in their midst.

"Perfection," he uttered. "Perfection is bliss."
And he offered his glass to receive more of the
godly drink.

And more, and more. It did not end there. Always
more.

After that, the inspiration came and would not
let him go. He became the best of writers,
penning down the most brilliant words one could
ever have written. He wrote the novels that would
change the world, casting magic with words that
one could only dream of.

He could hardly remember the rough days,
struggling for the publication of that first
best-selling novel. Gone were the days of hunger
and thirst, or praying that someone would publish
his books. Gone were the days of writer's block
when the publishing came, but pressure that the
next book had to be better. Gone was the pure
despair he had so often felt because no one
accepted his talent for what it was, and he
finally had to give in for the commercialization
of his work. Only distant memories remained of
the often- frustrated discussions with his agent.

In this world he wanted to do nothing but write:
To become the next best big literary legend, and
stay in the minds and hearts of people forever.
He'd forgotten about his wife and family, his
friends and relatives. He no longer cared for the
five employees that depended upon him for an
income. They were but a nuisance now.

From now on, the good fortune he craved would
come. The one he had just brought with his last
drop of blood. He would finally become famous. He
would finally have all he had ever wanted.

"How do you feel?" they asked, and he smiled
feverishly, hardly looking up at them, for they
disturbed his eagerness and concentration while
his fingers furiously typed at the keyboard,
burning up from the inside.

"I never felt better," he groaned through gritted
teeth. Then he wrote again, and again, and again.

It was all he could do to encourage the Green
Fairy to return to him. Not ignore or leave him,
but to support him in his eagerness for more. He
sold his soul.

Over and over again.

Until - ultimately - he felt his body collapse.
It could no longer withhold the pressure from
within him. It crumpled down, unable to respond
to the Fairy's powers. Until, ultimately, there
was nothing left but the darkness that came to
them all, sooner or later.

And as his body consumed by flames, he just
laughed, sinking into the blissful darkness and
stifling heat. Finally he knew what it was like
to welcome death. Life had become unbearable
after all.


- 1 -

According to my sources - Skinner's assistant - a
certain Assistant Director was not in a
particularly good mood when he walked into his
office that Monday morning. He was supposed to be
in California right now, enjoying three days of
beach and surf that had lured him with promising
sunny brochures and interesting sights.

I could NOT imagine AD Skinner, the man Scully
and I have worked under for so long, as a surfer
dude. I mean, I thought we knew him from head to
toe. Yet he turned out to be quite a sportive man
who didn't want to be laughed at for his choice
of activities.

Although deep down we wanted - okay, I wanted to,
we didn't laugh.

So, poor Skinner had planned an outing on the
beach. Instead, only two days ago, our beloved
Deputy Director Kersh had found nothing better to
do than to keep his AD at home, forcing him to
take the lead into a missing person's case that
was "subject to affect the entire Bureau if
resolved in a bad manner."

The person missing was Lily McLane, teenage
daughter of Senator McLane, one of the Bureau's
biggest supporters. And without a doubt, one of
the Director's best friends. They were roommates
in the Army, or something along those lines.

The Bureau was used to taking the lead in
kidnapping cases of course, but this one was so
highly profiled that Skinner had no doubt it
would backfire into his face, should it go awry.
The AD was pissed, and with good reason. Of all
the Assistant Directors available, Kersh picked
him out. Better yet, he'd asked for his entire
department to work on the case, including his
favorite agents operating from the cool and
refreshing atmosphere from the Bureau's
basements. Only, Doggett was unavailable, leaving
Reyes alone for the task. And since they happened
to have a few homework-consultants left, guess
whom they called?

I know that accidents are part of the risks
involved in working for the Bureau, but Doggett
being bitten in the cajones by a dog, was not
exactly what I would call a risk of the job.
Serves him right to baby-sit a friend's
Rottweiler. Ouch!

I guess, in the past, we were always the main
reason why Kersh woke up frustrated in the
morning. Why he didn't like board and director's-
meetings, and why he drank coffee with no sugar.
We were probably also to blame for his lack of
good dressing, ugly ties and sour facial
expression.

If all of that's in the past now, I can live with
it.

When Kersh rang up his AD on Saturday afternoon,
in the middle of Skinner's packing, he wouldn't
take no for an answer. "Why can't the VCU do this
one?" Skinner had grumbled. "This is not an X-
File. I don't see what we can do."

"Your agent Reyes seems eager to take it on."

"She doesn't know shit about the case."

"She does now. I informed her. Get your ass in
here, Skinner, call your consultants and work
with us. I won't take no for an answer."

"So why the hell is it an X-File?" Skinner had
grumbled, knowing he had already lost.

"This is not a violent crime yet," came Kersh'
cold reply, "and let's hope it does not work out
that way."

So, as a result, Reyes came to us and informed us
on the case.

Missing girl. Gone a day. Daughter of a senator.
Needs to be found quickly because the senator
funds the Bureau. Blah Blah. Been there, done
that.

"Be sure to use Mulder's capabilities to the
fullest," Kersh had said. "Let's just hope you
won't be needing Scully's cutting skills though."
But this was not an X-File. I couldn't see where
the X-File could have been. Neither could Scully.

She turned to Reyes with a sarcastic glare in her
eyes. "Are the Feds that desperate, that they
need us for this?"

"Just wait and see," Reyes spoke mysteriously.
"I'm sure there's more to it than meets the eye.
In fact, I'm going to have a look around."

The abduction took place on a Friday night
meaning our weekend plans were fucked up. Not
that I minded that. Abductors usually choose
weekends, because they believe the law
enforcement agencies work slower.

Mostly, I resided with Scully at Senator McLane's
house, waiting for any sign of contact or
communication the kidnappers might give us. In
the meanwhile I went through the abduction file
over and over again, finding nothing out of the
ordinary. Reyes watched me, bemused by my
attempts and efforts to find anything X-Filish
about it. I couldn't.

Skinner started fearing for the worst, as he
spoke to me in private on Sunday morning - after
a long, restless night at the house - and asked
me to prepare to work on the case for a longer
time, probably as investigator and profiler. He
confirmed he didn't believe the girl was still
alive. The first twenty-four hours are crucial.
This time, that had already passed. We all knew
the facts: If there was no ransom demand within
twenty-four hours, it was usually a very bad
sign.

Skinner had a double job on this case: he was the
main middleman between the Senator and the
Bureau. On the other hand, he had to make sure
the Bureau was content with the progress. He was
in between a rock and a hard place. The AD knew,
of course, that Kersh would not be particularly
pleased with the lacking results. So on Sunday
afternoon Skinner decided to go the Bureau and
report, knowing Kersh was there.

"What are you doing here, Skinner?" The AD was
not even in his office when the voice of his
direct boss sounded clearly in Kim's reception
area. The AD turned around and found Kersh
glaring at him.

"I'm working," he grumbled and walked into his
own office, throwing his brief case on the table.

"Shouldn't you out in the field?" Kersh demanded
to know.

"We've set up camp at the McLane's. That's all we
can do for now. My team is working on it. I'm
here to request some agents from Assistant
Director Laws. We need more manpower."

"Can't your agents handle this one alone?" Kersh
sneered.

"We have one short with Doggett in hospital."

"But you have the brilliant mind of Agent Mulder
there, don't you?"

"I don't want to be negative here, sir," Skinner
answered through clenched teeth as he settled
behind his desk, "but we can be fairly certain by
now that we might be looking for a body. We have
nothing to go on. Lily McLane was taken on her
way home from art class on a sunny Saturday
afternoon. There is no physical evidence we can
build a case on. No one saw anything. No
witnesses. The forensics have turned up zilch."

"Then you are not looking hard enough, are you?"

I was actually in a way pleased to know that
Kersh has not lost his amazing ability to get two
rocks to crush against each other. I also knew
that Skinner couldn't care less about that. He
had a job to do and he would do it.


- 2 -

"A cup of coffee, Agent Mulder?'"

I could have kissed the woman who offered me
that. I was deadbeat when Senator McLane's wife
Teri stood before me with the cup of hot,
delicious mocha. Despite everything, she'd found
the time to prepare this for us, I thought as I
accepted the steaming cup in gratitude. The china
cup was served on a china plate, delicate and
precious like the woman herself.

The entire house had a feminine touch to it,
which my apartment in the past always missed. It
was gorgeous: decorated with authentic art such
as china statues and vases from their governor
years in Hong Kong, artwork from their governor
years in Czechoslovakia, and beautiful work from
Russian artists that they'd picked up for next to
nothing on Moscow markets. Tasteful and expensive
antiques adorned most of the rooms.

The living area was grand with French windows
overlooking beautiful gardens that ran around the
house, and more windows dividing a large and
sunny veranda from the tiled terrace. Terracotta
pots with dozens of plants and flowers stood on
the terrace. Teri McLane had green fingers, like
her mother had before her. She was the one
keeping this house in order, calling it the first
home the family had, had in over a decade.

There was a huge living area with large sofa, a
massive dining room with seats for ten to twenty
people when you opened the French doors, and a
large hallway that lead to enormous bedrooms
upstairs. A massive master bathroom was also
upstairs, while the guests slept downstairs in
beautiful en-suite rooms.

Last night I had slept for three to four hours in
one of those beautiful country-style guestrooms,
while Scully stayed on call. I missed her in my
arms. After we changed guards and she retreated
into another guestroom prepared for her, I had
found myself connecting to our unfortunate
hostess.

Teri McLane was levelheaded, unlike her husband
Charles, who'd basically freaked out big time
when his daughter disappeared. He had always been
the practical one, but the idea that someone
would actually harm his daughter to hurt him -
something he believed from the bottom of his
heart - was too much to bear for such a
levelheaded man. And so she became the glue
keeping the rest of the family together, raising
the questions no one else would ask.

She sensed that both Scully and I were
levelheaded and rational people who knew what
they were doing, but it was me that she chose to
connect to. I had told her about my sister's
abduction during that night, explaining how I had
discovered only a few years back, that she had
been dead for nearly my entire adult life. She
had listened sympathetically, needing to hear
that one could live on, even under such grave
circumstances. It was quite natural to want to
hear that in times of distress, a human being is
stronger than anyone thinks.

I found the abduction a strange matter, as well
as Senator McLane's odd behavior. While his wife
stayed downstairs with us and hoped that someone
would call, he remained upstairs and did not show
himself for nearly a day. When he finally came
down, he showed signs of false cheeriness, as if
he had been taking drugs - which, incidentally, I
believed he had. Teri Mclane was embarrassed by
her husband's behavior.

Secondly, the McLane's were wealthy, but could
not afford to pay millions. Senator McLane
apparently had had several gambling problems in
the past that Mrs. McLane chose to reveal now, to
explain to us why they would not be able to pay
too much. Strangely enough, this was common
knowledge within certain grey zones of our
society.

Professional kidnappers always do thorough
research into their victims and their relatives.
They would know this by now. And as time passed
by, I too came to believe that Lily McLane would
never return home. Perhaps her body would never
be found, but that was something to consider
later. I just did not want to tell this to the
family just yet, hoping and praying that we were
wrong.

I have to admit that the situation was slowly
getting to me. I was not a cop or a crime scene
investigator, who could stick around for hours
waiting and watching for details. I was an
analyst: a field agent who needed to go out there
to learn the facts, to create his conclusion and
to base his assumptions on that. I would rather
have dug into several gardens looking for trails
than to stay here and do nothing. It certainly
felt like doing nothing anyway. All they'd done
was turn the house and backyard upside down, in
search of clues.

But Skinner had told us to stick around and wait.
Always wait. If any call came, we would be
crucial, so he had stated. It sounded like crap
to me. It was early morning when she stood before
me with that cup of coffee. I had not wanted to
rouse Scully just yet, who needed her beauty
sleep more than I did. I could live on four-hour-
nights. Scully didn't.

"Thank you," I said, gratefully accepting the cup
of coffee. She sat down besides me at the large
mahogany desk where we had made our temporary
office. Teri McLane stared at my laptop. I had a
connection to the Internet and had surfed it for
most of the night, after going through the
regular channels, to dig up profiles of missing
teenagers who might have something in common with
Lily.

My impatience finally had me going to websites I
usually wished to avoid: those of the geeks and
nutcases who claimed to be children's murderers
and rapists. They were the gory geeks: the ones
who prided themselves on being horrible, vicious
human beings.


I found nothing that could bring Lily in contact
with any of them. She was not the type to trust a
stranger either. She was, or is, a normal and
everyday clever girl. She had average grades and
was extremely good in art. She was a born painter
and had been taking art classes for the past ten
years, ever since she first took up a brush. She
had enough talent to make it to the top
galleries, if only she was alive to see another
day.

"The rooms in this house are covered with her
work," her mother said when she had first shown
us around. The paintings from her hand could have
been shown in any art gallery. They were
excellent. Even amateurs like us could easily
spot that.

"Can you imagine all the talent gone to waste if
she dies?" her mother had continued as tears
sprung in her eyes and she could no longer
control herself. Her daughter had been gone a
mere six hours then, but it had already sounded
as Teri McLane had accepted the worst fate
possible.

"It would be such a shame seeing her go," the
woman suddenly cried. "She has everything that a
girl wants. She should be at home, eating cake
with her tea and enjoying a good Saturday night
movie. Who knows where she is now."

Now, almost two days after the disappearance, the
chances of recovering her quickly were gone. And
all we had were the accounts of her friends.
Those gathered together, they proved that the
girl had vanished between three and three-thirty
in the afternoon, as she walked from the bus stop
to her house, less than half a mile down the
road. Her car had broken down the day before, so
she had been forced to take the bus when she
returned from art classes. The bus driver was the
last one to have seen her. He had waved as he
passed her after leaving his stop. She had waved
back.

Now, we sat together in silence as Teri McLane
pressed her hands around her cup of tea, and
stared sadly at me. I wished I could have said
something to comfort her, but I could not. What
could I say, when I believed strongly we would
soon be resolving a murder case?

"Please tell me the truth," she begged of me.

"Yes," I confessed wearily. "I think she is
dead."

"Thank you." She placed her hand on mine. "Thank
you for your honesty."

Oh, how I wished I weren't there. I know it
sounds selfish to say so, but I had gone through
this before. More times than I cared to recall,
the twisting pain in my gut reminded me. We had
resolved missing children's cases before and
almost all ended up badly. I wished that Kersh
had not asked Skinner to take this on. I really
wished we were chasing little green men right
now.

I could not stare into that woman's sad eyes and
feel my heart sink. I wished I could go after
whoever did this and make them pay for what
they'd done. I wished I could create miracles. I
wished that people would stop killing children.

"I wished you could go out there and find her
body for me," Teri McLane softly spoke, as if she
could have heard my thoughts.

I blinked my eyelids. "What makes you say that?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You have this eager
look to go and find the bad guys. You want
revenge. You think she's dead because they didn't
ask for ransom money. So they must have raped and
killed her."

"As long as I don't see a body, I believe that
she is still alive," I spoke weakly, not
believing my own words. "I know that sounds crude
but it's the truth. There is hope and I won't
give up until we find her."

"What do you think happened to her?"

"She ran into the wrong people. No more, no
less."

"This is a good neighborhood, Agent Mulder. A
safe one. We moved here because we thought it
would be good for our family. Now she's been
taken here where she should have been all right.
How can I ever change that? All this sense of
false security has destroyed our family. I had
one daughter and now she is gone."

I didn't know what to say. I wished I could have
done something else to comfort her but we could
not get too close. We weren't allowed to. We
needed to go through this in the most
professional way, providing help as objectively
as we could. But I couldn't help myself as the
woman came closer, and practically threw herself
in my arms. I reacted. I embraced her and
comforted her, telling told her it would be all
right.

As I looked up, I saw Scully. She had the same
look in her eyes as I had.

A look of anger.

At that moment, Monica Reyes walked back into the
house and asked if she could speak with us in
private. The look in her eyes betrayed what I had
feared for a long time.

We never stood a chance, did we?


- 3 -

Around noon Skinner came back to the house, and I
knew it was all over. He told us first and then
we had to tell the family.

Senator McLane stood up shaking, staring at us as
if we had gone crazy. Teri McLane grabbed my hand
for comfort, eager to feel a bit of human sanity
that she couldn't find with her husband. I didn't
pull back and ignored Skinner's stunned glare.

It was my partner who brought the bad news as
Mrs. McLane squashed my hand.

"They found a body," she began.

"No."

"They think it is Lily."

"No!"

"They found her bag and clothes nearby. The body
is -"

Scully stopped, glancing at me. I couldn't say it
either. Neither could Skinner.

Teri McLane turned away from Scully, throwing
herself into my arms. I froze at first, but then
comforted her again, as I had done that morning.
Her husband just stood there as still as a rock.
They had no other relatives to support them, just
acquaintances. Not even friends. They only had
each other, and he preferred to stuff cocaine up
his nose instead of supporting his wife.

I could have killed him too.

I swore right there and then that I would not
leave this be.

Never.


- 4 -

"I want this case!" I hissed as I knocked hard on
Kersh' desk.

The man, who called himself Deputy Director,
responded loudly, eager to tell me off.

"You're not going to get it, Mulder. This is a
case for the VCU, now that we have found her
body. We hoped you could profile the killer and
you didn't deliver. You weren't able to do so."

"There wasn't a killer before today. Just a
missing girl. There were no traces, no signs, no
anything. How can you expect me to help you when
you have nothing to go on? Your people didn't
find her either, did they?"

"It's over. We'll find her killer ourselves."

"Then what was the use of calling us in the first
place?"

"I was hoping for a miracle."

I laughed sarcastically. "She died the night she
was taken. I guess she never had a chance. Some
miracle hey?"

To my surprise Skinner never uttered a word, as
he balled his hands and clenched his teeth. This
was not what we were used to. It felt as if we
were on our own again, and wouldn't get what we
wanted. However, the subsequent talk with Reyes
shed a little light on the case. Now we knew what
we were looking for.

I was angry.

"Go back to your Bureau-less life, Mulder," Kersh
continued, making my name sound like a curse.
"You shouldn't be bothered." I leaned forward
with my hands Kersh' desk, sensing I was winning
the battle.

"With all due respect, sir, but you gave us this
mess in the first place. Now you are going to let
me solve it. It's as easy as that."

"Don't tempt me to throw you out, Mulder." Kersh'
eyes narrowed. "Why would you feel responsible?
Like you said: the girl was long dead."

"She didn't deserve to die like that. I want to
know who did this to her and why." I scrambled
for an excuse, and found one. "The body was
burned to a crisp. Agent Reyes has seen this
before, in the Garber case," I said, though I
didn't think for a moment they were related. "She
believes that there's a cult involved and that
means that, as a replacement department head, she
has the right to ask for outside help. Meaning:
us."

Kersh leaned backwards, surprising us as he
suddenly and visibly relaxed.

"If you can use that fighting spirit of yours to
a good cause, then go for it. I'll make sure you
have access throughout the Bureau."

I didn't know what to say, unable to thank the DD
for what he'd just done. I knew I was walking on
thin ice but I didn't care at this point. I
couldn't forget Teri McLane's devastated
expression when she learned of her daughter's
death. That hollow look in her eyes needed
rectification. Justice.

Scully closed the door behind us and stopped me
in the small, empty reception area before Kersh's
office. I looked at her sadly, but resolute.

"Mulder, are you sure you want to do this? You're
obviously too emotional about this case."

"No, I'm not," I responded calmly. "I'm just
very, very angry."

"I know. So am I. But threatening Kersh will not
help us. He still runs half the Bureau."

I took a deep, steadying breath, finally
admitting my own little theory about this case.

"He knew the girl would turn up dead, Scully," I
began slowly. "He knew before we were even
assigned."

"What?" She opened and closed her mouth, not
understanding.

"Why else would he have assigned us in the first
place, Scully? This wasn't an X-File, and by his
own admittance, he knew there were plenty of good
men out there, who could have done a better job
in case of a real kidnapping case. They were
equipped to negotiate with potential kidnappers.
We're not. That is not our expertise. And let's
face it; we just sat there, didn't we? I couldn't
make a profile, with nothing to go on, just
speculate. I couldn't do anything."

"What are you suggesting then?" she asked in
wonder.

"Charles McLane is an old friend of Kersh. What
if the father had something to hide and wanted
his FBI-pal to solve the problem for him? What if
he had something to do with his own daughter's
disappearance and panicked? Kersh would have
wanted to stall for time until they found the
body then."

"Are you implying that McLane might have killed
his own daughter?"

"It's been known to happen. He is a coke-addict,
Scully, a gambler, and not exactly a good
senator. I don't care how much funding he's
raised for the FBI so far. We were there as a
decoy, waiting for something to happen. Charles
McLane knew she was dead. I could see it in his
eyes."

"Then why would Kersh agree to sign you on the
case now? He would know how eager you are."

"Perhaps he ultimately just wants the truth
revealed. He needs us for that."

I rubbed my eyes, tired from two nights with
hardly any sleep.

"I don't know, Scully. Maybe I'm just grasping at
straws here, but there is something very wrong
about this case. We were sitting there for two
days in that woman's house while there was hardly
any effort going on to really look for the girl.
I know that Skinner only executed Kersh's orders.
But we could have done more - a lot more."

"Let's ask Skinner then," she proposed, just as
our boss left Kersh's office and wandered somber
towards us.

"Don't ever piss off Kersh like that again,"
Skinner suddenly hissed at me. "You've bought
yourself three days to solve this. Then you're
out again."

"Wait." I stopped our boss by grabbing his
sleeve. Skinner glared coldly at me, returning
the sudden tension between us.

"Let go of my arm, Agent Mulder," he ordered me.

"Why did you do nothing but wait?' I blurted out,
angry at his outburst. Angrier at myself for
listening to him in the first place. 'You should
have told Kersh to go to hell."

"I did all I could. Are you questioning my
orders?" I watched the muscle in his jaw twitch
with annoyance.

"Perhaps I am, sir. I'm not used to you sitting
on your ass, waiting for instructions."

"I did nothing wrong," Skinner hissed angrily.
"If you imply that I didn't do all I could to
help that girl, you are mistaken, Agent Mulder.
Don't piss me off like you've already done Deputy
Director Kersh. It's me you work with on a daily
basis, not him. I never want to hear you speak to
me like that again. Got it?"

Skinner stalked away from us, leaving me
absolutely stunned.

"Now tell me if this is normal," I whispered to
my partner.

She just shook her head.


- 5 -

I had never known the VCU to be anything but
crowded, noisy and over-busy. A long time ago, I
had started my career here, eager to work as a
Federal Agent, in desperate need to search for
some sort of penance for losing my sister; and to
use the resources to try and find her. It was
only after that, when i met The Gunmen, that I
knew there was more to life than what we could
see.

That was the beginning.

It all seemed such a long time ago. So much had
happened. Scully and I had shared so much, and we
only had him back just now. It was hell being
away from him all this time, not watching him
grow up. Not seeing his first steps, hearing his
first words, seeing what he saw and grasped with
his little fists. I have to consider him now,
every day, even when away from us, in Maggie's
loving care.

In the end, it doesn't even matter. I'm still
here. Still a member, somehow. I have not lost my
mind, my thoughts and my beliefs. That, in the
end, no one has been able to take away from us.

But I missed the Bureau's bustle and clatter.

Here at the VCU, the teams were larger, more
organized and working on intense cases that
required a lot of manpower. Here they sought out
serial killers: rapists and murderers, pedophiles
and worse. They dealt with the scum of the Earth.
They knew one's profile inside out.

That, I did miss. The profiles I created now were
often unusable because of the nature of our
cases. Often we deal with scum too, but in an
extraordinary manner. The X-Files were of a
totally different caliber. Although I would never
reconsider my choice, I loved what we had built
up, and more than that, I loved Scully. Even
after ten years, I still didn't mind the comments
made behind my back. I would probably die bearing
the Spooky-nickname. Hell, someone would carve it
into my tombstone.

"Agent Mulder."

Reyes came towards me. "Come with me," she said.
"Where's Scully?"

"Dissecting."

"Lovely. Let me introduce you to Agent Moore. He
ran the investigation to the abduction of the
girl."

"We met at the house."

"Good to see you again, Agent Mulder. It seems
that we need to establish a profile now. But let
me first show you a few things that have become
clear to us this morning. It seems that the case
of Lily McLane was not the first one with similar
circumstances."

"I know," I said.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Agent Reyes has explained to me you are thinking
in the direction of a cult."

"Yes, even though I'm hoping that we won't have
to go that far. Have a seat. Coffee?"

"Thanks."

"Your colleague has informed me that you also
have your suspicions regarding Senator McLane?"
Moore asked after closing the door. I liked him
instantly for his candidness.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"His behaviour. His reactions. The way he
responded to his daughter's abduction and
subsequent death. He didn't take the time to
discuss anything with us. He didn't seem eager to
do anything. Like he knew the outcome already."

"A grieving man."

"A coke-sniffing, grieving man."

"Says who?"

"Say the rumors."

"Since when do you base yourself on rumors,
Mulder?"

"Since I know they are true. Agent Moore, we know
what drug addicts are like and how you can tell
the symptoms. I saw it in this man's eyes."

"So what if he sniffs a line now and then? Does
that make him a killer?"

"No, it makes him a liability towards his family.
What if his daughter was murdered because he
couldn't pay off his debts? He is known for that
huge hole in his pocket. No doubt he has certain
stakes at the Hill to maintain his position
there. I'm fairly certain we haven't seen the
whole picture here."

"Then what about the cult-theory? The fact that
more people have disappeared and been found in
the same manner?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps they did a copycat trick."

"Beware of what you say, Agent Mulder. By
tomorrow someone will have printed this in the
papers. This case is sensitive enough as it is.
By tomorrow, the wolves will be at their doors
screaming for a resolution. It will be spread
like wildfire all over the newspapers."

"I want to learn about your findings," I said
firmly. "Then I'll be able to base a profile with
them."

"Okay." Moore shifted seats and came back with a
file at least an inch thick. I startled.

"Over the course of two years, several severely
burned people have turned up, scattered all over
the East Coast. Going from Washington to New
York, to Boston and around various suburbs and
smaller towns, these victims varied in age,
gender and race. They had nothing in common save
one thing: talent."

"Talent?"

"Yes." Monica replied for Moore. "They were very
talented and had their futures in their hands.
Lily McLane was a very good painter who could
have gone anywhere she wanted with that talent,
had she been able to concentrate on anything but
her paintings. I'm certain her parents didn't
tell you, that she was also a drug addict, and a
very difficult young woman. Her paintings are
already collector's items as we speak. Within a
few years, they will be priceless. Her death
already made her a martyr. No one cares about the
addiction anymore."

"I thought she was an innocent?"

"Only because her mother didn't know she was an
addict. Her father put her up to it. Lovely guy,
hey? They hid it for the mother for the past year
or so. Senator McLane admitted as much when he
was questioned before you came in the picture."

"Are you saying she might have been killed, so
her paintings would be worth zillions in a few
years?" I asked.

"It could be a possibility. Don't forget that art
brings in more money than drugs do. Go to any odd
gallery or auction, and you'll find pieces of
work that only the richest collectors can afford.
Most artwork goes into private collections. Some
are purchased by galleries. This trend has become
stronger over the past years. Lily McLane had
already been named as one of Washington's
upcoming talents. Someone might have known that
and killed her for it. Perhaps someone owned a
number of paintings by her."

"What does this have to do with the other
victims?" Mulder asked.

"The problem with the other bodies was that they
were scattered all over the East Coast, and were
found in a course of the past three years. The
connection is difficult to establish, but I
believe that it's there. I had background
information dug up about them. They were all
talented in their own way and upcoming, or
already established talents: painters, writers,
poets, and sculptors. All of their work has gone
into the market for amazing prices after their
deaths."

"Honestly, I think we are looking at a organized
art cartel who wants to earn quite a bit of money
in a very short time," Reyes concluded. "That's
what I found out while we were waiting for a
result. The moment I learned she was very gifted,
I knew she would turn up dead."

"They were all burned to a crisp," I said. "What
did previous autopsies reveal?"

"That they burned from the inside."

"We have seen that before. Spontaneous human
combustion? Using bodily fluids as an
accelerant?"

"That could very well be. I'm sure that Scully's
autopsy will reveal something very odd though:
the brains will probably and literally have
melted away. The eyes will be gone. Which, in
regular burn victims, is not normal. The eyes
usually stay intact until the last minute. Here,
it seems as if they have somehow popped out of
the sockets."

"Lovely."

"So, how are we going to go about this?" Moore
asked. "All the murders so far have one other
thing in common: no one saw or noticed a thing."

"Are you thinking of a specific cult?" I asked
Reyes. "You're the expert."

"No. I had no idea about these coincidences until
I spoke with Agent Moore. I have requested to
take over this case as an X-File and go from
there."

Moore nodded. "I agree with that."

I was about to comment when the door flew open
and Scully walked in. She seemed excited.

"I found us a lead," she said.


- 6 -

Have you ever heard of absinth?

Unfortunately, I have.

In the old days, not even a hundred years ago,
absinth was the forbidden, desired drink for
artists and the beau monde. The Green Fairy, they
called it because it offered you a look into the
world of the weird, the sights that a regular,
normal human being would never normally see. It
created images, looks, and visions and made you
feel good. It was the nineteenth century's
cocaine, and now it's back.

"I couldn't extract much blood from the girl's
body, but the little that we had to go on, showed
that she had substance in her system. You were
right, Mulder: she was a sniffler. But she also
used much more than that, and absinth was one of
them."

"How did you come up with that?" I asked in awe
of the woman I love.

"I cross-referenced the blood results with a
number of items and came up with absinth. I
remember reading an article not so long ago, on
how absinth has become very popular amongst the
young crowd in our country. It started back in
Australia where they sold the liquid under the
counter, and it gradually made its way back to
Europe and the US. Absinth is illegal here, but
it is being sold in many exclusive clubs and
high-profiled bars. Unfortunately, the young rich
teenagers can also get their hands on it if they
have the cash for available. It's exclusive and
that means expensive."

"What exactly does it do?" Reyes asked curiously.

"Well, absinth consists of wormwood and a number
of other herbs, causing hallucations. The results
are different for every user. Some say they are
inspired by it to create their best work.
Toulouse Lautrec and Van Gogh were some of the
most notorious users."

"And the latter cut off his ear," I retorted.

Scully pulled a face. "Anyway, the user might
have disturbing dreams, see odd distorted changes
in what otherwise is a normal environment, and
will be out of it for some time. Some of the
heavier dosages of absinth can cause sickness for
a couple of days."

I stood up and paced the room. "Could it cause
spontaneous combustion?"

"No, Mulder. Hundreds - thousands - of people
since the late 1700's, have used absinth. It is
considered dangerous as a drug, but not deadly.
By the way, I think she was a frequent user. The
dosage we found was too high for a one-time
usage, and a lot of it had already entered her
bloodstream. Since she died within four hours of
her abduction, it couldn't have been digested
this thoroughly."

"Yet something triggered the victims to die."

"Victims?" Scully asked. "Was there more than
one?" Reyes gave her the file and told her about
the several other cases scattered over the East
Coast.

"I think this is a first step in the right
direction. It shouldn't be so hard to find out
where they sell absinth in this area to young,
rich kids. It's even promoted on the web," Reyes
said. "That's a good place to start, don't you
think?"

"If she was very gifted and created those
paintings under the influence, certain people
might have known about it," I agreed. "She might
have met someone at the bar. Someone who is out
there looking for new blood."

"So, let's find out."


- 7 -

It proved not to be so difficult to retrieve a
list of clubs that sold absinth. We were then
able to narrow down that list to the clubs that
serve liquor to youngsters under the age of
eighteen, which is, in itself, illegal in this
country. Not that anyone cared really.

"You should know what I've heard and seen in my
search for this list," Reyes explained. "I had to
practically infiltrate to get there. The only way
you'll be getting answers is by pretending to be
one of them."

"Hmmm, I've always wanted to know what it feels
like," I grinned. "Besides, the advantage of
being a consultant is that I don't have to answer
to anyone." Her sharp glare could have pierced
me. Ah well. "Just kidding, Scully."

"You'd better be."

So we dressed up and got moving. Monica took
Follmer to one of the bars on the list. I was
glad he wasn't in our vicinity and that we would
be on our own. That is, with Skinner backing us
up. He insisted on going too, and to be honest, I
kind of felt he belonged to one of those very
exclusive bars, wearing an expensive leather
jacket on top of what was probably quite an
exclusive pair of jeans. He looked like a rich
man, someone who belonged with the cream of the
crop.

Scully and I? Well, actually I tried not to look
like an FBI-agent. I chose my favorite black
turtleneck sweater, also a leather jacket, dark
grey trousers and a new pair of black shoes.
Scully looked stunning in a suit I'd never seen
her in before. A short grey skirt, grey jacket
and black blouse. Very nice. That's why I fell in
love with her in the first place. Her poise,
grace and clothes sense and the way she looked in
them.

Our "stakeout" was called 'The Vintage Bar' and
turned out to be a hypermodern place with lots of
plastics, steel fittings and flashy colors
brightened by more gaudiness like A cross between
Austin Powers love shack, and an industrial style
dominatrix den. The last time I went to a place
like this, was to hunt down vampires as if my
life depended on it. That was ten years ago. Boy,
I was getting old.

The thundering music - did I recognize Rammstein
in there? - made me feel uncomfortable, as did
the dark and clammy, claustrophobic room. The bar
was filled with all sorts of visitors varying
from older drinkers, to quite young. I was fairly
certain that there were lots of minors in there,
even though the signs outside clearly stated that
they wouldn't allow them in.

Skinner sat in the back of the room, pretending
not to know us, sipping his drink. We lingered
around the bar. I tried to spot the Green Fairy,
as absinth is often called. It's a clear green
liquid. I saw a couple disappear behind some
doors. Outside it had started to rain and
thunder. You could hear it beating down on the
glass roof.

Strange place, this was.

The moment I saw another couple sidle up next to
the counter and talk to the bartender in charge,
I knew we were on to it.

"Come on!" I shouted to Scully and pulled her
with me. We walked over to the side where the
chief bartender overlooked the crowd. "I heard
you sell some good absinth," I shouted into his
ear over the pounding music. He peered at me with
a lifted eyebrow.


"Says who?"

"Some friends who are your regular guests. I want
some. I'm willing to pay for the best quality."

He overlooked me. "You a cop?"

I smiled. "No. Cops don't care about absinth."

He smiled back and I knew we were in. "How much
have you got on you?"

"As much as you want."

"Come with me."

We were brought through two metal doors into a
dark hallway, which held at least four couples
playing tonsil hockey and doing much more than
that. Embarrassed, Scully shot me a sideways
glance, rolling her eyes at me. I grinned.

Then we entered another room and there sat at
least ten people, all sipping the Green Fairy.
They used the old method to prepare it, with
sugar - otherwise it would taste unbearable. I
had done my research.

"Wait here."

We stood in the room and looked around. Were any
of these people so talented that they would be
next on the list of kidnappings? Did they come
here for their highs, or did they just want a
taste of another life?

We were then lead into yet another room, where a
man with very blonde hair and fierce blue eyes
stood waiting for us. That deep blue in a
person's eye did not exist in nature; he was
probably wearing special contacts. He almost
looked like an albino. Perhaps he was.

"How much?" I asked.

"Two hundred per glass."

I looked at Scully and dug out my wallet, placing
two large bills in the man's hand. "Give it to
me."

She grasped my arm and stopped me. I smiled at
her. "It'll be okay," I whispered.

We sank back into the pillows of the benches we
were asked to sit on, and I saw how they poured
one glass for me. "How about the lady?" the
albino asked.

"We'll share." I looked at him. "Is it true that
this heightens and enhances natural talent?"

He blinked. "Yes."

"I am curious if it will work for me."

"What is your particular talent?"

"Writing."

"Writing what?"

"Books."

"Anything I know?"

"You should." I melted the sugar on the spoon,
waiting for the substance to become one with the
drink. I was terrified even though I wouldn't
say.

He watched us intently. "Give me your name. I
might have more for you later."

I handed him a card with my name and phone number
on it. "This is my real name, not an alias. I
won't give you that." He bowed, smiled and left.
His companions were still watching us. I knew we
had to take that step forward.

"I'm drinking it," I told Scully.

"No, Mulder!" She hissed and grasped my arm. "You
don't know what this will do to you."

"I have to pass the test. Just watch me and stop
me if I do anything stupid. I see everyone here
drinking it and most of them seem quite normal."

"Didn't you see the hallucinating guy over there?
Or that woman screaming on the top of her lungs?"

I shrugged. Scully looked at me beyond worry. But
she knew I was right. I drank the liquid: could
feel it go right down my throat, through the
esophagus and into my stomach where it rested
like acid. Please, let that be all, I begged
silently.

But then, within a minute, I could feel the
absinth's effects. I looked at Scully and her
face changed form. Her eyes became two blue pits
that I could just sink into. The room tumbled,
twisted, turned, changed colours, became a void,
and became a grave. My breathing quickened like
wildfire.

"Scully."

She grasped my hand and I felt my body fall
backwards, onto the pillows. Then, what followed
was one huge blur of things and distorted images.

The ceiling smiled at me. Faces formed. Places
changed. Absinth grew images within and without
me. A cacophony of sounds. Laughter. Joy.
Despair. I looked aside and saw a woman's beastly
face. She had fangs. Her eyes were a wildcat's. I
touched her but she wasn't there. She was far
away and all I sensed was the electric air
arching around me, sparking up my spine and into
my brain stem.

"Mulder?" I heard a distant amplified voice. I
looked at Scully. She talked but her words came
out in slow motion and from a distance. This was
bliss! I could feel pure happiness rush through
me. Every thought came a thousand fold. Every
movement became exaggerated and out of control. I
lifted myself up from the seat, gliding through
the room like my feet wouldn't touch the ground,
devoid of the sensation of walking. Everyone's a
monster. Everyone's a winner. I was here, and yet
I was not.

"Mulder!" I shook her off me and went for the
door, opening it, pushing myself through into the
corridor. A man opened another door and suddenly
I stood outside, in the rain.

I heard screams. Loud shouts. I found myself
heading towards the noise. I saw the monsters
grasping a woman, dragging her. The albino was
there.

"Hey!' I shouted and pulled my ankle gun; by then
I was running, running, running. I could feel my
body moving, but I was not in it. I wasn't even a
part of it. I was a monster, like them. They
raced off in their car and one man stopped and
turned; he was a monster too. Butt ugly.

There were at least two of them, although I only
saw one of them: they were no contest for my gun
and me. And so I slipped through that alley,
almost falling upside down as my shoes struggled
to find a decent balance on the wet pavement. It
was raining like hell. The monsters came closer
to me. Their shadows a hideous montage against
the wet alley walls.

"Mulder!" That was Scully behind me, wasn't it?
"Stop!"

"Gotta get the monsters, Scully."

Her high-heeled feet made her slower than me as,
she came after me. I wasn't about to listen to
her. I just about recognized Skinner's baritone
voice competing with her desperate shouting,
behind me.

The monsters turned and began to flee. I could
spot them a mile away. This was what I was good
at: chasing the bad guys.

Through the driving rain, I saw the two figures
rush through the backdoor into a restaurant,
smashing the door almost against my nose. I
pulled the damned thing open and rushed after
them, following them through the large kitchen of
a Chinese restaurant, past the hallway and
toilets, into the restaurant itself, where one of
them kicked a chair with a child on it, right
over in front of me. I picked up the chair with
child and all, ignored her bawling, careened
after them onto the main street, to the right,
into another alley in between another restaurant
and a karaoke bar - was that person really trying
to imitate Elvis? - past a bag lady, two dogs and
a hungry cat, onto garbage cans and clambering
over a fence, into another part of the alley with
very bad rotten fishy-smelling huge garbage bins.
To the left we went, through another restaurant's
dirty kitchen, its hallway and main floor, where
a waiter had just lost the contents of his dishes
on his tray where they split up. The smaller one
ran to the left. The other one veered off to the
right. I chose the smaller one, who'd always been
in his partner's footsteps, and rushed over the
main road towards him, yelling "FBI! Stop or I
will shoot!" Past bystanders and walkers we
almost knocked flying, who yelled and screamed,
moved aside as soon as they saw the gun, not
realizing what was going down. I raced into
another alley that looked very much like all the
others, with its dark corners, drifters, dogs,
cats and stinking garbage bins. But suddenly, I
could no longer see the perp, and the alley
turned out to be a dead end, except for one
locked door.

I froze and looked around; holding my gun aloft
ready to shoot at anything that moved, save for
the cats and dogs and drifters. I heard noises
behind me. I swung around to see a shocked
drifter standing nearby. He'd, been foraging in
the bins for scraps. I concentrated on any other
sounds I could hear, but there were none. I saw
nothing but debris coming from the worn-down
buildings; this part of town was more or less a
slum and these places looked set to collapse. The
alley was very deserted and wet. I was soaked
through. Heaving for breath after my mad jaunt
through the crap side of town.

Monsters win for now.

And then, even before I heard the crashing sound,
I saw a huge cascade of that same building debris
coming down in full force on top of me. I felt a
whoosh of cement thick air seconds before it
struck me. And when it came tumbling down, it
struck me hard on the back and shoulders, even
though I threw myself against one of the
remaining walls, diving into some sort of small
artificial cave.


- 8 -

I woke up with the nauseating feeling that
something was terribly wrong. I tried to move,
only to find myself trapped. I lay sprawled
underneath debris: lots and lots of it. I could
detect that strange scent of decay that could
only come from old, abandoned, buildings. I was
still out of my body, still into a place of
strange, careless bliss. I had just blown my
cover, hadn't I? Some cover. Some stakeout. Pain
was still a stranger, or at least I could feel
something, but nothing registered in my pain
centers.

I felt nothing but numbness. There was no pain,
no tender spots, no nothing. My body seemed to be
buried alive and I could feel nothing. Was I
already dead? I couldn't see anything either, but
knew I must have been lying trapped, yet inside
some sort of dusty wet cocoon.

Yet I could do nothing: not even think. There was
just that darkness, and smell that nauseated me
even more with every passing minute. 'Help.' I
heard my own, croaky voice. It was all I could
muster. Pitiful. Other than that, all I could do
was to lie still, the way I had woken up, and
pray that someone somehow would find me. And that
the rest of the looming decayed buildings would
not rein down on my vulnerable position again

I heard something very close to me. It sounded
like a dog. I could hear barking and sniffling
and more barking. Something wet touched my face.
A dog's large raspy tongue. I almost smiled, had
it not been for my predicament.

"Good boy," I groaned. "But I'm not food. Get
help. Help."

After what seemed hours, I heard voices: lots and
lots of them. "Mulder, can you hear us?" the most
welcome and familiar of all shouted.

"Yeah," I groaned, but she did not respond. She
must not have heard me.

"I told you the dog would find him!" another
voice cried out. It sounded like an old man's.
"My Pooch finds anything. Even dead chickens and
rabbits."

I tried to wonder where in god's name one could
find dead chickens in the middle of DC, when
suddenly my legs seemed to be freed. I could feel
the weight being lifted off me. And a voice
shouted. "He's down here!"

They started working around the cocoon of rubble
surrounding my head. I blinked against the sudden
flashlights, as the bricks and crap were being
taken away. My entire body hastily became freed
now. But I couldn't move. I felt like I would
fall apart if I did.

Scully was by my side. "Point that flashlight
towards him but not into his eyes," she ordered
as she knelt by me. I was lying on rain soaked
concrete - so cold! - my chattering teeth hurt
right down to the gums. Covered only by my own
warm winter's coat. Thank god for that at least.

"Mulder, it's me. Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," I groaned wearily. "Thank Pooch for me,
will you?"

She laughed relieved. "You were awake."

"Sort of. I would like to take a nap though. It's
so cold here," I moaned, trying to raise my left
hand. Damn it, that hurt! I could hardly move the
thing.

"Don't move. We need to take a look at you
first."

"Who's we?"

She turned and pointed to at least three police
vehicles, an ambulance and a number of FBI-
vehicles. Monica and Follmer were there. Oh
great. And Skinner was there too. How they did
they get here so fast? Oh wait, I must have been
out of it for some time. Damn it. I was the
center of a sideshow.

"Great," I mumbled, trying to move up. I didn't
want to stay on the cold concrete. "Scully, I'm
fine."

"You just had half a wall over you. It's a
miracle you're still alive. Stay still."

The paramedics were at my side now, while
flashlights kept on going over my body and face.
I hated their scrutiny.

"Let me go," I groaned.

"Mulder, do you realise what has just happened?
You're bleeding all over: your face, your hands,
arms. You've obviously broken your wrist. They
need to check you out thoroughly: inside and
out."

This time I didn't groan, but winced as she
touched my sore - and very swollen - wrist. Okay,
so I was in pain. And yeah, that wrist probably
needed fixing. But like hell was I going to let
them patronize me and keep me in some hospital
for days, while those guys were still out there
doing their thing. No way. Besides, I was still
on my high. My god, if one sip of absinth could
do this to a person, what would happen with a
whole glass. Or bottle? Could one survive that?

"I want to see if the absinth has caused anything
else," she spoke quietly, adding her fear to the
matter. I no longer argued with her; my heart was
pounding out of my chest and I realized with
shock, that I might be hurt more badly than I
wanted to admit. And to be honest: everything did
start to hurt. My legs. My feet. Even my big
toes. And my hair follicles ached. Damn it. Why
hadn't I been more careful?

Every single move they made caused me agony.
Every single step that they took, carrying my
injured body, seemed to hurt me even more. This
was worse than getting shot. Hell, I would take a
bullet to the shoulder at any time now. At least
then one could be down for the count. Now I had
to endure it all.

"Stay with me, partner," Scully spoke gently,
knowing exactly what I was going through. "Just
concentrate on my voice and think of more
pleasant things. It will get better. We've got
you."

I groaned and wanted to tell her for the first
time in my life to fuck off. Instead, I just
delivered her my best attempt at a smile, ground
my teeth and pretended I was in Miami Beach
getting a tan.

Yeah, that sounded pretty good right about now.


- 9 -

"The good news is that you haven't broken
anything more than your wrist," Doctor Williams
came in, preparing me for the worst already. He
wasn't smiling however as he went over to read my
EKG readouts. I looked at him and waited for him
to continue, as the heart monitors picked up
every beat in my chest. Why in the world was I
attached to these monitors? I was fine, wasn't I?
The pain was slowly subsiding, thanks to Mr.
Drug. I was feeling great!

"The bad news is that we're going to have to keep
you here a few nights."

"Eh? Why in god's name?" I heard myself ask with
a shrill voice.

"Your body didn't react well to the absinth. Your
heart is still racing, you are overagitated and
obviously still under the influence. I want to
keep you under close observation. You are a
healthy man, but the type of drink you've imbibed
was enough to send anyone's metabolism through
the roof."

"I just had a sip."

"Good thing you didn't drink the whole glass.
Honestly, I don't see how anyone could endure
that, unless you were a frequent user."

"Okay," I said. "So give me a good comfortable
bed and I'll stay one night. I'll be fine in the
morning."

"We'll talk again then."

"Okay."

Scully refused to leave me alone, and spent the
night lying restlessly on the huge sofa next to
the bed. She declined my offer to spend the night
with my - somewhat broken - arm around her, and
dozed off quickly.

As for me?

I remembered what it was like to drink absinth,
to lose control over everything and to watch the
world from afar. Time stood still there. No one
cared about anything. No wonder people loved it
so much.

I shook the thoughts away and drifted off.

My cell phone rang early morning, waking me up. I
was startled by it, and picked it up tiredly,
only then realizing I had forgotten to switch it
off inside the hospital walls.

"Are you still interested in more?" a voice
asked. It was the albino.

"Yeah," I groaned, with Scully's tired eyes fixed
on me.

"Meet me at the back entrance of the Grand Caf?.
Come alone or you'll get nothing. Don't bring
your lady friend."

"She's interested too."

"I'm not interested in her."

A click and he was gone.

I looked at Scully. "It seems that we're in
business."

"Mulder, he must know you're FBI. You shouted it
for the world to know."

"He'll think I was drugged. By the way, what
about that girl he took? We must help her."

"He didn't take a girl. You imagined it."

"I saw it! Hasn't there been another missing
person's report?"

"Nothing at all."

"But there are still people with him, I'm certain
of it."

"Mulder, you would be his next victim. He would
think you have something to offer."

"We just have to figure out where he's staying,
and if it's his group that's orchestrating this
whole show. I'll be fine," I said.

"I'm coming with you."

"Not a chance."

She knew I would win the argument. I often did.
But I was as terrified as she was. I had
infiltrated once and it had cost me a broken
wrist that still ached when it started to rain,
despite the cast that hugged it. What if I left
with much more than that busted wrist this next
time? I could still feel the rush. It was here,
within me, ready to pick up where it left off. I
knew that anyone could fall a victim to it. I
knew what drugs did to you. I knew what how it
could affect me. My heart had calmed over night
but I was still hyper. My blood surged in
remembrance of the buzz the stuff gave me.

And so I went alone to the Grand Cafe, with the
permission of Skinner and Kersh. They all knew
about it, and they understood that this could be
a way to find the truth. No one else had come up
with anything. Reyes and Follmer had seen nothing
at their stakeout. No other potential suspect had
reacted. And my gut feeling told me it was the
albino we needed.


- 11 -

I don't feel at home in posh places, despite my
father's high status influences; that status and
money could buy any place we wanted in any
location. I never cared much for the
ostentatiousness of it. I preferred a good
homemade pizza and a beer any time. Scully always
teased me about that. "When you die, they'll
write: He loved his ladies, his ball games and
his pizza."

"But he loved his woman and kid more," I added
playfully, with a hint of ruefulness. She flushed
when I said that. Yes, after all these years,
Agent Dana Scully can still blush, thank you very
much.

She was in my mind when I walked into the posh
Grand Caf?, where about twenty to twenty-five
people were enjoying an expensive meal. I walked
over to the bar where the albino was waiting. Now
I knew that he was one: he wasn't wearing his
exotic blue contact lenses today as we looked
into each other's eyes.

"You're not a writer," he said instantly.

I didn't wince. "No."

"Then who are you?"

"A man with money who wants the best he can buy."

"Why did you lie? I don't like liars."

I ordered a Martini at the bar and chewed slowly
on an olive before replying. "Rumor has it that
there is someone feeding the best absinth one can
find to stimulate creativity. I've heard that you
might be a part of the package."

"You don't know me," he spoke slowly. "How did
you find me unless you're a cop? I heard you
shout last night. My men did too. You're FBI."

I smiled. "I'm not a cop. I saw hideous monsters.
I would have squealed anything."

"That was your first rush?"

"Absinth-wise? Yes. I want more."

He looked me straight in the eyes. "What kind of
talent do you have then?"

I leaned forward. "I'm a good judge of character,
and I know that you are going to give me what I
want and need."

He laughed, bearing a set of perfect white teeth.
"I like you, but I don't trust you. If you're
coming with me, it'll be on my terms."

"I can live with that."

"Perhaps there is a use for your talents then
after all." He patted me on the back. "Let's go."

We left the bar, and moved across the street,
into a parking lot where a black van with tinted
windows was waiting. Was this the car used for
the abductions? Had the senator's daughter been
in here? I tried to look around but as soon as
the van door opened, I was pushed in. Suddenly my
hands were tied with a rope - they were careful
with the cast around my wrist - and a blindfold
was placed over my eyes, followed by a hood. This
did feel awfully and uneasily familiar, and I had
to force myself not to start panicking. Oh god,
what had I done?

At least they didn't knock me out. The vehicle
took off and we left the parking lot - I could
hear them slide their ticket through the machine
- and drove through the streets. It seemed to
take forever. I could never figure out where they
were taking me, so I let it happen and tried to
relax.

"Hope you got the money for some serious shit," a
voice other than the albino, said. I didn't
reply.

Finally we seemed to enter some sort of building.
The ambient sounds changed and became hollow, as
if we were driving further and further down some
parking garage. Finally we stopped. The doors
opened, and I was helped out, still bound and
blindfolded. We walked towards an elevator. Then
into a corridor; through a door, then finally
another one. Then a humming sound came towards
me, and I could hear whispering voices, as if
people were chanting something.

The rope was taken off. The cap and blindfold
lifted. I had to blink several times to get used
to the shady room, lit only with candles that
toyed like images of demons on the walls. It all
seemed very flower power to me, your regular
retro hippy cult. In a minute they would start
talking about suicide, I figured. I should feel
right at home.

The people in the room were scattered all over.
Some sat in the far corners and were totally out
of it; some clung to the walls; some sat on the
cold broken tiles to the left; some dreamt out
loud sitting or lying on tables and chairs; some
were downright space monkeys, drooling and
twitching on the floor at imaginary foes or
nightmares. There were at least fifteen of them,
three of which were definitely underage.

Everyone was beautiful. I couldn't use another
word for it. They all had perfect faces, perfect
features, and probably perfect talents. There was
a door leading to a back room with a lock on it.
Ten to one the loot lay in there, I thought
silently. Scary.

The Green Fairy was everywhere. Bottles lay half-
emptied, or empty ones scattered on the floor.
Others stood on the table. Several were filled.
Glasses were prepared for use. The seedy
underground scene. This is how it was: the
bohemians coming together to rejoice their
talents.

"Who are they?" I asked and the albino smiled.
"You should know, since you're FBI."

"I'm not -"

"Don't lie to us, Agent Mulder."

"I was a Fed, I admit it, but they tried to kick
me out several times. I was even canned once.
Unfortunately I need an income and well - I had
no choice, really. But I can say in all honesty I
am not highly regarded."

"So your reputation still sticks on you, hey?"

"So you spoke to the Senator, hey?" I dared
saying, knowing I had gambled and lost.

He smiled. "Of course. He's a good client. Loved
to talk about his daughter whom he had a certain
- let's say - special affection for. She was
special indeed."

"So absinth kills them?"

The albino paled. "No, it's our extras that kill
them. A herbal extract so strong it multiplies
the absinth tenfold; bringing it to such heights
that it destroys the brain and the body from
within. But it's an unfortunate necessity to
bring out that special gift they all have."

"So you can sell off their work years after they
have died."

"It's my investment for the future. My talent is
to pick out those who are special. It's always
been my job and a personal hobby, seeing as I was
considered 'special' too from the day I was born.
I discovered the strength of absinth by chance,
as I became a frequent user myself. It's a
perfect feeling, Agent Mulder. You felt what
regular absinth could do to you already. Now
imagine this, times ten. You should try it. It
takes you to the most exquisite higher levels and
beyond. It creates the perfect world for you to
work in, to become the ultimate perfectionist and
performer. Perhaps there's an artist hiding away
inside you after all. And in worst case scenario,
you will just die."

"I think I'll pass."

"Please, I invite you to try it."

I stared at the wine glass filled with special
absinth, hoping Scully and co. had at least tried
to track the van. God knows there were enough of
them out there.

I knew what would come next: the visions, the
nightmares and then the ultimate dreams. I would
easily get hooked into it, as they all did. If I
lived to see another day.

I almost wished I had taken up Scully's insisting
offer on being wired, but I had not, knowing they
could frisk me at any time. This was too
important.

"No thank you," I spoke friendly. "I think I'll
pass."

"Drink it. I must insist"

"No."

The albino hardly nodded. I was grabbed from
behind by his monkeys, my face was shoved
upwards, my mouth unceremoniously prized open. I
knew I couldn't do a damn thing. Okay, the
cavalry really should show up by now!

The liquid poured down my throat like a thick,
greasy fluid. No sugar to hold it down this time,
nothing to sweeten its taste. This was the poison
I felt going inside of me, burning and choking in
my throat.

"It's a rush," the albino whispered nastily,
before they let go of me and I dropped to the
floor.

I couldn't move anymore. And then the walls came
at me, the ceiling swayed and danced and then
turned pitch black, whilst the room seemed too
small. Inside my head I could feel a desperate
struggle ongoing. My brain wanted to explode, to
escape its human boundaries, to explore new
universes. My body was powerless but my brain, oh
god, it was working a zillion miles per hour.
Everything I had ever remembered, everything I
had ever done came back to me. The memories came
and took me to unseen worlds, high above the city
and into the blackest night.

Then I fell. Deeply, crashing down onto the
pavement of the city, and staying down for the
count. I crawled up, staring dazed at the dark
ominous streets. Why did I suddenly feel so
alone? So endangered?

I wanted to escape these frightening new visions,
and return to the rush of happiness I had
experienced seconds before. I turned and started
drifting away from the alley of my nightmares,
and somewhere down the line, I knew what my
talent was: Remembrance.

Somebody save me please.

"Hello!" I shouted. "Help me!" Nobody responded.
I shook my head, trying to get my mind to wake
up. Nothing. "Help me! Help!"

Then the world started to tremble beneath me.

This was not a pleasant place anymore. I was
descending into hell. The pavement crumbled
underneath me, throwing me into a pitch-black
world, then hurling downwards into the freezing
void.

Make it stop, someone!

But the most heinous monsters had not come for me
yet, but suddenly, there they were. Rushing into
me, trapping me, crushing me, taking me, and
ripping apart my flesh and bone, leaving nothing
in one piece. I screamed.

The albino. I saw him. He smiled.

"Your talent is other people's pain. You get that
now."

I could hear doors slam open, voice shattering
like glass, followed by the infinite silence I
was entering, the room turned upside down, the
men taken away. I could do nothing but lie around
in a stupor, hurt, wounded, and unseeing.

Until I saw Scully.

"Mulder?" she asked and her face tenderly locked
onto mine, her lips speaking words I couldn't
understand. I grasped her tight somehow. "What?"
she asked gently.

"Empty my stomach," I whispered. "And tie me
down. I'm in for a ride."

Then followed a blur of medical activity. While
fighting my demons, I was strapped down on a
gurney while they put an oxygen mask on my mouth
and started an IV. I could feel the effects of
the altered absinth go right through me, hitting
me in the face with a sledgehammer.

I saw Scully's face constantly change into a
mixture of monsterlike humanity. She held my
hand, talked about our son and constantly told me
to stay alert. I drifted off several times, but
every time she brought me back. I was very alert
when they put the tube down into my stomach and
emptied all its contents, hoping that not all the
absinth had been digested already. Then I was
treated with medication that I have no idea of
what they used. I had the most bizarre dreams,
the weirdest nightmares and a lot of anxiety. I
heard them talk about heart failure, about
problems, about my brain working overtime. I
begged and pleaded for the straps to be removed
but they wouldn't listen.

And in the end, I guess I survived.


- 12 -

"Why is it that whenever you are involved in a
case, it becomes much more dangerous?" Follmer
asked wearily, leaning against the desk in
Skinner's office. We were all gathered there,
finalizing the details on our reports. I looked
at him.

"Perhaps I look more closely at places where you
should be looking."

Follmer paled but didn't reply. I looked away
because I wasn't angry with him. I was angry at
myself. I had too many responsibilities now; to
take the kind of risks I have taken so often in
the past. I had Scully and William to consider,
and the life ahead of us.

Two days ago, after spending the most horrid
night of my life in hospital, not knowing if I
was going to live or die from the aftermaths of
the absinth, I had various hallucinations and
dreams of Scully and I. But in every dream she
was my beacon of light, the one who pulled me
through and held me back from the brink, keeping
me grounded. That in itself was once again proof,
that I should not regret reluctantly having
pulled back from the FBI: all that I have
received in return is much greater than that. I
should keep that in mind.

The case is finally closed.

The albino, AKA Robert Henly, has been placed in
custody for a total of eight murders and at least
twenty-abductions. We believe there have been
many more. We were lucky to have found him so
quickly. To have him believe that he stood above
the law, protected by his clientele, which not
only consisted of the senator, but several highly
placed diplomats who are all frequent users. But
in the end, he didn't have anyone in the FBI to
help save his ass. And I was quite lucky to have
found a team that cooperated and tracked down the
van, not letting it out of sight for the whole
trip through town. It just took them forever to
get in there. Monica was shocked at the sight and
scale of the disaster.

"So, what now?" I asked. "Back to consultancy,
hey?"

Skinner smiled and looked at me. He was nervous.
"I know you found my behaviour odd. I -"

"You knew about the senator," I interrupted him.
"So did Kersh."

"Yeah, I did. I suspected it." "So why did you
act like an asshole?" Scully blurted out. Clearly
angry at the non disclosure.

He smiled. "Because I didn't want to get you
involved. I thought it would be too risky to do
so."

"Yet Kersh insisted on it. You didn't stop me."

"Call it a dilemma."

"So you're happy I was on deck again?"

"Of course I am," Skinner said. "No matter where
you're working from, your mind is always here.
Just don't think Kersh will ever admit to that."

"I'll remember that, sir."

"Now get the hell out of here so I can finally do
some surfing."

"Your computer is right there, sir."

"Funny."

We shook hands and Scully and I left the room
after saying goodbye to the others. She held onto
me tightly when we left, and I felt comforted by
her physical presence. Outside, I stretched my
body in the sunlight, letting my vertebrate click
satisfyingly and looked at her.

"I love you," she said softly, and I smiled and
kissed her.

"I love you too."

"So, let's go home."

"Care for a drink?" I offered instead. "A Pisang
Orange? I'm in the mood for something green."

She punched me in the ribs for that, and well, I
guess no less than I deserved. But deep inside of
me, I still feel that rush. The adrenaline boost
lingered on for a long, long time after. And I
know now how it feels to be addicted.

Unfortunately, it feels good.


END