Title: Inn Hell
Author: NedR  

Summary: Mulder and Scully are forced to babysit a newbie agent while
investigating a strange hotel in Boston.

Author's Notes: 
And no, the title is not a typo. Actually, it's a play on words.
Pretty clever, huh?
Anyway, we've all heard Haunted House stories told, with varying
degrees on success, generally ranging from "The Haunting" level (low
end of the spectrum, lots of flashy CGI with little payoff) to good,
quality terror ("Rose Red," which used little CGI but still managed
to terrify even me . . . somebody who doesn't scare easily).

Most haunted house stories have certain things in common. Old
building, lotsa extremely unpleasant ghosts who died extremely
unpleasant deaths, brave, intrepid group of people who try to survive
in the house with, like the films they star in, varying degrees of
success (using "Rose Red" as an example, ranging from Pam, the first
one to go, whose zombie was used as a tool to bait and creep out
other people, to Steve, who not only managed to escape with no harm
done to him at all, but also blew up the ghost of a relative of his).

Beyond that, there are a wide range of different stories available,
some humorous (intentionally or unintentionally) some deeply
disturbing, some filled with pointless gore, some a bit romantic, and
some just really bland (the majority of the latter being thought up
at a board meeting by old white guys in suits wondering what the
"not-rich people" want, and how they could create a generic template
for it).

But, the fundamentals are never, under an circumstances, changed.
Twisting the two golden rules would be like hiring a pacifist as a
mafia hit man. Or would it?

Now, I'd like to warn those of you who consider yourselves hardcore
"Shippers" . . . this little piece of fiction is NOT going to include
any kind of blatant Shipiness that many fics have on this forum (that
includes any extremely descriptive physical indications of passion).
In the grand tradition of the X-Files of yore, I may hint at
Shippiness, but I'm not going to go crazy.

Another warning: There is one situation where I do tend to go crazy
with something else, and that's gore. I keep a copy of Gray's Anatomy
handy, so watch out, because I enjoy facing our dynamic duo against
disfigurations, decapitations, dismemberments, burnings, slashings,
bruisings, contusions (just another word for bruisings), beatings,
poundings, zappings, pokings, rippings, woundings, scabbings,
lobotomies, disembowelments, organ removal with non-sterilized
equipment, disease, bad hair days, and, in Scully's case if I'm
writing in you-know-which time frame, the occasional nose bleed (Holy
nasal lacerations, Batman!).

Another thing: if you have some kind of disgust, disapproval, hatred,
or fear or people who use a lot of parentheses, just skip over
anything I write when I'm not writing the fic itself. You've been
warned.
 
 ~*~*~
Deutschotel 
Boston, Massachusetts 
December 19, 1997 
9:02 PM 
Harry Denton set down the receiver, and sighed, rubbing his face
wearily. His work was never done. Somebody had just called down from
the fifth floor, complaining about a very loud movie playing in the
room across. Over the phone, Harry had heard loud, muffled
explosions, and somebody with a British accent (probably Pierce
Brosnan) saying droll little punchlines to those he bravely
dismembered.

Denton took the service elevator up to the fourteenth floor
(technically the thirteenth), and walked over to room 1408, where the
noise was coming from. He knocked on the door, and the only response
he got was some crazed villain yelling "I'll get you, Bond!" Sighing,
Harry knocked again. Once again, no response.

Probably some business executive passed out on the floor, Harry
thought. There was a big convention going on that evening, with a lot
of alcohol consumption. The downside of being one of the best luxury
hotels in the country since 1974. It didn't have as much "history" as
some of the other big names, but then again, it did have enormous
suites, great views of the city, smiling staff, excellent
restaurants, shops, bars, gyms, and pools on the ground floor,
Pay-per-view, and a Playstation in all of the "family friendly"
rooms.

No answer on the third knock. Harry sighed, and slid his "skeleton
card" through the slot near the door. A skeleton card was an
all-purpose key card that provided access to all the rooms. Of
course, only staff members had one.

Cautiously, he stepped in, and looked around. 

"Sir?" he called out weakly. 

"Oh, James," a very attractive woman sighed. 

Harry shut the door, and peered into the living room. The TV wasn't
on in there. That left the bedroom. He looked in, and jumped. The TV
was on, and on the floor, was a congealing trail of blood. A balcony
led outside the room, and provided an excellent view of the city.
Ignoring the TV, Harry slowly approached the balcony, and screamed.

Whoever had been staying in that suite now had his foot jammed in the
railing of the balcony. His foot was twisted so that the white of a
bone poked through his ankle. He was dangling upside down, and from
his slit throat, blood trickled onto the balcony one floor beneath.
Nobody on the streets below seemed to notice him.

The man suddenly moved, and then began to pull himself up onto the
balcony. Grinning, he approached Harry, and removing a kitchen knife
from his pocket, slapped it in Harry's hand. Harry backed away, and
still grinning, the man leaned forward, impaling his throat on the
knife. Harry screamed again, and blacked out.

The next day, Harry was found in the room gibbering madly, with a
bloody knife in his hand. The body was found exactly as Harry had
found it.

One bloody fingerprint was pulled off the television. On the power
button.

According to forensics, Harry had killed the man, then turned the TV
off.
 
   ~*~*~

FBI Headquarters 
Washington DC 
December 22, 1997 
9:46 AM 
The door burst open, and Mulder snapped awake from the semi-dozing
state he had been in for the last three hours. His feet fell off the
desk, kicking off several papers, and he nearly fell of his chair.
Two pencils recently jammed into the ceiling dropped on his head.
"Sorry I'm late," Scully said, walking into the room with two cups of
Starbucks. "I got stuck in traffic. Coffee?"
"Please," Mulder replied, and gratefully accepted the cup. He got it
down in three gulps, and tossed it at the wastebasket, missing by a
few inches. Then he carefully readjusted his chair, picked some
papers off the floor, and looked at Scully.
"New case yesterday," he announced, arranging the papers on the desk.
"I got it just after you left."
"Mulder are you okay?" 
"Huh? Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" 
"That was scalding hot coffee." 
"Yeah, I noticed." 
"Have you been here all night?" 
Mulder shook his head, and made a poor attempt at lying. Scully
sighed.
"What've you got?" she asked. Mulder slid the case file across the
desk.
"Three days ago, a Harold Denton, an employee at the Deutschotel into
Boston, was found in a customer's room. The customer, Caunchey
Gardiner, was dead, his throat slid, and dangling off of the balcony.
Harry had the bloody knife in his hand. He was sitting on the bed,
and babbling about James Bond."
"You think the ghost of Ian Fleming tried to frame this man for
murder?"
"No, but get this: the room number is number 1408." 
There was a long pause. 
"And that's significant because . . ." Scully began. 
"The hotel, like many hotels, did not have a thirteenth floor. That
would make floor number fourteen the thirteenth floor, technically."
"Mulder, there are dozens of rooms on any given floor in a hotel that
big!"
"Well, there's more. There are some . . . oddities about the murder."

"Such as?" 
"The man next door in 1407, Bob Denby, claimed he had called for room
service, complaining about a very loud movie being played in the room
next to his. The movie was 'The World is Not Enough'. Denton was sent
up to ask Mr. Gardiner to turn down the volume."
"And instead, he snapped, killed the man, and turned off the TV,
according to this file. How, exactly, is this paranormal?"
"The angle that the knife entered the throat is all wrong. It's
almost as if Mr. Gardiner leaned forward on the knife. There was no
sign of a struggle, and there are a few other oddities as well."
"Such as?" 
"Well, the file says Gardiner was killed in his room, then dangled
off the balcony. How does a skinny little ninety-eight pound man like
Denton drag a two hundred and sixty-six pound man like Gardiner onto
the balcony, and dangle him off?"
"Accomplice?" 
"Do you know killers like Denton to work with accomplices?" 
Scully greeted this with silence. 
"Besides which, Scully, you're an intelligent person. Where have you
heard the name Chauncey Gardiner before?"
"I don't know, Mulder, where have I?" 
Mulder turned his computer monitor around. On it, was a window
showing Amazon.com.
"Book shopping on the FBI servers?" 
"Not exactly. See that book? It's 'Being There', by a man named Jerzy
Kosinski. The main character is-"
"-Chauncy Gardiner, I know. So this man was traveling under an alias,
what does that prove?"
Mulder grinned. "It gets weirder."
 ~*~*~

Scully rolled this over in her mind. "Weirder," she repeated. "How
much weirder?"

"Much weirder," Mulder replied. "It turns out our John Doe, AKA Mr.
Gardiner, is actually Milos Grapa, former bodyguard and hit man for
Carmine Falcone."

"The untouchable 'Roman'?" 

"Right. He's been operating as a huge mafia boss in Boston for years,
but the DA down there has had him down in court dozens of times with
no result."

"So what was he doing with an alias?" 

"I dunno. Trying to pop somebody in the hotel?" 

"Any ideas who?" 

"One. Vincent Maroni, the Roman's rival for control of Boston.
Problem is, he went missing three years ago, and was eventually
pronounced dead by his family. Once again, Falcone went to court, and
then not only got out, but managed to sue the PD for false arrest."

"So you think he's dead, and his ghost is haunting the hotel." 

Mulder grinned. 

"And he's taking control of bellhops and forcing them to kill,"
Scully continued. Mulder's grin grew wider.

"Mulder that's preposterous! Maroni probably faked his death so he
could disappear, and was found in the hotel by Falcone!"

"If he was going to disappear, why stay in the same city where his
former self lived for three years?"

"Because that's not what people would expect." 

"You're reaching, Scully." 

"Mulder, it's almost Christmas. I have gift wrapping to do, letters
to respond to, and my family's going to expect me to be at my
cousin's house in Seattle in two days! I don't have time for this."

"Look, all I ask is one night. You'll be out on the morning of the
twenty-third."

"One night?" 

"One night in 1408. Oh, and by the way, there's something I forgot to
mention."

"What's that?" 

"What's one plus four plus zero plus eight?" 

"Thirteen. Why?" 

"Room thirteen on the thirteenth floor. Our witness, Denby, claimed
he heard the TV go off at around 9:04. Nine plus four is thirteen as
well. Seems like that was a night for bad luck, don't you think?"

Scully sighed. "You're reaching, Mulder."

 ~*~*~

Deutschotel 
Boston, Massachusetts 
December 22, 1997 
8:05 

"Fox Mulder," Mulder said, leaning over the desk. The clerk stared at
him blankly.

"Your real name, please," he said. Mulder sighed, and took out his
driver's license. The clerk jumped.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Yes, let's see . . . aha. You have room 1408." The
clerk leaned in towards Mulder. "You're in luck," he muttered. "The
view from that room is extremely romantic. If you bring her to one of
the nicer restaurants in the lobby, then . . ." The clerk grinned,
and gave Mulder the thumbs up. Mulder looked around to make sure
Scully hadn't heard, then, just to humor the clerk, he returned the
thumbs up.

Mulder and Scully were led to their rooms by a bellhop bringing along
their bags.

"Mulder, why is it everybody assumes we're involved on cases like
this?" Scully muttered.

"What makes you say that?" 

"I overheard the clerk." 

Mulder nodded uncomfortably. "Right . . ." he said. "That. Well, at
least it gives us a cover."

They got to their room, and began to unpack. 

"Mulder?" 

"What, Scully?" 

"There's only one bed in this room." 

Mulder nodded, silently repacked, then moved to the futon in the
living room. He unfolded it, and began unpacking again.

"So, what do we do now, just sit around until tomorrow morning?"
Scully asked. Mulder shrugged.

"You realize I think this thing's a complete waste of time." 

Mulder shrugged again. 

"Dammit Mulder, even if you're right, what makes you think there's
going to be another paranormal occurrence in this particular room
tonight?!"

"Because if there is something sleeping here, we're going to wake it
up."

"What?" 

"A good ol' fashioned séance, Scully." 

Scully moaned with terror. "Just don't hire the amazing Yappi," she
said.

 ~*~*~

Deutschotel 
Boston, Massachusetts 
December 22, 1997 
8:17 PM 

Mulder and Scully had ordered room service (Scully: a light salad,
and Mulder: a black angus hamburger), which said they would be there
in a half hour. While they were waiting, Mulder watching "Unsolved
Mysteries", and Scully rereading "Being There", there came a knock on
the door. Mulder walked over to the door, and peered through the hole
to see who it was. On the other side stood a short old woman with
long, ragged gray hair, a crazed look in her eyes, and several layers
of robes, of all shapes, sizes, textures, and colors.

"The medium's here," Mulder announced, and opened the door. The old
woman burst in, pressed her face against the nearest wall, and began
shouting.

"It's here!" she cried. "The presence is very strong! There was a
violent death . . . VIOLENT! He's crying out . . . he wants revenge!"

Scully ran into the living room and stared at the old woman, then at
Mulder with a look he thought was intended to turn him into a block
of ice.

"Uh, Scully, I'd like to introduce you to Madam Mysterioso," Mulder
said awkwardly. "Er, Madam Mysterioso, Special Agent Dana Scully."

Madam Mysterioso turned, now the picture of composure. "Pleased to
meet you," she said, and shook Scully's hand. Then she whirled
around, and starting wailing at the wall again.

"She's a little eccentric," Mulder explained in a hushed voice. 

"Mulder, it looks like she's a paranoid schizophrenic. Christ, she's
even worse then Yappi!"

Mulder shrugged. "I checked, and Yappi's rate is much higher for
things like this. Besides, my field of skepticism contaminates his
work, remember?"

The old woman ran over to the couch, and started jumping up and down
on it excitedly, yelling about all the bloodshed that had occurred on
her makeshift trampoline.

"Okay, calm down," Mulder said. "Can you help us contact these
spirits? With, say, a séance?"

"I don't think you want that," Madam Mysterioso sighed. 

"Why not?" 

"A séance doesn't just contact ghosts. It wakes them up. If you did
that, you could put everybody in this hotel in jeopardy."

"Wait a second," Mulder said. "I paid my fifty dollars-" 

"Fifty dollars!" Scully exclaimed. Mulder ignored her. 

"-and I want some answers about what happened hear. We need to wake
up these ghosts, or they could terrorize the hotel for the rest of
its career.

Madam Mysterioso shrugged. "Fine," she muttered. "But no refunds."
   
 ~*~*~

Madam Mysterioso quickly set up on the coffee, table, taking from
within her enormous robes a small crystal ball with a "made in China"
sticker on the bottom (only Scully saw this, and decided not to
mention it to Mulder until later). Then, she dimmed the lights, and
sat down on the rug, and gestured for Mulder and Scully to do the
same. She abruptly grabbed both of their hands, squeezing them in her
own sweaty, clammy ones.
"We must make a circle," she told Mulder and Scully. Mulder reached
out for Scully's hand, and rolling her eyes, she held his.

"Spirits of the restless dead," Madam Mysterioso moaned, eyes
squeezed shut, "come to us. Make your presence known. Give us
knowledge of your passing."

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glanced. Since both her hands were
full, Scully gestured with her elbow to the corner of a sticker
poking out from under the crystal ball. Mulder looked at it, and
shrugged.

"I feel their presence," Mysterioso whispered. 

"They?" Mulder replied. "There's more then one?" 

"Shut up! We must be silent. Their presence may only come in a
whisper. We need to be ready to hear."

Mulder nodded obediently. They sat there in silence for about twenty
seconds.

"I don't think the spirits are coming-" Scully began, but was cut off
by a high-pitched screech, one that shattered all the windows in the
room, the television set, and all the light bulbs. The shades drew
shut, plunging them into pitch darkness, and their hands separated.

"Mulder?!" Scully called out over the incessant screech. 

"Scully!" he shouted back. He was flailing around, his hands
outstretched, looking for the doorknob that would bring them out into
the hall.

"Mulder!" 

Mulder turned in the direction of the scream, and staggered towards
it, tripping over his suitcase in the process. He yelled, and the
upper half of his body fell through the shades. The darkness gave way
to Boston's skyline at night, and he felt cold New England air blow
in his face. He looked down, and saw thirteen stories to a cold,
cement sidewalk.

A hand grabbed his collar, and he was yanked back in before he fell,
slamming into the rug, and gasping for breath.

"Mulder." 

It was Scully. The noise had quiet, and light from other buildings
dimly illuminated the room.

"Mulder, you're lying on my leg." 

"Sorry," he replied apologetically, and staggered to his feet,
rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I got my fifty dollar's worth,
huh?"

Scully got to her feet as well. "Mulder, what the hell is going on
here? You just nearly jumped out the window."

"I thought I heard you yelling for help." 

They stood there in silence for a while, until something occurred to
Scully.

"Where's-" she began. 

"Mysterioso!" Mulder yelled, and ran over to the dim shape of his
suitcase in the dark. He searched in their for a flashlight, then
whirled around, and let its bright yellow ray bring clarity to the
room.

Madam Mysterioso was slumped against the wall, blood trickling from
her mouth. Scully checked for a pulse.

"Dead," she said. "Mulder, I think somebody is trying to scare us out
of here."

Mulder wasn't listening. He was hunched over the coffee table,
staring intently into the crystal ball. Words of smoke appeared, a
message for him.

"MAKE THEM SAFE," the words said. Then, they disappeared. 

"Mulder?" Scully said nervously.
 
   ~*~*~

"Scully," Mulder said. "I think the entire hotel may be in danger. We
have to evacuate the building."

"Mulder, we can't do that! There's no evidence at all that the
building is holding any kind of danger at all for anybody outside
this room!"

"There's danger," Mulder said. He ran over to the door, and tried to
open it. It wouldn't budge.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. He turned to Scully. "Do you think you could
climb down to the balcony under us?"

"What?! Mulder, I'm not jumping off of our balcony!" 

Mulder nodded, and tried the door again. This time, somebody on the
other side turned the knob as well, and Mulder stumbled into the
hallway, slamming against the wall. He drew his gun by instinct, and
pointed it in the face of the person who had tried to get into the
room.

The man Mulder was holding at gunpoint was tall and skinny, trying
very hard to enlarge his frame by dressing in a suit a bit too big
for him. He wasn't used to having a gun pointed at him, and that
showed.

"I . . ." he began. "I, uh, have a room down the hall. Thought I
heard a noise, and knocked, to make sure everything was okay. When
there wasn't any answer, I tried the door."

Slowly, he reached into his pocket, and brought out an FBI badge. 

"Uh . . . Agent Dav-dav-david." 

His eyes rolled into his skull, and he passed out. Mulder saw Scully,
who was standing in the doorway, shrugged, and reholstered his gun.

"They'll let anybody in now," he grumbled. Scully knelt to examine
Agent David.

"Help me get him on the couch," she said. 

"No!" Mulder replied, horrified. "See if there's a keycard on him.
His room. I don't want to go back in there again."

Scully nodded, and began searching Agent David. 

 ~*~*~

8:42 PM 

Agent David yelped, snapped awake, and fell off his couch. Slowly, he
staggered back on again, and smoothed out his shirt, regaining
composure. He sat up, and looked around. Mulder was leaning against
the window, staring out nervously. Scully was sitting in a chair
nearby the couch.

"Drink some of this," she directed, handing Agent David some
complimentary Deutschotel tea she had found in Agent David's kitchen.
He drank it, and began to relax a little.

"Why were you spying on us?" Mulder asked. Agent David jumped again.
Mulder sighed.

"Newbies," he muttered, then turned to Agent David again. "You
couldn't have been Cancer Man's, the way you nearly wet yourself when
I pointed a gun at you. Was it Skinner? Did he send you to make sure
we didn't get out of line?"

Agent David shuddered. "Yeah," he muttered. "He was acting under the
orders of some of his superiors, who were concerned about how often
you guys 'disappeared'. I was supposed to keep tabs on your travel
records, and when you went to Boston, I was supposed to follow
immediately after."

"Is this your first assignment?" 

Agent David sighed. "Yeah," he said. "Pretty obvious, huh?" 

Mulder nodded. "Yeah," he said. Then he walked out of the room. 

"Hey!" Scully yelled, running after him. "Where are you going?" 

"I'm going to check with the hotel management downstairs," Mulder
replied. "I want to see if there were any other reports of paranormal
activity tonight."

 ~*~*~

Fifteen minutes later, Scully had heard the condensed version of the
story of Agent Paul David's life, and Mulder had stormed back into
the room, running a hand through his hair compulsively.
"The elevator's are stuck," he told them. "The stairwell's locked,
the phones are dead, dammit, what the hell is going on here?!"

His eyes brightened suddenly, and he ran into David's bedroom,
tearing the sheets off his bed.

"Mulder," Scully said, coming in behind him. What the hell-" 

Mulder put a finger to his lips, and ran out to the balcony. He
wrapped one end of the sheets around the guard rail, and let the
other end drop down, forming a temporary climbing rope.

"Mulder," Scully said again. "You're not going to-" 

"Look, Scully, I have to go down and see if I can open up the
fourteenth floor from there. There are over a hundred people up here,
and all their lives are at stake."

"There has to be another way out! This is stupid, you could get
killed, or paralyzed, or-"

Mulder nodded, pretending he was listening, grabbed the sheets, and
jumped off. Scully shouted his name, and ran to the edge of the
balcony. The knot came undone, and Scully lunged for it, too late.
The sheet slipped off, along with Mulder himself.

"Mulder," Scully whispered, slamming against the railing. She looked
down, and saw Mulder climbing onto the balcony beneath the.

"I'm okay!" he called up. He didn't hear a reply. "Scully?!" 

Scully just stood there for a while, speechless, turning over and
over in her brain the idea that, for a second, she had been convinced
Mulder had finally plunged to his death, with no chance of survival
this.

"Scully?" he asked again, his voice growing unsure. This time, Scully
replied.

"Godammit Mulder, of all the stupid, idiotic things-" 

Mulder sighed, and walked into the bedroom one story below his. As he
entered the living room, a man watching TV turned around, and jumped.

"How'd the fuck did you get in here?!" he screamed, grabbing a lamp
and backing cautiously away from Mulder.

"Sorry," Mulder replied. He flashed his badge. "Official FBI
business."
   
 ~*~*~

Mulder walked into the hallway, leaving the large yuppie-esque man to
stand in his room, mouth gaping. He breathed a sigh of relief, then
turned around and looked at the number on the door.

1420 

Mulder sighed, and looked around, searching for David's room number.
1416, a few doors down.

He ran in, and the two other agents jumped. 

"Did you get help?" David stammered. Mulder rubbed the back of his
neck, sighed heavily, and shook his head.

"I . . . the hotel pulled an M.C. Escher on me." 

"What?" Scully muttered. 

"Never mind. The point is, we're stuck up here, for god knows how
long. I don't know any way out."

David snapped his fingers. "Ventilation ducts," he said. 

"Can you crawl through those?" 

David frowned. ". . . no." 

Mulder sighed, and dropped onto a chair in the room. He felt
something nudge his foot, and looked down. It was the crystal ball
(or, more accurately, the mystical plastic ball, crafted in the
exotic sweatshops of China).

Mulder picked up the ball, and looked into it. 

"Mulder?" he heard Scully say. David, aware of his impending doom,
seemed to have glossed over, and had one foot in wherever newbies go
when they're way in over their heads.

"NOBODY HEARD THE SCREECH," it said. Then, the letters fell apart,
reforming into something else. "EXCEPT DAVID."

Mulder dropped the ball, and David jumped. 

"We have to split up," he finally said. "Clear all the rooms. See if
we can get everybody out into the halls, if their still alive. Agent
David, we're going to take fifty and up. Scully, you take care of
fifty and down."

"But don't you think-" David began. He saw the look in Mulder's eyes,
and clamped his jaw shut.

"I'm watching you," Mulder said, his voice low, as not to call
Scully's attention. "Step out of line, and I won't hesitate to kill
you."

He looked around, and his voice dropped even lower. 

"And stay away from Scully." 

"What, are you too attached, or-" David quickly released he was
talking, and shut up. Mulder nodded approvingly.

"Oy Gevalt," David mumbled as he followed after Mulder. "Just once,
just once, I'd like to be able to shut up when I'm supposed to. God,
I hate this freakin' job."
  
 ~*~*~

An hour later, the agents met back at David's room. 
"Nothing," Mulder muttered. "This means something." 
"It means everybody checked into the Swissotel on the other side of
town," David replied, then immediately regretted it. "Oh God, I'm
going to get my ass kicked."
"Scully, you saw the lobby when we came here," Mulder said,
undaunted. "It was packed! No, there's another explanation."
"You're right, Mulder, there is," Scully replied. "I mean, this is a
big hotel. And, there were diners in the lobby, I mean, a lot of
people could have just come here for a meal, then left!"
"How do you explain that none of us can leave this floor? At all?" 
"Mulder, there are numerous explanations for that. For instance-" 
"Where's David?" 
"What?" 
The lights went out, and Mulder and Scully were plunged into
darkness, for the second time that night.
"Shit!" 
"Mulder-" 
"I'm here, Scully." 
"Mulder, we've got to find David." 
"He probably triggered this, somehow-" 
"Mulder, he could be in serious danger." 
"And we aren't?" 
"Mulder-" 
"Fine. Let's go find our flashlights." 
"You didn't bring yours with you?" 
"No, I-" 
Scully's flashlight flickered on, and nearly blinded Mulder. He
staggered back, and put his hands in front of his face.
"Sorry," Scully said apologetically, directing the flashlight
elsewhere. "Now let's go find Agent David."
He was sprawled in the middle of the hallway, face-up. His eyes were
wide open and unblinking, and a thin trail of blood ran from the
corner of his mouth.
Scully handed her flashlight to Mulder, and knelt beside David,
checking his pulse.
"He's in shock," she told him, and grabbed his ankles. "Help me carry
him onto the couch."
"Again?" 
"This could be serious. He feels cold, and Mulder . . . I think he
might be dying."
 ~*~*~

While Mulder and Scully heaved Agent David onto the couch, he was off
somewhere else. In Assistant Director Skinner's office, as a matter
of fact.
"Uh . . ." He looked around, wide-eyed and confused. "Excuse me, Sir,
how did I get here?"

"I assume you walked up here," Skinner replied. He was holding a case
file, and flipping through it.

David wondered briefly why he was up there. 

"Did I do anything, uh . . . unsatisfactory, Sir?" 

Skinner closed the case file. "No, everything seems to be in order."
He put the case file in his desk drawer. "I must admit, I'm pleased
to see a little more . . . closure from you then I usually get from
Agent Mulder's reports."

"Oh," David said. He had noticed the serial number on the case file:
X3772511. An X-File. But David didn't work on the X-Files, and his
most recent case certainly didn't have much closure yet. In fact, he
couldn't remember much after searching for anybody else on the floor
with Agent Mulder.

"Sorry I'm late," Mulder announced, stepping through the door behind
David. Scully followed. The corner of Skinner's mouth twitched
impatiently.

"I must say, Agent Mulder, I'm a bit disappointed with your
performance on this investigation. Sets a bad example for new
additions to your branch of the FBI."

Mulder shot David a look. David shrugged innocently. 

"I'll see you in my office later," Skinner said. "In the mean time,
here's your next X-File. If you have any questions, we can go over
them at our next meeting. In the mean time, I don't want to be
disturbed, I have a lot of case reports to go over."

He went back to work, and Mulder and Scully nodded, leaving. David
sat there, a bewildered expression on his face.

"There's the door," Skinner told him. David nodded. 

"Agent David," Scully said, coming back through the door and pulling
him out by the arm.

"Hey," David said as he was pulled into the hallway, "remember our,
uh, last case, in the Deutschotel?"

"How could I forget," Mulder muttered. 

"How exactly did we get out of there?" 

"What?" Mulder and Scully both turned to look at him. He turned red. 

"I-I'm trying to remember, but I can't. My memory ends right after we
checked the hall for more guests-"

"I'm not surprised," Scully said. "You blacked out in the hallway,
and your pulse started slowing down. For a while, you were clinically
dead."

"And then what happened?" 

"I, uh, managed to successfully resuscitate you, and an unidentified
man appeared, and tried to inject us with the same chemical that had
killed Madam Mysterioso. You overpowered him, and arrested him. Then
we called the police."

"I overpowered somebody." 

"Don't let it go to your head," Mulder said, pressing the "down"
button next to the elevator.

"And, what exactly am I doing on the X-Files?" 

"I put in a recommendation for you after seeing how you handled
yourself on the field," Scully said.

"How I handle myself?! I fainted when I got a gun pointed at me! I
couldn't possibly have overpowered somebody, because I'm a complete
weakling! All I did was follow you two around and get on Mulder's
nerves! What the hell am I doing here?!"

"Calm down!" Mulder said. The elevator doors slid open. The three
stepped inside.

"This isn't real," Agent David told himself, and then to Scully:
"Scully, will you go to dinner with me?"

"What?!" Mulder snapped. 

"You too, Mulder!" David said, eyes wild. "Hell, let's invite Skinner
too!"

Mulder shrugged. "Sure, I'm in," he said. 

"Hah!" David screamed triumphantly. "That's not something Mulder
would say! This reality was created just to serve me in whatever way
I wanted! Working on the X-Files! Getting complemented by Skinner and
Scully! Saving the day! Oh, but I can prove it! I can change it in
ways that you'd never imagine!"

He dove deep into his unconscious mind, and summoned up the most
bizarre wish he could think of. The elevator doors slid open.

Woody Allen was dressed in a panda bear costume, and dancing on
Mulder's desk, while singing "Pretty Fly for a Rabbi."

"See?!" David screamed triumphantly, drew his gun, and shot himself
in the head.
   
 ~*~*~

David felt something hit him in the chest, and yelped, jumping off
the couch and rolling onto the floor. Scully was kneeling beside him,
rubbing her hands. David groaned, and grabbed his stomach. He tried
to say something, paused, still catching his breath, then spoke.
"You . . . call that CPR?" 
Scully smiled, and helped him to his feet. 
"You flat-lined," she explained. "You started screaming incoherently,
and then you flat-lined."
"And I think I know what happened," David said. He turned to Mulder. 
"I think you're right," he said. "I think that this building is
somehow manipulating us, making us see what we want to see. It's
almost like a behavioral experiment. It's . . . trying to see how we
will react in certain situations."
"And what snapped you out of it?" Scully asked indulgently. 
"I shot myself." 
"I see." 
"And what makes you think this reality isn't . . . part of your
imagination?"
"Only one way to find out," David said, squeezed his eyes shut, and
reached for his gun. Scully shoved him backwards, pinned him to the
ground, and forced the gun out of his hands. David's eyes opened. He
sighed, relieved.
"Uh, you can get off me now," he said. "I wasn't going to shoot
myself. I was going to . . . visualize something, to see if I could
create it."
"Visualize what?" 
"Woody Allen singing and dancing in a panda bear costume on the
coffee table," David almost said, then shook his head. That was NOT
the way to convince them he was sane. "Anything. Something out of the
ordinary given the situation."
"Did it work?" Mulder asked. 
"No. I guess this is reality." He got to his feet again. "Good to be
back."
"And something just occurred to me," Mulder said. "If we got to
street level, maybe we would be able to escape."
"Well, that's obvious," David replied. "How do we do that?" 
Mulder just grinned.
 ~*~*~

"Is this really a good idea?" David asked. 
"Just shut up and start looking for sheets," Mulder replied. David
shrugged at Scully helplessly, and began ransacking the other rooms
for sheets. He came back a half hour later with a bundle in his arms.

"Great," Mulder said, taking them out of his hands. "What've you got,
Scully."

Scully came in with a similar bundle, and dropped them on the bed. 

"Mulder, this is ridiculous," she said. Mulder nodded. 

"Just enough to work," he replied, and began picking up sheets, and
tying the ends together.

"You're never going to get out this way," David argued. "It could
take all night, and when you're done, what happens next? You throw it
down, you begin the climb, and then you start falling. Falling very,
very far."

"Relax, newbie," Mulder replied. "I'm not that stupid. You're going
first."

"WHAT?!" 

"Mulder-" Scully began. 

"No, Scully, listen to me! We have no reason at all to trust him, and
I think he might be extremely dangerous."

"So you're sending him on some suicide mission before he has a chance
to prove himself?"

Mulder began to say something, then stepped into the hall with
Scully, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"That's exactly what I'm doing! We're playing a game where we don't
know the rules yet, and . . . he's the only person here besides us.
And he seems to be . . . Scully, I think he's . . . not human."

Scully raised her eyebrow. "You mean like a ghost?" 

"I'm a WHAT?!" 

He ran up to Mulder and Scully. 

"Nothing," Scully said. "Agent Mulder was just-" 

Mulder punched David in the face, knocking him backwards, and slammed
him against the wall.

"Why are you here?!" he shouted. David's mouth worked up and down
soundlessly, blood running from one of his nostrils.

"Mulder!" Scully yelled, and came in between the two of them, shoving
Mulder back. David fell on his knees, with the vague look of boredom
of somebody who has been knocked around too many times for it to
matter anymore. Scully knelt beside him, and waved a hand in front of
his face, then turned to Mulder.

"Mulder, I want you to take a good hard look at what you're doing." 

Mulder said nothing in reply, but stormed back into the room. 

"Ow," David contemplated, touching his nose and flinching. "When
Agent Matthews told me I was letting my ass get kicked by other
Agents in the bureau, I thought he meant that figuratively."

Scully smiled. "I'm going to go talk to him," she said. 

David shrugged. "If it's okay with you, I'm going to stay out here." 

"That's fine." Then, walking back into the room, "Mulder, what the
hell were you thinking?"
   
 ~*~*~

"Mulder, what the hell were you thinking?!" 
Mulder turned around, and shook his head. "I thought I was going to
kill him," he mumbled.
"Is that what you were aiming for? Was it?! Jesus Mulder, you scared
the kid half to death!"
"I know." Mulder rubbed his face tiredly. "I couldn't control myself.
Something is manipulating us, pitting us against each other. Me
against Agent David . . . you against me."
Now Scully started to seem concerned. "Mulder . . . you're getting
really stressed out by this case. Maybe you should relax, and take a
breather. Clear your head."
Mulder shook his head. "No, I'm fine now. I just need to watch
myself, everything will be fine."
"If you say so." Scully shrugged. 
The door slammed shut behind them, and Scully whirled around. In the
hallway, David jumped to his feet.
"Hello?" he called nervously, trying the doorknob. It wouldn't budge.
"Is everything okay in there? Agent Scully? Hello?!" He started
pounding on the door with his fists.
"Jesus, open the door! Stay away from her, you lunatic! Stay away-" 
Scully turned back to Mulder, David's voice fading into oblivion.
Mulder was grinning, a small, perfect circle in his heart, and a thin
trail of blood running from it. His eyes glowed, a venomous green. He
took a few steps forward, and Scully drew her gun.
"Stop right there!" she shouted. Mulder took another step. Scully
felt her gun being drawn slowly to Mulder's heart. She tried to
release it, but that made her finger only clamp harder on the
trigger. One more step.
"Mulder, run!" she yelled, remembering a similar situation a few
years back, when the roles had been reversed. This time, however,
Mulder didn't run. He grinned broadly, and actually danced a step
forward, twirling comically as he did so.
Scully's finger squeezed the trigger. A gunshot smothered the sound
of Scully yelling for Mulder to run again. The green glow left
Mulder's eyes, and he slumped onto the couch.
 ~*~*~

Scully dropped her gun, and ran to Mulder's side, immediately
noticing the suspicious lack of a bullet hole. Mulder stirred, and
glanced around.
"Scully," he said drunkenly, "what just happened?" 
David was standing in the doorway, clutching his gun. A bullet hole
had been put through the lock. He was sweating like a pig.
"I, uh-" he began, paused, then started again. "I, uh, heard the door
slam, and heard Scully yelling for help, and, um, the door wouldn't
open, so I uh, I uh, I uh tried shooting the lock, you know, to bust
it open and kick it over like they do in the movies? So, um, I shot
the lock, and I kicked the door down, and, uh, I should probably just
shut up now, shouldn't I?"
He reholstered his gun, and looked at Mulder and Scully. They stared
back at him with a mixture of pity and amusement.
"Oh, God, I really screwed up, didn't I?" he muttered. "Look, uh, I'm
sorry for interrupting you guys, I'll just, er, stand guard out in
the hallway."
He did an awkward salute, then backed into the hall, and closed the
door. A second later, it opened.
"Call me if you need anything," he told them. Then he closed the door
again.
"What was that about?" Mulder asked. 
"I'm not entirely sure," Scully lied; more to herself then Mulder.
"So how's the escape plan, going?"
"Peachy," Mulder mumbled. "I'm actually feeling a lot better now.
Guess David's gunshot woke me up."
::It did a lot more then that,:: Scully neglected to say. Outside,
there was a loud, piercing yelp. Agent David hurled himself back into
the room, and slammed the door.
"Duh-duh-duh-dead person outside," he stammered. 
Scully jumped to her feet. "Let me take a look," she said. David
moved his head from side to side slowly.
"Not a good idea," he explained. "It . . . Jesus, this is gonna sound
stupid . . . it chased after me."
 ~*~*~

Something slammed against the door. David hurled himself against it
to keep it from opening. "Some help here?!" he screamed. Mulder ran
over and pressed against the door beside him.

"This is absurd!" Scully screamed above the banging. "It could be
somebody injured trying to get in! Or-or a rescue worker! Come on,
open the door!"

She raised her gun. "I've got it covered." 

Mulder nodded at David. David shook his head. "That's crazy!" he
screamed. "I saw it! It had these big holes where its eyes should
have been, and-and huge gashes all over it's stomach, and-"

Mulder shrugged, and stepped away from the door, drawing his gun.
Poor, weak David wasn't strong enough to hold the door shut on his
own, and was thrown into a corner when the door was finally slammed
open.

Standing in the doorway was David. 

"Thank God the door opened!" he said. "This guy that looked like me
but wasn't me was in the hall, and he saw me, and then he ran into
the room, and I thought-" He suddenly noticed that Mulder and Scully
had guns pointed at him, and yelped.

::At least he didn't wet himself,:: Mulder thought. 

David put his hands up. "Hey, guys, what's going on?" he asked
hesitantly. "It's me! I'm . . . Oh God, please don't shoot me."

The other David got to his feet, and peered out of the corner, into
the doorway. Both Davids yelped, and began babbling incoherently,
gesturing wildly at each other.

"Shut UP!" Mulder screamed. They both stopped. 

"Any ideas, Scully?" he asked. Scully shook her head, this look of
complete confusion on her face.

"Mulder . . ." she said. "Without a ridiculous amount of preparation,
it's physically impossible to accurately replicate somebody's facial
features. And even then, without a facial cast, or some kind of-"

"This isn't a facial cast," Mulder muttered. "One of them isn't
human. And there's only one way to tell which one."

Both Davids screamed, and started babbling incoherently again.
   
 ~*~*~

Mulder reached forward, and grabbed the side of each David's head.
Then he smashed them together.
"Mulder!" Scully snapped. 
Both Davids widened their eyes, but only one staggered to the floor,
clutching the side of his head. "Jesus!" he muttered. "What the hell
was that for?! Couldn't you have just . . . er . . ."
The other David's skull had fragmented on one side, as if it were
ridiculously fragile. It peeled away pieces of bone, and scattered
them across the floor. One eye rolled out of its demolished socket,
dangling by a single optic nerve. The other one bobbed from side to
side of the room, as the David grinned viciously.
"You can't get out!" he screamed. "This is a place of never ending
layers!"
Then he dove for the window. 
"Grab him!" Mulder shouted, and ran after faux-David. He wrapped his
arms around faux-David's chest in an imitation Heimlich maneuver, and
lifted him back, away from the window. Screaming and flailing wildly,
faux-David pulled everything from the waist up out of Mulder's grasp,
and began dragging himself towards the window. Mulder tossed the
lower half of faux-David's body to the side, and lunged after him
again. Faux-David yanked himself out the window just in time, and
went laughing to his second death.
"Um," David said, then paused, deciding on what to follow that up
with. Mulder massaged his forehead, and sighed.
"I think I know what's going on here," he muttered. "What if
everybody on this particular floor isn't missing? What if they're all
just trapped in some kind of, I don't know, mass hallucination? For
some reason, we're separated from the pack. And for some reason,
we're grouped together through each one of these hallucinations."
"Uh, why?" David asked, still taking time before he could figure out
how to form a full coherent sentence.
"Mulder," Scully muttered, "I don't think you're grasping the
strangeness of what just happened. A dead man just dragged himself
out the window."
Mulder grinned sheepishly. "Wild, isn't it?" 
"Mulder, a DEAD man, just DRAGGED HIMSELF out the window!" 
"I don't think he was every really there, Scully. I don't think we
ever even left our room. But right now, our priority should be
locating the other guests."
"Should I visualize Woody Allen in a panda suit again?" David
suggested, only half-joking.
Mulder shook his head. "Whatever's keeping us here is getting
smarter. It's learning from past mistakes. We can't beat it with the
same trick twice."
"Crap," David muttered. "I was lucky just having one trick."
 ~*~*~

David jammed his hands in his pockets, and rocked back and forth on
his heels. Scully was sitting on a nearby chair, rubbing her forehead
and muttering to herself. Mulder was staring out the window,
silently.

"So," David muttered. "Any ideas? Anybody?" 

Scully glanced up at him. "This isn't really happening, is it?" 

"Huh?" David shrugged. "How the hell should I know?" 

The door creaked open, and David drew his gun. Scully was on her feet
instantly, fumbling for hers. Mulder just kept staring out the
window.

"Mulder," Scully said uncertainly. 

Mulder shrugged. "It's not an enemy." 

"What?!" David didn't lower his gun. "Of course it's an enemy! This
entire freakin' hotel is an enemy!"

Mulder shook his head. A small, transparent ball rolled through the
door, across the room, and nudged at his ankle. Mulder picked it up.

"What the hell is that?" David asked. 

Letters formed in the ball, and Mulder didn't answer. 

ONE OF YOU IS DEAD 

"Mulder?" Scully phrased it as a question. 

GUESS WHO 

Mulder saw his own face in the crystal ball, and he saw the flesh
peeling away. It was turning into a skull.

The ball fell from Mulder's hands, and hit the rug. It bounced once,
then sat perfectly still.

"Are you feeling alright?" David asked. 

The ball exploded, and Mulder moved to shield his eyes. Small shards
of plastic flew everywhere, raining down like snowflakes. David, who
was closest to the door, staggered back, eyes wide. A rotting hand
reached through the door as he did so, grabbed his shoulder, and
pulled him through the frame. David yelped, and grabbed onto the
frame with both hands, his gun falling to the floor.

Mulder drew his gun, and began firing through the smokescreen of
plastic.

The plastic reversed its flight plan, and began to travel upwards
again, then downwards, towards where the ball had lain. The pieces
gathered themselves together, forming into the transparent globe. The
bullets Mulder had fired froze, then began to slowly back up, drawing
themselves back into the barrel of his gun.

The hand pulled out a large chunk of David's neck, and hurled him
back through the door, eyes rolled up to hide the pupils. His mouth
was a large oval, screaming silently.

Scully was shooting at the beast hiding in the shadows as well. The
crystal ball began to glow.

The door slammed shut. On the other side, there was a wet splat as
the creature exploded.

Scully knelt beside David, and rolled him over, so he was lying on
his back. Despite the hole in his throat, he was still alive, and
smiling at some secret joke.

Mulder picked up the crystal ball again. New words had formed. 

THE GATES OF HELL HAVE BEEN SHUT FOR GOOD 

David reached into his pocket, and produced a notepad. Scrawling on
it with the blood on his index finger, he wrote:

DON'T FORGET 

Then he tore out the page, and handed it to Scully. Scully accepted
it, and put it in her pocket. A tear began to roll down her face.

The crystal ball said: 

ALL DONE
 
 ~*~*~

Two Days Later 
FBI Headquarters 

Skinner flipped to the last page of the report, and sighed. 

"This is it?" 

Mulder glanced at Scully, who nodded. "Madam Mysterioso died of heart
complications, and severe shock brought on by hallucinations. I
believe those hallucinations originated from a possibly unsafe
chemical that the hotel had been using to clean carpets." 

"And what does Agent Mulder believe?" 

Mulder didn't answer, but Scully did. 

"Agent Mulder and I experienced similar hallucinations, which
temporarily made us incapable of rational thought. Our judgment on
this case was slightly impaired, but tests showed no permanent damage
was done."

"That doesn't answer my question." 

"Agent Mulder believes these hallucinations were some kind of
message, or threat from the dead in that hotel, triggering the
previous cases of insanity."

"And do you share this opinion?" 

Scully stared at Skinner blankly for a short period of time. Then she
responded.

"I believe that these hallucinations were the result of this
chemical. Nothing more."

Skinner stared back at Scully, trying to probe her mind for answers.
He eventually gave up. "Thank you. That will be all, agents."

As Mulder and Scully stepped out into the hall, Mulder said, "Why did
you lie to him?"

"I didn't." 

"What about all we saw that night? Not all of that can be
hallucinations! What about Agent David?"

They approached the elevator, and Scully punched one of two buttons
next to it.

"Mulder, I did a background check on an FBI Agent David. He's been
dead for twenty years, the result of a mob hit."

Mulder stared back at Scully, and for a minute, she almost thought
she had triumphed.

"The crystal ball," Mulder muttered. 

Something flashed through the recesses of his mind. 

ONE OF US IS DEAD 

"He wanted us to be there. That's why we got the case in the first
place."

"What? What the hell does that mean?" 

The doors to the elevator opened, and Mulder and Scully stepped
inside. Miraculously, it was empty except for the two of them.

Mulder hit the button labeled B1. Scully hit L. 

"Taking off?" Mulder asked casually. 

"The haz-mat reports were sent to a local hospital for evaluation,"
Scully replied. "I need to drop in, and get their opinion.

Mulder nodded, and the doors to the lobby opened. Scully walked
outside, and Mulder waved through the closing doors.

Scully searched in her pocket for her badge, and muttered a small
expletive to herself. She must have left it in the basement.

But there was something else in there. A piece of paper. 

Scully took it out of her pocket, and stared at it. 

DON'T FORGET 

She winced at this silent accusation, then crumpled the paper up, and
tossed it in the trash.


The End