The Dark Room
 
By Humbuggie 
san@sv-tales.com


http://www.sv-tales.com

Date: Sun, 2 Sep 2001

Feedback welcome!
 
Story: Resolving a serial rapist case, Mulder and Scully
are found in the woods. Strangely enough Mulder is in
defense of the man who hurt them. For the others to find
out what has happened during a mere few hours.
 
Situation: The story takes place in my own little X-Files
Universe where season eight never existed, basically taking
place after 'Je Souhaite'.
 
Storyline: In previous stories I have introduced Assistant-
Director Terence Davis as the man in charge of the VCS.
There are a few minor mentions of him in 'Mind Games'. In
this story I am introducing a new FBI agent called Karen
Brooks, who will be playing a recurrent part in some of my
following stories.
 
Spoilers: A few minor spoilers refer to Pusher
 
Rated R for a few references towards rape and the use of
some foul words, but nothing explicit happens.
 
Disclaimer: All characters belong to 1013 Productions, I'm
merely borrowing for this story.
 
 
Mind Games
 
Late Summer, 2001
 
1
 
The path that ran through the thick woods was so narrow
that any occasional by passer could have missed it. Those
who were familiar with the territory, however, knew it was
there and used it to hike their way up the wooded hill.
They called it a contest or a goal to fulfill. On the top,
their efforts would be rewarded with one of the most
beautiful views of the lake. And of course the achievement
stood out on any hiker's resume. There was a reason it was
named Blister Trail.
 
There was also a second path running diagonally to the
hiker's trail. This one was large enough to hold any
vehicle but it could also mean the end of any decent tire
if that vehicle wasn't equipped properly. Most of the
vehicles driving up the trail were 4X4s equipped to make
such an effort.
 
During the day, the paths were often frequented. During
the nights, they were abandoned and deserted, especially
since FBI and police notifications made it clear there was
a prowler on the loose. No one with a sane mind would dare
to walk up there after darkness fell. Police still
patrolled the area at night even though it had been six
days since the last disappearance. In the daytime, there
were also patrols to ensure people's safety.
 
It was late summer after all: the perfect timing for any
hiker to take up the challenge of Blister Trail. The timing
was perfect for any rapist or killer to select one or more
victims out of many potential candidates. Nobody believed
that another attack would happen in this area. The
disappearances had received so much coverage in the press
that it would scare off just about anyone. No, people
preferred to stay indoors at night, staring at already lit
fireplaces; it could become very cold at night.
 
On the second day of September, when night had already
fallen upon the hill and its thick woods, a dark brown Jeep
rested upside down near a small abandoned camping area
between the foot of the hill and partly up the woods. The
vehicle was completely totaled; its metal and plastic top
resting in a crumbled heap as if it never had been a Jeep
at all. One of the wheels still turned when the second Jeep
stopped nearby and the lights lit the area.
 
Two men got out of the second vehicle. The first one wore
a county deputy's uniform; the other one was clad in a
police uniform. He was one of the backups that had come
over after the fourth attack to explore and investigate. He
had volunteered to take the night round with the deputy.
Flashlights flickered and lit the uneven ground as they
made their way up to the first Jeep. They were cautious,
carrying armed guns as they proceeded towards the Jeep.
They had no idea who the Jeep belonged to, or why it was
there. Only three hours earlier, the previous check-up had
shown the area to be clear of any vehicles.
 
"Get ready to call for backup," the police officer ordered
as they lit the license plate, make and model of the Jeep.
"This doesn't look good. It's one of yours."
 
"It seems that way." The deputy reached for his radio and
started calling in the accident when the cop suddenly made
a noise that startled him. He turned and stared at the
police officer shining his flashlight inside the Jeep.
 
"There's someone trapped inside," the cop said. "Call for
backup and paramedics. I think it's the FBI agent. Jesus, I
think she might be dead. Get paramedics up here at once. We
can't move her ourselves."
 
The deputy radioed the urgent message and returned to the
Jeep. As he too shone his flashlight inside the pile of
metal and plastic, he saw a red-headed woman. Her hair hung
in clumps over her face; there was blood in it. He had seen
this woman before; she had talked with him about a day ago,
when they first arrived in town. She was stuck between the
driver's seat and the cracked metal. It would take some
effort to free her.
 
The cop rested down beside her, felt her pulse and pulled
the hair from her face so that he could see her eyes. So
much blood, he thought, but that of course was normal with
head injuries. They were partly opened. At first he thought
the worst; then he saw her pupils were reacting to the
lights and she was trying to say something.
 
"Agent Scully," he said, remembering her name from
previous meetings, "take it easy. You'll be fine. We just
called for help. Can you tell us what happened?"
 
She blinked and looked straight into his eyes. She had
seen him before but did not know his name. She had seen so
many people during those meetings and it just ached to
think right now. Eventually she simply nodded, only vaguely
aware of the fact she was lying in a very uncomfortable
position inside the Jeep. No answer to his question came,
not at first at least.
 
"Agent Scully," the police officer continued as Deputy
started scanning the area, "You have to tell us what
happened. Did you come up the hill by yourself? If not, can
you tell me where your partner is? Where is Agent Mulder?"
 
She frowned and swallowed the painful lump in her throat.
"He's not here?" She tried to look aside but it hurt. She
just stuck out her hand and tried to feel his body by her
side. He was not there.
 
"No, he's not. Where is he, Agent Scully?"
 
He saw her recapturing her thoughts. Her eyes seemed to
dart off and then it was as if the answer came to her in a
flash. She remembered now. "Help," she whispered hoarsely
with a voice that could barely be heard. The cop had to
strain himself to get the answers he needed.
 
"He needs help?"
 
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes. I drove down
the hill for help. He's - he's still up there. He might
already be dead. I don't know how I've been here. I--"
 
"Easy, Agent Scully. Try to relax and tell me where he is.
Do you remember?"
 
"Following a hunch." Her whispers came more silent even.
Her voice seemed to die away and the cop could tell she was
struggling to stay awake. The first shock ran off and made
way for pain. He had no way of knowing where she was hurt.
It was a miracle she came out of this rumble in one piece.
Anyone could have died in a crash like this one."
 
"Did you follow a lead?" the cop asked carefully. "Is he
with the attacker?"
 
"Yes." Her answers came slowly now.
 
"Where is the attacker, Agent Scully?"
 
Her eyelids blinked.
 
"Agent Scully, focus on me. You have to tell us. Where is
your partner?"
 
Scully's eyes drooped. She tried to use the right words to
lead them to Mulder. It was so cold, oh God, so dark. She
had felt it before, this dreary feeling. She did not want
to go but Mulder had told her they couldn't wait much
longer. She had followed his lead, and here she was now.
 
"Hurt."
 
"You'll be fine."
 
"No. Mulder is hurt."
 
"Tell us where he is."
 
"Agent Scully?"
 
"Piano music." The words came out of the back of her throat.
 
"Where?" "Miller." The word burst out her mouth.
 
The name seemed to trigger something in the cop's mind. He
turned on his heels towards the deputy and shouted, "Her
partner's with John Miller. Get people over there right
now. He is wounded."
 
Suddenly the woman's face fell on the cop's forearm. The
last thing she became aware of was the cold glass and metal
of his watch. She passed out without saying another word.
The cop quickly placed his fingers on her throat and felt
for a pulse. She was breathing. The cop held his breath
when he noticed how big the gash on her skull was. He did
not dare pull away his arm. He took a better position on
the ground and held her as much as he dared to. Her head
tilted sideward, onto his shoulder.
 
It was cold out. The deputy pulled out a blanket and
lifted it carefully over her. In the flashlights they saw
her deadly white pallor. Her right foot was entangled in
metal and plastic. There was no telling if it was broken.
Cuts and bruises ran all over her body. Her clothes were
ruined. But she was alive and breathing.
 
More lights lit the area. "The cavalry is here," the
deputy spoke.
 
 
2
 
A few moments later several cars stopped at a safety
distance of the house. At least a dozen men got out, armed
to the teeth. The raid was organized well: within a few
moments John Miller's house near the top of the hill was
surrounded with feds. The house began where Blister Trail
ended; it was the gateway to one of the most beautiful
sights one could behold in his lifetime. It was a grand
house with a small garden. The man living there was a
hermit.
 
Another Jeep stood parked before the front door. Lights
burned inside. Slowly, the officers approached the house
taking in their positions swiftly. The deputy did not
lead; he had given Assistant Director Walter Skinner that
privilege. There were no sounds coming from the house: no
television playing, no radio turned on. There was just
deadly silence.
 
The broke through the doors on both sides. Swiftly the
agents made their way in, stopping abruptly in the living
room as they spotted two figures sitting opposite one
another. The elderly man sat on the sofa. His fierce blue
eyes never lost their target as the raid came to a hold.
"Come in gentlemen," he said so calmly that it seemed he
had nothing to lose or hide. His eyes remained focused on
the younger man.
 
Agent Mulder sat on a rocking chair. His body rocked back
and forth very slowly as if someone had pushed the chair and
waited for it to stop. He was bleeding from the chest and
face. There were large cuts than ran through his white shirt
and T-shirt into his skin. He wore his business suit. The
tie was gone and the top button of his shirt stood open. His
hair was ruffled and his eyes betrayed his dazed mind. He
was completely out of it, as if he had been doped up. His
pupils were slightly dilated and focused on the man opposite
him. He saw no one else. He did not notice the raid.
 
John Miller was pulled up from his seat and handcuffed,
facing the rocking chair. The deputy spoke to him but
Miller's eyes were still holding onto the other man's. He
spoke with a gentle voice, "You don't need to use force.
I'll cooperate." Finally, the deputy stepped between the
two of them so that they could no longer see each other.
 
And then suddenly the room seemed to shift as if time
itself changed. The environment, colors even, changed from
a strange muddle of blacks and browns into naturals, at
least from Mulder's point of view. The fast world around
him melted into the syrupy slow environment he was in.
No one else saw the change.
 
At the same moment Fox Mulder blinked his eyelids and
looked up surprised at the people inside. Skinner knelt by
him, as did a few other policemen. "Get paramedics in
here," Skinner ordered. "This man is hurt and can't move."
 
"They're on their way," one of the policemen said.  An
ambulance was taking the long, concrete route up the hill
and would arrive in a couple of minutes. Skinner's bottled
anger raged towards Miller as he snapped, "Did you have
fun, Miller? You're going down."
 
The man only smiled. "What for? For hosting an FBI agent?"
 
"His partner has been found hurt in the woods. She told us
it was you. Your lies will not work anymore. Tell us where
you held the others."
 
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Miller smiled.
"I've done nothing wrong. All I did was offer Agent Mulder
a cup of coffee and take care of his wounds. I did not
inflict them upon him. He told me had killed his partner. I
calmed him down before he could hurt himself even more.
Just ask him yourself. He'll tell you what happened."
 
Skinner froze as he listened to Miller's calm explanation.
"Get him out of there," the Assistant Director ordered as
his attention returned to his agent. He had no time for
sick rapists right now; his agents deserved his priority.
Mulder focused on his boss, recognizing him somewhere in
that foggy mind of his. He moved. His bleeding leg shifted.
Skinner forced him to stay put. "Don't move," he ordered.
"An ambulance is on the way. You're going to be fine. We
already found Scully."
 
"Did you find her body?" the male agent whispered, as
sudden tears sprung in his eyes.
 
"Her body?" Skinner repeated.
 
"She's dead."
 
"No Mulder, she's alright. She's alive and kicking."
 
"That can't be. I watched her die."
 
"She's okay Mulder. She's been taken to a hospital. You'll
see her there."
 
"No," the agent persisted. "She's dead. I'm certain of it."
 
"Mulder, believe me," Skinner said so reassuringly that it
would have persuaded anyone. "She's alive and breathing."
But Mulder did not seem to listen to his boss. His thoughts
were somewhere else; somewhere buried in the depths of his
mind.
 
"She's dead," Mulder repeated insistently, as if he was
droned, "she's dead. I killed her. She's dead. Why did you
ever come for me? You should have left me with Miller. He
took care of me."
 
"What has he done to you Mulder?" Skinner asked concerned,
shaking his head in shocking surprise. "How did you get
here? What have you been talking about?"
 
Mulder blinked again and responded in a weary tone of
voice: "We talked about the weather."
 
 
3
 
The small hospital near the lake never thought it would
get so many casualties from one attacker in such short
time. The nightmare had begun four months ago when the
first victim was found up in the woods. She was a hiker who
never reached the top. She disappeared right after darkness
fell about 500 yards before reaching the top. At first, her
husband did not know she was gone; he had stayed near the
abandoned campsite after his feet gave out. He could not
reach the top but had urged for her to do so. Sitting and
waiting for her, he had imagined hearing the eerie music of
a piano concerto. The sound had dragged over the hill and
frightened him.
 
Later on, in the middle of the night, she was found in the
woods, fully dressed but very confused. She blinked her
eyelids confused when they came to help her. She could not
recall how she had gotten there or who had done this to
her. She had lost track of time. She didn't know she had
been raped; that was determined later on in the hospital.
Other than that she was perfectly fine. She had no cuts or
bruises.
 
Only three hours passed between her disappearance and
return. Yet she seemed to be gone for days. She had no
recollection of time. She did not know she had been gone
for just a few hours. She couldn't remember anything,
except for piano music playing in a dark, damp room. She
recalled a shadow of a man in the room while he played the
piano. She could not recall what he had said to her but she
was not afraid of him. He spoke with her and told her he
loved her.
 
Her husband had been the first suspect. Everyone had seen
the couple quarreling before she moved on. Their quarrel
was meaningless though and didn't give enough reason for
her husband to kill her. His story checked out. Several
people had seen him sitting at the site and his ankle was
badly sprained. He had only gotten worried when she didn't
make it back. She should have done the rest of the trip and
back in less than five hours but she never made it. Then he
called for help. The last hiker who made it down the hill
after darkness bumped into him and brought him down using
the second trail. On the way, a Jeep belonging to a John
Miller, a man living in solitude up the hill, picked them
up and dropped them off at the deputy's station. He had
seen nothing.
 
She would be the first of four victims, all women varying
in age between twenty and forty. They were all hikers. They
all disappeared alone; in two cases the husbands were only
five feet away. They all disappeared at night right after
darkness fell. All had nothing to do with one another. They
became the casualties of a rapist and abductor who chose
his victims because they happened to be around. He didn't
care who they were or what they had going for them. He
chose their lives and ruined them randomly, because he
'loved them'.
 
And none of them recalled anything. Their minds had been
erased.
 
Now, two more victims of what was likely the same man,
ended up in hospital.
 
The first casualty, FBI agent Dana Scully, had suffered
severe injuries after a Jeep accident. Besides minor cuts
and bruises, a bruised left ankle (fortunately not broken)
and two cracked ribs; she also suffered from head trauma.
Strangely enough it seemed that this head trauma could not
have been caused by the crash. The wound indicated that
someone had hit her hard over the head. She was brought in
unconsciously but the deputy assured them she had been
alert when he got to her. After all, she had given them her
partner's whereabouts.
 
After a thorough checkup, bandaging and stitching up the
cuts, Scully was moved into a monitored private room where
someone would stand guard by her side until she woke up.
Skinner had selected Special Agent Karen Brooks to do the
job; she had gotten along quite well with Scully during the
investigation.
 
Scully's partner was hurt in more ways than one. The deep
gashes running over his side and chest proved that he had
been attacked with a knife. There were two major cuts. They
weren't deep enough to kill. They slashed through flesh and
skin but not through bone, causing serious, but superficial
damage. The damage done to the agent's right leg was more
severe. The knife had slashed through muscle and nerve.
Fortunately, the major artery had not been hit. If it had
been, the agent would not have lived to see another day.
Emergency surgery was needed to repair the damage before it
was too late to save the damaged muscles and nerves.
 
It was the FBI's conviction that Mulder and Scully had
become casualties of John Miller, attacked by him after a
quarrel. Miller became crazed and attacked them with a
knife. Mulder might have saved his partner's life by taking
the knife attack upon himself. Scully had a bruise on her
back where the knife hilt had struck her. The scenario was
that Mulder had thrown himself in front of her to save her.
Things might have been a lot worse had Scully not escaped
from the house. She had not been raped or stabbed and had
perhaps saved her partner from death. God only knows what
else Miller had planned.
 
Mulder had suffered all in all a worse fate than his
partner. It was the agent's state of mind that startled the
medical staff. Even though he was awake during transfer to
the hospital, the agent seemed detached from the world. His
blood was tested for drugs, sedatives or anything that
could cause this state of mind. Nothing was found.
 
When spoken to, the agent did not know why people had come
'to help' him, when he was merely talking to his 'host'. He
did not even know he was badly injured. During the ER
examination, he could not tell how he had been cut up or
why. All he kept insisting on was that he had killed his
partner. Nobody could get him off that idea. He had killed
her, and should be punished for her death. He insisted on
it.
 
 
After the transfer to the OR Skinner stopped to talk to
the attending doctor. "What's going on with my agent?" he
demanded to know.
 
The doctor frowned. "All I can say for certain right now
is that somehow your partner is seeing and experiencing
other things than we are. He's living in his own world and
I don't know how to reach him. We've tried to talk sense
into him but he shuts us out. It's as if he's experienced
something so traumatic that he's blocking out all the rest.
To be honest, I've never seen anything like it."
 
"And he insists that he killed his partner? And that John
Miller took care of him after he murdered her?"
 
"That's right."
 
"Could Mr. Miller have brainwashed him somehow?"
 
"Brainwashed?" The doctor seemed confused. "How?"
 
"I don't know. I just know that the man you just treated
in there is not acting like my agent. For what reason, I
don't know. I trust my agent above anything. If those are
the memories in his mind, there has to be a reason. If we
look back at the cases of those women, we have to assume
they underwent the same treatment. They too remembered
inaccurate events."
 
"I would suggest getting a psychiatrist in to see him,"
Doctor Richards offered. "However, I want both agents to
rest for some time before anyone comes in to get a
statement. If you are right and your agent has been
brainwashed, you will have to proceed very cautiously. The
human mind is so complex that anything can trigger the
opposite result. I don't want that happening under my
responsibility."
 
"I realize that," Skinner agreed. "I will talk to Agent
Scully as soon as possible and proceed from there."
 
"Agreed." Both men shook hands and split up. Skinner
walked over to Scully's room and startled Karen who was
reading a magazine by Scully's bedside. His agent was still
unconscious. Her white skin looked even paler now. The deep
gash that ran over the top of her skull and temple was
bandaged. Tubes and wires ran down her body into monitors
that were to check her vitals. But she was alive and doing
fairly well considering the circumstances.
 
"How is she?" Skinner asked.
 
"Still the same." Karen put down her magazine and smiled
reassuringly. "The nurse told me that they have high hopes
for her waking up soon. She even stirred a bit before.
That's always a good sign. I'm talking to her on occasion,
hoping she might recognize my voice."
 
"That's great, Agent Brooks."
 
"Please sir, call me Karen. I feel so old when you use my
last name."
 
Skinner smiled, realizing he had gotten used to his agents
calling themselves by their last names. This younger woman
did not like protocol very much. He liked her.
 
"What about Mulder?" Karen asked.
 
"He's in surgery right now. I'll go and see him as soon as
they bring him out. I'm worried about his state of mind
though. I want him to see Scully as soon as possible so he
knows she's alive and well. As long as he thinks she's dead
we might not be able to find out the truth. His belief in
her death blocks the way to any memory he might have."
 
"I don't get it, sir," the young woman said as she moved
from the chair and stretched her sore back. "What happened
to them? I said goodbye around 5 and then next thing I know
they're found on the hill. How did they get there? Why were
they there? They would have told someone, wouldn't they?"
 
"They told me," Skinner said, sagging down on the other
chair. "Right now I could kick myself for it. Mulder called
me on their way to the hill. He said he was following a
hunch he had after going through a statement he had found
in the file. The line was very bad and I could only partly
hear what he was saying. I never got a name and then the
line got disconnected. I decided to wait a few hours to see
if I would hear from them. Next thing I knew I received the
call that they were found."
 
"So you think that John Miller is the one?"
 
"I have to wait and see. Right now we have him in custody
but I need more to go on than Scully's confused statement.
I need proof."
 
"I see," Karen murmured, remembering so clearly the first
time she met her fellow agents. For two years the younger
agent had worked from the FBI Investigative Services
Division in Washington, D.C., before she was recruited for
a special task force within the Behavioral Science Unit,
concentrating on what they called random serial killers;
those killers who murdered perfect strangers for the thrill
of the kill. It was probably the hardest killer to catch.
Most murderers had reasons and motives and setups, but the
ones that randomly selected their victims, were virtually
impossible to catch but by good fortune and fate.
 
Slowly Karen was making a name for herself by
distinguishing herself within that unit. She had an eye for
detail. At crime scenes, she had found several pieces of
evidence others overlooked. Sometimes it was just a fiber
or a hair, or something that seemed out of place at the
murder scene. Her eyes were trained to catch details. Her
tips had lead more than once to the catching of strangers
responsible for several attacks in a particular area or
different states.
 
Therefore it had been no surprise that she was asked to
head out to Lake Hill where four attacks had occurred. In
this case they were not looking for a killer, but the
aggression progressed with every case and the FBI wanted to
prevent worse things from happening. Her additional input
had at first lead to possible suspects who turned out to
have alibis for some of the attacks. So the conviction
remained that their attacker knew the area quite well. And
he did not make mistakes. He did not perform the rape at
the sites where they were found, but somewhere else. He
went as far as to remove the victim's clothing before the
rape, so that no fibers remained. He was smart.
 
But they were stuck on one point: How could a rapist
convince his victims not to say anything to anyone, to
fully erase their memories and plant other thoughts in
there without the use of drugs or sedatives?
 
Because the FBI wanted a profiler at the scene to put all
the info together and proceed from there, Terence Davis had
asked Fox Mulder to go. Davis believed that the experience
in the Robert Modell, a.k.a. 'Pusher,' case might help
here. Davis was convinced they were looking for a man with
similar abilities, a person who could work people's minds
and have them see different realities.
 
When Mulder and Scully arrived, Karen Brooks took them
through the different crime scenes, the files and photos
and statements being given by several people. They had no
witnesses, no DNA or samples, nothing in fact to go on. All
they had was the conviction that the attacker knew the area
by heart; so well that he would not hesitate to go out at
night and abduct his victims on the hill.   And then there
was someone playing that eerie piano concerto on the night
of the first attack.
 
After two days of hanging out with Mulder and Scully Karen
Brooks knew she could learn quite a bit from them. She had
asked to participate in the profiling. To her surprise,
Mulder had no problem with that and together they created a
profile. The suspect was most likely an intelligent
Caucasian male, aged twenty-five to forty-five who had been
living in this area for a very long time. He had the means
to take his victims to a house in the area to perform the
rape. He took his time.
 
The rapist needed to have the possibility to go out at
night unseen to kill. Most likely he was unmarried and
living alone. He fulfilled his sexual needs. His victims
remembered him telling them he loved them. He was probably
a hunter who had moved from animals to humans. He attacked
the victims with a hunting knife. He kept trophies of his
victims at home. Smaller items disappeared. From the first
victim, a watch was taken; from the second, third and
fourth, he stole rings and bracelets.  He did not rape men.
He selected petite women of different ages and  Both Mulder
and Karen concluded that he might soon begin to kill and
would continue as soon as the first attention wore off and
people would become careless again. There was no telling
how long that would be.
 
Out of the 1,500 inhabitants of the small town of Lake
Grove, near Lake Hill, a list of about fifty potential
suspects came out. There were about ten people living on
the hill itself. Amongst them was John Miller, the man now
placed under arrest.
 
Miller had all the criteria on the profiler list; single,
aged forty and a retired millionaire with enough degrees to
make him among the most eligible bachelors in town. Yet no
one really believed he was the one. Why would a man with
enough money to last him a lifetime start attacking people?
For the fun of it? Because he was bored? Because he could
pull it off?
 
Police questioned Miller twice before Mulder, Scully and
Karen Brooks arrived. He was never treated as a serious
suspect. The first time he did not give alibis for the
nights the attacks happened; he just said he was at home.
On the fourth night, however, he was out for a walk and
reported the victim. The man was found about a mile from
Miller's secluded house on the hill. The second questioning
happened after that. Miller sounded very clear in his
details. There was no reason to doubt them.
 
After Mulder set up his profile, Miller was questioned
again. This time he sounded impatient and began to talk
about filing a harassment suit. Sure, he understood this
needed to be done in order to catch their attacker. Sure,
he understood that he was at no time a suspect in the case.
Sure, he understood that he lived on the hill and could be
a very valuable witness. So why would he make such a fuss
about it? He valued his privacy, he said. He came to live
on the hill because he was tired of mankind. He wanted to
be left alone.
 
Karen remembered how Mulder had turned at the door and
asked Miller if he owned a piano. Miller stared at him with
strange eyes and said, "I don't play the piano. Why?"
 
"Just curious," Mulder had replied, whose eyes had already
scanned the living room and adjoined study. He knew there
was no piano. He had seen all the rooms. Yet he asked as if
he wanted to be sure. His eyes had darted around the room
and then they left. After that curious visit Mulder had not
spoken about Miller again. The name had not popped up
again. Karen did not even know Mulder was still considering
him a prime suspect.
 
"I want you to go out to the site where they found
Scully," Skinner proposed. "I want you to walk the scene
and see if it was an accident or attempted murder. If she
was pushed off the road, no doubt there will be traces of
that. The forensics will handle that part. But if there is
anything out of the ordinary, you will find it. Then I want
you to go to that house and do the same."
 
"I will," Karen promised, returning her focus to Scully
when the agent stirred in the bed. Within a second Skinner
stood by her side, grabbed her hand and said, "Agent
Scully, can you hear me? It's Walter Skinner." Karen was
startled by the personal and friendly manner Skinner used
for his agent. She couldn't see Davis doing that.
 
The agent in the bed blinked her eyelids and looked at him
with clear eyes. She remembered him. Then she spotted Karen
and remembered her too. One could tell by the look in her
eyes. Karen smiled reassuringly and moved closer, even
though she felt she was disturbing something very private.
She had never seen Assistant Director Skinner this worried.
She had worked with him a few times before on cases that
went beyond the reach of the BSU. Within the Bureau, the
A.D. had the reputation of a hard-boiled egg; a man one
could not grasp. But here he seemed worried beyond the call
of duty. Karen wondered how many times he had stood by one
of his agent's bedsides. She knew that not so very long ago
a young FBI agent under his protection had died. She knew
that Skinner had taken that loss hard but refused to talk
to anyone about it.
 
And here he was now with two of his agents in trouble. It
hurt Karen to see anyone in a hospital, let alone people
she really liked, but her job taught her to be hard and
objective. She had seen so much over the past months that a
hard armor had been built up. Yet there were a lot of
cracks and breaches within that armor that would never be
mended. She didn't want them to mend. They were the
ultimate proof there was still a lot of humanity within her.
 
Karen moved closer when Scully attempted to speak but the
right words didn't seem to make it out of the injured
agent's mouth. "I'll get a doctor," Karen responded and
left the room. In the hallway she bumped into a doctor that
seemed vaguely familiar and told him Scully had woken up.
 
In the room, Skinner tried to sooth Scully. Slowly
regaining consciousness, Scully became increasingly upset
when she realized Mulder was not in the room. It was very
difficult for Skinner to calm her down. But he knew he
would not lie to her and eventually calmed down.
 
Skinner's voice sounded very serious when he asked,
"Scully, I know you're in pain but we need to hear from you
as quickly as possible what happened."
 
She frowned. "Hasn't Mulder told you yet?"
 
"We couldn't get a straight answer out of him. He's
recovering from surgery and we can't question him. We need
to hear it from you."
 
Scully swallowed a lump in her throat. "It's very blurry.
I don't know exactly how things became so screwed up."
 
Skinner sat down on the side of the bed with his back to
the door. He didn't see how Karen held her breath when he
asked his agent, "Scully, did Mulder hurt you in any way
tonight? Is there anything that happened that made him
believe he actually killed you?"
 
To everyone's relief, Scully closed her eyes and shook her
head. "No. Mulder did not hurt me." The realization of the
question struck her. She stared at Skinner. "Why?"
 
"It doesn't matter, Scully. Just rest now. We'll talk
about it later." Skinner's soothing voice calmed the
tension in Scully's words. Scully closed her eyes and let
her thoughts drift off. Before long she was asleep again.
Skinner turned towards Karen. "At least someone's making
sense," he spoke.
 
Karen nodded.
 
To be continued..
 
 
--
 
The Dark Room Part 2
 
An X-Files Fanfiction
By Humbuggie c 2001
san@sv-tales.com
http://www.sv-tales.com
Feedback welcome!
 
Disclaimers and all that in part 1
 
 
4
 
Fox Mulder was alone in the private room on the second
floor. When he regained consciousness, no one walked in,
either. It was dark outside but also inside. A small light
burned above him, giving him just enough illumination to
see he was in a hospital.
 
In a flash it all came back; last night's events that so
slowly came to an end in that house on top of the hill.
Outside that house, he had killed his partner. He could
feel her blood on his fingers. He had done it without
remembering how or why. One minute he saw her body on the
ground, the next he was in the house and under John's
protection.
 
He needed to know. If he had killed his partner, there was
no reason to stick around. He could not face the rest of
his life knowing he had murdered her. Like John had said,
"You have to pay the price for your actions."
 
The fact that she was not in his room gave him enough
proof. She was dead.
 
He stirred and moved in the bed. His leg hurt like hell.
It was bandaged from the groin to the knee in thick
bandages. Not even the strongest painkiller would stop him
from feeling the pain. He could hardly move. There were
wires and tubes sticking into his body. His left hand
reached for the wires and pulled them off his chest. They
were attached to a heart monitor. Then he pulled out the IV
and groaned when he moved his leg with both hands to the
left side so that he could put his good leg on the floor
first before the other. There were voices down the hall but
no one entered the room. He limped with much difficulty to
the closet. Every single move forced excruciating pain
through his leg. Then he was standing near the closet and
opened it, holding onto the wooden door. His fingers
touched the barrel of the gun. It would be so easy. John
had told him so.
 
Inside laid his belongings; his clothes and shoes, his
wallet, badge and gun. His hand reached for his gun. Then
the door opened and two men and a nurse entered the room.
"Agent Mulder?"
 
Mulder slammed the door shut and glared at the man and
woman he didn't know, and his boss. Skinner instantly knew
why his agent was out of bed and near the closet. With one
step he stood by his agent's side and opened the closet.
Mulder looked away, refusing to show his guilt.
 
"Jesus Christ," Skinner muttered, grabbing his agent as
the man's bad leg gave in, making the agent slump forward
slightly. Doctor Richards, the second man in the room,
helped bring the agent back to the bed. Mulder was
painfully aware of the fact he had been caught before he
could execute his fatal wish, and he would not get another
chance this quickly.
 
"Strap Agent Mulder down," Skinner ordered.
 
"What?" Mulder tried to see Skinner's eyes and tried to
pull loose. "Are you crazy?"
 
Skinner ignored Mulder, focused on Richards and continued,
"I have reason to believe Agent Mulder is suicidal. I want
a twenty-four hour guard in this room and anything removed
from this room that might help him fulfil his death wish."
 
"You don't have any authority over me!" Mulder shouted as
he pulled away from Skinner. "You're not my next of kin."
 
"I am still your boss."
 
"Not anymore. I quit."
 
"Denied. Get on the bed Mulder, before I have to drag you
in."
 
Mulder felt rage surge through his body in such a manner
that it felt like a volcano burning deep inside of him. He
had to get out of here. He had to keep his promise to
Miller. He had killed Scully and now he had to kill
himself. He had told John to end it soon.
 
He balled his hands and moved forward in a rage of hatred
and anger towards the world. The anger bottled up inside of
him became only stronger and harder with every memory he
had of the night. Her blood was on his hands.
 
But he didn't understand why he was doing this. One part
of him was fighting hard against the promises he had made
to Miller. There was something wrong with all of this.
Something nagged so hard that it kept on hitting him with a
small hammer in the back of the head. Something wanted to
find its way out. He needed to remember things but could
not. Something just did not add up.
 
"Mulder, lie down. You've just had surgery. You're hurt
and upset. You need to rest," Skinner ordered. "Listen to
me and trust me."
 
"What for?" Mulder hissed. "My career is over. I've lost
Scully. What is there left for me? You don't trust me
anymore. You want to treat me like a child. I can make my
own decisions. I don't need you or anyone else to tell me
what to do."
 
"Why won't you get it through that thick skull of yours
that Scully is alive and kicking? She's right next door!"
Skinner nearly shouted it, feeling frustrated with the
situation.
 
"Can't be. I saw her die. I killed her. Stop telling me
she's alive just to pamper me. I know what I've done."
 
"It is the truth." Skinner sighed deeply. "I'll take you
to her right now if you don't believe me. You'll see it
with your own eyes. Will you be content then? Since when
did you stop trusting me?"
 
Mulder's hesitated and rested tired on the bed, refusing
to give in just yet to common sense. John's voice darted
around in his head. He repeated the words over and over
again. "I do trust you. It's not that. But... do you swear
to me she's alive?"
 
"I swear. I told you the same thing last night, as well.
You have to believe me. She's alive and well and eager to
talk to you. She's hurt, yes, but she's going to be fine."
 
"Okay," Mulder said slowly. "I believe you. For now."
 
"What were you planning to do with that gun?"
 
Mulder frowned. "I don't know."
 
"You went for the gun, didn't you?"
 
"Yes."
 
The agent turned away his face, refusing to continue.
Skinner caught Dr. Richard's glance. Both men were worried
about the agent's state of mind. Skinner felt helpless. How
and why did his agent walk around feeling like this? What
had happened during the few hours both agents were apparent
captives of John Miller? Why did Mulder call this man by
his first name as if they were good friends?
 
Mulder seemed puzzled. His eyes changed color as if he
suddenly came to realize something. "Has John been
arrested?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Why? He didn't do anything. He helped me."
 
"Scully stated otherwise. She says he attacked the both of
you. How do you think you got hurt?"
 
Mulder stared at his injured leg. "I don't know," he spoke
slowly. "I did it myself, didn't I?"
 
"No, Mulder. John Miller did it."
 
"But I'm telling you he's innocent. You had no reason to
arrest him. I promise you that. Where is he? I need to see
him. I need to make sense out of this."
 
"I'm afraid that's not possible. You're going to be in
here for a few more days," Dr. Richards spoke. "Your leg
needs rest and the cuts on your chest need healing as well."
 
Mulder's hands darted over his chest. He hadn't even
realized he was hurt there too. Strange. He couldn't
remember much of last night in total. All he remembered was
leaving Miller's house and then hurting Scully somehow. He
just could not remember how he had done it. He remembered
seeing her die. He remembered John. Inside that house,
inside a dark, cold room he had listened to John. It seemed
like forever. He had been in that room for a long, long
time. Then the room was gone and the FBI and cops walked
in. And then he ended up in here.
 
"Am I under arrest?" he asked with a high-pitched voice as
he stared at his boss.
 
"Why would you be?"
 
"Because I did wrong. Don't remember why, though."
 
"No, you're not under arrest and you won't be. Scully will
set the record straight. We do want you to talk to someone.
We need to find out what happened to you. You've been
brainwashed, Mulder. Somehow Miller managed to make you
believe you things. This has happened before, remember?"
 
"You're talking about Modell," Mulder spoke slowly. "This
is not the same, sir." His voice started dying away. "I was
stuck in time."
 
"What do you mean by that?" Skinner asked, straining
himself to hear the rest of Mulder's words. But the agent
was no longer responsive. He closed his eyes and dozed off
almost instantly. Shocked, Skinner stared at the attending
doctor.
 
In the hallway, Richards said, "Your agent has most
definitely been influenced. Parts of his memories have been
erased and replaced by others. I don't know how else to
explain this bizarre behavior. He's protecting Miller
beyond reason. He's sympathetic with the man he went out to
question, maybe arrest. If you tell me this has never
happened before, I believe you. We do need to find out as
quickly as possible why."
 
"Get that psychiatrist in right away," Skinner ordered.
"I'm going to talk to HQ and see what can be done."
 
"What about John Miller?"
 
"He won't get away with this. I'll go down hard on him,"
Skinner persisted. "He's not going to put the whammy on one
of my agents."
 
"The whammy?"
 
Skinner smiled. "Let's just say we've dealt with people of
his sort before. They didn't get away with it and neither
will he."
 
"I hope so," Richards said, "For Agent Mulder's sake I
hope you'll find out the truth."
 
You can count on it, Skinner thought as he left the room
to arrange for a friendly guard to stay with his agent.
First thing to do right now was to get Scully up and about
and well enough to see her partner.
 
 
5
 
John Miller was a man with a past. At the age of twenty-
one, he married a woman twice his age. She was a widow. He
had worked for her husband and started an affair with her
during the man's last days. He comforted the widow and
lived off her money at the same time. Within a year after
her husband's death, he married her. She lived another five
years with him before drowning in the swimming pool. No one
was there when it happened. The autopsy report stated that
she was intoxicated, slipped and hit her head and drowned.
The only person who did not believe this, was her daughter.
 
The money went to her second husband who became an instant
millionaire. Miller sold the house and moved to Lake Grove
where he spent years in solitude. Three years after his
move he bought a house on the West Coast where he
vacationed. During one of his vacations, a woman
disappeared. She reportedly had an affair with him. He was
questioned in the matter but had a solid alibi. He was with
yet another woman and admitted having an affair with three
women at the same time.
 
Before he returned to Lake Grove, the second woman was
interviewed. She left a conflicting statement and could
remember being with him. Yet she could not remember what
they had done during their time together. It wasn't enough
to charge Miller.
 
When the disappearances and attacks started on the hill,
Miller was questioned again, but the reports from Los
Angeles did not make it out of state. No one knew that
Miller had been possibly involved in another disappearance.
His name, after all, appeared briefly in that other file.
He had never been charged or considered a suspect.
 
When they arrested him, John Miller protested heavily.
There was nothing to go on, after all. He had done nothing.
Yes, the agents had arrived at his house to question him
once again. Yes, he had spoken with them. But then they
both left. About an hour later the man rushed back into the
house and claimed he had killed his partner. He was covered
in blood. He was limping. The man explained they'd had a
fight and he knocked the woman over the head with a log.
She fell forward. Dead. He carried her to the Jeep and put
her in. In his despair he drove the Jeep down the hill and
crashed it, making it look like she had crashed it herself.
He had tried to cover up her murder. He managed to get out
and was completely disoriented when he made his way back to
the hill. He returned to Miller's house for help and
confessed what he had done. Miller tried to calm the agent
down and was just planning to get help when the law
enforcement agents entered with full force. He had nothing
to do with any of it.
 
No, he did not know what the fight was about. He did not
know how the male agent had knife cuts all over his chest
and leg. He did not know why the woman was found behind the
steering wheel and not in the passenger seat. He did not
know why Mulder came back up the hill instead of descending
it, which would have been far more logical, especially with
such a bad leg injury. He did not remember what the
discussion in his house was about; why the agents had come
back to question him.
 
All he knew was that he had nothing to do with it.
 
Of course, his story made no sense at all. Yet bizarrely
enough, Mulder collaborated it during the brief statements
he made from his hospital bed. He had put the blame on
himself, not Miller. He had not spoken of an attack at the
house. They had nothing to go on, until Scully was strong
enough to explain it all. To Miller's great surprise
though, Scully was still alive. Miller had been convinced
she was dead. The investigative unit won one point when
Miller paled and found out that Scully had counteracted the
implausible story.
 
Carefully seated in a wheelchair Scully entered her
partner's room. She was still in a lot of pain. The cracked
ribs had not helped things. She had difficulty taking deep
breaths and everything ached and hurt. Her headache was
greatly reduced, though the minor concussion would take
some time to heal. She would not be released just yet. Her
concern for her partner however was greater than anything.
Skinner had explained to her what the situation with her
partner was, and how bad his state of mind was at the
moment.
 
Her partner was sound asleep. In the darkness, she could
see his recumbent form as he frowned in his sleep. He was
dreaming. Skinner wheeled the chair forward until she sat
close to the bed. Mulder was restless, even in his dreams.
He stirred repeatedly.
 
"I should have seen it coming," she muttered. "I had this
feeling when we drove up to the house. I asked Mulder to
call for backup and not go in there alone, but he just
wanted to check a few things out. He followed a hunch and I
thought we just went up there to ask some questions. We did
not see the attack coming.
 
"What had he found?"
 
"The name John Miller popped up in a West Coast file; he
was questioned in an investigation after a disappearance.
The woman was never found. We knew that Miller has another
house over there: a house with a piano. Before, Miller had
stated he did not play the piano. Why would there be one in
his house then? Mulder was curious about it. When we talked
about the absence of a piano at the house, we figured out
the living room was too small for the size of the house. He
wanted to see if there were any hidden rooms in there. So
we drove over."
 
"What happened when you got there?"
 
Scully frowned as she grabbed Mulder's hand instinctively.
Her sleeping partner stirred but did not wake up. "It's
still blurry. I don't recall everything." She looked up at
the audience of four: Skinner, Karen Brooks, deputy
Withers and Doctor Richards.
 
"Take your time."
 
Scully still had difficulty explaining every detail. Her
head was pounding from the slight concussion she suffered.
Her entire body ached in the wheelchair. She stretched her
back and took a deep breath as last night's memories came
back.
 
"We arrived at the house around 7:30. It was getting dark
out. We looked through the window. Miller was pacing the
room and talking to himself. He seemed nervous and
frustrated. Mulder knocked on the door and startled him. We
were not invited in, at first. Miller partially opened the
door and spoke to us, refusing to let us in."
 
"Was there a confrontation?"
 
"Yes." Scully's eyes darkened as she remembered what
happened next. "John Miller was angry with our visit.
Mulder became harsh and confronted Miller with his beliefs
that Miller had something to do with the rapes. Miller
paled and started arguing. Finally he did let us in. Mulder
walked in before me. I think he must have felt things would
go wrong. I walked in the room and then felt a hard push in
my back. We didn't stand a chance, it happened so fast, you
see? Miller seemed to grab a knife out of nowhere and
stabbed at me. He wanted to stab me in the back, I believe.
I think he panicked. I saw a look of fear in his eyes.
Mulder pushed me away. I fell and hit my head against the
couch and stayed down, dazed. I saw Miller stabbing the
knife in Mulder's leg. They fought. Miller tried to kill
him and slashed at him with the hunting knife. Mulder
screamed in pain and stayed down for the count. I reached
for my gun and Miller hit me over the head with an object,
a statue or something like that. I passed out."
 
"Why didn't Miller finish the kill?"
 
Scully swallowed the lump in her throat. "I woke up lying
on the living room floor. Mulder was beside me on the cold
tiles. He was unconscious; there was blood everywhere. I
thought he was dead first. Then he moved slightly. Miller
was pacing before us and muttering to himself. He kept on
repeating that he could not kill. He had never done that
before. He was going to change the situation. I could not
understand everything he rambled. I was nauseated and
dizzy. My hands were tied behind my back. I couldn't move
even though the ropes weren't that tight. Miller was
muttering to himself that he could not afford to have us
die. People would know we came here to talk to him. If we
disappeared, he would be the first suspect. Then he saw I
was awake, knelt by me and asked me what he should do. I
told him he should release us and we would put in a good
word for him. Then he just looked at me and said that this
would be no problem. By the time he was finished with us,
we would be his biggest defenders."
 
"What did he mean by that?" the deputy asked from the
back of the room.
 
"I don't know."
 
"What happened next?" Skinner urged calmly.
 
The man in the bed stirred. Scully startled and looked at
her partner. Mulder mumbled something and slept on. The
pounding inside Scully's skull increased. She sighed and
stared wearily at Skinner. "Miller left the room. We were
tied up. I started moving my hands. Mulder was still
unconscious and caused him a lot of stress. Miller came
back and knelt by me. He kept us lying on the floor but he
was shifting us from the salon to the living area. I was
bleeding and dazed and Miller looked straight into my eyes
and started talking in the strangest tone of voice I have
ever heard. His voice was soothing yet pushy. He kept
telling me that he did not mean for this to happen. I was
so out of it that I hardly heard it. Miller just kept on
pacing, kept on talking and it all just blurred. The ropes
around my wrists were getting looser. I was unconsciously
wriggling my wrists. Miller was moving behind us then. I
could not see what he was doing. Mulder opened his eyes and
saw I was freeing myself. I swore to him I was going to get
help. I didn't want to leave without him but I knew I could
never move him. He urged me to make a run for it. Then he
passed out again. I knew I needed to get help. Our guns
were gone and I was too weak to fight Miller. I pulled
loose before Miller returned. I crawled up and hurried out
of the room. Miller shouted and tried to catch me. I made
it outside somehow and rushed to the Jeep, locking both
doors. Miller tried to stop me but the keys were still in
it and I just drove off. He ran after me. I lost control of
the Jeep. Next thing I knew, I woke up inside the Jeep and
saw a policeman staring back at me. I don't know how much
time passed between those two events."
 
"You are certain Mulder was unconscious when you left?"
 
"Very sure."
 
"That gave Miller an hour, two hours perhaps to take over
Mulder's controls. He must have used something on him,"
Skinner muttered. "He might have used a drug we don't know
anything about, something untraceable."
 
"I don't understand," Scully whispered, confused. "Mulder
would never be manipulated like that. Even when Modell put
the whammy on him, he still fought for control. If what you
say is true, and he is defending Miller like that,
something else is going on."
 
"Mulder was convinced he killed you," Skinner explained as
he worried about his exhausted agent, "he believed he had
murdered you. No matter what I said, he did not believe me.
It took me all I had to persuade him otherwise. I've never
seen him like this before, Scully. It's not like Modell. I
believe that. But something happened in the period you got
out and he stayed behind. He defended Miller. He swore that
Miller did not hurt you. He even questioned Miller's
arrest."
 
"He wouldn't do that."
 
"Ask him when he wakes up. See for yourself."
 
"I will," Scully responded wearily. "I'm going to stay
with him until he wakes up."
 
"You need to rest," Dr. Richards interrupted. "I'm sorry
but I can't allow you to stay here. You need to take care
of yourself first."
 
"Okay then," she gave in, realizing she was exhausted.
"Just get me when he wakes up."
 
"We will."
 
Skinner turned the wheelchair around. Karen Brooks opened
the door and smiled encouraging at Scully. "It will be
alright," she spoke friendly. "We'll figure this out."
 
Scully smiled wearily. "Could you please -- I mean, could
someone stay with me? I'm so used to having Mulder there
when something happens, and... I just don't want to be
alone." She smiled apologetically.
 
"Of course," Karen agreed and walked outside the room with
her. There was work to do at Miller's house but sometimes
humanity took over priority. Karen could not bear to leave
Scully alone in this vulnerable time. Instinctively, she
felt the petite FBI agent needed her and despite the age-
difference, Karen felt like the older, protective sister
right now.
 
It was obvious Scully didn't want to think too much about
the events. She needed to figure out for herself what
happened to her partner. Only then would she come to terms
with the fact things were seriously screwed up. The
redheaded agent was very quiet when Karen and the nurse
helped her back on the bed. Exhausted, she rested her head
in the semi-dark room and fell asleep almost instantly.
Karen took a seat near the window and looked outside. It
was around noon and autumn sun had settled in. The small
town had awakened hours ago. Only in the hospital did it
seem as if time stood still.
 
One of the reasons she had chosen this job was to get to
know the different cultures and subcultures of her country.
During college she had always known she would one day
become a law enforcement agent. Her parents had not wanted
her to become a cop so she applied for the FBI during her
second year of Psychology and Crime. To her big surprise
she was invited for an interview shortly after. During the
three-hour interview she convinced Assistant Director
Terence Davis she was the perfect candidate. Then she did
the tests and passed with flying colors. The FBI supported
her scholarship and kept a close eye on her.
 
After graduation, she started immediately in Quantico for
her training and then ended up in Davis' VCS team. Because
of her age, she was not assigned to the gruesome cases
right away, but slowly she excelled in her skills and
knowledge. Now, at the age of twenty-eight, she was one of
the youngest agents ever assigned to specific murder cases.
She had written two papers on random serial killing and
gave classes to new recruits. The way to the top had
started.
 
But at night, she lived with her parents, when not on
assignment. Family life had been good to her. Her personal
life was a disaster. She had a relationship that broke up
when her boyfriend couldn't cope with the way she earned
her living. It was a common problem for many law
enforcement agents. After that disaster, she had not looked
for anyone else. She didn't feel lonely, though; there was
enough to keep her busy.
 
A knock on the door startled Karen. She looked up as
Skinner walked in with a female police officer. "Sir?"
 
"Get some rest, Agent Brooks. I've arranged for a police
officer to stay with Agent Scully for a few hours."
 
"I'm fine sir. I want to stay with Agent Scully."
 
"You've been here since late last night, Karen. I've
already asked too much of you. You should catch some sleep
and gather your strengths. We need you again in the
morning."
 
"I wouldn't be able to rest, sir."
 
He smiled. "You sound like Mulder. You're as stubborn as
he is. Look, Scully will be fine. She'll have a friendly
face here when she wakes up. I know my agents; they
recuperate well. She would want you to take care of
yourself first."
 
"I'm really not that tired, sir," Karen spoke friendly.
"But I do appreciate the offer."
 
"Let me at least buy you some lunch then," Skinner
proposed. "You can't object to that, can you?"
 
"Okay, then." Karen gathered her things and stared at
Scully. She felt guilty for leaving the woman alone but on
the other hand Skinner was right. She was feeling a bit
hungry and tired. Perhaps some rest would do her good.
Skinner opened the door for her and they walked outside
together. She took deep breaths and covered her slender
body in the warm duffel coat. "Are you okay, Agent?"
Skinner asked.
 
"Yes sir. I was just wondering when people are going to
start making sense."
 
He smiled. Perhaps it was because of her youthful wishes
and wants. Or perhaps he just smiled in agreement with her
desire. "I don't know," he finally said as he unlocked his
car. "I guess they never will."
 
To be continued
--
 
The Dark Room Part 3
 
An X-Files Fanfiction
By Humbuggie c 2001
san@sv-tales.com
http://www.sv-tales.com
Feedback welcome!
 
Disclaimers and all that in part 1
 
 
6
 
The hospital room of Fox Mulder became the gathering point
for agents and police officers late that afternoon. Things
had changed; not only was Mulder awake and alert for the
first time, there were also more clues on John Miller and
his potential crimes. Or at least, that's what they hoped
for.
 
Late that afternoon Karen had gone to the Miller residence
to take a look around. There was nothing in the living room
that could link Miller to the attacks. All they had was
Mulder's and Scully's blood in the living room and Scully's
story that he had attacked them both. But it would not be
enough to link the man to the attacks.
 
Karen frowned as she explored the room. Something was out
of order but she could not place her finger on it.
Something seemed different. She shook her head. It would
come back.
 
During a long hearing Miller had stated he got upset and
angry when the agents once again came to interview him. "I
panicked," so he stated. "I didn't know what to do when
they started accusing me. There was an argument, yes. But I
never hurt the woman. I don't know how her blood got in
there. He must have had it on his clothes when he returned
to the house. I did not harm her."
 
They searched through his things and garbage for the
belongings of the previous victims. They took a statue that
resembled the one Scully said he used to attack her and
they took samples of the blood on the floor and walls. It
was a true blood bath, Skinner thought driving up there
late in the afternoon himself. It was a miracle his agents
had come through with cuts and bruises.
 
The knife was not found.
 
Miller was stubborn and insisted he had nothing to do with
it. To call him a rapist he found ridiculous, especially
after he had helped Agent Mulder. Perhaps the FBI should
look into itself and see the truth for what it was? If one
of their agents attacked the other one, they would do
anything to keep it hidden from the outside world.
 
Skinner frowned and shook his head when he learned about
Miller's statements. The man had nothing to go on, yet he
sounded persuasive and convincing enough to doubt the most
trustworthy soul. The deputy asked his colleague with the
FBI if he was certain his agent was not capable of such an
attack. Skinner assured him they had their guy.
 
Finally, after four hours of questioning, Miller was
returned to his cell. His lawyer stayed behind to talk with
the police. In the morning he would have to go to a
preliminary hearing where bail would be set. The lawyer was
determined to free his client. The DA's office assured
Skinner there would be no chance in hell the man could get
out. Despite the lack of evidence on the murder cases, they
still had his attack on the FBI agents and no judge in his
right mind would let him go on that charge. Miller had
enough money to flee the country and they would prevent him
doing just that.
 
When Mulder woke up in the afternoon he was hungry. Yet
his first question was not to get some food, but to see his
partner. Skinner was not there when the agent awoke, but
returned to find Scully at her partner's bedside. The two
were talking and laughing, despite the situation they were
both in. Scully, still seated in her wheelchair, reassured
Mulder over and over again she was for real and not a
ghost. The agent would not let go of her hand as he was
convinced she would fade away the moment he did.
 
"Mulder, believe me," she persisted, "it wasn't you who
attacked me; it was Miller. He attacked you too. You saved
my life. You should remember that. If you hadn't pushed me
away, I wouldn't be here right now."
 
"All I recall," Mulder slowly responded, "is that we went
up there to discuss our doubts with him and I walked out
believing he was innocent. We argued about that outside.
The next thing I know I had a piece of wood in my hand and
knocked you over the head with it. I killed you. I panicked
and drove you off the hill in that Jeep to cover it up. I
left your body and went back to the house. I realized I
could not live without you and told Miller I was going to
kill myself. John started talking sense into me, and then
it just blurred."
 
"In truth," she responded softly, "Miller attacked the
both of us. I managed to get away but could not take you
with me. You were unconscious. I could not take you with
me. I'm so sorry about that Mulder. I should have tried
harder. I..."
 
"It's not your fault. We shouldn't have gone up there
without backup. We were stupid."
 
"You couldn't have known," Skinner said. "You were lucky,
let's leave it at that. Right now we need to find out why
your stories are so different; how Miller managed to put
these memories in Mulder's mind in such short time, and
why."
 
Mulder frowned. "I know I should not believe what I saw; I
know that what I have seen and done does not make any
sense. Miller is the bad guy, you tell me. I know that he
is. Objectively, I know he's done wrong. But everything in
me wants to argue his motives. My first thoughts are that I
like this guy, but I can't. I shouldn't. There's something
struggling in the back of my mind to get out but I don't
know what it is."
 
"Are you sympathetic with him?" Scully asked worried.
 
"Yes. I guess I am."
 
"I might have a theory," Karen stated from the other side
of Mulder's bed. She smiled nervously when the others all
looked at her. Still she was not used to giving her
theories to elder agents. She fought every day for the
position she was in, even though she had long earned it by
proving her right.
 
"What is your theory, Karen?" Skinner asked, friendly
urging her to continue.
 
"I don't know if you are familiar with a phenomenon called
'The Stockholm Syndrome.' Basically, it's a syndrome that
occurs during and after hostage situations. The victims are
usually held captive and isolated for some time by their
captors and threatened with death. The captives promise the
hostages rewards for being good, and the balance between
life and death is usually very small. In the end the
hostage clings onto the captor, because they are rewarded
with life."
 
"I've heard about this," Mulder responded, "but usually
the victims are held in captivity three to four days.
During that time, the hostages don't know whether they will
live or die, giving the captors the opportunity to speak to
them continuously."
 
"That's right," Karen agreed. "The syndrome was named
after a failed bank robbery in Stockholm. The captives
there sympathized with their captors to such an extent that
they did not make the balance between captor and friend
anymore. The Patty Hearst case is the perfect example of
this syndrome. She, too, sympathized with her captors
because she feared for her life over a long period of time
and finally was rewarded with her life. She became her
captors' biggest defender and even hooked up with them."
 
"But it doesn't make any sense," Scully interrupted,
"There was a maximum of two hours between my departure and
the bust. How can Miller do this in a mere two hours when
it takes three to four days?"
 
"I don't know," Karen said. "I just know that it all adds
up, except for the time frame."
 
Mulder frowned as parts of his memories started coming
back. He recalled long hours of talking to Miller; hours
where he pleaded for his life and Scully's. There weren't
just two hours. There was much more time. Somehow he and
Miller lived in another time frame during that period. Time
somehow stood still.
 
But that didn't make any sense. No human being could
freeze time.
 
Or could Miller do it?
 
>From the second darkness fell over him, Fox Mulder felt
himself being engulfed by a strange darkness that was not
completely dark. It was a bizarre experience; he was awake
yet he was not. He was unable to move.
 
>From behind his closed eyelids he saw Scully wake up, get
up, remove the bonds that held her wrists and run. He saw
the compassion and sorrow in her eyes for leaving him to
his own devices. He heard her voice in slow motion when she
said, "I'll come back for you Mulder. I swear."
 
Then she was gone from the time and era Mulder was in; the
time and era John Miller had created for his captives. And
when Mulder woke up, the hours at hand had changed into
slow progressing days. Time had stood still. In the house
alone, time no longer had any meaning.
 
He forgot where he was or why. He forgot about the pain in
his leg and the cuts in his chest. Nothing of that mattered
anymore. He was in a place where thoughts were altered and
minds were gone. He had nothing to listen to, but John's
soothing voice.
 
In those hours he lived two days. Every second became a
minute, every minute an hour. It seemed as if he heard a
thousand different words at the same time. Miller just kept
on talking. He told him about Scully's murder. Then he
moved on beyond that and started telling him what he'd done
and how he should pay for his crimes. He'd killed Scully.
He should be killed too. He should kill himself. He should
not be allowed to live. When the police came, he should
tell them John was innocent. After that, given the
opportunity, he should end his own life. He had, after all,
nothing more to live for.
 
Slowly, very slowly, the words became to make sense inside
Mulder's mind. He understood what he'd done and why he came
to this point. His partner was dead and her blood was on
his hands; he had no way of telling anyone he had not
killed her. The vision that Miller wanted him to see became
true; he saw his partner die after a huge fight. They had
never fought like this before. She died because of it.
That's what Miller said, while time stood still. That's
what happened when John manipulated time and set the events
to his own hand, like he had done with all the women.
 
 
7
 
"I'm sorry," Judge Halgrove said, "but I cannot keep Mr.
Miller in custody for the charge of rape and kidnapping.
There is still no proof that he was responsible. For the
attacks on Agents Mulder and Scully, I can keep him in,
yes. But I need more on those four rapes to charge him with
that. Bail is being set on $400,000."
 
Miller smiled from the seat he had taken between his two
top lawyers. He glanced at Assistant Director Skinner who
had testified on behalf of his agents who could not make it
because of medical reasons. Skinner had explained as
objectively as possible what had happened to his agents. He
did not speak about the Stockholm Syndrome just yet. They
needed more proof of Miller's mind games. As long as they
didn't comprehend the whole situation, they had no case.
 
Skinner watched as Miller wrote out a check for bail and
left the courtroom a free man. From now on the suspect
would be guarded twenty-four and seven until trial or until
they had more evidence on him. But what did they have? They
could not find the missing jewelry belonging to the
victims. They had no one remembering Miller's presence.
They had no piano. None of the women recalled him. Their
testimonies would be worthless. And even his agent did not
remember the truth. It was hopeless. All they could book
him on was assault and any good lawyer could talk his way
out of that one. Scully hardly recalled being attacked,
Mulder did not recall being brainwashed. Miller would walk
a free man. That much was sure.
 
Karen Brooks had spent the entire morning in Miller's
house going through all the rooms once again. Her
experienced eyes searched for the missing links but could
not find it. She, too, came up empty-handed. They had a
search warrant for every room, but found nothing connecting
Miller to the women. Miller's estate was carefully
explored; the hill was searched for caves or cabins that
might have been forgotten. Miller only had a few hours and
did not have the time to go down the hill and back up in
three hours without being seen by someone. The victims were
always found after a few hours, so how could he pull it off?
 
It was obvious that John Miller's house held no secrets.
It didn't seem that way, anyhow.
 
Karen was still at the house when the released suspect
returned. Just as she packed up, Miller entered the room
and looked at her with deadly cold eyes. "Get out," he
ordered using the tone of voice he probably projected on
his victims.
 
"I have a right to be here, sir," she responded. "We do
have that search warrant."
 
"I don't care. This is my house and you polluted it with
your presence."
 
"If you hadn't taken those women, we wouldn't be here."
 
"Another remark like that and I'll slap you with a
harassment suit. Now get out. I'm not saying it a third
time."
 
Karen stretched her back and glared at one of her
colleagues, signaling for him to stay back. "Or else?" she
asked calm. "Are you going to rape me like you did those
women?"
 
Miller paled, as his eyes seemed to change color. He held
in the anger, fighting it off with difficulty as he balled
his hands. Karen saw the man behind the calm mask and knew
that she would do anything she could to find out the truth.
He did not deserve to walk about free any longer. Sooner or
later he would kill.
 
"Let's go," the other agent said as the four people in the
house gathered and left. Miller slammed the door behind
them. The agents had no choice but to leave. The warrant
was still valid but it would take another court order to
get back into that house.
 
"Are you coming Karen?" the other agents asked as she
walked to her vehicle.
 
"No, I think I'm going to talk to Agent Mulder. I'll
contact you later."
 
"Okay."
 
Karen took the long road down the hill and drove to the
hospital where Mulder and Scully were still staying. Scully
would be released shortly, but Mulder was forced to stay
and rest his damaged leg. Earlier that morning the doctor
had told him he would need physical therapy. Mulder had
just nodded and said he would do whatever it took.
 
During her time at the Bureau, Karen had heard of the
cases investigated in that dark basement office. She
believed in the paranormal. Her job, however, forced her to
look at the facts and stay with both feet on the ground,
but she did know that there were possibilities other than
the ones she held before her. She was open for suggestions.
People could do weird things. There didn't always have to
be a rational explanation for them. She knew somehow she
did not need to search for rational issues here. That's
what she needed to talk to Mulder about. There was
something in Miller's house she could not describe. It felt
as if in some hidden part of that house, the truth lay
ready to behold. She needed to take Mulder through that
house, to have him re-experience what he had before. If she
could do that, the truth might come out.
 
The only trick now was to get people to agree with that,
and she knew it would not be easy.
 
"Karen, do you know they're going to try to hypnotize me?"
Mulder quipped as she entered the room. "Perhaps I'll
finally find out where I left that spare set of car keys I
lost three months ago."
 
"Didn't you tell me you dropped it in your fish tank?"
Karen smiled, looking at Scully who seemed to recover
rather quickly. The headaches were reduced to a dull ache
and the agent had regained a healthy color on her face.
 
"As long as we don't find out what kind of porn movies he
likes, I'm okay with the hypnoses," Scully smiled.
 
"Actually, I might have another suggestion," Karen offered
as she took a chair near the bed.
 
Mulder glared at her interested. "We're all ears."
 
"I was in that house earlier. When I walk around in it, I
have this feeling the answer to our questions lies before
me, but I can't see it somehow. Things have changed:
they're minor changes but I can't grasp them. I need you
there with me to walk through the living room and discover
those changes. We're looking for a piano and we're looking
for missing personal belongings. We're looking for a place
where he could rape those women. I have the feeling all of
that rests in that house. The problem is that I can't see
it. I think you might."
 
"What do you suggest then, Karen?"
 
"I want you to go back to that house and relive what
happened in there. Without your recollections, we have
nothing to go on. If that does not help, I want you to
undergo a hypnotic session to find the truth buried inside
your mind. But I would keep the hypnosis for last. I think
the answer lies in your brain. We just need to figure out
where he buried the truth."
 
"I can live with that," Mulder agreed.
 
"Good," Karen smiled. "I know that you're still unfit for
duty, but we cannot afford to waste much time. I took the
liberty of discussing these options with AD Skinner and he
agreed that the choice lies with you. If you feel you want
to do this now, then we will proceed. If you believe you
might need more time, we will wait. Unfortunately, Miller
is out on bail and I think he might be preparing to run for
it, if necessary."
 
" He will not allow us in his house again," Scully
protested.
 
"I have arranged for another warrant," Karen spoke. "I had
problems persuading the judge, but I used strong arguments.
I told him about my theory of the hidden room, and he has
given us permission to do what it takes. My arguments were
clearly lined out. The judge could not refuse."
 
"I want to do this now," Mulder slowly spoke. "I believe
that you're right. If I could just go back to that house, I
might remember what had happened. If that's what it takes,
I'll do it, and I want to do it now."
 
"Let's get going then," Scully offered.
 
Karen and Scully discreetly left the room and waited
outside while nurses helped to get Mulder dressed on the
promise he would be back in the evening. He still was not
officially released and would not be for at least another
three to four days. He was not allowed to walk but ordered
to use a wheelchair to keep from straining his leg. He was
told that he might permanently damage his leg should he
ignore the warnings.
 
"I hope you're right about this, Karen," Scully spoke
softly. "We do need a break on this case."
 
"We'll get it, I guarantee," Karen spoke self-confidently.
"I believe in Mulder's mind. I know the answer is right in
front of us. I think that together we might find it."
 
"And what if that truth is not as straightforward as we
might hope for?"
 
"Then at least we'll have tried. It's better than just
giving up and moving on."
 
"Let's wait and see," Scully spoke, focusing her attention
on Mulder as he was wheeled outside of his room by a nurse.
 
"I'm driving," Mulder quipped.
 
 
8
 
John Miller was not a happy trooper. He frowned as the FBI
agents returned to his house with a new search warrant.
Inside the room lay a packed bag. Miller did not give an
explanation for it, but it was obvious he was nervous and
agitated. "When are you people going to stop harassing me?"
he muttered as he reluctantly let them in after glaring at
the warrant.
 
"The moment you confess to your crimes," Scully answered
dry.
 
Miller cursed under his breath and retreated into the
study while the FBI agents remained in the living room. The
door remained open at Karen's request. She wanted to keep
an eye on the man. Miller seemed too self-confident, Scully
thought. If he truly had something to hide, he wasn't
acting the part. He was too sure they would not find figure
out the truth.
 
There were five people in the room. Apart from Mulder,
Scully and Karen, Skinner had arrived with a county
deputy's deputy. All watched Miller tensely. The owner of
the house however did not attempt to escape. He just stood
there, watching them from the open door.
 
Mulder took deep breaths as Skinner wheeled him into the
living room. It was a spacious room decorated almost
completely with wooden furniture, giving it a cabin-like
appearance. A leather coach stood in front of a fireplace.
There was no television set. The fireplace had been
burning, heating the room. There was no other heating. In
the mornings, it probably became very cold in here. On the
wall hung heads of stuffed animals. There was no way of
telling if they were the real thing or the increasingly
popular fakes.
 
The built-in kitchen also consisted completely of wood. It
was man-made. In between the couch and the kitchen stood a
wooden table with six chairs. They looked like they had
never been used. For a wealthy man like Miller the house
was modest and inexpensively decorated. It did not seem to
fit his character.
 
"Is there a basement of some sort?" Mulder asked. "Has
that been checked?"
 
"Yes, the house was cleared," Skinner spoke. "I'm sorry to
say there doesn't seem to be any way he can hide things
here."
 
"I don't know about that," Mulder spoke slowly. He wanted
to get out of the wheelchair and walk through the house but
Scully would not allow it. His leg was aching too much
anyway. He closed his eyes and frowned, trying to remember.
 
Then he was back in the room, in the darkness with the
fireplace lighting only parts of the living room. He had
been here before. A humming sensation rushed through his
ears. He looked up and saw Miller standing in the doorway
between the study and the spacious living area. Miller's
face seemed spooky with the flames lighting his face. He
had seen this before.
 
He frowned, rubbed his temples and tried to remember what
had happened. He had been alone in the room, without
Scully. Scully was gone. Miller told him she was dead. He
had moved him; he was hurt and could not walk by himself.
Miller put his arm under his shoulders and pulled him up
roughly. Then the floor opened and they descended.
 
Yes, that's what happened. The floor opened. Mulder stared
at the floor. Cold, gray tiles covered most of the floor.
They were covered with a huge rug. They seemed out of
place. He looked further on and noticed other tiles
underneath the couch, uncovered.
 
"Do me a favor and knock on those tiles," he asked Karen.
The woman immediately knew what he was thinking. Now she
saw the change too. The rug had been moved slightly.
Before, it had covered more tiles to the right. Now it
covered the room centrally. The furniture had shifted a bit
as well. She shoved aside two wooden chairs. With united
forces Skinner and the deputy removed the table. Karen
threw aside the rug and practically crawled on the floor as
she knocked with her knuckles on the tiles until she found
a couple that sounded hollow underneath.
 
"This might be it," she spoke, looking up at Mulder. From
the study, Miller stared into the room and watched with
narrow eyes as the FBI attempted and succeeded in removing
two tiles. Underneath was a black hole, a passageway
leading underground.
 
"We found it!" Karen said, enthused, speaking to Miller.
The man's shoulders shrugged and he turned his back to
them. He had no chance to do anything but to accept the
cold steel of the handcuffs placed around his wrists. The
deputy arrested him for the second time and whispered in
his ear, "This time you won't have a fancy lawyer talking
you free."
 
Miller did not speak a word and allowed to be lead out of
the house.
 
To be concluded
 
--
 
The Dark Room Part 4
 
An X-Files Fanfiction
By Humbuggie c 2001
san@sv-tales.com
http://www.sv-tales.com
Feedback welcome!
 
Disclaimers and all that in part 1
 
 
9
 
Slowly the room changed into a dark, comfortable place,
where nothing disturbed the peace. It was as quiet as the
night in there. Only one light burned and lit the man in
the bed. The other man sitting by the bed sat in the
darkness and focused on his subject. In the back of the
room sat other people, all engulfed in darkness. They did
not utter a word. A cough, a motion, a move could disturb
the quietness.
 
 
Mulder's eyelids drooped as he slowly descended into
hypnosis. His thoughts were no longer in the room but went
back days, to the night he and his partner wanted to close
the case of the serial rapist once and for all.
 
He went back two days in time and relived that night.
 
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Mulder?" she asked
worried, driving up the hill towards the lonely house of
John Miller. The hill gave her the creeps, even though she
did not admit it. He could tell by the way she looked at
him. Darkness was falling slowly. If they did not make it
back in time, they could be stuck on the hill without a
clear direction down. Even though they would take the long
route down, they still would be taking risks going up there
at this time of night. But Mulder had insisted on going,
realizing that they had to act on his hunch. If Miller was
a free man for one more night, he might attack again. They
could not risk that.
 
He smiled and turned towards her. "Do you think he's going
to chose you as his next victim, Agent?"
 
"Actually ."
 
"Come on. If Miller is our man, he would never go this
far. He's a highly intelligent man who would know better
than that. He's dangerous, yes, but not when there are more
people involved. He chooses his victims with care, in an
area where he is in control. He selects them because they
are alone and vulnerable. He would not take on a man."
 
"But still, why take the risk?"
 
Mulder parked the borrowed Jeep before Miller's house and
shivered. Scully was right about one thing, there was
something creepy about the area. He did not like it here,
either. Perhaps they should have waited. But his instincts
never let him down. There were two of them against one of
him. Miller would not put up a fight with guns aimed at him.
 
 
Lights burned inside the house. It was deadly quiet.
Suddenly Scully turned her head slightly and listened. "Do
you hear that?"
 
"Hear what?"
 
"That sound. It sounds like piano music. Don't you hear it?"
 
"No."
 
She lifted her head, shook it and then smiled awkwardly.
"Strange, I could have sworn... It must have been the wind."
 
He knocked hard on the door. "Your imagination is running
crazy, Agent Scully."
 
She pulled a face.
 
It took at least five minutes before Miller responded
after a second insisting knock from Mulder. Frowning and
angrily the man only partially opened the wooden door and
glared outside. "Agents," he spoke unenthusiastically,
"what a surprise."
 
"Mr. Miller," Mulder began, "we need to talk."
 
"Again?"
 
"I'm afraid so. There are some questions that are still
unanswered. I was wondering if you would care to elaborate."
 
"On what exactly?"
 
"As you know we are still looking into the victim's
statements. I would like to take a look around your house
again and verify some things."
 
"Are you saying someone testified she was in my house?"
Miller raised an eyebrow.
 
"Not quite, sir, but we do need to check it out."
 
"Not without a warrant, you don't. I already showed you
people around. I've been very patient with you feds and
cops in the past, and I don't intend on running the mile
again. I'm tired of you disturbing the peace and quiet that
I cherish. If you don't have a decent reason, I won't let
you in."
 
"We understand that, sir," Scully soothed him, "but if you
have nothing to hide, there won't be any issues. Will
there?"
 
"You can say whatever you like. I'm not letting you in."
Miller angrily wanted to slam the door in their faces, only
to be stopped by Mulder, who forced the door partially open
before they were shut out. He was as strong as Miller was.
The standoff between the two men would end up undecided.
Miller was determined not to show them in, just as Mulder
was determined to find his way in. His hand rested on his
gun, ready to use it if necessary.
 
"Sir, please," Scully spoke, putting her hand on Mulder's
forearm to calm him down. Her partner stared at her and
nodded. He was calm yet determined. "We came all the way up
the hill to talk to you tonight. We just need to verify a
few things and then we'll be on our way. You will not be
harassed again."
 
"I want to know what you want to check."
 
"There have been statements about a piano," Mulder spoke.
"We want to know if you own one."
 
Miller laughed. His laughter echoed on the top of the hill
and down to the lake. "You must be joking. You people
scanned this house from top to bottom and could not find a
thing. Get the hell out and stop wasting my time."
 
"I'm afraid we cannot do that," Mulder spoke, pushing
Miller suddenly away from the door. The man protested and
then stepped aside, giving them unexpected access to the
house.
 
"Thank you," Mulder spoke. "You're very kind."
 
Miller turned his back towards them. Mulder looked around
the room, trying to crawl inside the man's head. He was the
one. Somehow the agent was certain of it. He resisted the
urge to drag out his gun and arrest Miller on his hunch.
 
Scully walked the room. Mulder stood still.
 
And then there was nothing more to think about. Miller
turned around and scanned him with those strange eyes of
his. Time froze. Mulder could not explain it any other way.
It was like watching the world pass in slow motion. Even
the flames in the fireplace didn't spark as quickly as they
used to. And Scully moved slowly. He watched as Miller
lifted a knife and raised it towards his partner. Mulder's
hand rose and stopped it from happening. He threw her aside.
 
The next second there was nothing but pain. His leg was on
fire. The pain burned a hole in his body. He looked down
and saw blood on his chest, cuts in the white shirt he wore
underneath his jacket. He sank backwards onto the ground.
And Scully lay next to him.
 
And there was nothing they could do about it, for John
Miller moved outside their slow-motion time and into the
real world. They did not stand a chance.
 
They found themselves bound. There were no gags: they
wouldn't have been able to call out for help anyhow. Miller
paced the room. He could subconsciously hear his voice. He
muttered things that were incomprehensible to them. Scully
moved and stirred and tried to get his attention. He opened
his eyes and stared at her. Her hands were freed. "I'll get
help, I swear." Her voice sounded weak and soft into his
ears. He saw blood on her face and in her hair. He blinked
and closed his eyes and heard her leave. Miller shouted
something, ran outside and went after her. There was the
sound of a car. Then nothing.
 
He found himself sitting on the floor. He bled from wounds
in his chest and leg, but the blood did not soak into the
rug. It had been removed. Grey tiles. He was on his feet,
leaning heavily into the man that carried him. "Where's
Scully?" he asked.
 
"She's dead," the man responded.
 
Then they descended. The tiles were removed. There was
blackness in the hole they had hidden. How had he done
this? Mulder thought wearily. Steps leading downwards. A
black pitch. More darkness.
 
They moved slowly. Miller was in his slow-motion time now
as well. Every second lasted an eternity. He had lost all
sense of being. Scully was dead, it hammered inside his
head. She died because you killed her.
 
They were in a hidden basement. A piano stood ready to be
played. A bed. The sheets were wrinkled and unclean.
Electric lights lit the eerie scenery. He stared at the
bed. Miller helped him over to it and told him to lie down.
He did as he was told.
 
The bleeding slowed. Every move he made was slow and
calculated. He stared at his hands and moved them. They
moved in another dimension, another space of time. He did
not control his motions.
 
Then Miller started talking. He explained he was a good
guy, someone whom Mulder could lean on. He had nothing to
do with the girls. When the police came, he would have to
tell them Miller had not hurt anyone. Scully died by
Mulder's hands. He killed her by accident and Miller gave
him shelter. He had given the others shelter, too, but they
did not remember. They had no recollection of the time they
had spent in this house. They did not relive the slow
lovemaking. If they remembered, they would get hurt. Their
families would get hurt. They did not need that.
 
Miller talked and talked for an eternity. He talked
directly into Mulder's brain, ordering him to do and say
things he would never do otherwise. Miller was the good
guy. Mulder would let him go and tell them he had done
nothing wrong. That was the purpose: to exonerate Miller.
That was Mulder's goal from now on. He would work for it.
And then Miller would not tell a soul what had happened
with Scully. That would be their little secret.
 
Mulder believed him. And when the police came to take
Miller away, the agent became his defender. That's what
Miller planted into his head. The hostage became the
defender. Using slowed-down time to talk to his hostage,
Miller talked sense.
 
Until now.
 
 
10
 
"He took a great risk doing this," Skinner spoke. "He knew
he would never get away with killing two FBI agents, so he
used his tricks to crawl inside Mulder's mind and fed him
lies. He wanted to take them both on, but then Scully got
away. He went after her down the hill and heard the crash.
He thought, hoped, that Scully was dead. He believed she
was gone and that he could convince Mulder he had killed
her. That was the scheme. Without Mulder's testimony we
would have nothing to go on. We would never find that room.
He would walk free, move somewhere else, maybe, and start
anew."
 
"Has he confessed?" Scully asked.
 
"No. He just smiled and called us simple souls. I'm afraid
that we won't be able to use the slowing time theory in
court, though. No one would believe us. But with Mulder's
testimony, the facts that explain and prove The Stockholm
Syndrome and the discovered hideout, we should have enough
to nail him for a long time. The investigation into the
West Coast disappearance has been reopened, but I'm afraid
he won't confess to that one. It would put him on death
row."
 
"We've got him," Karen said, "That's the main thing."
 
Mulder smiled and looked at her. "You're right about that.
Miller won't see the light of day again. But I do want to
speak with him and find out how he manages time. We need to
figure it out before he abuses this ability."
 
"Nobody believes that he can do it."
 
"I do," Mulder spoke persistent. "This is an X-File
waiting to be investigated. Miller will escape, I promise
you. He will use his abilities to start again somewhere
else. You will lose him."
 
"He will be fully covered," Skinner promised. "He won't go
anywhere. He's going to trial for murder. He won't escape."
 
"I'll make a bet on it." Mulder spoke persistent. "If you
don't watch it, he will be gone."
 
 
11
 
The prison block consisted of two hundred cells. He sat in
one of them waiting for his sentencing. He did not fear it.
They would take him away soon and lead him before the judge
and tell him he was a bad, bad boy. They would move him to
his new home.
 
He smiled as his eyes focused on his cellmate. The man was
speaking slowly, in his own world. That's what Miller had
done to him. He controlled time. Nobody believed that it
could happen, that one person could control time. But in
Miller's hands it happened. That, and his ability to
control and influence others, made him a powerful and rich
man.
 
When the going got tough and people became suspicious, he
chose a bachelor's life in solitude to smooth things.
 
He had always abused his gift: as a child, as a teenager
and as an adult. He had done things nobody knew about. He
had sex with women who did not know about it, who did not
remember spending time in his bed. He had uncontrollable
sexual urges. He did not trust a single person in this
world, but he had his needs.
 
He thought he had gotten away with it. The dark room,
hidden from everyone's sight, was his little secret. No one
would ever find it, or so he thought. He had it specially
created. He dug it out himself, using his solitude to
create it over the years. When he dug out that room, he
dreamt of women. He had neglected his needs for too long.
 
And then he took his first one, and enjoyed it. He thought
he could return those women without memories, and no one
would ever find out what happened to them. But it didn't
work out that way. The feds came to track him down. He
thought he could lie himself out of it. He thought he had
it all covered. He was a smart man, after all.
 
Now, he was in prison, but he would not be here for long.
He would move through life slowing down the people around
him. He controlled them, even though they did not know it.
 
Outside, in the cold, fresh air, he took a deep breath as
he focused on the people around him. They became slower,
living in their own world and time. His hands were cuffed
before him. He reached for the security guard's key. The
man did not notice it. He unlocked his wrists and dropped
the cuffs on the ground.
 
Then he started walking. He walked and walked and the slow-
moving world did not follow. He would move out of the
country, he had a fortune stashed as a precaution.
 
A woman walked on the streets. He caught her eye and
slowed down to her rhythm. They walked together. She turned
her face towards him and smiled, "Hey."
 
"Hey," he responded.
 
He took her hand in his and asked her if she had a date
for the night. A few seconds later they moved in their own
universe, into his new dark room.
 
 
The End
 
 
 
 
--
Happy is the heart of him who writes; he is young each day." --
Ptahotpe, c. 2350 B.C.

Find San's Columns and The X-Files at http://www.sv-tales.com