By David Hearne
ottercrk@sover.net
 

DATE: Mon, 28 Feb 2000

CLASSIFICATION: X

SUMMARY: An investigation into an unusual crime leads Mulder and Scully to
the oldest conspiracy of them all.

RATING: R

ARCHIVE: Anyone who wants it can have it.

Send feedback to ottercrk@sover.net

My website is at  http://members.dencity.com/hearne

DISCLAIMER: You know, has anybody actually been sued for writing fan
fiction? Well, just to be sure...Mulder, Scully and The X-Files are the
property of the Fox network and 10-13, amen.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is not meant to be an exact reflection of my
spiritual beliefs, such as they are. I simply thought that writing an X-File
based on "Holy Blood, Holy Grail" would be interesting.

Again, this author thanks Abigail Thomas for her hard work in editing this
piece. I have also come to realize that certain readers have let me
continuous support in these past months of writing. Among them are Caroline,
Penny@syc (who is in my ears and in my heart), Firephile, Exley_61, Amanda,
Pam, Laurie, Jintian, Dasha K. and others whose names I've unforgiveably
forgotten. To all of you I will say...you're the ones who make this
worthwhile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART ONE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"This is an imaginary story. Aren't they all?" -- Alan Moore

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

On January 1, 2000, the world did not end.

Many people were disappointed by this.

Some of those people had been here in Jerusalem. They had been waiting in
small rented rooms, gathering in private churches or walking under stone
arches with cross over their shoulders. The Book of Revelations had been
fully memorized in their heads. The Dome on the Rock was watched to see if
it might explode. The heat and the dusty beauty of the square, brown
buildings weighed down on them as the clock inched towards the final
midnight.

When 1999 had died and the world did not die with it, they faced their
dilemma in various ways. Some pointed out that the millennium does not
really end until 2001. Others argued that dates were meaningless and that
Armageddon can still occur as long as the proper signs existed. I'm sure
that more than a few went mad or madder. Imagine -- instead of witnessing
the apocalypse, they had to content themselves with the mundane tragedies of
the world and the disappointments of their lives.

I do no mock these people. I have spent more time than you can imagine
waiting for my own grand moment. I wanted...

What did I want?

Armageddon? A new heaven on earth? Piece of mind?

It doesn't matter now. I have left it all behind me -- all the hopes and
dreams which I tried to make the world obey. I lie on this bed of this small
hotel room in a Jerusalem hotel. I feel so tired. I couldn't get up if I
wanted. Instead, I think about the events of the past month. I think about
Joel Graham and the two FBI agents. I think about Healers and Warriors and
those who tried to be both.

Of course, I think about my brother, too. When don't I think about my
brother?

I wonder why it has to end like this.

The answer comes easily.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

JOEL

Call me sick, but I like show tunes.

Rodgers and Hammerstein, Lerner and Loewe, Sondheim, Herman, Lloyd-Webber,
Weill...well, *some* Weill. I don't really care for "The Three-Penny Opera."
Too political for my tastes.

The tape deck of my car was loaded with the great musicals. As I drove
through the night on long highways, I was kept awake on these tiring drives
by singing along with "South Pacific" ("Once you have found her..."), "Into
the Woods" ("Careful with the things you say, children will listen..."), "La
Caux Au Follies," ("The best of times is now, is now...") and "Cats" ("Oh,
well, there never was a cat so clever..."). Around the time I entered the
state of Indiana, I had developed a tendency to put "Hair" on the player. Of
course, I've always liked "Hair" which is a bit strange since it's obviously
political. Oh, well.

I wish I could sing. That's what my fellow cast members in "My Fair Lady"
told me. "You should really get some voice lessons," Penny Wheeler (my Eliza
Doolittle) told me. "because you're such a good actor." Well, I don't know
if I was that good an actor. I think I just looked good compared to the
other actors culled from the music classes. I had a certain...enthusiasm.
And a certain degree of imagination as well as an ability to be spontaneous.
I played the role of Henry Higgins as a near-madman in a costume I copied
from Tom Baker in "Doctor Who." I wasn't as good as Rex Harrison, but...

I think that was the happiest time of my life during high school. Donning
that corduroy jacket and long scarf and then declaring "Why can't the
English teach their children how to speak..." gave me a reprieve from my
boredom with tests and the humiliations of gym class. On stage, I felt far
more confident than I did walking through the hallways of Watertown High
School. I preferred the eyes of a laughing audience to the gaze of
sniggering farm-boys and football players. Of course, being in a musical
only enhances your reputation as a sissy in their eyes. Luckily, none of
them actually saw the production. I can only imagine what they would said
after seeing me declaring, "What can't a woman be more like a man?"

I once asked my dad, "Am I gay because I listen to musicals?"

"What?" he responded.

"Am I gay because I listen to musicals?"

"Uh...why are you asking this?"

"Well, I'm a fan of musicals and people who listen to musicals are supposed
to be gay, right?"

My father twisted his lips. Around that time, I had been saying a lot of
things that had produced that bewildered, uncertain expression on his face.
He looked at me and said, "Are you gay?"

"No."

"Well...I would say that you like musicals because...it's just your taste.
That's all."

"I see. Thanks, Dad."

"Son, is there anything you want to talk about?" This was a question my
father had been asking repeatedly at the time. As usual, my answer was "no."

My answer about my sexuality was true as far it goes. I wasn't gay, but I
didn't feel straight, either. I felt very undefined about...well, about
everything, but my sexual identity was the most perplexing. I didn't know
who Joel Graham was supposed to be exactly. At one time, I thought that I
was going to be school valedictorian, but I grew bored with studies. At
another time, I thought about being an actor, but I only wanted to be in
musicals and since I couldn't sing...

Have you ever read some of the comments from the tapes made by Klebold and
Harris? You know, the two guys who shot up that school in Colorado? They're
talking about what they're planning to do and why they want to do it.
Frankly, I'm not sure where their minds were, simply judging  from the
comments they made. At one point, they're mocking one victim's religion.
Then they're spewing hatred for different races. After that, they claim
they're doing this for the sheer fame.

Well, which was it? What really motivated them? If we're to believe
everything they said, then they had a bewilderingly wide spectrum of motives
to chose from. I wouldn't be surprised to hear them claim they did it to
impress Jodie Foster. My image of them is of two young men on a stage. They
face an audience comprised of different people with different gripes against
society -- there's too little religion, too much racism, too much
television. They play the favorite demons of each person in the audience
just to make them angry. In other words, everything they said was a lie
about themselves.

Why did they do it, then?

Here's my explanation -- they did it because they thought that it was
expected of them. They looked at themselves and saw two 'losers' -- people
who could only make a mark on the world through a horrible crime. They were
'alienated young men' and they went through the motions expected of
'alienated young men.' They behaved the way people thought they should act.
Or what they thought people thought.

I suppose that I was like that back then. I couldn't decide what was I
supposed to be. Straight-A student or burnout? Straight or gay? Actor or
just a sissy?

Then this other thing happened to me and that made me more confused than
ever. It was six months after high school ended when I learned what I was
capable of doing. That's why I drove away from home in the car given to me
as a graduation present, emptied out my bank account and took to the
highways. That's why I did these things to women, and why I planned to
do more of it in the state of Indiana. Of course, I couldn't possibly
imagine what was going to happen there. I drove across the state border,
blithely unaware of what was down the road and singing the theme song of
one of my favorite musicals.

"...long like Jesus grew it, Mary loved her son, why don't my mother love
me...?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SCULLY

In my darkest moments, I look up to the sky and say to God, "Lord, how do I
get into this shit?" God must often be tempted to say, "Don't look at me,
kid. He's your partner."

Very well. I will attempt to do as I always have. I will try to present the
events surrounding Joel Graham with as much clarity as possible, give
answers where I can and acknowledge the evident mysteries in my story. I
cannot promise to explain everything. I can only assure that the confusion
you feel is equal to my own. Nor can I truly address the full implications
of the possible truths infusing these events.

Nor will I try.

When Mulder first learned about Lisa Smith and told me about it, we went
through our standard debate. Mulder believed the woman's story. I was
doubtful of the value of any investigation on our part, until he showed me
the images faxed to us from the Columbus Police Department. They were copies
of photos taken with a Polaroid camera. I looked at them.

The next day, we were in Columbus, Ohio. Detective Simon Helm was waiting
for us.

"It was the photos, right?" Helm said. "That's what convinced you to come
down here, isn't it?"

"Shouldn't we have been convinced?" Mulder asked.

Helm sighed and shook his head. "I showed them to a coroner. He said that if
they're faked, it's a very good fake."

"That's the conclusion of Agent Scully here as well. Whether we stay
convinced enough to stay down here depends on what Miss Smith has to tell
us."

"Then I think you will stay."

Lisa Smith was a lean, muscular woman -- fitting for a professional boxer.
However, her frightened, pained expression did not match the confidence
expected of a boxer. This was the story she told us --

"I left the gym around ten o'clock. I was in the parking lot and heading for
my car when I heard somebody coming behind me. I turn around and see this
skinny guy wearing a ski mask. I think 'Oh, great,' but I'm not worried.
This guy isn't holding a weapon or anything. He just has his bare hands.

"So, I wait until he's within arm's length, then I drop my bag and clocked
him twice in the face. I thought that would ring his bell, but..."

She hesitated and looked down at the floor of the interrogation room. "Miss
Smith?" I said.

She took a few deep breaths, then looked back up. "He seemed dazed for a
second, so I was ready to follow it up. Then he just reached forward
and...and...touched me on the neck. Just a little tap." She cleared her
throat. "I blacked out. Could I have a glass of water, please?"

Mulder poured one and handed it to her. She drank it as if she had been
walking through the desert. She clutched the empty glass to her as she
continued.

"When I woke up later, that's when the pain began.

"He just touched me and I will feel...

"He didn't even have to tie me down. I was hurting so badly that I couldn't
move. I couldn't even scream. It's was like my throat couldn't work anymore.

"And all the time, he kept taking pictures.

"I don't know how long this went on. But, finally, he said, 'Don't be afraid
to tell anybody' and he touched me one more time.

"When I woke up, I found myself in a bus stop." She looked down at her
wrists which were as unmarked as the rest of her body. "I was all right. I
wasn't hurt anywhere. I wouldn't have believe that it even happened if I
hadn't found those...those pictures in my purse." Then she looked at me and
Mulder. "Am I crazy?"

I had to say no. The fear alone in her eyes would have shaken my skepticism.
The photos of the wounds, bruises, sores and burns on Lisa Smith's naked
skin almost knocked it over.

"So, what's your take on it?" Helm asked us after Lisa left the room.

Mulder looked at me, giving me the first crack at it. "Well," I said. "if
there is a fraud being committed here, I doubt that Miss Smith is a
participant in it. My first idea would have been to look for drugs in her
system, but you've already done that."

"Yep. She was clean."

"I suppose that hypnosis is another possibility, albeit a far-fetched one."

"What about the photos?"

"They look very authentic, but..." I let my voice trail away. My attempt at
rationalism had never sounded so lame before and I was sure Mulder was going
to stomp all over it.

"What do you think, Mulder?" Helm asked.

Mulder opened his mouth and said, "I have no real theories at this time."

Come again? I thought.

"However, I do agree with Agent Scully that this was the result of an act
perpetrated on Miss Smith. I also think that whoever did this will attempt
such an act again. I would like to convene all the members of the police
department for a meeting in a few hours."

"What for?"

"By then, I should be able to construct a profile of the man who did this to
Miss Smith and give everyone a hint of where to start looking."

Helm nodded and said, "All right." Then he sighed. "Why do I think this is
going to turn into a godawful headache?"

After he left us in the interrogation room, I turned to Mulder and said,
"'No real theories?'"

Mulder leaned against a wall, putting his hands in his pockets. "What
should I have said?"

"That we are dealing with a man who can heal as well as cause bodily harm
with his touch?"

Mulder grinned. "I better keep an eye out. Sounds like you're angling for my
job."

"No one wants your job, Mulder. Are you saying that you haven't considered
this possibility?"

"It's...kind of floating around in my mind."

"Then why didn't you bring it up?"

His eyes shifted over to a corner of the room.

"Mulder, what is it?"

"There is something deeper to this case. It's just a feeling."

"Well, before we start thinking about that, what kind of profile are you
working on?"

"A very detailed one. This guy isn't exactly a hard one to read. In fact,
he's deliberately exposing his own pathology."

"Which is?"

"Among the things I will say in my profile is that we're dealing with
a young man, possibly still in high school or just recently graduated. He
feels insecure about his underdeveloped body. He feels drawn towards women
who are active in traditional male activities -- boxing, bodybuilding and so
on. They appeal to his confusion over his identity as a man. I'm not talking
about latent homosexuality. I mean, in regards to being 'masculine enough.'
He's not as strong or tough as he would like to be."

"And he's playing out the rage over that on the ones who -- in his mind --
should be as weak as he is."

"Right. The second component of his pathology is a desire to get caught."

"'Don't be afraid to tell anyone.'"

"Exactly. If my theory...excuse me, if *your* theory is correct..."

I gave him my ol' raised eyebrow.

"...then this man has discovered a perfect crime. He can kidnap women,
torture women and then let them go without them having a shred of proof. But
he gives them their proof and encourages them to tell others. Now, a lot of
psychotic criminals want to be caught -- they leave clues, they taught the
police with letters -- but I've never seen such a deliberate desire to be
captured."

"He did wear a mask, though."

"I doubt he wants to make it too easy. But the need to be caught is very
strong."

"Is it because of guilt?"

"Partially. However, he also hopes that exposure will bring explanation. He
wants the world to look at him and tell him exactly what he is, even if it
just calls him a psycho."

"Well, I hope we fulfill his desires soon. I suspect Lisa Smith is the first
of many intended victims."

"Oh, I doubt she was even the first. I bet you anything there have been a
few others before her."

"But if there was, why wouldn't the women..." I stopped myself.

"Why wouldn't they?" Mulder said quietly. "When they probably have photos
like Lisa Smith?"

"Because they're not sure to believe it themselves, even with the photos.
And even if they do believe it, they don't want to risk ridicule."

"Right."

"So, how do we find out about them?"

"That may be up to Miss Smith."

I looked at Mulder and said, "You want her to go public?"

He nodded.

"That's going to give her a lot of unpleasant exposure. I wouldn't recommend
it in her state of mind."

"I wouldn't recommend it, either. If she doesn't want to do it, that's her
call. But...if we're going to find this guy, we need to work out where he's
been."

I didn't have to add to that. Mulder was right. What I did say was "That
still doesn't explain why you're uneasy. You've all but admitted that you
believe our suspect to have some kind of unique ability. What's bothering
you about that?"

Mulder kept quiet for a long time.

Then he said, "It's that he's using it to heal the same people he harms. I
don't know why, but...that makes it all the more scary."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWO

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"[W]hen something is set before mankind that
is not only enormously valuable, but also
quite new, the sudden vision, the chance of
winning it, the chance of losing it, drive
them mad."

                                        -- G.K. Chesterton

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

I spent several years of my life praying for the call I would eventually
receive in the year 2000. I spent just as many years dreading it.

I was in Berlin when I got the word of the meeting. I had been
doing...nothing, really. Recently, I had acquired a taste for inaction. I
wanted to be out of the loop, a mere observer, uninvolved. However, a
meeting like this couldn't be ignored. There was also bound to be great
trouble if I didn't get myself involved.

I took my time getting there, though. The others had arrived in France
before I did. The meeting was arranged to be in a small Parisian hotel. As I
took a cab through the rain-soaked streets, I thought of the last time that
I had been in France. My official occupation had been priest. That was the
last time I ever took up the profession.

All four of them were waiting for me in Room 422. It was Angela Hawkins who
let me in. Her fellow Warrior, Adnan Pahlavi, was sitting on a bed. The
representatives of the Healers -- Sir Hugo Leigh and Cardinal Vito Guli --
were seated at a table near the window. I noticed that Hawkins was in her
late twenties and Pahlavi was in her early thirties. Leigh and Guli,
however, were over sixty. Warriors always tend to be younger than Healers.

It was also evident that everybody had been waiting in silence for me. Not
one word had been exchanged among them. I had to be the one who got the ball
rolling.

I took a breath, turned to Hawkins and Pahlavi and said, "In Hoc Signo
Vinces."

They both smiled and nodded.

I looked at Leigh and Guli. "Et in Acradio Ego," I told them.

They smiled and nodded as well.

"And a general hi-diddly-ho to you all," I said. I jumped onto a bed, laid
myself out and kicked off my shoes. I had deliberately established English
as the language of this conversation. It wasn't a problem of finding a
common language among an American, an Englishman, an Italian and an Arab.
Everybody in that room spoke five languages at least. I chose English
because it was a good language to be arrogant in. And I wanted to be
arrogant, push people around a little, set them off their balance. "So,
where's the champagne?" I asked.

Either they didn't see what I was doing or they didn't care, but all four of
them kept smiling at me. "Champagne?" Guli said.

"Well, this is all damn historic, isn't it? Shouldn't we have champagne or
something?"

"There's some in the refrigerator," Pahlavi informed me.

"The bottles are always too small and too costly," I snapped. "For God's
sake, people, this is the first time Healers and Warriors have ever had any
contact in...what has it been?"

"Over eight-hundred years, Ormus," Leigh said.

"Over eight damn centuries. Of course, when I say 'contact,' I mean
'official contact,' right?"

That made them nervous. I had opened up a can of worms and flicked the tiny,
squirming things in their faces. Guli cleared his throat and said, "I
wouldn't pay too much attention to rumor, Ormus."

"Hmmm. Well, then...eight hundred years. Just what could be so important
that could bring these two sides together again?"

Eyes turned to Hawkins. After hesitating for one moment, she picked up a
videotape and fed it to the room's VCR. "This aired two days ago in the
United States. It's from a news show called 'American Investigations.' They
are not regarded as being one of the finer news shows. They deal with
subject matter of a particularly lurid quality -- anything to do with sex,
grisly death or possible supernatural occurrences. We have people who
monitor the show regularly because every once and awhile...they get one
right."

She pressed the play button. The face of the 'American Investigations'
anchorman popped up. He was one of those well-groomed idiots who compensate
for their absence of integrity and dead imaginations with some basic
cunning and a commanding voice. I don't see how this distinguished him from
the reporters of 'the finer news shows.' In the U.S.A., these kind of people
are spread all over the media landscape like weeds.

The story was called 'Healer -- or Monster?' It concerned a woman named
Lisa Smith in Ohio. "This story is strange and unbelievable," the anchorman
declared. "But could it be the truth?"

Then the story rolled.

After it was done, Hawkins turned off the VCR. Everyone waited for my
comment.

"That was...weird," I said. "But what does that have to do with us?"

"Just to make sure, our investigators checked on the Descendants in the
Northeast U.S."

"Why? What were you..." I sat up on the bed. I looked at Hawkins, then at
everybody else. They all had the same tense expression; tense yet quietly
excited.

"One Descendent is missing," Hawkins said, keeping her voice level and
straightforward. "His name is Joel Graham from Watertown, New York. He
vanished from his house seventeen days ago. Our psychologists suspect
possible instabilities in his mind."

"You people suspect a lot more than that," I said. "Do you really believe
that he has the gift?"

"There's no way of telling at the moment. We would need to do a
thorough medical test, but it is possible that he has inherited the
Merovingian gene. And it may have re-activated."

I dropped back down on the pillows. I rubbed my hands down my face.

"If it is true," Pahlavi said. "then we have an unique opportunity before
us..."

"We also have a madman," Leigh interjected.

"A madman who may be just what we need."

"No. A foundation built on someone like that..."

"The Church has built its own foundation on the work of sinners," Guli said
in his calm, musical voice. "Before Paul saw the glory of the Lord, he was a
persecutor of Christ's followers."

I held back a groan. Someone *would* have to bring up Paul.

"Let us not forget the tribe of Benjamin. They were allowed to have their
way with the women of Shiloh in order to preserve their bloodline."

"What's your point?" Leigh asked.

"My point is that our responsibilities demand realism from us. Sometimes, we
must cross through Hell in order to reach Heaven. I think this man was meant
to serve our cause, but he has lost his way." Guli looked at Hawkins. "We
should have learned more about him before he...he disappeared. If he was a
Descendent, why wasn't he made aware of that?"

"Because," I said. "we can't just recruit every bastard who has the right
ancestors. I don't care who his great-great-grandfather screwed."

Guli opened his mouth to say something -- probably about the importance of
the bloodline and the will of God. Then he thought better about it and
closed his mouth.

"Whatever proper course we chose to take..." Pahlavi said in a careful
voice. "...and whatever may be the truth about Joel Graham...I think we
all agree that he should find him before anyone else does. If nothing
else, we need to conceal anything that might expose the bloodline and
damage its reputation."

"Yes, well..." Leigh said. "That's the opinion of the Healers as well. This
is why we need you, Ormus. Your predecessors have always been the
intermediaries between Healers and Warriors. Each Ormus in history has
settled our conflicts and calmed our rancor. And this could be a turning
point in the relations between our two factions. Joel Graham could be what
unifies us again..." He looked at Pahlavi and Hawkins. "...or creates war."

The Warriors looked straight back at the Healers. I ended this little
pissing match by saying, "Provided I don't kill him."

Now, they were all looking at me in surprise. "If I take over this matter, I
must have my full rights as Ormus," I informed them. "I don't want anybody
questioning my decisions. If I decide that this man is too much trouble, I
will terminate him with some very extreme prejudice and there will be no
complaints about it."

"Uh...how could you even kill him?" Pahlavi said. "If he has the gift..."

"No...questions."

All four of them kept silent for awhile. Then Hawkins said, "The Warriors
will support you in any decision, Ormus."

"As will the Healers," Guli added.

"Fabulous. Simply fabulous."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

MULDER

Certain cases give off a vibe. I'm not talking about the usual
ghost-in-the-attic or monster-in-the-sewer stories. I'm talking about those
mysteries whose initial questions are merely the prelude to a much broader
conundrum. The case of Joel Graham felt like a thread of a tapestry whose
design I had yet to comprehend.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Spooky Mulder's on the prowl.

Well, it's not as if I anticipated *everything* that was going to happen. I
didn't even suspect that we were going to face anything other than one
psychotic high school graduate. I just felt...something.

Let me take up at the point after the "American Investigations" show aired.
I wish I could have gotten a more savory news show to pick up this story.
(The 'reporter' they set spent as much time primping her hair as asking
questions.) However, it did the trick. Joel Graham had two previous victims
before Lisa Smith and they both saw the broadcast -- a nice bit of luck
on our part. Our luck continued when Eve Stevenson and Theresa Myers both
stepped forward. They both fit the profile for Graham's favorite targets.
Eve was a soldier and Theresa was a bodybuilder. They also had photos, a
detail we deliberately withheld from 'American Investigations.'

Of course, this couldn't have been done without Lisa Smith. When I proposed
my idea, she was uncertain but she stood up to the light. Even though she
never got into a boxing ring again, Graham never robbed Lisa of her courage.
With her help, we were able to get an idea of our suspect's path.

Theresa's attack had occurred after Eve's. Theresa lived in Pennsylvania and
Eve was in New York. "Eve was the first one," I said.

"How can you be sure?" Scully asked.

"My instincts are telling me that we've caught this man early in his spree.
If he was further along, he would be even more blatant in his desire to have
himself captured."

"All right. So, what's the plan?"

"Let's each take an end. I'll check out New York and see if I can find
out where this guy lived. You go to Indiana."

"Because this man only attacks one women per state?"

"You get a gold star, Scully," I told her with a grin. Before she could wax
sarcastic, I continued. "Our man crosses the state border after every woman
he attacks. It's his way of distancing himself from his crime. He's also
driving a very direct line westward. Indiana is definitely the place to look
for him."

That's where Scully went to get in touch with the state troopers. Before I
went to New York, however, I got a list of any missing young men around the
age of sixteen to nineteen. Even after narrowing it down to a time frame
around Eve Stevenson's attack and in her general area, the list was
depressingly long. As I started to remove names on the basis of their
physical build, Joel Graham leapt out at me. It wasn't that he was a skinny
guy just out of high school and had been living with his parents when he had
suddenly vanished one day in his car. That wasn't too far from a description
of the other missing teenagers. What struck me was one of the
"distinguishing characteristics" in the police report on his disappearance.

"Mulder, why are you going to Watertown?" Scully asked me as I had an ear
pressed to an airplane phone.

"I'm going to check out one Joel Graham. He's one of the vanished young men
I got off the 'missing person' database."

"Why him? I thought you had a lot of people to choose from."

"He fits my profile well."

"Better than the others?"

"Uh...not better."

"So, what makes him special?"

What could I tell her? That my curiosity had been hooked by a birthmark?
That I was thinking about a legend hundreds of years old? At the time, I
only had a fuzzy sense of connections. The only answer I could give was,
"Just a feeling I have."

Luckily, I have been partnered with Scully long enough for her to give me
the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe she just gets tired of arguing with me.
In any case, she said, "All right, Mulder."

"Just to make sure, I'm gonna send you some information about Joel
Graham, including the license plate of his car. Circulate it around the
police and see if they can find him."

"All right." There was a hesitation on her end, then she said,
"Mulder...there is something I want to ask you."

"Shoot."

"You say that our suspect is drawn to women in traditional male roles.
Would that include FBI agents?"

"Well...now that you mention it..."

"I see. Could he get aggressive and irrational towards me?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes. He could. On the other hand, keep in mind that
people who are into fantasies of dominance can have submission fantasies
as well. It's like two different aspects of a human mind feeding off the
other. And remember that our suspect wants to be caught. His personality
could switch to submissive and he'll end up surrending to the first female
cop he sees."

"I hope he does."

"Well, I'm not worried. I know you'll catch him."

"Thanks for the confidence, Mulder."

I smiled, hearing a deeper thanks in her words. "I'll keep you informed
about my end," I told her.

"I'll do likewise. 'Bye."

I went back to my plane seat and looked through the information I had on
Joel Graham. I studied a photo of him. He didn't exactly have a handsome
face, but it was an interesting one. His features had an exaggerated
quality -- full lips, a long nose, bright blue eyes. He was smiling in the
photo and his grin seemed to bend his face into an U-shape. Graham had the
look of one of those bright kids in high school who swing between intense
shyness and a flamboyant goofiness.

Of course, he didn't look like someone who would torture women for pleasure.
Nobody ever does. I went to Watertown, New York to find out what he was
exactly.

I found out a hell of a lot more than that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THREE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It's a family affair..."

                      -- Sly Stone

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

It was at my wedding that I first began to wonder about the stories
concerning my brother. Or, perhaps, I'm merely projecting my present
knowledge on my past state of mind. Did I really suspect something at that
time? For that matter, is the story about what he did at the wedding true? I
didn't personally witness it. Maybe Jude really *did* find extra wine in the
cellar as he said. I just remember that he had a peculiar smile as he
poured me a glass.

I also remember his reaction when he first met Mary. He greeted her as he
always greeted a beautiful woman -- with a stammer and a blush. "I, I'm very
pleased to, uh, meet you."

"And I am pleased to meet you," Mary responded with a smile "May Isis bless
you."

"Uh, yes...well, thank you."

Mary lifted an eyebrow. "Does not Yahweh have a blessing for me?"

Jude cringed and tried to find a suitable reply. I interceded with a laugh
and a pat on his back. "Oh, Mary, don't tease my brother."

"My apologies," Mary said with a short bow. "I would not wish any of my
guests to feel uncomfortable, especially not my groom's brother."

"Oh, it's all right," Jude said quickly. "It's...fine."

Mary looked between me and my brother. "Amazing. The similarities between
you two."

"That's why they call us 'twins,' Mary," I said in a light voice. Of course,
Jude and I didn't look completely alike. He was leaner than I was and less
inclined to look you in the eye.

"Is this my future?" she asked me. "Years of snide jokes from you?"

"I'll make it up with lots of sex," I replied which made Jude blush again.

Mary gave me one of her beautiful smiles before she turned back to my
brother. "In any case...I am glad to finally meet you, Jude."

"Oh, well...I've...I've been busy."

"So I've heard. You and your brother both seem to share a lot of ambition."

Jude laughed, a little too loudly. "Not the same ambition."

"Hmm. Well, you must pardon me, but there are other guests I must speak
with. But you shall sit by my side, Jude. I have much that I want to talk
about with you."

"Of course," Jude said, his head bobbing up and down. "Certainly."

Mary nodded, then walked away in that particular graceful way she had. She
almost looked like she was floating.

"I sounded like an idiot," Jude groaned.

"Don't worry. She likes you. She liked you even before she met you. She
admires what your ministry has been doing."

"Oh. Well."

I put my arm around my brother's shoulder. "Come. Let's find a place to
talk in private."

It was hard to find such a place. My wedding looked more like a carnival.
All the guests eating and drinking, the games, the dancers, the
musicians...it was splendidly loud and chaotic.

As we made our way through the crowded building, we were stopped by several
well-wishers. We were also stopped by Peter who, as usual, looked brooding
and impatient.

"Rabbi, I have a matter to discuss..."

"Not now, Peter," I said. "I wish to talk with my brother."

"But, Rabbi, this is..."

"Not...now...Peter."

Peter shut his mouth, gave a testy look at Jude and left us. "Perhaps, you,
uh, should talk with him," Jude said. "He must have something important on
his mind."

"Undoubtedly. But it can wait."

We finally found a quiet corner of the building. We sat down and I said,
"So, brother, how does go your ministry?"

"Oh, it...it goes very well. As well as it can, I guess."

"Your reputation is growing, you know. Stories are going around."

"What kind of stories?"

I looked at him.

"Oh. Those stories. I hope people don't spend too much time on that."

"I hope people don't spend too much time on that." I should have picked up
on that. He never said the stories were false. However, I suppose that I
heard what I wanted to hear. I couldn't simply believe that my brother was
capable of such feats. After all, why should he be able to do them and not
me? Wasn't I the important one? Wasn't I the one with a political faction
growing in strength everyday? Wasn't my brother just some preacher in dirty
clothes?

"Well, I'm sure they'll die down soon enough," I assured him.

My brother looked at me. His eyes were no longer uncertain and embarrassed.
They now held a direct, incisive gaze. It was at moments like this when I
could believe that my brother could actually make crowds gather with the
sound of voice.

"I hear stories about you, brother," he said. "They say that you're causing
quite a stir. You're making powerful men nervous."

"I sincerely hope that I am."

"This wedding will only serve to make them more nervous. Mary represents the
Tribe of Benjamin..."

"...which implies I'm trying to create a dynasty by merging that bloodline
with mine. Why are you telling me things that I'm already aware of?"

"I'm merely describing the situation I see, brother. I also see trouble
ahead."

"And I will be causing most of it." Before Jude could reply to that, I
leaned over and squeezed his knee. "Please, Jude. I don't wish to talk about
politics on my wedding day."

"I though this wedding was nothing *but* politics."

"Oh, come now! You've seen Mary. Is she not a prize? Why shouldn't I marry
her?"

Jude looked downward. He squirmed in his chair as he clutched his arms to
his chest. "Well, there is the matter of faith..."

I let out a moan. "Please, Jude..."

"Should I remind you of the first commandment?"

"Whom Mary chooses to worship is strictly her affair."

"And what about your children? How will they be..."

"I've already heard this from mother and father. In the beginning, they
were not enthusiastic, especially mother. I've convinced them to approve
my wedding. Must I argue with you as well?"

Jude tugged at his robe and said nothing. "I know you're only looking out
for me," I told him. "And I want to follow in Yahweh's path. But I also
believe Yahweh wants His people to throw off their oppressors as they did in
Egypt. If my marriage can help accomplish that, then I'm sure He will
approve."

Jude still kept quiet, but I knew what he was thinking. He considered my
revolution irrelevant. What Jude thought the world needed was a change in
philosophy, not a change in rulers. It would only be when we wanted more in
our hearts than...

Well, this is a familiar argument. Power versus personal realization. It's a
debate that has been passed down through the ages. At the time, I thought my
brother foolish for concentrating on the latter. Now, I think...

I don't know what to think.

Despite whatever he was thinking at the time, though, Jude said, "My
apologies, brother. I shouldn't be making arguments on this day."

"It's quite all right. Come, let's rejoin the others." And we did, arms over
the other's shoulders.

Whatever doubts my brother had about my marriage or Mary's religion, he
seemed to honestly like Mary. During the feast, he sat by her and began to
lose his shyness. Soon, they were talking easily with each other and
laughing. It made me glad to see them get along. In fact, my wedding feast
may have been the happiest time of my life.

Years later, I would look back on it with bitterness. I would think about
the way Jude looked at Mary and detect the seeds that would grow into the
tree of his betrayal. Jude would steal Mary away from me -- first by
stabbing me in the back and then giving me the greatest gift a man could
bestow on a brother.

I'm not sure which of those actions were worse.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

MULDER

How do you explain to a mother that it's possible her son may be torturing
women across the country? I didn't. Mrs. Lana Graham looked like a woman
made of glass. She was pretty with dark hair going grey. Every once and
awhile, she would force out a choked giggle that was a reflex against pain.
I suspect that she was on some kind of medication at the time.

"My husband is at work," she told me as we sat down in the living room.
"Should I, uh, call him?" One of those giggles crept out of her throat.

"That's all right. I'm sure you will be able to tell me all that I need to
know."

She nodded, then asked, "What is this about? Is my son...is Joel in any
danger? We've already talked with the FBI..." A tight little smile flashed
over her face.

I considered my words before I spoke. "I have reason to believe that he may
have witnessed a crime I'm investigating. I have already conferred with the
agents working this case, but I would like to hear you tell your story."

She did. Overall, it was a familiar one -- a tale of a shy yet nice-mannered
young man who had withdrawn into his private world. The parents had
unsuccessfully tried to crack the barrier separating them from this world,
at best creating uneasiness on Joel's part and resentment at worst. Not that
there had been any 'scenes.' There had been no violent arguments or fights.
In fact, when Joel confessed that he had no plans to go to college after
high school, his parents allowed him to stay at home, provided he got a job
and thought out his plans for the future. He agreed, but an uncertain mood
still covered the Graham household; an undeniable sense that something
wasn't *right.*

"Of course, before he disappeared, he actually seemed a lot more cheerful
than before. A lot healthier. He was even talking about joining that group
which was a change since Joel wasn't usually interested in joining
anything..."

"I'm sorry. What group?"

That forced giggle again. "Oh. I'm sorry. The Order of Knights."

I told myself not to reach too much, yet I could see another one of those
connections floating into its proper place. "Who are they?" I asked, even
though I had already heard a few things about them.

"A service group that runs out of New York City. They were actually quite
interested in Joel. They called him up again -- " Giggle. " -- even when he
turned them down the first time."

"Why were they so interested in him?"

"I...I don't know. Joel had good grades...well, they used to be better, they
slipped in his last two years of high school. And like I said, he was never
a 'joiner.' The one thing he ever really participated in was that production
of 'My Fair Lady,' so I'm not sure why..." She stared at me. "Do you think
they had something to do..."

I held up a hand. "I don't think anything," I lied. "But I would like to ask
a few questions of them. Do you have any number that I could reach them at?"

It turns out that she still had one of their business cards -- a thin,
black-and-white piece of cardboard with a telephone number, an address in
New York City and a printed cross.

"Was your son religious?" I asked.

"Well...he went with us to church every Sunday, but...I really don't know."
The tight smile. "I guess it's amazing what you don't know about the other
person living in your house."

I thanked Mrs. Graham for her help and promised that I would tell her about
any new development, hoping that I wouldn't have to. In my assessment,
nothing in Mr. and Mrs. Graham's parenting caused their son's psychosis. It
simply passed by them like a thief in the night.

I was a lot more dubious about the town that the Grahams lived in.
Watertown, New York wasn't the end of the world, but you could see it from
there. Located in that state's more barren and chilly regions, Watertown
felt like the place Sinclair Lewis described in 'Main Street.' It was flat,
unappealing and quietly mean. Here, suburbia met the farm lands and the
snobbery of the former cross-bred with the resentment of the latter. It was
an excellent place to develop your own private alienation.

I wanted to get out of it but quick. I headed to New York City in my rental
car. By the time I arrived on that day, it would be too late to talk with
the representatives of The Order of Knights. That would have to wait until
tomorrow. When I reached New York City, I checked in a hotel and
then found a bookstore. There was a couple of books that I wanted to
re-read.

If Scully had known what I was thinking at the time, she would have said
that...well, I was nuts. Admittedly, I was indulging in a mighty big leap,
even for me. However, there were too many aspects of this case that struck a
chord when put together. A possibility of healing (and harming) through
touch, a birthmark, The Order of Knights...these were elements of one of
the grandest of all conspiracy tales.

And me being me, I had follow this case from that angle. I just hoped that I
didn't end up getting my ass chewed into bacon bits by Scully or Skinner
before it was over.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FOUR

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"For not all true [things] are the truth, nor should
that truth which [merely] seems true according to
human opinions be preferred to the true truth,
according to the faith."

                                ---Bishop Clement of Alexandria

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

JOEL GRAHAM

I had a list of female boxers, karate champions, and bodybuilders to draw
upon. (Of course, my first victim was a soldier but her muscular body suited
my purposes.) I complied their names and their probable locations from
websites. It seemed that my particular fetish was more widely shared than
you would think. In a way, that's discouraging. I has assumed that my fetish
was an unique and original one.

Of course, none of those other guys did what I did.

In Indiana, I decided that my next victim would be Nadine Koontz, a
professional kickboxer, middleweight division. I liked the cheery, pretty
face that I had found on the internet. She lived and trained in Plainfield.
I trailed her as she left home, worked her job at a hospital and trained in
the gym at night. As usual, I decided to take her as she left the gym. As
you can see, my plan was pretty simple. I don't put a lot of time and
preparation in them. I've heard that some serial killers tend to set up
elaborate schemes, figuring out every inch of their crime. Of course, I'm
not exactly a 'serial killer.' Nor can your average serial killer do what I
can do.

In any case, I planned to do my usual thing in Indiana. And that's exactly
how I was coming to think of it. 'My usual thing.' I was already getting a
bit bored with it. If there hadn't been an abrupt turn on my path, I might
have...I don't know...gave myself up, went back to my parents...who can say?

Instead, I met a couple of people who were to play a big role in my life.
One was a man with sad eyes. The other was a woman named Dana Scully.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

MULDER

"Mr. Foster, a man from the FBI is here to see you."

"Hm? Well, show him in, of course."

Martin Foster's secretary stepped aside and I walked into his private
office. There was nothing that distinguished it from a hundred other
offices -- it had a computer on the desk, filing cabinets, a little
refrigerator, pictures of the family. The same can be said for the entirety
of the office space maintained by The Order of Knights on the fourth floor
of 230 West 49th Street. In the grey-carpeted rooms, people were typing at
their computers, using the copier and talking about some t.v. show they saw
last night. Even the bronze crosses I saw on several walls weren't
unexpected.

Martin Foster didn't dash expectations, either. He was a middle-aged man
with a growing paunch, a long smile and a firm handshake. He looked like
your standard civic booster.

After I introduced myself and sat down in a chair, he asked, "How can I help
you, Agent Mulder?"

"Over two weeks ago, a young man named Joel Graham disappeared. Does this
name ring any bells for you?"

"Uh, no. Was he a member of our group?"

"Your group had approached him for membership. He turned you down."

"I see. So, how is that we can help you?"

"I'm trying to figure out why your group had an interest in Graham."

Foster smiled and spread out his hands. "We have an interest in all young
people. We try to recruit as many of them as we can. The youth of today are
the leaders..."

"Yes, but Graham didn't live here in New York City."

"Our services extend beyond the Big Apple, Agent Mulder. Naturally, we do
recruiting in other parts of the state as well."

"Hm. Well, obviously, Graham was considered a catch. The Order of Knights
approached him again for membership, even after he turned you down the first
time."

Foster laughed in a jolly "hey-ain't-that-something" way. "He must have
been."

"What exactly is the purpose of your group?"

As if I had dropped a coin into a slot, Foster went into his spiel. "The
Order of Knights represents a broad-based agenda whose main goal is the
betterment of society. We work on all levels from the private to the public,
from education to business, from individual acts of charity to wider social
movements. We run food drives, fund-raisers for schools, literacy programs,
environmental clean-ups, even emergency relief if necessary. Our members
come from all walks of life from working-class to the penthouse. All of us
are united by a creed to help our fellow man."

"As well as by a Christian theology?" I pointed at the bronze cross in his
office.

Foster turned and blinked at the cross as if he had just noticed that it was
there. He looked back and said, "Uh...well, not necessarily. Muslims and
Jews are also in our ranks..."

"But Christians...or, at least, the religiously devout do comprise your
majority."

"I...I imagine it does. Those of us who know God understand that He requires
us to help our fellow man."

I nodded and scratched my chin. "Well, now that just makes me wonder why
you would want to recruit Joel Graham in the first place."

"Uh...why is that?"

"Because he was more of a loner than a joiner. He wasn't a member of
anybody's group or a participant in anybody's cause. I can see nothing in
his school record that might have caught the eye of anybody, much less
The Order of Knights."

"Well, I'm not actually in charge of..."

"He didn't even come across as particularly religious. Of course, unless
you're the kind of group who puts a special value on people with
cross-shaped birthmarks..."

I let my voice trail away as I casually looked at Foster's face. Was it my
imagination or did Foster's mouth get thinner?

"Pardon me?" he asked.

"Graham had a cross-shaped birthmark. Right between his shoulder blades."

"Oh. Well, no, we're not a group that puts a value on such things."

"Then, I'm still not sure why you were eager to recruit this young man."

"I'm not sure why this is relevant to his disappearance..."

I gave Foster a certain look.

"...but if you really want to know why we were interested in this young man,
then you should talk to Dave Rich. He heads up our recruitment division."

"I would appreciate talking to him immensely."

Foster picked up his phone, dialed a number. "Hello, this is Martin. Is Dave
in?...Do you know where he is?...Well, when he gets in, tell him that a man
from the FBI wishes to speak with him. Thanks a lot."

He hung up. "Well, I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, but Dave doesn't seem to be in
right now and we don't know where he is. If this is an especially urgent
matter..."

"No. It's not especially urgent. I can just leave my business card here..."

"Sure, sure."

"...and he can call me up whenever he gets your message."

"Of course."

With that, Martin Foster practiced the fine art of pushing a man out of your
office while making the man unaware that he was being pushed out. I had no
doubt that when I did make contact with Dave Rich, it would only be after he
had worked out a proper line of bullshit with Foster. Sure enough, Mister
Rich called me up and gave me a long, thoroughly meaningless explanation for
their interest in Joel Graham. "Our evaluation... blah-blah-blah... showed
great possibility...this-that-and-those...reaching out to those who feel
alienated from society...ad infinitium and ad naseum."

Before I got his call, I bought myself a hot dog and made a call of my own.

"Lone Gunmen."

"Frohike, round up the troops and meet me in New York City. It's time to do
a little more funky poaching."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

I have known a lot of politicians in my life -- kings, queens, dukes,
consuls, tribal chieftains, Whigs, Tories, Republicans, Democrats. Of all of
them, I would rank Constantine as being the best. Others might create an
empire. Constantine helped create a religion, which is a far trickier task,
but a belief will last far longer than any country.

I remember seeing him after a meeting of the Council of Nicaea. He was in
his private chambers, relaxing on a chair and reading a scroll. I was one of
the few who could see him in his chambers.

"Hail, Constantine."

"Greetings, Ormus!" he replied. He indicated a board with games pieces
arranged on it. "Care for a game?"

"You know I will never play a game with you, Emperor," I said with a smile.
"I'm too aware of your abilities to out-maneuver an opponent."

Constantine was as vain as most Emperors. He appreciated flattery. However,
he never let it blind him to any scheme you might be planning.

"So, how goes the work?" he asked.

"At a good pace. We should have a fully authorized Gospel in a few days.
Soon, your whole empire will know what the true word of God is."

"And what isn't, correct?" He indicated the scroll in his hands. "I've been
reading the accounts of Thomas. He has his own interesting perspective
on the Hebrew king."

I didn't ask how Constantine got a copy, but I did say, "Our Savior was not
a king. He was a simple man. We are making sure that the record is
consistent on this."

"If you say so, Ormus. But not all sects will agree."

"Anyone who disagrees with the truth of God does so at their own peril."

He studied my expression, then rolled up the scroll and asked, "Would your
God protect your particular sect from me?"

"He could. But He would not need to since you are a defender of the faith,
Emperor."

"Even though I am not of the faith?"

"God loves those who love His people."

Constantine stood up and walked over to me. He tapped me on the chest with
the scroll. "I have always wondered why you talk so sweetly and carefully to
me, Ormus. You are not afraid of me. Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"Because a man may only fear God."

The emperor looked at me for a few moments, then burst out laughing. "Quite
right, quite right." He tossed away the scroll. "So...are you sure I can't
interest you in a game?"

He couldn't. I've never been interested in games or the prizes they offer.
Power and money became stale in my mouth after some experience with them.
Alliances with people like Constantine were just means to reach a goal
beyond the empty rewards of aristocracy. That goal often seemed within my
grasp, but was then lost to misfortune and duplicity.

Joel Graham might have been a way of achieving that goal again. This time,
however, I was not eager to take the opportunity. Dealing with a scheming
emperor was one thing. Dealing with a madman...

And I didn't know if the goal was worth achieving anymore.

Nevertheless, Joel had to be found and contained. That's why I came to the
United States with a team comprised of both Healers and Warriors at my
disposal. I kept a tight lock on any possible disputes that threatened to
erupt between the two sides of my team, even though eight centuries of
estrangement is hard to forget. Still, once the uneasiness was smoothed
over, they reminded me of how well Healers and Warriors could work together.
(Of course, Healers and Warriors could also work together in most unsettling
ways...but that's for later.) With their efforts and our wide sources of
information, I was confident that we would find Joel before the authorities
did.

We did. However, this was followed by a few unexpected events.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FIVE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Spies, got telephones for eyes..."

                                        -- Mercury Rev

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

MULDER

The offices for the Order of Knights had surprisingly tight security,
considering that they were supposed to be just a "service club." It was
nothing that Byers, Langly and Frohike couldn't handle, though. With
flashlights to guide us, Langly and I went inside while Byers and Frohike
kept outside posts.

After getting through Foster's locked door, Langly turned on the computer
while I watched over his shoulder. "I am working on the system now," he said
into his headset. Over my own headset, I heard Byers say "We copy" and
Frohike drawl "Roger that." (For this excursion, the boys had gotten a
fourth headset for me. "I have achieved full geekness," I commented after I
put it on. They gave me a sour look.)

Langly's fingers nimbly danced over the keyboard and tapped the mouse. He
reached the doorway to the Order's private files.

"Whoa," he said.

"What?"

"This place *does* have pretty nice security for a service club. I've seen
this kind of computer protection on banks and government agencies."

"Can you get in?"

He grinned. "In my sleep, with both of my hands tied after receiving a
partial lobotomy..."

"Less metaphors and more action, Langly."

Five minutes later, he was in. "Look up any information on Joel Graham," I
requested. It only took another few seconds to retrieve the Order's files on
Joel Graham.

It was more extensive than you would expect to find about a non-member. The
Order knew his birthdate, his previous homes before Watertown, his grades,
his high school activities. They knew about his birthmark.

"Hey, this guy was in a high school production of 'My Fair Lady!'" Langly
observed. "I was in 'Godspell' myself."

"'Camelot' for me," Byers said.

"I was Nicely-Nicely in 'Guys and Dolls,'" Frohike informed us. "What about
you, Mulder?"

"I was too busy having sex. What else is there in these files?"

After giving me a brief look, Langly tapped the keyboard some more. The
screen changed to the outline of what appeared to be an elaborate family
tree. "Yikes," he said. "They've got his lineage all the way back
to...jeez, the seventeenth century. Right back to Germany."

And maybe beyond, I thought. Something is about to hit me. I know it.

Some more keyboard action and there it was -- an intricate layout of letters
and lines on the screen.

"What the hell is that?" Langly asked.

I cleared my throat and said, "What does it look like?"

"Well...it looks like the diagram of a DNA molecule."

"What?" Byers said.

"Are you serious?" Frohike asked.

"That's what it looks like, man!" Langly insisted. "And it's been tagged the
property of 'Joel Graham.' How did they get this? And why would a service
club be testing people's DNA?"

"Maybe this is a clue," I offered as I pointed at two words in the readout.

RESULTS: POSITIVE.

"Okay, it's positive," Langly said. "Positive for what then?"

I started to feel a little dizzy. This is no answer, I tried to argue with
myself. It doesn't have to mean what you think it means. As Scully would
say, all I've got is speculation and rumor and a lot of vague information.

But I've also got a service club doing DNA tests on people. And they had
come with a 'positive' result on a man who might capable of healing with his
touch. That's why when Langly asked "What are you thinking, Mulder?", I
answered --

"It means that we still don't know what Joel Graham is, but...I think I know
what the Order of Knights believes him to be."

"To be what?" Byers asked.

"Later," I muttered. My theory was so outlandish that it could make even the
Lone Gunmen laugh. It's not a particularly good feeling to have those guys
laugh at you. "Anything else?"

Langly searched and came up with...

"Oh, boy."

...a report speculating on Joel Graham's current location. It came complete
with a psychological profile and a warning that Joel Graham had to be
apprehended as soon as possible.

"Oh, that's just perfect," Langly said. "So, they're looking for him, too.
C'mon, Mulder, spill your guts. What's happening here?"

Before I could answer, we heard a sound.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SCULLY

An hour after Nadine Koontz would have normally arrived home from her
training sessions, her husband put a call into the police. It didn't take
long before the information circulated to me, thanks to the information
channel the FBI had established with the Indiana police. I called Mulder
to tell him of my information.

After a couple of rings, I heard Mulder's voice. It was higher-pitched than
usual. "Who is it?" he demanded.

"Uh, Mulder, it's me."

"Oh." He coughed.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, um...I just got a little startled by my cellular phone here. What's
up?"

Mulder was speaking in a muted voice and there was an edginess to his tone.
I decided to ignore it for now and said, "There's been a disappearance.
Nadine Koontz, professional kickboxer. This happened in Plainfield. I'm
going there right now."

"Did the police know the license plate number on Joel Graham's car?"

"I gave them the information you gave me. Are you still betting on this man
being our best suspect?"

"Oh, yeah. In fact, I think you should keep your eye out for some other
people."

"Other people?"

"I have reason to believe that someone might be looking for Joel Graham,
too."

Now, that I couldn't ignore. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

"I'll explain later."

"Well, where are you anyway?"

"Know the expression 'hear no evil,' Scully?"

"Mulder, where are..."

"Hey, Mulder, we better skedaddle!" a voice hissed in the range of Mulder's
phone.

"Scully, I need to go," my esteemed partner told me. "I'll see you in
Indiana."

I sighed. "All right. I'll see you here."

"Now, Mulder!" the voice demanded.

"All right, hold your damn..." Mulder's line went dead. I was left with my
worry and disgruntlement. If Mulder was hanging around with Langly and the
rest, then there was a good chance that I would have to bail him out of jail
again.

For the moment, however, I had to concentrate on the search for Nadine
Koontz. I was still relying on Mulder's instincts here and trusting that
Joel Graham was a likely suspect. But what about this stuff concerning
another party looking for Graham? Just what did Mulder find in New York
City? Not for the first time, it seemed Mulder was burdening a simple case
with more portentousness and meaning than it could handle.

However, this hadn't been a simple case from the start.

And, more often than not, Mulder's wild surmises could lead to truth.

That's why I put out another alert. I informed everyone heading for and
patrolling the city of Plainfield to be on the look out for "any suspicious
individuals who might be interested in finding Joel Graham or are seen with
a young man matching his description."

The results probably shouldn't have surprised me.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

JOEL GRAHAM

I should have gotten rid of the car or changed the license plates or
something. But I liked the car. And I was never really interested in evading
the police for too long.

However, I didn't really like having a gun pointed at me, either.

I think it was around eleven-thirty when the police officer kicked his way
into my hotel room. He was a rookie cop, probably a little eager to wait
for back-up. Hell, when you think about it, he didn't even know someone was
in danger anyway. As with the others, I had fixed Nadine Koontz's vocal
chords so she couldn't scream.

Still, he burst in, snapping the door off its locks. "FREEZE!" he yelled.
"UP AGAINST THE..."

Then he saw Nadine on the bed. For a few moments, he stared at her. His face
paled before he looked back at me.

"You sick little bastard," he growled. The gun was pointed at my chest.

I sighed. Like I said, I wasn't too interested in playing cat-and-mouse with
the police, but at that moment, I didn't feel like having handcuffs on my
wrists and maybe getting whacked by this excitable rookie's truncheon.

So I told him to put the gun away.

Of course, he didn't comply. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, YOU FREAK!" he told
me.

I took a step forward. He shot me.

I imagine he was very surprised by what happened next.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SIX

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"All my life is a ritual dance,
A ritual dance around you..."

                               -- Richard Thompson

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SCULLY

I admit it. Some part of me always hates it when Mulder is right. This is as
much out of exasperation with our tendency to attract weirdness as it is my
personal dislike of being wrong. For once, couldn't we find a crime with a
nice, ordinary explanation attached to it?

Unfortunately, the case of Joel Graham was not ordinary, and it was most
certainly not nice. When I arrived at the Resting Head Motel, the backup for
Officer Langston was there. So was the car registered to Joel Graham as well
as a very shaken but alive Nadine Koontz. The young Mr. Graham was long
gone, though.

Officer Langston was finding it very difficult to explain what happened or
why his backup had found him unconscious in the motel room. "I shot him!" he
insisted. "I shot that asshole right in the chest, but he kept...he
kept...he walked right up to me! Then he touched me on the cheek and..." He
covered his face in his hands, shutting out the looks of disbelief around
him.

There *was* some blood found at the scene. Also, while Miss Koontz was too
frightened to speak at the time, we did find several photos along with the
Polaroid camera used to take them. The scarred and battered body in the
photos did not correspond with her unmarked skin. If Mulder was right...

Sigh.

If Mulder was right about Graham's abilities, then he must have taken a
moment to heal Koontz before leaving. Apparently, he had left on foot. That
shouldn't have taken him too far unless he caught a bus at a nearby stop.

"He's wounded, too," one of the officers reminded the search team. "Check
the hospitals as well." Mulder would have told them not to bother. He would
warned them that Graham's healing abilities seemed to work on himself as
well and made him impervious to harm. If...*if* that was true, then catching
him would be extremely difficult.

Almost against my will, I started to consider other ways of capturing
Graham. Or maybe it was less against my will than I would like to pretend.
You can't hang around Mulder for as long as I have and avoid employing
his special brand of logic at times. I thought about what Mulder said about
the 'submissive' aspects in Graham's mind. They were being repressed now,
but, maybe with a little coaxing, they could...

That's how I arrived at my tactics later on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

Twice, I have cast America in the role of my dream fulfilled. I have been
disappointed both times. I look back at my past efforts with both amusement
and sadness. Like the students who read it in their high school classes, I
chuckle over "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." Then I crumble it and
throw it into a wastebasket. It's also tempting to smash  my old vinyl
records. I'm still amazed by the music. I wonder at the dexterous fingers
of a headband-wearing black man, the poetry of a nasal-voiced singer, the
charisma of a former truck-driver. However, I also think how vain I must
have been. Did I really think that I could have brought out a spiritual
revolution through popular music anymore than through hellfire-and-damnation
sermons? Not to say that I didn't make my own little impression on America's
culture, both as a preacher and a record promoter. However, nothing could
stop the practices of this country's true religion.

I see its temples in every town -- fast-food restaurants, clothing outlets,
car dealerships. Even the arts and spiritual beliefs get sucked into the
religion of the market. Everything becomes devoid of any meaning beyond
quick pleasures before getting tossed into its own little dustbin. It was
foolish to think that I could transcend this flood of buying and selling.

These were the thoughts in my mind as my team searched the streets full of
grey concrete and sickly neon. We had been monitoring the police bands. This
enabled us to pin down the possible whereabouts of Joel Graham. As I said
before, I wasn't worried about finding Joel, but deciding what to do with
him. In fact, I wasn't even sure I could 'contain' him.

Of course, if anybody could stop him, I could. Yet I honestly didn't know
who would win in a physical confrontation between the two of us. Nor did I
want a confrontation.

I wanted to talk.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

JOEL GRAHAM

I put about forty blocks between me and the motel. After a lot of running
through the streets and a bus ride, I found myself in an all-night diner. I
was the only customer there.

"Out for a late-night run?" the waitress asked me after I sat down in a
booth.

"What?"

"You look kind of flushed."

"Oh. Well...yeah."

I ordered a coke, the waitress left me and I thought about what to do next
as I fingered the holes in my shirt. Did I want to keep on running? I
couldn't get far with only the money in my wallet and my car in the hands
of the police. Then, again, a person with my particular talents would not
be easy to catch in any circumstance. Against these alternatives, I weighed
my interest in the game itself. How interested was I in continuing?

I got so involved in my own thinking that I didn't notice the plastic glass
of soda in front of me until a man said, "Are you going to drink that?"

I looked up. A man was giving me a small smile. He was dressed in jeans, an
old sweater and sneakers. Judging from the light gray in his curly hair, I
would say his age was around forty. His skin had a dark tinge to it, but he
wasn't black or Hispanic. Arabic, maybe? I couldn't quite place the accent
in his voice, either.

"Uh...why do you ask?"

"Just wondering." The man sat down in the booth, facing me across the table.
I was so startled by the man's willingness to intrude on me that I couldn't
speak.

"Waitress?" he said. The waitress returned. She looked between the two of
us. She could tell that something funny was up.

"May I have a glass of coke, too?" the man politely asked.

The waitress nodded. I watched her go behind the counter and open up the
small refrigerator. I noticed that two other men were sitting at the
counter. They had blank faces and large bodies. Even though they weren't
looking in my direction, I could tell they were aware of every movement I
made.

The waitress didn't look too trusting of them, either. She gave all three
new customers suspicious looks as she poured a coke and brought it back to
the table.

"Thank you," he said. The waitress left us for the kitchen. The man took a
long sip from his coke, put the glass down and held out his hand. "I'm
Delmore Schwartz."

What else could I do? I shook his hand in return and said, "I'm Joel
Graham."

"I know," he said after releasing my hand. "And I know what you can do
and what you've been doing with it."

I looked at the man, then down at my glass. I took a long drink from it,
then asked, "Well...what of it then?"

Schwartz leaned back, put his hands behind his head and said, "That's what
I've been wondering myself."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SCULLY

"Agent Scully, I don't know if this means anything, but we've got this call
from a waitress at The Crescent Drive Diner. She says that she's got three
guys in this place and...well, she doesn't like the look of them. Waitress
intuition, I guess.

"Anyway, she says that they seemed to be interested in this other customer
there -- a young guy. Sounds like the same age as Joel Graham.

"This seems to match what you told us to look for. Think we ought to check
it out?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

Joel Graham scared me when I first saw him. This is coming from a man who
has encountered dozens of madmen before, some of them who were in charge of
countries and armies. Of course, I wouldn't have been scared if I hadn't
known what he had done in the past. And I might not have been scared even
with that knowledge.

It was the look in his eyes which bothered me. They were distant and
absent-minded. The expression in his eyes contradicted the sudden, quick
movements of his head and his hands. Sometimes, his body seemed ready to get
up and wander in some direction. It was as if his mind was disconnected from
the operation of his flesh.

He seemed like a man who was always surprising himself. He would do things
and then wonder later why he did them. The morality of his actions was
something that he might consider, but in an abstract and vague way.

And this was a man we were considering to induct into the world's oldest
secret organization? I wanted to get away from Joel Graham. However, I
couldn't leave him running about. I had to get him out of the country and
into some secure place. The trouble was --- how could I get him to come
with me?

"Have you ever wondered, Mr. Graham, how you can do the things you can do?"

"Of course I have. And, uh, please don't call me Mr. Graham."

"Certainly, Joel. And you can call me Delmore. Well, I know how you got this
gift. It's a family trait."

He made a puzzled expression that bent his face into a most amusing way.
Joel had wonderfully expressive features. I can see how he got the lead in
"My Fair Lady."

"Excuse me, Mr. Schwartz..."

I lifted an eyebrow, but Joel didn't correct himself.

"...but I don't recall my parents or my grandparents or anybody else in my
family ever having this gift. Or if they did, they sure didn't tell me about
it."

"No, they didn't have it. In fact, nobody in your bloodline has had this
ability for...well, centuries really. It's been even longer than that since
anyone has had it to the degree you apparently have."

"My...bloodline?"

I smiled and rubbed my thumb on the rim of my glass. "I represent a group
that has traced your family tree back further than you can imagine, Joel. We
look after your bloodline, protect it and...if conditions are right...raise
its members to a higher plateau in life."

Now, Joel was looking me over. Who *is* this guy?, he had to be wondering.

"I know it sounds unbelievable," I admitted. "But is it any more
unbelievable than your gift?"

"Hm. No."

"Tell me...when did you find out about your gift?"

"A few months ago," Joel answered with a shrug.

"How did it make you feel?" How did it make you feel...God, I sounded like a
moronic news reporter.

Joel smiled at me. "Just more confused."

Just more confused, he said. Sometimes, I wonder if Joel Graham *was* the
right person to give such a gift. Imagine what, say, a few of our world's
more disreputable leaders could accomplish with Joel's powers. I don't want
to imagine it. Instead, the gift wound up in the hands of a sexually
maladjusted young psychopath, but one with...well...simple needs. Joel
focused on control over one person at a time and, even in that, he had
doubts.

What a world this is when a crazy man is preferable to some people in high
office.

"Maybe we can ease some of your confusion. Help you understand what your
proper role in the world is." Lord, I was sounding more and more ridiculous.
'Ease some of your confusion?' What was I proposing here? Therapy? I had
used clichs and half-baked psychological babble on people before, but it
never sounded more convincing to me than when I was talking with Joel.

Joel, however, seemed to take me seriously. "I'm not sure what you're
talking about, but...I am interested."

"Good."

"I would like to see some proof, though. How can you prove that I should
trust you?"

I thought about that.

Then I looked at the Healer and the Warrior at the counter. They weren't
looking our way.

I leaned across the table to Joel. "I'm going to show you something," I
whispered. "Something that nobody in my own organization knows."

I picked up a fork off its napkin bed. I placed my hand on the table, palm
upward. After doing one more check to make sure only Joel was looking, I
stabbed my hand with the fork.

Joel let out a little gasp.

Did it hurt? Not exactly. There's a tiny little sting, but nothing more.
When I pulled out the fork, I held up the hand for Joel to see. He watched
as the four bleeding holes sealed themselves up. I wiped off the blood with
a napkin. There was no evidence left of my self-wounding.

"How about that?" I asked.

For awhile, Joel just stared at me before saying, "Are you...are you of the
bloodline, too?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, I am."

He frowned. "Wait a minute. You said that nobody in centuries has had my
gift."

Before I could answer that (or tell him that I couldn't give an answer),
something flashed in the corner of my eye. I turned, looked out the window
and said, "Uh-oh."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SCULLY

The diner was surrounded by the police, their blue-and-white cars filling up
the parking lot. We didn't have to worry about hostages. The waitress and
the kitchen cook had slipped out the back door. It came down to the four
people inside versus the fifteen police officers and one federal agent
outside.

"There's your boy all right," the police lieutenant next to me said, looking
at the diner window through binoculars. "But what about those other three
people? You really think they're involved with him somehow?"

"I'm not sure," I murmured.

The lieutenant lowered his binoculars and gave me a strange look. "So, do we
move in now?"

I gave no answer.

"Agent Scully?"

Had Mulder done what I did next, I probably would have berated and
criticized him. Nevertheless, I told the lieutenant to hold everything until
I said otherwise.

Then I got out of the car.

"Agent Scully, where are you going?" the lieutenant barked.

"I'm going to have a little talk with Joel Graham."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

JOEL GRAHAM

The two men at the counter stared at the policemen outside like soldiers
peeking out of their foxhole. One of them said, "Ormus, we need to get..."

"We'll do nothing," Schwartz (or Ormus?) replied. "Keep your gun in its
holster." Then he smiled at me. "We don't have to worry about the police, do
we?"

I realized that the time had come for a decision. I could leave with this
man right now. Our 'gifts' would enable us to get past the police barricade.
The only real trouble was -- did I want to go? I'll be lying if I said
Schwartz didn't intrigue me. Still...I wasn't sure. Going with him seemed
like the beginning of a much larger commitment, and I've never liked
commitments.

I was wrestling with my doubts when she walked in.

She reminded me of a movie actress from an old black-and-white film. Or a
photo of a greek statue. There was something distant yet still alluring
about her. Even though she was the shortest person in the room, she had a
presence that grabbed your immediate attention.

She looked at me. I stared back at her blue eyes, fearing that something bad
would happen if I looked away. It wasn't just that I already knew she was a
cop or some such thing. Nor was it just that I was fascinated by the
strength evident in her well-shaped body and determined stride. There was
also the simple fact of *her*...this woman whom I had no reason to fear,
but whom I feared nevertheless.

Perhaps "fear" is not the right word, though.

But, in the few moments I saw her, I already wanted to surrender.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

When Agent Scully walked up to our table, I almost laughed. Not of ridicule,
but out of admiration. You should have seen this look in Joel's eyes and the
blush rising on his cheeks.

I should have known better. I came in here trying to appeal to Joel's
emotions and whatever reason he had left. Scully, on the other hand, picked
a better route.

Women are mostly right. Sometimes, men *do* follow nothing but their
penises.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SCULLY

I kept my eyes focused on Joel the whole time. I gave no attention to anyone
else. My concentration was solely on the thin, gawky, blushing young man.

I stopped by the table. "Joel Graham?" I said in what I hoped was an
appropriately commanding voice. It must have been so because Graham
stammered, "That's...that's me. Yes."

"Come with me."

His adam's apple slid up and down as he swallowed.

"Come with me...now."

I held out a hand to him. With his breath whooshing out of his nose and his
fingers trembling, he placed his warm palm in my grasp. I pulled and he
stood up.

Then I looked towards the other man sitting at the table. He had a peculiar
look on his face. He seemed...admiring of what I was doing.

"Sir," I said. "you and these other two men have to come as well."

I could hear the two large men at the counter get off their stools. The
dark-skinned man at the table tilted his head and said, "Do we?"

I looked straight at him and replied, "Yes."

He regarded me carefully. Doubt flared up inside me as I realized that this
man was not in the habit of following orders. Despite his casual clothes, he
had an aura of power about him. I've met enough people who hold immense
power to know them by sight. He looked like a man who could get anybody on
the phone and who could have his every wish fulfilled.

Then he smiled, stood up, spread out his hands and said, "If we must."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SEVEN

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"...[He] must have come up with more theories than there
are stars in the universe. Every day he developed a new one,
more cunning, more exciting and more fucked..."

                                                    -- Philip K. Dick,
"Valis"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

MULDER

When I heard how Scully got Joel Graham to surrender himself, I just had to
smile. "How did you do it?" I asked her when I arrived in Plainfield. This
was the night after they had arrested Graham and Schwartz. "Did you undo a
few extra buttons on your shirt? Did you wear a skirt with a real high
slit?"

"Mulder..."

"Agent Scully, temptress of the night."

"Mulder, it wouldn't have mattered if I had Angelina Jolie's lips and
Michelle Pfeiffer's body. Graham would have surrendered himself to any
female law enforcement officer."

I kept on smiling at her. Ah, Scully, if anyone is entitled to a little
vanity...

My smile shrank when Scully said, "So, where the hell have you been?"

"I'll tell you after I've talked with..."

"No. Now."

Okey-dokey. I motioned her to a bench. We were in the front foyer of the
Plainfield Police Department headquarters. After we sat down, I took a
breath and said, "Have you ever read 'Holy Blood, Holy Grail?'"

"Yes."

I blinked. "You have?"

"Mulder, when somebody writes a book like that, it tends to create a certain
hubbub in Catholic circles. They even had a discussion group at my parents'
church about it."

"And you read it too?"

She shrugged.

"What did you think?"

"As I recall, the authors used the words 'might' and 'could have' several
times. Their whole thesis was an overbearing conjecture based on some
loosely connected facts and a stretched interpretation of the vaguer
sections of the Gospels."

"I thought you would say something like that. Still, I'm impressed. I'm
seeing all kinds of new and neat angles on my partner, aren't I?"

"Well, you still remain a complete mystery to me. Just what does that book
have to do with..."

Scully stopped herself. She looked at me as if I had just grown a third eye,
wings and ten extra nipples. "Mulder...just what are you thinking?"

I crossed my legs, leaned back and said, "You've been doing pretty good at
discerning my thoughts so far. Guess."

"I rather hear you say it."

"Why?"

"Because you're better at sounding foolish than I am."

I was silent for a long time. Then I said --

"The basic thesis of 'Holy Blood, Holy Grail' and its sequel 'The Messianic
Legacy' is that Jesus Christ was not just a simple carpenter who preached
love and brotherhood. He was a warrior king who sought to establish his own
dynasty. He fathered children and these children were the beginnings of a
bloodline. The members of this bloodline are considered the rightful
heirs to world power by a secret organization. This organization has been
alleged to have a front in many forms -- the Knights of Templar, the Prieure
de Sion, the Rosicrucians, the Cathars and so on. One of the modern-day
organizations alleged to be connected with the protection of the sacred
bloodline is the Order of Knights which is allegedly just a national service
club."

I paused, waiting to see if Scully wanted to interject a comment. She just
looked at me so I continued.

"Before his disappearance, the Order of Knights approached Joel Graham not
once, but twice for membership, even though he hardly fits the profile of a
candidate for their group. Based on information I acquired..."

Scully closed her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, Mulder..."

"...I have reason to believe that the Order of Knights had a deep-seated
interest in Joel Graham. I base this on the fact they had an outline of his
family tree and an analysis of his DNA."

She opened her eyes, very surprised.

"I also found information proving that the Order of Knights has been
looking for Graham ever since he disappeared. Sounds like they almost
got him before we did."

"Mulder..." Scully cleared her throat. "...are you suggesting that..."

"I'm not suggesting anything about Joel Graham. I'm just trying to figure
out why the Order of Knights is so interested in him, why they analyzed his
DNA and why they wanted to find him before the police did."

Scully stood up. She walked a few steps away, back turned to me, arms
crossed over her chest. I had to give her awhile to absorb all this.

When she turned to me, she said, "What do they think he's supposed to
be?"

"One of the ancient dynasties connected by 'Holy Blood, Holy Grail' to the
lineage of Jesus are the Merovingians of Europe. Legend has them able to
perform healing miracles as well as having cross-shaped birthmarks on their
back. Sounds like anyone you know?"

She took another long pause. Then --

"Mulder, I wouldn't go around telling that theory to anybody but me."

"I agree. But I think you would agree that there are questions to be
answered. Questions about Joel Graham and the Order of Knights."

She nodded. "Right." Then she looked me in the eye and said, "Nothing is
ever simple with you, isn't it, Mulder?"

"That's the way you like it, babe."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

It's been awhile since I've been in jail. The last time I was in prison, my
brother came to visit me. I resisted the temptation to spit in his face. I
held back, considering him unworthy of even my saliva. In prison, you
develop odd notions of pride.

He looked at me, my chains and the red streaks across my naked skin. His
eyes became wide and horrified as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I don't want to hear it, Jude," I snarled. "I'm not interested in your
stupid justifications for yourself."

"Brother, please listen..."

"Yahweh will damn you for this, you know that?"

He was silent for a long time, then he murmured, "He just might. He might
very well." Then he cleared his throat and said, "Mary and your son will be
safe. They're leaving the country."

I stared at my brother and said, "Will you be going with them?"

"If you want me to."

That's when I laughed. I laughed as hard as a man could when he has been
given only a pittance of water and food for several days. My laughter
sounded as rough as the stone walls around me and it echoed in every dark
corner.

"Brother...?" Jude said, wondering if I had gone mad.

"Oh, Jude...Jude, Jude, Jude...so you *do* have a penis, after all."

"What are you..." Then he gave me a horrified look. "No, brother. That's not
the reason why I did this!"

"Don't insult my intelligence. And don't tell me you did this simply because
I was making too much trouble."

"Well, that *was* a reason!" he snapped. "You would have brought the wrath
of the world's mightiest army on our heads! There's no telling how many
people would have died!"

"So, you were realistic for once in your life, hm?"

"If you want to put it that way...yes."

I leaned forward, my chains clinking. "And if you can get a little taste of
what's between Mary's legs, so much the better."

Jude paused again, licking his lips. "I do care for Mary," he said. "But she
will never love me the way she loved...she loves you. I know that."

"Still, no harm in trying, is there? Does she know of your betrayal?"

"No. I will tell her later. Right now, she thinks that it's Joseph who's
protecting her and your son. Which is...partially true. Joseph's bribes
should make sure that the consul keeps his promises."

"Any special promises in my favor? A quick death, perhaps?"

Jude looked at me. Again, that weird, hidden strength had risen to his
face like a ghost from its grave. In that moment, I felt less like a wronged
brother and more like a man who had committed some offense he can't name.

"You do not understand everything, brother," Jude said. "But, soon, I will
explain."

"When?" I asked, trying to revive my earlier rage. "After they've led me to
the hilltop?"

"After you're dead."

Those were his last words to me in prison. He knocked on the door and a
guard let him out. I sat there in my own filth, trying to understand what he
said. Then the guards entered to administer another beating, and I forgot
any other concerns.

My second stay in jail was far less uncomfortable, I'm glad to say. I spent
the night of my arrest and the rest of next day in a simple gray cell,
wondering how to deal with my current situation. Then I was taken to an
interrogation room, told to sit down at a table and left alone there until
Agent Scully and a handsome, brown-haired man entered.

He looked back at me and said, "Et in acardia ego."

For one wild moment, I thought that the brown-haired man was a Healer, one
that I didn't know about. Of course, that wouldn't explain what he was doing
with the FBI agent who arrested me. (She was giving him a confused look.)
I realized that this man was a little more on the ball than I expected. His
usage of the Healer motto was just a way of throwing me off guard.

It worked for a few seconds, but then I turned my face into a blank and
said, "Pardon me?"

"'Et in arcadia ego,'" the man repeated. "It's a phrase found in a painting
by Nicholas Poussin. It means, 'And in paradise, I am.'"

Crap, I thought. Whoever this son-of-a-bitch was, it was obvious he had read
that damn book. And somehow he had gotten involved in this case. Still
keeping a blank face, I said, "Interesting. But what does that have to do
with the fact I've been arrested?"

"Maybe nothing," the man said in a dry voice, sitting down in the chair
across the table. "I'm Agent Mulder, Scully's partner. What brings you to
Indiana, Mr. Schwartz?"

"Business reasons."

"What kind of business?"

"Consultant."

"Ah. And those two men you were with...they were...?"

"Associates in the same firm."

"Hm. Nice associates to have around, too, judging from the heat they were
packing. So, what were you doing in a diner in the middle of the night?"

I allowed myself a little smile. "What else do you do in a diner? I was
planning to eat something."

"And the young man you introduced yourself to?"

"He looked lonely."

"What a great guy you must be, Mr. Schwartz."

I leaned forward. "You have no idea, Agent Mulder."

Mulder looked briefly at Scully. In that moment, they seemed to have an
extensive dialogue. Scully wasn't sure where Mulder was standing.
Mulder wasn't sure, either, but he decided to stay his ground.

"Are you a member of a group called The Order of Knights?"

Beautiful, I thought. This Mulder *was* on the ball. "No, I'm not."

"What about your two 'associates'?"

"I don't know what they do with their free time. Tell me, am I being charged
with something?"

There was another brief look between the two agents. "No," Scully said. "Not
yet."

"My associates had permits for their guns. Are they being charged with
anything?"

"Again, not yet."

"Well, since it's getting close to twenty-four hours, why don't you go ahead
and release us? Or else the lawyers get involved and...well, you know how
messy that can make things."

"Then we will release you..." Mulder said as he stood up.

"Excellent."

"...after we've talked with Joel Graham."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SCULLY

Under other circumstances, Joel would strike me as just a peculiar young man
with the kind of comical sexual fetish that gets profiled on talk shows. At
the very least, however, he was someone who took pleasure in torturing
women.

He was also possibly a man who could heal and harm flesh with his touch.

He was also possibly...

No, no, no.

Like I said, I've read "Holy Blood, Holy Grail." As I also said, the book
relies heavily on conjecture and the wishful thinking of the authors. It's
clear that the idea of a benevolent dynasty taking control of the world
appeals to them. They're also very willing to change the man who said
"Blessed are the peacekeepers" into just another politician with an army
under his control.

Yes, the Gospels are as much a construction of Constantine and the Council
of Nicea as they are of God. Yes, it's possible that many real-life events
were altered to suit present tastes. For instance, I'm willing to believe
that the depiction of Pontius Pilate in the Gospels was kinder than it
should have been. However, taking a few vague references in scripture
and turning it into this wild theory about a blood dynasty is...well...

It's something Mulder would do.

At that moment, I didn't want to think about it. I had too many things to
deal with. One of them was the adoring look in Joel Graham's eyes. He
gave me the look as Mulder and I entered his cell. He was sitting on his
cot and looking as if he had being doing nothing except anticipating my
return.

"Mr. Graham, I'm Agent Mulder, Scully's partner."

Graham turned from me to Mulder. "Really?" he asked.

"Really."

Graham smiled. "You're a lucky man." He turned back to me with his shining
blue eyes.

Luckily, Mulder avoided the opportunity to make a comment. Instead, he
asked, "What can you do?"

Graham reluctantly turned his head back to Mulder. "Hm?"

"What can you do? How is it that you hurt these women?"

"Oh, yeah. That." Graham scratched his ear. I clenched my hands behind my
back. Graham's attitude was so casual. as if what he had done to Lisa Smith
and the others was an irrelevancy.

"It's just something that I did for awhile," he explained, then smiled at
me. "I won't do it anymore."

"What Agent Mulder is asking," I said in an even voice. "is how exactly you
are able to harm these women."

"Well...I know this will be hard to believe, but...I just use my hands. I
just touch them and..." He thumped his left hand with the index finger of
his right. "...it happens."

"That's an amazing gift," Mulder commented. "Sounds like something you
should use for better purposes."

Graham shrugged and that was his final comment on the subject.

"In any case...here you are."

He nodded. "Yep." He looked at me. "What are you going to do with me?" The
realization that I could have had him do anything at that moment sickened
me. I turned away for a moment, trying to calm myself.

"Well, right now, we're trying to decide what to do with Mr. Schwartz,"
Mulder said.

"Huh." Graham thought about that for a moment, then laughed.

"What's funny?" Mulder asked.

"Well...if you really understand what I can do, then you should know that
I'm only staying here by my own free will." He gave me a meaningful
look. I repressed a shiver. Just what *was* he capable of doing?

"You should also know," he continued. "that the same thing applies to Mr.
Schwartz."

Now, that got our attention. Mulder's back straightened as he asked, "What
do you mean?"

Before Graham could answer, the lights went out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

Some battles are won with simple brute force. You overwhelm the other
side with your superior numbers and firepower. Then there are battles won
with guile. The winning side performs an operation as clean and sharp as a
surgeon's knife. The raid on the Plainfield Police Headquarters was such an
operation.

When the lights went out, I just sat in the interrogation room like a dope.
I had no idea that a squad had invaded the building. The police officers
first had an inkling when they were surrounded by men with long automatic
rifles. Maybe I could have done something to stop them. I don't know.

In any case, I finally realized what was happening when I heard the shot --
the only shot fired in the raid.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

MULDER

They stormed the hallway outside Graham's cell. Small flashlights were
attached to the black ski masks over their heads. The lights stung our eyes
the way the voices assaulted our ears. "Don't move! Don't move!"

Then the four of them were around us, slamming Scully and me against the
wall and relieving us of our guns. In his cell, Graham stood up and looked
into the flashlights with blinking, confused eyes.

I heard an odd noise; it sounded like rubber. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I also
heard the clacking of very high heels.

Another person entered the hallway and strode to the cell. Even in the
darkness, I could make out a curved form and long legs.

The new person stopped outside Graham's open cell. The emergency lights
finally came on and coated everyone with red luminescence.

She wore a long rubber suit that gave you an exact measurement of her
breasts and hips. Everything on her was black -- black suit, black ski mask,
black belt, black gun. Then she pulled off her mask and the colors of
yellow, red and blue were added to the sight of her. Blonde hair spilled
down her shoulders, full red lips pressed together and blue eyes gleamed
at the cell's prisoner. Her expression was cold, tough and commanding.

"You will come with me," she said in a flat, stern voice with a German
accent.

I can't speak for Scully, but personally, I almost fell over laughing.

The woman was a walking absurdity -- an adolescent male fantasy of a tough
woman. She should have been jumping over alligators with Lara Croft,
fighting monsters with Xena or breaking men's necks with her legs in a James
Bond movie.

Unfortunately, Joel Graham wasn't laughing. He stared back at the woman
with his heart almost visibly beating in his chest. Another part of his body
had certainly become visible.

"Come with me *now*," the woman snarled.

With a face as blank as a mannequin, Graham quickly stepped out of the cell.

I realized that someone was using the same psychological manipulation Scully
had used. I also realized that Scully had been trumped. What I should
have also realized was that there was nothing to be done about it for the
moment.

Instead, I yelled, "Joel, don't!"

"Be quiet," the woman spat at me as she grabbed Graham by the back of the
shirt. He was pushed towards the door.

"Joel, you don't have to do this! You..."

One of the four men slugged me in the stomach. Instead of slumping over like
a good boy, I punched back.

Then there was a snap echoing throughout the hallway. I fell down and found
myself unable to get back up. I also had trouble breathing, too. This was
odd. I used to be so good at that.

Then I heard "Mulder!"...people marching through the door...I felt hands
press against a wetness on my chest...I saw a lovely face look down at me in
horror...a really nice face, more to my taste...I liked this woman a lot
more than that blonde Nazi bimbo who had just left...

I suppose I should have been hurting, too. Instead, I just felt sleepy.

Nighty-night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ORMUS

After I heard the shot, I got my ass into gear. I pressed my hand against
the locked door of the interrogation room. It unlocked and I rushed out to
handle the invaders in any way I could. However, they were already in
retreat with their prize.

For a few moments, I stumbled around in the red glare of the emergency
lights, bumping into shell-shocked police officers who found that they
couldn't make any phone calls or get the radios to work. Some of them were
rushing through the hallways like me, not knowing where to go.

Then I heard a voice cry out, "I need help back here!" I seemed to be the
only one to notice it.

I traced it to the cell area. There, I found Agent Scully kneeling next to
the body of her partner. With one hand, she was pressing her black jacket
onto a spreading puddle on his chest. With the other, she was trying to use
a cellular phone that was proving as useless as all other forms of
communication in the building.

She looked up and looked stunned to see me walking about. Then her
expression turned firm and said, "Get over here!"

I did so. As I knelt next to her, I came to five quick conclusions based on
the empty cell and the glassy look in Mulder's eyes.

One -- Joel Graham was gone.

Two -- I had a good idea of who had him.

Three -- I was going to need Scully to get him back.

Four -- Mulder was not going to make it to the hospital.

My fifth and final conclusion was that I better do something to gain her
trust.

I could tell you that it was a practical decision. At that point, I simply
needed the help of the two agents. However, I wonder if my decision was
forced by the look in Scully's eyes -- those desperate, agonized eyes.

"We need to get him..." Scully started to say.

"He's not going to make it to the emergency ward," I told her. I reached
towards his chest.

Scully went for her gun. "What are you doing?" she snapped.

I looked her straight in the eye. "I'm his only hope, Agent Scully. Trust
me."

She searched my face with her sharp blue eyes. Then her hand moved away from
her holster. She watched as I placed my hands against Mulder's chest. I
could feel his lungs moving slower and slower. The blood flowed underneath
my palms.

When I do something like this, I don't look particularly weird. My eyes
don't roll back, my mouth doesn't speak in tongues or any of that crap. I
just seem to be...concentrating. Like the way a carpenter looks when he
saws wood.

It just took a few seconds and then Mulder was breathing normally. His eyes
now looked focused albeit very surprised. Scully looked equally amazed as
she poked through the hole in Mulder's shirt and found no wound.

They both stared at me. I pulled out a handkerchief. As I rubbed the blood
off my hands, I said, "Welcome to the conspiracy, you two. I hope you have
as much fun as you expect."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART EIGHT

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Shiny, shiny...shiny boots of leather..."

                                                   -- Lou Reed

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ANDREA HESS

I didn't like the face I saw in the mirror. I supposed other people might
have considered it beautiful, but I didn't regard it as anything special.
Perhaps because it wasn't my own. Surgery was responsible for those high
cheekbones and impressive lips. Steroids had given me that strong body.

I thought about the woman I was before. I considered the roles I used to
play -- usually light comedic roles. You know, characters like the sly
supporting character who provides amusing commentary on the ongoing plot or
the goofy neighbor showing up at inopportune moments.

In a way, I was still playing a comedy role.

When we finally got to headquarters and got Joel Graham stowed away, the
first thing I did was get out of that damn latex suit. Wearing it is like
having your whole body pinched. Of course, I would have to get back in it
soon enough, but I just wanted to take a break before continuing on with the
act.

I wondered how I achieved this ironic distance from my role and my cause. If
anything, both required a passionate belief. Or maybe I was just being
realistic. The objective here was power and how else was power gained except
through play-acting? How else do you get people to grant authority upon to
you except looking as if you were entitled? I've heard derision of the
American president Ronald Reagan for being "just an actor." No one considers
that acting might be vital for the job. Franklin Roosevelt was not a trained
actor, but he was someone who understood how to manipulate responses toward
him. It was an ability gained from his confinement to his wheelchair; he was
determined to make people *not* see him as a man crippled by polio. Think of
Pope John Paul II who was considering the profession of actor before he
devoted his life to the Church. (Based on the reports I've heard, he was
probably a better actor than Reagan.)

And then there's Hitler.

There have been more than a few leaders whose regimes were brutal beyond
imagining. Stalin and Pol Pot were just two of them. However, when we think
of evil, Hitler is the first person to come to mind. When we think of a man
who could bend the will of a nation to his own, the first image in our mind
is the face with intense eyes and a tiny mustache. We can *hear* his voice
without the help of recordings -- that shouting, roaring, relentless sound.
We think of crowds with their arms raised, armies marching under a swastika
and gigantic buildings. Visually, Stalin looks rather pallid next to Hitler.
Unlike the Russian dictator, the Fuhrer understood the aesthetics of power.

Of course, it also helped that he believed in the drama. Did I? When I was
enlisted into the group, I was a devout believer in its aims. Later on, I
came to have doubts. Could we really build a new world with Joel Graham as
its foundation? Was it even right to try? Did the world need purification?

However, I had already been cast in the role. And the show must go on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

MULDER

I've gotten familiar with a certain look from A.D. Walter Skinner -- the
look that asks "Why must you keep dragging all this weirdness into my
office, Agent Mulder?" I got that look after Scully and I returned from
Plainfield.

"Let me understand this correctly," he said in a low voice, addressing us as
we sat in front of his desk. "And stop me at any point where I'm wrong. Not
only do you want me to accept this vague and inconclusive report -- " He
pointed at the stapled papers on his desk. " -- but you are asking to be
allowed to leave the country for equally vague and inconclusive reasons."

"That's the long and short of it, yes," I replied.

"Well...at least, you came to me first before you went on your little trip.
Would it be too much to ask why this trip is necessary? And how is it
connected with the investigation you've been conducting?"

"We are unable to answer that question satisfactorily, sir."

Oh, man, was I getting the look now. Scully was receiving it as well. "Is
that what I'm supposed to tell the review board once they do an accounting
of the expenses here?"

"This won't be done at the Bureau expense, sir," Scully told the A.D. "I
think you will also find that the FBI administration will grant Agent Mulder
and I a wider latitude than usual in this matter."

Skinner's stern look turned to bewilderment. It was not often that the high
muckedy-mucks encouraged the X-Files division in its more unorthodox
directions. At this point, Skinner could have pressed us hard for
information. Besides his usual duties as our direct authority, Skinner
actually gives a damn for me and Scully. I have always been grateful for his
loyalty, but this was one time where he would have to be out in the cold.

Before he spoke again, he realized this. He gave us one last look, then
said, "All right. You may proceed as you see fit." In other words, get out
of my office and let me deal with agents far less troublesome than you.

Scully and I did so. There was now nothing left to do except get on a plane
with Delmore Schwartz.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

JOEL GRAHAM

The woman didn't say another word to me after I left the jail with her. She
guided me to a car and then we driving fast through Plainfield. I noticed
that the electricity was out in the stores and the lampposts within a mile's
radius around the Police Department. They did a good job paralyzing the
police force and allowing us enough time to reach a plane.

We flew on that plane for awhile, then switched to another flight and then
another flight. This third flight took us out of the United States.

She didn't talk through the whole plane trip. Her silence persisted even
after we landed. Another car was waiting for us and took us through a wide
forest. We arrived at a castle. They took me a room and locked me in there.
Throughout this whole trip, I waited for her to speak to me.

I sat in the room and waited some more.

It was a comfortable room. There was a bed and a connecting bathroom. I had
a television, too, but I didn't feel like watching anything. There was a
bowl full of candy, but I ate none of it. I just sat there, hoping she would
return.

She did, dressed in leather.

She entered the room and closed the door behind her. She paced back and
forth in front of me a few times, keeping her eyes on me. I was keeping my
eyes on her in return. I was watching her full breasts press against the
leather and her lips rub against each other.

Finally...she spoke...

"You didn't have to come with us," she observed.

I cleared my throat. "No. I didn't. But I chose to."

She stopped pacing and turned on her heels so that her breasts were pointing
at me. "Is that supposed to impress me?" she asked in a disdainful voice.

I had no answer for that.

She rolled her head around once and loosened her shoulders. Her leather suit
creaked.

"Attack me," she said.

I didn't move, but I felt my cheeks redden and my body warm.

"Attack me. See if you can subdue without using your precious gift."

I knew what was going to happen, but I lunged at her anyway. She dodged to
the side, giving me a push on the back that almost sent me colliding against
the wall. I turned around and charged again. This time, her side-step was
followed by a boot to my rear end. I tumbled to the floor.

It stung quite a bit.

When I got up, I was mad. Seeing her cold, disgusted face made me even
madder. When I charged her this time, I caught her in my grip. She was warm
and smooth to my touch.

However, she had deliberately stayed in my way. Her hands grabbed me by the
elbows and yanked me to the side while placing a boot behind my heel. I was
toppled onto my back. She knelt as I fell and planted a knee into my chest.

Then she clutched my throat with her hands. She squeezed just enough to hurt
me, but not enough to choke me...yet. I tried to pull her hands off to no
avail. Her long red nails scratched at my skin.

"Go ahead," she growled. "Use your gift. Strike me down."

I did nothing. Instead, I let go of her hands and looked up at her angry,
cold face.

"You won't do it," she sneered. "You know why?" I gave no answer, but she
spoke the words in my head.

"It's because that would mean you're weak. A woman could beat you into a
bloody mass and it's only your gift that could protect you. If it weren't
for it, you would be nothing. You *are* nothing."

She let go of my throat. I thought she was going to slap me. Instead, she
grabbed by the stomach and squeezed the fat there. "Your body is
disgusting," she told me. "Pathetic."

That was true. I had the classic shape of a young male who does no exercise
and snacks continuously -- skinny limbs, long neck, sunken chest, plump
belly.

"The power of a god locked into this waste of flesh..." She shook her head.
"Have you no pride? Do you not understand what you could become?"

"Sorry..." I whispered.

She looked me over for a long time as if she was trying to decide something.
Then she pulled herself up. She stood above me, long white reflections of
light running down her leather suit and outlining her slim torso, long arms,
strong thighs.

She held out a hand to me and helped to my feet. Keeping a grip on my hand,
she said, "I can teach you to be better than this. I can make you into the
strong man you should be. And into so much more, Joel. I can make you a
king." She lifted an eyebrow. "Will you let me help you, Joel?"

My breath shuddered in my lungs as I said, "Yes."

For the first time, she smiled at me.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX