REPOST: Trace Evidence 3: Say Goodnight (04/10), Saundra Mitchell
Vampyres Incorporeal
Title: Trace Evidence III: Say Goodnight (04/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
Rating:R
Later
Hilton Oceanview Hotel
Staring out at the water from the
balcony, Scully felt almost at ease. She
could hear Mulder arguing with Munch and
Bayliss over what constituted real
versus unreal pizza toppings, but paid
it no attention.
"I'm sorry, you're sadly mistaken,"
she could hear Munch saying in that arch
tone of his. "But pineapple is barely
even food, let alone a reasonable
ingredient for pizza. The idea is to
tease the palate, not send it into
shock."
She smiled to herself. In the end,
she knew they'd order half-cheese, half-
pepperoni like always. Closing her eyes,
she drew in a deep breath, tasting the
salt on her lips as the winds conspired
to tangle her hair into an impenetrable
rat's nest.
A hand fell lightly on her
shoulder, and she jumped.
"They're just going to end up
ordering cheese and pepperoni," Bayliss
said softly, putting an arm around her
shoulder. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Leaning her head against him, she
closed her eyes. "Just a little edgy
tonight, I guess."
"I had to tell Frank," he admitted
finally.
She nodded, not opening her eyes.
"I knew you would, Tim. I hoped you
would."
Rubbing her arm idly, Tim stared up
into the sky. "Have you ever felt. . .
have you ever felt like you've given up
your entire life, and you're not exactly
sure what kind of life you're getting in
exchange?"
Laughing, Scully looked up at him.
"All the time."
"I . . . I cried for you," he
whispered. "I haven't cried like that in
a long time. Not since my dad died."
"I'm sorry."
He smiled peacefully. "I'm not. I
have no idea what I've gotten myself
into, do I?"
Shaking her head, she sighed. "No.
I don't think you do."
"I don't care," he said lightly. "I
don't. For the first time in my life,
I'm starting to look forward instead of
back."
"Why?"
"Because I've been to the bottom.
Sitting in my apartment after that first
day in court, I listened to those
messages over and over, and I had my gun
right there, two feet away on my coffee
table, and I was miserable. I was
absolutely miserable, but never once,
not once did I think about stopping it
all. Never once." He shook his head.
"Now I'm just babbling."
"I like listening."
"So is it love," Bayliss asked,
nodding his head in Munch's general
direction.
"I don't know," she said quietly.
"Right now it just feels good to not be
alone."
"Fine," Munch said, rolling his
eyes. "Cheese and pepperoni for the
pizza Nazi."
"I think Nazi's a little harsh,"
Mulder argued. "It's not like I'm
breaking beer bottles, demanding cheese
and pepperoni."
"Are you Jewish?"
Mulder shook his head. "I'm not
anything."
"Then you're not allowed to joke
about Kristallnacht."
"Who made up that rule?"
"George Carlin. You can bag your
own guys, but no one else's."
Rolling his head back, Mulder
watched Bayliss and Scully from his
upside-down vantage point for a moment.
"I'm glad you've been there for Tim."
Munch raised his eyebrows. "Are we
girl-talking tonight?"
Laughing in spite of himself,
Mulder sat back up properly. "No. I just
wanted to say thank you."
"I get the impression that _that_
particular pairing of words doesn't
often fall from your lips, so I will
accept it heartily." Munch looked down
at his hands. "Tim's always been the kid
on the side of the playground, really
wanting to play, but no one will pick
him for their team because they know if
he gets hit, he'll cry all the way home.
It's hard to believe, but I've been
there."
"You? Oh no," Mulder smirked.
"Yes," Munch sighed
melodramatically, "I have not always
been the handsome, successful rake you
see before you. Well, this is enough
bonding for me. Let's get pizza."
The Next Day
Our Lady of Hope Cemetery
The last time friends and family
had come together to bury Dana Katherine
Scully, the attendance had been
decidedly light. This time, not only had
the elusive Charles Scully appeared with
a wife, but half the Baltimore Homicide
Unit was present as well. Joined by the
Lone Gunmen, and a complement of FBI
agents, this service bordered on
crowded. Frank Pembleton stood with Mary
on the far side of the casket, glaring
angrily at Mulder when no one was
looking. The sky was clear, the perfect
blue and Mulder wondered idly if nature,
or God, or both had decided to throw in
a hint too.
Hovering near the family, Bayliss
kept an arm around Mulder's waist. He
struggled to act the part of going to a
funeral, but with Munch proselytizing in
his earpiece, he found it difficult to
concentrate. Mulder seemed perfectly
composed and penitent.
"Let the sweet muses lead me to
their soft retreats," Munch intoned,
echoing in their earpieces. "Their
living fountains, and melodious caves. .
and when nature shall give the signal
to retire, may I be seen, no pompous
mockery of woe."
"Uh John," Scully replied, "You
skipped the part about living in a cave,
alone with only your thoughts and umm. .
self mastery."
Quickly bowing his head, Tim
covered his smile with his free hand,
doing a fairly good rendition of tears
to cover the laughter.
Posted a discreet distance away
from the mourners, Scully watched
carefully for anyone straggling near the
funeral, but not really participating in
it. She ignored the nagging undercurrent
of guilt running through her. It hurt
her heart to see her mother sobbing into
her brother's shoulder as the priest
chanted her benediction and burial
prayers, but she didn't see another way.
"White male, mid to late twenties,
eight o'clock," Munch said.
Scully looked up, searching out the
man Munch had identified. She could see
him, but not clearly, and the hat he
wore only obscured his features further.
"Get a better look at him," Scully
said. "I can't see his face."
"Oh, I dunno," Munch mused. "He's
young, smooth faced, probably doesn't
even have to shave, the little bastard,
I don't know. Dark hair, light eyes,
maybe? He's got a Pre-Raphaelite mouth,
though."
"That's very helpful," Scully said
wryly, taking a few unobtrusive steps
for a better look. The shape and posture
looked familiar, but she still couldn't
get a good look at his face. The
funeral was nearly over, her family each
taking roses from the arrangement on the
casket, so they had very little time
left before she had to get back in the
car and hide.
"Guess he's done watching," Munch
said as the man headed over a hill.
"Hey! He's got a prosthetic hand. I
always wondered about those, whether it
was. . ."
"Follow him," Scully hissed,
watching Mulder try to hide his
reaction. Another gap in Munch's
conspiracy education, Scully thought.
She reached into her jacket pocket to
assure herself that her gun was firmly
in place.
"Okay, I'm following him," Munch
mumbled. "But I think he knows."
Scully started after them, walking
quickly between grave stones. Cresting
the hill, she could see Munch in
pursuit, his black coat billowing behind
him. Following his path with her eyes,
she caught sight of their quarry as he
broke into a full run.
"He's running," she said, picking
up her own pace.
Munch saw him ducking into the
mausoleum, so he followed him inside.
The temperature suddenly dropped, and he
found himself glad that in death, he
would always have air conditioning.
Winding his way through the corridors,
Munch stopped to listen for him, but
heard nothing. The door snapped open,
and he whirled around, retracing his
steps. Catching sight of Scully coming
inside, he renewed his search. It should
be easy to find him in here- one door
in, one door out. Then, he turned down a
corridor that was nothing but doors.
Administration, quiet rooms, family
rooms, storage. . .they were all neatly
labeled with small gold tags.
Scowling to himself, he started
testing doorknobs.
Having flipped the veil over her
head, Scully made her way through the
labyrinthine mausoleum with her eyes
wide open. Her skin seemed to crawl as
she walked past the named slabs of
marble in the walls- for some reason it
seemed less creepy to chase someone
through a cemetery.
Readjusting her gun, she cleared
another hallway then stepped down it
lightly. She could hear Munch mumbling
to himself as he tested doors, which was
both irritating and comforting. She
wasn't alone in here. A hot hand fell on
the back of her neck, and she suddenly
felt herself being thrown against a cold
wall.
Face to face with Alex Krycek, she
tried to speak but could not. His one
good hand had an incredible grip, a grip
which was slowly leaching her ability to
breathe. Her head pounded with rushing
blood, and she tried to struggle,
kicking viciously at him. He took her
gun, pressed it against her ribs and
disarmed her ability to fight back in
any other way by leaning forward. With
his hand crushing her throat, and his
hard body forced against hers, she could
only stare in stupid horror, mouthing a
plea for help.
Then, oddly, he smiled. Tilting his
head forward, his lips almost brushed
her as he pinned her with his gaze.
"Killing you has always been such a
challenge."
"Killing you has always been such a
challenge," Munch heard a man say. It
took him a second to realize the only
person he could hear on the earpiece was
Scully- therefore whomever he heard now
was talking _to_ Scully. Pulling out his
gun, he ran through the hallways
silently, searching.
"I'm coming Dana," he whispered.
"Hold on, okay? Just hold on?"
He turned a corner, and saw the
young man they'd been chasing pressed
against Scully. Until he caught sight of
the gun, he would have sworn it was a
lover's embrace.
Raising his own weapon, Munch
planted his feet firmly. "Drop the
weapon."
Alex looked over, surveying Munch's
hard face and harder stance. Again, the
smile. With a shrug, he let go of
Scully's throat, and as she sank to the
floor, he backhanded her with the gun.
With a wave, he ran. It was calculated-
he knew from the twisted horror in this
man's face that he wouldn't chase him;
he'd fall to his knees and pick Scully
up, tend to her wounds, cursing him, but
not pursuing.
He was right. Munch knew he
couldn't fire a gun in the mausoleum-
the sound alone would bring not only
police, but curious mourners who would
be absolutely mortified to find the
woman they just buried beaten to a pulp,
but alive. Memorizing his face, the way
he ran, the slope of his shoulders, the
lingering scent of unfamiliar
aftershave, Munch scooped Scully up.
His stomach twisted at the gash
across her cheek and eyebrow as he
tentatively touched the purpling
fingerprints around her throat. Brushing
her hair out of her face, he lifted her
chin to face him.
"Honey, are you okay? Are you okay?
Talk to me, okay? Just say something?"
Swallowing hard, she blinked
slowly. "He killed my sister. He killed
me."
(End Part Four)