The Pact 14/? by Madeleine Partous

[Lisa Reeves]

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----------------------------------------------------------------
From: Madeleine Partous <par...@vir.com>
Subject: NEW: The Pact (14/?)

THE PACT (PART 14)

by Madeleine Partous
email: par...@vir.com

"The Pact: alive and kicking!"

This portion of "Pact" brought to you by Vatican Laundry
Detergent with powerful added SinGuard (TM):

"Not just White! Pure and Bright!"*

* ATTENTION FOX LAWYERS: This is a joke. The only
payment I receive for writing this bloody thing is mockery and
threats for taking so long.

DEDICATION: This was, and continues to be, for Connie
Wojanis, whose patience, friendship and support takes my
breath away.

DISCLAIMER IN PART ONE (Remember part one? Bet you
don't!)

NEW YORK CITY
FRIDAY, 12:02 AM

It had fed and fed and yet its hunger seemed to grow.

It grew. Its hunger fed it and it grew stronger, but with this
strength came a new, more desperate hunger.

This was its destiny.

The stronger it grew, the more it would have to feed.

It would feed until balance was restored, until the poison
released by the Mother's misguided children was absorbed and
rendered harmless.

It had started with the small ones, the petty thieves of the
city. But as its power grew, it would turn to bigger game.

To do so, it would flow over the mistakes of mankind, its
victims, absorbing them inside itself to give it strength and
direction.

It would use their need, their anger, their innocence, to guide
it.

And in its wake it would leave only the empty shells of those
who preyed on weakness, those who tarnished Her world,
blemished it, sentenced it to death.

Already it could feel the clamour of new voices within the
blackness of its belly, the lost ones whose anguish informed it,
whose own losses mirrored its own.

Soon it would be ready to surge out into the world after bigger
quarry.

It would wash over the infernal machines, the power plants
with their hot toxic metal hearts, the factories of man which
vomited filth into Her waters, Her skies. It would surge over
poisoned earth leached by man's chemicals and find the
sources of the rape against the Mother.

In its wake it would leave only silence. And with time, the
broken machines and the shells of the men who had run them
would be reclaimed by the earth. They would return to the
bosom of the Mother which had borne them.

Along the way, it would find new voices to guide it until it
carried in itself the entire outrage of the human race.

In the end, mankind itself would direct its own downfall.

So it was ordained, and so it would be.

Soon.

NEW YORK CITY
WOMEN'S SHELTER, EAST VILLAGE BRANCH
FRIDAY, 12:10 AM

Scully had expected far worse, but it was still pretty bad.

They'd found their way past the tiny, cramped lobby where
children and women crowded, some frightened and quiet,
others demanding attention loudly. It was obvious that some
had been beaten, by husbands, boyfriends or pimps most
probably, but the saddest sight of all were the children, most
of them young and all of them drawn and exhausted but wide-
eyed with nervousness as they clutched their mother's hands
or cowered against walls.

"They won't even let women bring their sons in here past the
age of 12, did you know that?" Miss Sweeny said
conversationally as she coughed and wiped her mouth.

Scully pursed her lips. She knew that. What she didn't know
was where the boys went in those cases.

"Sometimes they go to children's shelters," Miss Sweeny
continued as though Scully had spoken out loud, "but then
they may get caught up in the system, so most mothers with
older boys just don't come to these kinds of places."

"You know a lot about this kind of thing, ma'am."

The old woman shrugged. "Had a few landlord problems over
the years. The bastards." She coughed again. "They're
rolling in dough but they lock you out when you're just a
couple weeks late with the rent."

Scully studied her companion as they waited in line near the
desk. A lone harried woman behind it was trying to deal
singlehandedly with the chaos.

"Cold night. Makes it worse. Everyone wants a warm place to
sleep," Miss Sweeny muttered.

"This cough of yours..."

Miss Sweeny snorted derisively and waved a hand. "It's
nothing, sweetheart. I'm an old bag. Everything's starting to
go. But I'm not doin' too badly, so don't you go worrying your
pretty little head."

Scully felt herself bristle lightly. "Has Mulder told you that
I'm a doctor?" She kept her voice low.

Miss Sweeny stopped coughing abruptly and stared at her.

Scully chuckled. "It sounds like bronchitis to me. Or the
beginning of pneumonia. You should get it checked out."

The older woman was still staring at her. "You know, angel, I
hate doctors. Smug, self-satisfied bastards, every last one of
'em."

Scully choked, which made Miss Sweeny grin widely. "Besides,
dearie, you don't need a degree to come up with that kind of
diagnosis. It's bloody obvious."

Scully was still coughing.

"You know, you really should get that checked out, love.
Sounds nasty." Miss Sweeny's tone was positively gleeful.

The cough finally sputtered to a halt as she gave the old
woman a baleful look and turned to the social worker behind
the desk.

NEW YORK CITY
MEN'S SHELTER, EAST VILLAGE BRANCH
FRIDAY, 12:14 AM

Mulder and Juan had finally found their beds in a large room
where about 20 cots were jammed in against each other.

Not much privacy, but then, most of these men were probably
used to sleeping on top of hot-air grills in rat-infested
alleyways.

Mulder squinted at the harsh lights, grey walls and equally
grey linen. All in all, he shuddered, he could understand why
someone would choose a grill over this when the night wasn't
cold enough to snap your ass off.

He glanced over at his companion. Juan had been strangely
quiet since they'd left the coffeeshop. There was nothing
madcap about him now; he looked serious and tired as he
tested the cot's spring before sitting on it gingerly.

"You okay, Juan?"

The little man looked up. "I'm fine, Mulder."

Sure. That's what they all say. He felt a sudden pang of
loneliness for Scully and wondered how the women were doing.

Christ. She could take care of herself. She always did.

Still. Even though Juan was a lot of fun, all in all he'd rather
be sleeping with her.

"At least it's fairly clean," Juan muttered.

"This your first time?"

The clerk guffawed. "Oh, no. I usually stay here when I come
to New York to take in a few shows. The laundry service is
particularly first-rate."

Mulder chuckled. "Must be because there's so little call for it
in these parts."

That much was certain. A miasma of odours ranging from
simple dirt to dried urine and vomit was beginning to rise in
the overheated air as other men in various states of disrepair
drifted in and began to settle for the night.

Mulder's stomach lurched and he tried to reason with it.

That's what he always did when nausea hit, which was quite
often, unfortunately. Stupid of him to try, really, because
reason had never worked before.

He cursed silently and wished that God had seen fit to equip
him with a stronger stomach. One like Scully's. Nothing
disgusted that woman. Christ. She could eat animal parts
during a fucking autopsy. He'd seen her chow down on a
burger once while cutting open a man who'd been dead for
weeks, and just the sight had been enough to make him run for
the nearest toilet.

Well. She *had* thrown up that time with the Space Amish,
hadn't she? Of course, that was because she'd almost done the
nasty with a gender-shifting alien who caused people's insides
to explode during sex.

Hell. He'd never get sick over a little thing like *that*.
Must've had something to do with her Catholic upbringing.

"Feeling a little queasy, Mulder?" He looked up to see Juan's
impish face sparkling at him, although there was genuine
sympathy there too. "My, my. Well. I always figured you were
a sensitive guy."

Mulder sneered wanly at him.

"We'd better hurry if you want to ask these people questions,
sweetie. Lights out in half an hour."

Most of the men growled or flailed at them; Mulder's stomach
churned and flopped a few times despite the fact he hadn't
eaten much all day.

Scully hadn't eaten much either, he suddenly remembered. He
hoped she'd found time to grab something. Then he took that
thought and the images it summoned in his mind and laid them
aside *very* gingerly.

They hit paydirt with a fearful old man who smelled better than
most of his neighbours.

He also made a certain amount of sense.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." His eyes roamed restlessly as he huddled
on his bed, his back to the wall. "I seen two of my buddies go
away."

Mulder leaned a little closer.

"How d'you mean, 'go away'?"

"Like I says, they was there and next thing you know they're
gone. Just like that."

"Were you drinking at the time?"

The old man's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You a cop?"

Mulder shook his head wearily.

"You look like a cop."

"Cops dress better, sir," Juan said sweetly.

"It don't matter. You sound like a cop."

"I'm looking for my father," Mulder began. "And no one wants
to help us. He's been on the street for years." He tapped his
forehead with a finger.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the old man nodded and grinned.
"There's the rubbies and there's the crazies. Sometimes
they're both. Anyways, the only difference is the rubbies
ain't nuts. But both of 'em go away."

"So you're saying you ain't nuts, right?" Mulder smiled at him.

The other man nodded vehemently and kept grinning. "No,
sir, no, sir. This is whaddya call a career choice."

"So what about your friends?"

"I was gonna join 'em; they usually had a bottle by the
afternoon. Sometimes I get one but I always share, you know?"

He seemed terribly serious all of a sudden.

"I always share. Always."

"I'm sure you do. So you were going to join them?"

"Yeah, yeah. But then I sees this black cloud, this terrible
thing, you know? An' it was dark in the alley, it gets dark so
early in winter. That's when I seen that there was these guys
there too, young punks, and they was makin' fun of my
buddies, and one was kicking ol' Herb, who ain't never hurt
nothin', not even a fly, and Herb..."

The old man's lips began to quiver and Mulder felt a pang as
tears began to spill from the other man's eyes and snot
bubbled out of his nose.

"Juan..." he murmured. "You got a tissue?"

The clerk shot him a dour look and pulled out a large
elaborately patterned handkerchief which he handed
reluctantly to the man.

"Versace," he said through clenched teeth.

"It's for a good cause, Juan."

It was obvious the old man was completely tanked. He snuffled
noisily into the handkerchief, which led to little spasms of
distaste and grief in Juan. Finally, he calmed down enough to
look up at the two with rheumy eyes and a tear-streaked face.

"You were saying that Herb..."

"Yeah, yeah. Herb was jes lyin' there, kinda jerkin' around. I
couldn't see much an' I was scared, you know? I wanted to
help, but I ain't as strong as I was..."

Tears began to threaten again as Mulder patted the older man
on the arm.

"I know. It's perfectly understandable. So what happened?"

The man sniffed and snorted noisily into the handkerchief.

Juan swore softly in Spanish.

"So the cloud just moved up, you know? Then you couldn't see
nothin'. Not my buddies, not those punks. It was like there
was nothin' there except this blackness, which kinda...
kinda..."

The old man grasped for words.

"Kind of what?" Mulder said gently.

"Kinda just... boiled, you know?" He smiled triumphantly.
"That's it. It was boiling like. Ain't never seen nothin' like it.
So I got the hell outta there."

"Did you go back."

The old man shook his head sadly. "I was scared. An' then I
never seen them again. They found the punks later, though.
Dead. I heard about it from Sal down at the mission. They
been findin' a lot of bodies, but it ain't never ours." He
sniffed and wiped his nose. "We just go away. That's what
they want anyway, ain't it?"

Mulder jumped as a high trilling sound cut through his
concentration.

Jesus. The cell phone. Scully wouldn't use it lightly under
these circumstances. Something was up -- or something was
wrong.

He yanked it out and pulled it open, watching as Juan tried to
soothe the old man who'd pulled back closer against the wall,
gibbering uncontrollably.

Mulder turned away and in to hide the phone as best he could.

"Yeah?"

"Mulder, it's me."

God. Why did she always say that? He fought down a strange
mixture of panic and irritation.

"Something wrong, Scully?" He heard her expel a sharp
breath.

"Detective Wojanis called. Fortunately, I'm in a room with very
sane mothers who think I'm some kind of undercover cop at
this point. The phone pretty much cinched it, but at least no
one panicked."

"Been there. Why'd he call?"

"They've found three more bodies in a subway tunnel. Kids,
20 years tops; one Caucasian, one African American, one
Hispanic."

"Did they kill each other?"

"There's no evidence of trauma whatsoever, Mulder. Just like
the others."

"See? Who says we can't all get along?"

She ignored him. "I'm on my way to the morgue. Wanna come?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Juan's not being remotely
amusing tonight."

CONTINUED IN PART 15