Dreams IV: The Brotherhood(1/4) Thu Oct 24 1996
Well, what can I say, I've discovered that I like Mulderangst and
can't get enough of it. So consider that a warning. Lots of the stuff
to go around in this one. And, to top it off, Vickie and I actually
did some research, so the herbs and home remedies in the story really
do exist. HOWEVER, please don't try them at home. We'd hate to be
responsible.
My sincere thanks to Vickie, one of my favorite fanfic authors, for
letting me write this one with her. It took us months to finish it but
it was fun getting there. Also, a big thankyouverymuch to LuvPat,
Sharon and Taura for their enthusiastic comments and applause and to
Windsinger for her comments and editorial review!
Vickie's words of wisdom: This story is part FOUR of a much longer
work that I've entitled 'Dreams'. It stands alone, but if you are
curious about how Mulder and Scully got married and pregnant, just ask
and I'll send it along. Or post it if I get enough requests.
Strong relationship warning. They are married, expecting and
househunting.
Esther again, sorry. I don't want to scare those of you off that think
this is going to be a Fox is tortured, I'm married, expecting a baby
what am I going to do story. There really is an honest to goodness
X-File in here and not a lot of time for romance!
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television, et al. No infringement is
intended. We love the show and are just borrowing the characters for a
little mayhem.
Any distribution of this story without the authors' consent is
prohibited by law. If you would like to pass it along please let us
know and make sure our names remain attached!
We love feedback, so please send us some!!!
The Brotherhood
Chapter One
By Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
and Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net
The young Cherokee warrior held on to his prey easily. The white man
was exhausted and disoriented from his long journey through the great
plains and he barely put up a struggle when the Native American
confronted him.
As the two rode into the village loud chanting, almost cheering,
erupted from every man, woman and child present. The white man
squinted his eyes against the sun in a weak attempt to get his
bearings and assess his surroundings. Where the hell was he and how
the hell did he get here?
The young warrior stopped his horse and got off. He surveyed the area
slowly, a mixture of pride and determination etched on his lean,
muscular face. He raised his hand and waited for the crowd that had
gathered to settle down before speaking. When he did, he spoke in his
native tongue, leaving the white man to stare at the crowd in search
of an explanation.
None were forthcoming, although he noted grimly that several of the
women in the crowd were spiriting away the children from the scene,
much to the little ones' dismay.
Before he had a chance to dwell on this he was brusquely pulled off
his horse by another Cherokee, slightly bigger and taller than his
original captor. He landed hard on his hands and knees and had no time
to recover before being dragged to a wide, wooden stake that stuck
about six feet straight out of the ground. His two captors held him up
swiftly and in no time at all had his hands and feet tied to the
wooden stake.
The ritual that followed took all of 20 minutes, but for the white
man, a trespasser on holy land, it quickly became a blur of
unimaginable proportions.
The tribe was chanting again, a mesmerizing drone of rhythmic
interplay that became the momentum for the drama that was unfolding
before his very own eyes. Two young squaws approached him and, without
saying a word, tore open his shirt. He could only stare as their
nubile fingers wove brightly colored pigments into ageless mystical
patterns across his chest. The work was done entirely with their hands
and the paint felt cold on the white man's chest.
When they were done, the squaws moved aside and the tribe cheered,
marveling at their artistry.
The women joined the crowd and four young male warriors, dressed in
full battle regalia, joined the white man at the stake. Without
hesitation, they began chanting and performing a ritual dance that
made them circle their prisoner at a frantic pace.
The chanting from the crowd grew deafening and was soon mixed in with
the chanting of the four warriors.
The white man could no longer tell what was coming from where. Which
is why, when the chanting suddenly stopped, he didn't notice the four
warriors standing on either side of him, or that his original captor
was standing directly in front of him, a mere 10 feet away.
When he realized what was happening, the arrow had already pierced his
chest.
**************
Jeremiah Miller woke up screaming. The pain in his chest was
unbearable and the fear in his eyes was undeniable.
His wife of 30 years, Dixie, was by his side, asking him questions he
couldn't hear. Jeremiah grabbed his chest and glanced around the room
they had called their own for the last six weeks.
Was it really just a dream...? His last thought fell into oblivion as
the pain in his chest intensified and he could no longer remain
conscious.
****************
It took Dixie Miller nearly 20 minutes to convince John Jacobs, the
leader of the Yeomen Brotherhood, to call for an ambulance. And even
then, he agreed only on the condition that Jeremiah go to the hospital
alone. Dixie agreed reluctantly, knowing in her heart that she would
never see her husband alive again.
Dixie moved to John's side and searched for a pulse. It was weak, but
it was still there. She barely heard John barking orders at the FBI
agents outside the compound. She was lost in thought, stroking
Jeremiah's hair, his chest, holding his hand. Her life with Jeremiah,
the only man she had ever been with, had ever loved, was flashing
before her.
He was a good, hard-working, honest man, her husband. The two of them,
like the rest of the Yeomen, didn't believe in the federal government,
but that didn't mean they weren't good people.
Dixie looked around her tiny room and wondered, not for the first
time, how she and Jeremiah had gotten mixed up in such a fiasco. They
had worked hard all their lives, never bothered anyone. Never cheated
or hurt anyone. Live and let live had been their motto.
And yet, here they were. Caught in the middle of a stand-off with the
FBI that was getting more out of hand with every passing day.
She had warned Jeremiah about John Jacobs. She had never trusted him
and she knew that deep down Jeremiah didn't either. But the federal
government was starting to ask too many questions, coming around a
little too often. Things had started to get bleak and John seemed to
have all the answers. A very charismatic man, John could sell ice to
the Eskimos, it had been very easy for both of them to follow him to
the compound. Even if they didn't trust him, his promises of a better
future, his assurance of their freedom, because, after all, they were
doing the right thing, had convinced them he was their only hope.
At first they felt like they had done the right thing. John vindicated
their beliefs like no one ever had. They felt like integral members of
the team, secure in their convictions.
It was only two weeks after coming to the compound, two weeks after
John had barricaded them all from the outside world, that they began
to notice inconsistencies in John's personality and behavior. He had
always suffered from irrational mood swings, but suddenly, they were
vicious and unprecedented. He could be downright mean, with no
justification. The situation was exacerbated by bouts of heavy
drinking, something most Yeomen were loathe to accept. Much less
admire.
John was smart enough to know this and during his bouts of drunkenness
was particularly vicious and rude, making it impossible for anyone to
comment, much less criticize, his intoxication.
She and Jeremiah had decided almost two weeks ago that they had to
leave the compound, but so far it had proven impossible. Jeremiah had
been having nightmares that were leaving him drenched in sweat and
shaking. He never wanted to talk about them, either when he woke from
them or in the morning. He bacame quiet and reclusive, and Dixie had
noticed he was practically fearful of his own shadow. Whatever the
nightmares had been about, they had altered the man she had loved
almost beyond her own recognition.
But it wasn't just Jeremiah who was jumpy and ill at ease. It seemed
that everyone in the compound was suffering from some form of stress
or anxiety.
Dixie closed her eyes and thought back to the first few days at the
compound. Everyone was so cheerful and friendly. Comfortable in the
belief that they were doing the right thing. It wasn't until about two
weeks after they had gotten there, around the same time old man Parker
died in his sleep, that things started to change. She had noticed a
change almost immediately following Parker's burial within the
compound's walls. At the time, she had attributed it to the somber
mood a memorial service tends to instill. But now she realized it was
more than that. Something changed that afternoon. She could feel it in
the air. Just like she could feel her husband's life slipping away
from her.
She heard John's voice again, this time a little louder. "Put your
hands up and keep them up," he said.
Dixie left Jeremiah's side to see what was happening. A young
paramedic, with a look of sheer terror on his face, was being frisked
by John himself. Two of John's goonies, Bob and Henry, had their guns
cocked and leveled at the young man. Before allowing him inside John
searched the stretcher the paramedic had brought with him. Satisfied,
John led him to Jeremiah's room.
Dixie moved aside, unable to take her eyes off of her husband.
"What happened?" asked the paramedic.
"He woke up suddenly, screaming and holding his chest." Dixie tried
hard to contain her tears, she was too angry at John to let him see
how frightened she really was.
The paramedic leaned over Jeremiah and started to feel for a pulse
before John grabbed his hand and spun him around. "The deal is," he
shouted, "you come in, take him away and do your medical know-how
stuff later."
Dixie could barely restrain herself. Her dark eyes were cold and she
took a deep breath for fear of passing out. The paramedic looked at
her apologetically before looking up to John. Although the young medic
was almost six feet tall, John Jacobs towered over him.
"I'll need some help getting him onto the stretcher," he said quietly.
"Bob, get in here." Bob, John's favorite lackey, was in the room
instantly. As far as Bob was concerned, there was nothing he wouldn't
do for his fearless leader. An orphan since the age of three, John was
the closest thing he had ever known to a father. It didn't matter that
John treated him like dirt. Bob didn't know any better. John was the
first person that ever acknowledged his existence and for this Bob
would be eternally grateful.
John didn't wait for Bob to speak, this whole mess with Jeremiah had
already taken too much of his time. "I need you to help this medic
here get old Jeremiah onto that stretcher, pronto."
Bob nodded and looked to the paramedic for instructions. The paramedic
was eager to get out of there too and gave his instructions quickly.
Jeremiah was a big man and it took quite a bit of effort, mostly on
Bob's part, to lift him onto the stretcher.
The paramedic strapped in Jeremiah and hurried him out of the room.
Dixie followed closely, stopping the young man at the door to look at
her husband one last time. She took his hand and managed to whisper
something in his ear before John pulled her back.
"That's enough," he bellowed. "Get him out of here."
The paramedic did as he was told, relieved when the door to the
compound closed behind him.
Dixie Miller refused to look at John Jacobs. The contempt she was
feeling would do her no good. She had already lost Jeremiah and if she
wasn't careful, she would lose herself very soon. At the moment, she
could only hope for such an outcome.
***************
Sawyer County Medical Center
4:30 A.M.
Jeremiah Miller was precariously close to death when he arrived at the
hospital. The paramedics had put him on IV's and oxygen before leaving
the grounds of the compound, but his vitals were looking pretty grim.
Since Jacobs had allowed the paramedic to ask few questions, the
hospital staff had little to go on. The lead doctor on duty assumed
Jeremiah had suffered a heart attack, but ordered chest x-rays to rule
out any other possibilities. They were pumping nitroglycerin into him
when the x-ray technician came running into the ER.
"You're not going to believe this..." The young man was out of breath.
He had just run down four flights of stairs and was waving the x-rays
wildly about the room.
"Here, give those to me." The head nurse took the x-rays from him and
quickly placed them on the light table above the counter. "Oh my God."
The nurse put her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Everyone in the room turned to face the x-rays and everyone reacted in
the same manner.
Jeremiah's x-ray showed the end of an arrow, at least four inches in
length, right through his chest, a fraction of an inch from his heart.
So shocked were the doctors and technicians in the room that it took
them a moment to realize Jeremiah had flatlined. And although they
tried to revive him, they knew all along it was a futile attempt.
End chapter one
From cenergy@earthlink.net Thu Oct 24 23:15:39 1996
The Brotherhood
Chapter Two
By Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net
and Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
FBI Headquarters
Monday
8:45 am
Dana Scully sat with her glasses on, pouring over the
newspaper open on her desk. Already the page was colored
with five or six large neon yellow circles and from the
highlighter poised in her hand, it was going to receive a few
more.
Her partner entered, carrying two mugs of coffee and set
one down on her desk. "You can't possibly think we are going
to have time to look at *all* those places on our lunch hour,
Scully," he grumbled. "Good grief, that one's out in Garrett
Park! Why, by the time we get there, we'll have to come
back."
"I'll narrow the field in a minute. Right now, I'm just
looking at what is in our price range and the number of rooms
we're looking for," she explained patiently. "Of course, we
could just continue to live at my place and the baby could
sleep in our room until college," she smiled sweetly.
"You aren't funny when you're house hunting, Scully. You
know that, don't you?" he shot back. "But could you at least
give me the *front* part of the paper. I didn't get a chance to
look at it yet."
She shuffled the paper and handed him the section he
wanted. "If you had gotten up when I did. . ."
". . .I would have had to wait for the shower, anyway," he
finished and settled down at his own desk. "Oh, that reminds
me. . ."
"Two and a half baths, minimum. Yes, I remember," she
said, not bothering to look up. He started to say something
else and she raised her hand to stop him. "*And* two closets
in the master bedroom. You know, the only places that meet
your qualifications are pretty far out. I thought you wanted a
close commute."
"Don't tell me there aren't any places in Georgetown that
have two and half bathrooms and decent closet space," he said
in disbelief.
"Oh, sure, there are tons. Of course, we might have to
move into Bank Fraud--on the *other* side of the law, to
afford one of them," she chided.
They read in relative silence for a few minutes. It had been
a long weekend, spent housecleaning and sorting, combining
households. Mulder had finally decided paying rent on two
places was foolish, especially since the Bureau now officially
knew they were married. In order to avoid another month's
payment, they had to move or sell everything from his
apartment during the previous two weeks. They moved the
last box late Sunday afternoon and collapsed in exhaustion
immediately after. When Dana woke up, she realized that
getting a bigger place, with *more* closet space, was now
imperative.
Fox got up and started digging through the file cabinet.
"Scully, have you seen. . ."
"Not if *you* filed it," came the terse reply. Filing had
never been high on his list of required office procedures and
had long been a sore point between them. In the past, his
partner might have felt obligated to help him search for the
missing file, an activity she referred to as 'looking for the
needle.' But after two weeks of searching for missing items in
their own apartment while they were finding places to keep
everything, she was not feeling that helpful.
He grunted something unintelligible and continued digging.
Ten minutes later and he was still digging through drawers,
but with such abandon that he was threatening to tip them
over.
"Mulder, what the hell are you looking for?" she asked
sharply.
"A date?" he teased and his eyes were twinkling.
"Your *dating days* are over, mister," she said dryly.
"Come on, I'll help," she added with a heavy sigh. "Just tell
me what you're looking for."
"A map of Montana," he replied.
"USGS?"
"Not exactly," he murmured, rifling through a file folder.
Finally he held up some stapled pages. "This map."
Scully could not contain herself. She got up from her desk
and walked over to his. He was pulling apart the stapled
pages and laying them across what little level surface he had
on his desk.
"Mulder, there are no roads on that map," Scully noted,
looking over his shoulder.
"Yeah, I know. It's a map of Indian burial grounds. Or at
least a partial map. I got it from Albert Holstein. He has a
friend who has a friend. Anyway, I saw something in the
paper that got me curious."
"Indian burial grounds? Don't tell me we're going to go
'grave robbing', Mulder. And no, I have no intention of trying
to perform an autopsy on a 400 year old Sioux warrior," she
added for his information.
"No, I don't think that's necessary, not yet, at least," he said
absently. "I was just reading about one of those 'anti-taxation'
groups up in the mountains. Apparently, there has been a
death up there. The circumstances are suspicious, and so far,
unexplained."
"How suspicious? Maybe they're trying to cover up a
murder," Scully suggested.
"Actually, that's what they're accusing. They think the
government is bombarding the place with microwaves, and this
guy died of it," Mulder said, handing her the paper. "They
took the guy into the local hospital. He bleed to death. But
Scully, they have no idea how he received the wound."
"A knife fight over the last Bud Light, perhaps?" Scully
said derisively, but her attention was on the newspaper article.
"According to this, the county Medical Examiner has the death
listed as 'accidental'? Maybe he fell on a hunting knife." She
handed the paper back to Mulder. "Of course, you don't think
it was accidental," she said taunting him.
"Well, Scully, if you read a little farther you'll see that the
ME also reports that the man died of 'extreme blood loss with
no corresponding entry wound'. The man bled to death from
inside, Scully." He smiled at her expression of disbelief. <And
the baby will probably inherit every speck of that skepticism,>
he thought. <I hope.>
"Mulder, that could have been from an aneurism. They
aren't restricted to the brain, you know," she said, turning back
to her part of the paper.
"Yeah, I know that, but according to this map, there are
several burial grounds in that area of Montana" he continued.
"It's possible this group stumbled on top of something that
should have been left undisturbed."
"And you think the ghosts of Indian braves are giving
people aneurisms? Keep this up and you'll give *me* an
aneurism! Even so, I don't think Skinner is going to agree. . ."
She was interrupted by the phone ringing.
"Mulder," he said into the phone and as he listened he
looked over at her and wiggled his eyebrows. "We'll be right
up," he said, hanging up the phone. "Well, my love, we get to
have that question answered in person. Our presence is
requested." He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on as she
headed out the doorway ahead of him.
The Assistant Director was ready to see them when they
arrived and his assistant ushered them into the office. "Have a
seat," Walter Skinner directed them toward the only two
chairs near his desk. He was holding a file folder and flipping
through the pages. "I assume you are familiar with the
'Yeoman Brotherhood'?" he asked, not looking up.
A knowing grin spread across Mulder's face. "I was just
familiarizing myself with their latest claims when we got your
call, sir." He glanced over at Scully and smiled even wider at
the slow shaking of her head. <I should have bet the dishes
tonight,> he thought to himself.
"Well, as you know then, the situation is growing more
tense every day. The latest incident, this death of one of the
men, has really put a strain on the negotiations. The
Brotherhood are convinced the man, Jeremiah Miller, died of
wounds he received at the hands of one of the agents. Of
course, that is completely unsubstantiated."
"Sir, do we have a copy of the autopsy?" Scully asked.
"We do, Agent Scully and that poses a particular problem.
I know that the media has widely quoted the coroner's office
as saying that the death was accidental. It's a little more
complicated than that." Skinner handed Scully the file from
his desk. She sat in silence, reading until she hit one line that
was highlighted.
"That's impossible!" she exclaimed.
"Now, where have we heard *that* before?" Mulder
muttered with a grin. Then, louder, he asked "What is it,
Dana?"
Skinner flashed him a glare. It was the first time he had
ever known Mulder to call his partner by anything other than
her last name. <But that would be a bit redundant at this
point, now wouldn't it?> he mused. The AD wasn't sure about
the arrangements he had made and this would be the first real
test. He was putting his own 'hind quarters' on the line by
allowing the two agents to remain acting as partners after they
married. All of the Bureau hierarchy was breathing down his
neck. Hopefully this case wouldn't be too hot to handle for
them.
"Mulder, on the x ray they found an *arrow* in the guy's
heart! Imbedded there. It caused the massive blood loss, of
course." She was talking while she was reading. "But then,
upon further examination of the body, there was nothing there.
It was like it was a 'ghost' or something," she muttered, more
to herself than the two men sitting in the room with her.
"Gee, I think I might have mentioned something like this in
the office," he said with a bemused expression.
"But that was just a newspaper account and it didn't
mention the x ray. This is the actual autopsy. The arrow
showed up on X rays," Scully whispered. "But that's,"
"Impossible, yeah, you said that," Mulder replied, taking
the file from her and reading through it himself. "So, I take it
we get tickets to Montana?" he asked the Assistant Director.
"But not for the reason you suspect. You are being added
to the negotiation team, Mulder. Seems that some people
remember how you handled yourself during the Berry hostage
situation," Skinner replied and watched both faces before him
for a reaction. To their credit, both agents kept their emotions
to themselves. "They want your behavioral background, as
well. This John Jacobs character has all the earmarks of
another Jim Jones. And Agent Scully, the coroner would like
your opinion on the death. The body has not yet been buried,
they are holding it for you."
"Oh, joy," Mulder mumbled. Scully shot him one of her
Looks and shut him up. "But sir, if there is some chance. . ."
"Agent Mulder, I expect your hands will be quite full with
keeping this from turning into another 'Waco'. If you can find
the time *on your own* to investigate the 'paranormal'
aspects, by all means, be my guest. I figure that would be
sometime between 2 and 6 in the morning." It was almost
undetectable, but Scully was positive there was a gleam in
Skinner's eyes. "Now, if that's all, you are dismissed."
"Can your mom keep the mutt," Mulder asked his wife as
they headed back to the basement.
"Yeah, probably. We can drop him off on the way to the
airport. Tell you what, I'll go pick up the dry cleaning and
grab our bags now, you make the reservations," Scully was
talking and getting her purse at the same time, not bothering to
look up.
"Hey, stop a minute," he ordered. "Do you realize what
this is?"
She looked at him with great curiosity. "What?"
"This," he said, moving to her and taking her in his arms,
"is our first case as husband and wife." He kissed her
passionately on the lips.
"The operative word here is 'case', Fox. We can't mix
business with pleasure. Not on the job. That would guarantee
our separation, and you know it." She reached up and kissed
him on the nose. "So get ready to take some nice, cold
showers, big guy." She started out the door, but stopped
when she saw his disappointment. "Of course, that doesn't
mean the 'homecoming' won't be something to look forward
to," she hinted seductively.
He rewarded her effort to cheer him with a leering grin.
Somewhere over Iowa
7:30 pm
The only flight available had an hour layover in St. Louis
and the meal had been less than hoped for. The inflight movie
was 'Jumanji' and as much as Scully liked Robin Williams, it
was too close to real life for her liking. So, she decided to use
the time to catch up on the Yeoman Brotherhood while her
husband snored on her shoulder.
One thing married life had accomplished was a decided
improvement in Fox Mulder's sleep habits. He was now
known to even suggest 'going to bed early', but of course,
sleep was not the first item on the agenda. Still, even with the
'marital encounters' aside, he was averaging 7 to 8 hours of
sleep a night, a new life time high, if she believed his mother
and his own accounts. But by sleeping on the plane, she was
sure that he would be awake half the night once they arrived.
The idea of separate, but connected rooms was looking better
all the time.
Besides, she had convinced herself that if they 'needed' to
be closer, they could. The idea that they should maintain some
distance was a mutual decision, and she was going to try her
best to make sure they abided by it. <Ah, but you're going to
miss that shoulder you've been using for a pillow,> she
reminded herself. She sighed, and allowed herself the luxury
of rubbing her head against his as it lay on her shoulder.
Somehow, she knew this case was going to try her patience,
on several levels.
She turned her attention back to the material on her laptray.
It appeared to Scully that the Yeomen Brotherhood had been
pushing their luck for quite some time. The more she read the
more she wondered how they had evaded law enforcement as
long as they had. Their basic claim, that the IRS and FBI were
unconstitutional, gave them the impetus to establish their own
common law government a few years back. With the strength
of their self-imposed rules, they refused to pay any taxes and
developed their own banking system. A system that, for all
intents and purposes, was not viable in the mainstream. The
Brotherhood, however, seemed to miss this minor detail and
started using their own checks and money orders all over
town. It was just a matter of time before the local merchants
started complaining and the local authorities started asking
questions. One thing led to another and suddenly the
Brotherhood was threatening to kidnap the local police chief.
Enter the FBI. The Brotherhood retreats into their
compound, deep in the woods of Montana, 30 miles from the
nearest town.
That had been four weeks ago. So far the Brotherhood had
refused every offer the FBI had presented them with and were
now going on about communicating with God.
Scully rolled her eyes. Mulder was going to love this.
Apparently, God had told the Yeomen not to leave the
compound. So now they had a direct line to God himself.
Scully closed her eyes. She thought about the dead man and
the inexplicable arrow that had shown up in his x-ray and
during the autopsy, yet with no puncture or break in the skin.
The whole thing was disconcerting. It gave her a funny feeling
in the pit of her stomach. She opened her eyes and continued
reading.
When she finished the article, the steward was announcing
their arrival. It was time to wake Fox and let the games begin.
End chapter two
From cenergy@earthlink.net Thu Oct 24 23:17:18 1996
The Brotherhood
Chapter Three
By Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
and Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net
Billings, Montana
6:45 P.M.
It was decided on the plane that they would rent two cars. Mulder
needed to get out to the compound and Scully to the Coroner's office.
The compound was 30 miles from town and Scully didn't want to be left
at the coroner's office without a car. Who knew how long Mulder would
be gone. If the situation continued the way it was going, it could be
days, if not weeks, before anything was settled. It was anyone's guess
at this point.
The two agents said their goodbyes at the rental car agency. And
although Scully tried to remain distant and professional, Mulder
couldn't resist stealing a kiss.
"Mulder..." Scully gave him a sideways glance.
"Come on Scully, just one for the road. Who knows when we'll see each
other again." Mulder was pathetically cute and annoying at the same
time and Scully couldn't help but tease.
"You've already had your quota for today, Mulder. With any luck we
won't see each other until you've racked up some more points." She put
her hand on his shoulder and softened her expression a bit. "Be
careful out there, okay? Don't do anything stupid."
"Scully..." Mulder's mock dismay disappeared when he looked into her
eyes. "I won't do anything stupid," he finally said. "I'd be stupid to
do anything stupid having you to come back to."
She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and headed for her rental car.
"I'll call you when I'm done," she shouted and disappeared inside her
car. Mulder smiled at the image of his wife inside the big Buick
Skylark. She was so small he couldn't see her head above the front
seat. The image made him smile all the way to his own Buick.
*********
It was dark by the time Scully found the coroner's office. Although it
was after hours, she knew they were holding the body just for her
personal assessment and she didn't think anyone would mind working
overtime. This case had come to her attention only that morning and
already she was wishing it was over. She could only imagine that the
local authorities felt the same way.
The pathologist in charge, Henry Adair, was anxiously awaiting her
arrival and greeted her at the door. "Dr. Scully, I assume?"
Scully nodded, noticing the dark circles under the man's blue eyes,
she correctly assumed this case was getting to him too. She guessed he
was about 35 years old, mainly by the Levis and workboots he was
wearing, along with the Tom Petty t-shirt. His appearance was another
matter altogether. Scully knew the look and figured he hadn't gotten a
lot of sleep, if any, in the last 24 hours.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Scully said as way of introduction. "We couldn't
get a direct flight and then I got lost on the way here."
"We?" The young coroner was only expecting one agent.
"My partner and I flew out together. He's been assigned to the
negotiation team on the Brotherhood case. He's on his way to the
compound as we speak." Scully pictured Mulder in his rental car,
listening to some God awful radio station and she suddenly missed him
terribly. She gathered her thoughts in time to hear the end of
whatever it was Dr. Adair had been saying to her.
"...it was quite a shock as you can imagine." Scully nodded absently.
Dr. Adair was leading her to the back of the building. No doubt to
Jeremiah Miller's body.
"I've read your autopsy report Dr. and I've also seen a copy of the
x-ray taken in the emergency room," Scully was looking around the tiny
room where Jeremiah's body was patiently waiting for her. "What do you
make of it, off the record?"
Dr. Adair smiled. He liked this woman. Pretty. Obviously smart or they
wouldn't have asked him to hold the body for her inspection.
Unfortunately, he thought grimly, she's wearing a very nice ring on
her left hand. She belonged to someone else. "Off the record," he
said, smiling nervously, "I have no idea what to make of it. The x-ray
showed what looks like the tip of an arrow, approximately four inches
in length. The autopsy, as you already know, revealed nothing of the
sort. However, the internal damage was such that I can think of very
few other things that might have been the culprit."
"Such as?" Scully was putting on a surgical gown and looking for those
latex gloves Mulder liked to tease her about.
"Such as a knife wound," Dr. Adair answered slowly. "But again, there
was no outside damage. No puncture wounds. I'm completely stumped on
this one. I can tell you he died of massive internal bleeding and I
can tell you it was caused by a sharp object. But beyond that..." Dr.
Adair paused and stared at Jeremiah's lifeless form before continuing.
"I can't begin to tell you what the object was, how it got in there in
the first place and, worse yet, where the hell it went." The young
doctor was obviously perplexed and a little embarrassed by his
inability to solve the riddle of Jeremiah's death. Under different
circumstances he might have resented the big shots in Washington
sending in one of their own. But in this particular case, he was
thankful. The Brotherhood had been in the news for far too long in
this part of town and he just wanted the mystery solved and out of his
hair.
Scully spent the next four hours going over the doctor's notes,
checking and rechecking every step of the autopsy. She practically
re-did the entire procedure, only to conclude that Dr. Adair had
conducted the autopsy of Jeremiah Miller entirely by the book and
extremely well. Unfortunately, the mystery remained, and in the end
she was just as perplexed as Dr. Adair.
She took off her surgical mask and turned to the doctor, who had been
sitting patiently, available to her in case she had any questions.
Scully felt a twinge of guilt when she realized the good doctor had
nodded off.
"Um...I...I'm finished," Scully said, raising her voice a little to
get his attention.
The poor man practically jumped off his seat before he remembered
where he was. The fact that he was in a room with a pretty woman and a
dead body didn't escape him and he forced himself to swallow his
smile. Just my luck, he thought to himself, I'm up late with a woman
like Dana Scully and I can't keep my eyes open.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Scully," he said with a half yawn. "It's been a long
48 hours."
"I figured as much," Scully answered sympathetically. "No need to
apologize to me. Been there. Done that."
Dr. Adair smiled in return for the sympathy. "Did you find anything?
Solve the mystery?" he asked sincerely.
"I'm afraid not," Scully replied. She had taken off her gown and was
heading to the front office. She had seen enough of Jeremiah Miller to
keep him etched in her mind for quite a while and was beginning to
find the autopsy room confining. "I found nothing you hadn't already
documented. Massive blood loss, the puncture wound inside the chest
cavity. No visible marks of any kind on the outer chest. I'm just as
dumbfounded as you." This was an X-File if ever she'd seen one and
poor Mulder wasn't there to enjoy it. To postulate his own farfetched
ideas and to drive her crazy with them.
"Well, I have to say, Dr. Scully," Dr. Adair was smiling, "on the one
hand I'm relieved I didn't miss something major, like an ancient
Blackfoot arrowhead playing hide and seek behind the guy's liver. On
the other hand, I'm sorry you didn't find anything new. This is going
to drive me crazy."
"I know what you mean," Scully answered, distracted. "Were the
Blackfoot Indians native to this part of the country?" she asked.
"Yes, they were. It was probably no more than 50-60 years ago since
their last village was eradicated. Lots of great Native American lore
comes out of the backwoods of Montana and the Blackfoot play a
predominant part in almost all of it. And the Sioux Indians too, of
course. But the Blackfoot were here first." Dr. Adair looked at Scully
curiously. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason really. Just wondering." She wasn't sure what made her ask
the question. It was a Mulder question if ever there was one.
She wrapped up the conversation with Dr. Adair and promised to come
back in the morning to compare her findings with his one more time. It
was past midnight and she still had to find a motel to check into. Dr.
Adair gave her directions to the nearest one and she was soon on her
way, wondering, not for the first time that evening, how Mulder was
getting along. She knew he would have called her if he was headed back
into town so she assumed he was pulling an all-nighter. Once settled
in her room she would try him on his cellular.
**********
Mulder's trip to the outback of Montana was pretty uneventful. Once he
was willing to admit he was lost that is, and pulled into a roadside
diner for directions. The elderly man behind the counter was more than
eager to give the tall stranger the directions he needed. "Been a lot
of stuff going on out there lately," the man ventured, half question,
half statement.
"Yep. There sure has been," Mulder answered. It was obvious the old
man wanted to talk and Mulder, he of the insatiable curiosity,
couldn't help himself and ordered a cup of coffee. "Anything new come
out of there recently?"
It was the invitation the old man needed to pull up a stool and start
talking. Unfortunately, none of what he had to say was anything that
Mulder hadn't already read or heard about. Until he got to the
Brotherhood's activities from earlier that day. Apparently, John
Jacobs' blinding accusations had become more fierce and vicious and he
was claiming a government wide conspiracy to tear him and his group
apart. He had been spouting off at the mouth for most of the day and
had sworn he would take down one federal agent for every one of his
brothers that died.
"I guess that means you better watch your back when you get there,"
the old man finished.
Mulder had already paid and was on his was out when the man's words
made him stop. "How did you know..."
"I just know," the man interrupted. "My great, great, great
grandfather was a Blackfoot healer. My grandmother used to tell me as
a boy I had his knack for knowing things. You may look like you belong
in these parts, with your jeans and big boots, but you're more out of
place here than a penguin in the springtime."
Mulder laughed at the analogy and thanked the man for the coffee. He
barely heard the old man reminding him to watch his back as the
crickety door to the diner closed behind him.
Armed with a new set of directions, Mulder made it out to the Yeomen
Brotherhood's compound in just under an hour. The last five miles were
pretty treacherous, mostly steep, dirt roads along the side of a
mountain, and Mulder was glad when he spotted the first roadblock that
signified he had found his temporary home away from home.
The agent in charge, Spencer Thornley, was actually happy to see him.
"Agent Mulder," he said, extending his hand out to him, "I'm glad
you're here. We've had a hell of a day. I'm hoping a new face will
pump up my men."
"Whatever you need me to do, Sir, I'm here to help." Mulder instantly
liked the rugged agent. He reminded him of an aging Marlboro man, with
a little less hair and a few extra pounds. "Can you fill me in on the
day's activities?" he quickly added.
Agent Thornley's account was very similar to the old man's, except for
the fact that one of the Brotherhood had snuck out two hours earlier
and shot and killed a young agent. The Brother was back in the
compound before anyone had a chance to react and Thornley had called
all his men back, in an attempt to regroup and reassess.
"An eye for an eye," Mulder said quietly. "I take it news of the dead
agent hasn't made it to the media?" Probably why the old man didn't
know about it, Mulder thought.
"No, not yet." Thornley answered. They were making their way to a
makeshift camp, about 300 yards from the compound. "It's just going to
be a matter of time, though. The media has been on this case like
vultures since Jeremiah Miller's death."
Thornley introduced Mulder to a few other men before continuing.
"Agent Mulder," he said, to no one in particular, "has a very fine
reputation in these kinds of negotiations. We're lucky the bureau
could spare him."
"Let's wait and see what you have to say when this is all over,"
Mulder mused, trying to deflect some of the uncomfortable attention
and praise.
Thornley smiled, something Mulder didn't think the man had done in
quite a while, and sat down, motioning to the younger agent to do the
same. Agent Thornley had been the agent in charge since the standoff
had started, nearly six weeks earlier, and he had done everything in
his power, and by the book, to negotiate a peaceful settlement. Now
one of his men was dead and the Brotherhood was threatening more
violence.
"If it was up to me, at this point," he was saying, "I would just tear
gas the place and wait for them to come out."
"And the reason you won't do that?" Mulder asked.
"My hands are tied, Agent Mulder. So afraid is the attorney general's
office of another Waco, remember, this is an election year, that I've
been asked to handle this case with kid gloves. Sit and wait is about
the only option they've left me."
Mulder made a face and thought about the situation. If force was out
of the question they would have to negotiate harder, offer more perks,
fewer penalties. But beyond that, he would have to get inside Jacobs'
head and figure out exactly what intangibles would appeal to and
appease the megalomaniac of the hour.
It was well past midnight when Mulder felt he had asked enough
questions and gotten enough answers regarding John Jacobs and his
'brothers'. He was about to ask another question when his cellular
rang. It was all he could do to keep from smiling. He knew it would be
Scully but, of course, he answered professionally and without a trace
of a smile. "Mulder."
"Hi, it's me."
"Hi. Where are you?" Mulder quickly glanced at Agent Thornley and
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Thornley could feel Mulder's
hesitancy and decided to leave the young man to his personal call.
Probably the little lady checking in, he thought, and quickly excused
himself to get a cup of coffee.
"I've just checked into the Round Robin Motor Lodge."
"Hmm, sounds inviting." Mulder hadn't realized how tired he was until
he heard his wife's sleepy voice.
"So what's going on?"
"Seems like Jacobs and his 'brothers' have had a pretty busy day."
Mulder briefly told Scully everything that had happened that day and
then listened intently while she described her evening at the
coroner's office.
"I told Dr. Adair I would go back in the morning to go over a few more
things with him. But after that, I'm done. Nothing else for me to do
really." Scully was starting to yawn.
"Maybe you should fly back to Washington tomorrow afternoon then,"
Mulder said. "I don't know how long I'll be needed here. Could be a
day, could be a week. Who knows."
Scully hesitated before answering. Was he being overprotective, not
wanting her to put in long hours at the compound with him because she
was pregnant? Because she was his wife? Was he just being considerate?
Or was he too tired and busy to give it much thought one way or the
other? "We'll see, Mulder," she finally said. "I was thinking of
driving out to the compound tomorrow afternoon. I take it you're not
coming back into town tonight?"
"No," he was shaking his head. "There's some cots out here. I think
I'll just crash on one of them tonight."
"I'll miss you," Scully said seductively.
"I thought we weren't allowed any of that on this trip," he argued
meekly.
"We're not," she answered matter of factly. "But I can still pretend."
Mulder smiled. He missed her too. "Call me after you've met with the
coroner, *before* heading out here."
That was definitely not a request. More like an order. Had she not
been so tired she might have responded harshly, but instead, she took
his overprotectiveness with a grain of salt, and told herself to
discuss it with him tomorrow. When she drove out to the compound.
**********
Sometime around two a.m. Mulder found a cot to call his own. He had
spent the last hour and a half going over a plan for the next day with
Agent Thornley, until it was obvious neither one could think straight.
It was decided that Mulder would try and get John Jacobs on the phone
early in the morning. At which point the goal was to get Jacobs to
trust Mulder to the point of inviting him inside the compound, so they
could negotiate privately.
After nearly six weeks, the FBI had no idea what was on the other side
of the compound's walls. They knew the Brotherhood was armed, but they
didn't know exactly with what or how armed they really were. Was it a
couple of guns or an arsenal? There was so much they still didn't
know. So much they needed to know, if they were going to end this
peacefully. Mulder's head was spinning, full of facts he had had to
absorb in the last 12 hours. It was after four when he finally fell
asleep.
***********
Scully was in Dr. Adair's office by eight, eager to compare her notes
with his and find her way to the compound. After three hours and
another look inside Jeremiah Miller's chest cavity, they still had
nothing conclusive. Yes, he died of massive internal bleeding.
Probably from a puncture wound. But what caused the wound and how it
happened, remained a mystery.
By the time she left the coroner's office it was noon. She had told
herself the night before she would just drive out to the compound, not
let him know she was coming. But now she decided maybe she should warn
him. Let him be prepared for her arrival.
His cellular rang six times before it was answered. "Thornley."
"Hello?" Scully held her breath. Who was Thornley? Was that the agent
in charge? She thought she remembered the name from the case file. And
where was Mulder?
"Yes, this is agent Thornley. Who's this?"
"Agent Dana Scully. Agent Mulder's," she hesitated. She wanted to
scream, I'm his wife dammit. Where the hell is he? Instead she said,
"partner. Where is Agent Mulder?" she added quickly.
"Agent Scully, this is Spencer Thornley, the agent in charge. Agent
Mulder is actually in talking with John Jacobs right now."
"WHAT?" It was getting difficult for her to breathe.
"Amazing," Agent Thornley was saying. "We've been working this thing
for six weeks, not even getting to the point where Jacobs would agree
to talk to the same agent more than once and Mulder gets a personal
invitation into the compound after a two hour conversation this
morning. He's just as good as his reputation, your partner. If not
better. This may be the first break we've had." Thornley was obviously
pleased with the situation.
Dana Scully was not. If she knew Mulder, he was working on two hours
sleep and an empty stomach. Inside some psycho's head, trying to
figure out what made him tick. She shook her head and spoke slowly.
"How long has he been in there?" she asked.
"About two hours."
"Have you heard from him?"
"He called about twenty minutes ago. Said everything was fine."
"Okay, well, if he calls again tell him..." Scully was at a loss for
words. Tell him what? That his 'partner' wants to kill him? "Never
mind. Don't tell him anything. I'm on my way." She hung up without
waiting for a response and practically had to peel her fingers from
the phone, so tightly was she holding on to it.
If she hadn't been vacillating between anger and worry she might have
noticed the beautiful scenery on the way to the compound. As it was,
when she arrived, she couldn't remember how she got there.
**********
John Jacobs voice was beginning to sound like a drone and Mulder had
to admit to himself that he was tired. He wished he had taken Thornley
up on his offer of a stale bagel earlier that morning. It's the good
married life, he thought wistfully, Dana's spoiled me with decent
sleep and food.
During his career with the FBI Mulder had met many men like John
Jacobs. Little men like Robert Modell, men who craved power at any
cost. To themselves or to others. It didn't matter. In the case of
John Jacobs, it was obvious his charisma and good looks had played a
big part in his current status as the leader of the Yeoman
Brotherhood. He was at least 6'5", with the brawny look of a logger.
Mulder knew he was 42, but he easily could have passed for someone 10
years younger. He had dark, wavy hair and blue eyes that framed the
perfect oval face, right down to a dark, short cropped beard. Not
exactly the picture of madness one would expect. Then again, Mulder
thought, half smiling, neither is Phoebe Green.
None of the other 20 or so members in the compound, men or women,
looked like they could kill a fly without asking for Jacobs'
permission. Intelligence, of course, was a factor. He may be off his
rocker, but he was a smart man off his rocker. Quite a dangerous
combination.
Mulder looked around him carefully, making sure Jacobs didn't notice.
He had managed to scan the place pretty well in the last couple of
hours. The compound was roughly 5000 square feet, that much he knew
from the plans Thornley had shown him the night before, and he had
already figured out where most of the rooms were.
The two men were seated at a table that was off to one side of the
large living room. There were a few old couches in the center of the
room and someone was sleeping in one of them. Other than Jacobs, who
was as animated as Daffy Duck on speed, everyone else Mulder had seen
in the compound was very low-key. Jumpy almost. He couldn't put his
finger on it, but he knew something was slightly amiss with the
Brotherhood clan.
Jacobs was going on about communicating with God, repeating "God's
exact words" for the third time, when Mulder noticed the man on the
couch shifting uncomfortably in his sleep. He was a tall man, who's
feet were hanging over the side of the loveseat he was sleeping on.
Despite the fact that he was completely bald, Mulder guessed he was in
his twenties. The young man was shaking his head slowly, beads of
sweat forming on his forehead. His breathing was becoming rapid and
shallow. He was grunting. Fighting to move his arms but unable to. As
if someone was holding them down.
Jacobs was so caught up in his own reverie about God he was totally
unaware of the drama unfolding just 20 feet away from him.
Mulder was about to stand up, to say something, anything, that would
end the poor man's dilemma, when the man screamed. A blood curdling,
high pitched, panic-stricken scream. Mulder was on his feet instantly,
on his way to the couch, when he felt a gun on his back.
"You move and you're dead."
***********
It was nearly three in the afternoon and Dana Scully was getting
nervous. Mulder hadn't been in contact since earlier that morning and
even Thornley, ever the Mulder cheerleader, was starting to pace.
When the phone in the tent rang, they both jumped.
"Thornley." He listened patiently before responding. "Let me talk to
Agent Mulder."
Scully couldn't take her eyes off of Thornley. His expression betrayed
nothing. Like a good cop, she thought dryly.
"Agent Mulder is this true?" Thornley was listening again. "All right
then. Very well. Give us a couple of minutes." He hung up and looked
at Scully. "Someone in the compound is ill. Apparently woke up
screaming, grabbing his head before passing out. Jacobs wants us to
send in a paramedic to take a look at him."
"What about Agent Mulder?" Scully was having a hard time containing
herself. Keeping her emotions in check.
"Jacobs doesn't want him to leave just yet. Says they still have a lot
of talking to do."
"Is Mulder okay?"
"He seems to be, Agent Scully," Thornley was walking past her, in
search of a medic. "If you'll excuse me, I have to find someone I can
send in."
Scully grabbed the agent's arm. "Send me."
"What? Agent Scully I need a paramedic, a..."
"I'm a medical doctor Agent Thornley. Send me in." Scully was
practically pleading and she was hoping her expression wasn't
betraying her.
"You're a doctor? But I thought..." Thornley was slightly taken aback.
He had taken a liking to this agent. What little conversation they had
shared, he had been impressed with her knowledge of the case and her
concern for her partner. Maybe sending her in would be a good idea. If
Mulder was in any trouble who better than his partner to watch his
back. And vice versa.
"Please send me in. I'm a doctor and a trained agent. You're not going
to get a better combination in such a short amount of time." Scully
was already handing Thornley her gun, so strong was her resolve.
Thornley shook his head. "Okay," he agreed. "If you're sure it's what
you want to do."
"I'm sure," Scully answered. "Just show me the way."
End chapter three
The Brotherhood
Chapter Four
By Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net
and Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
FBI team outside
Brotherhood Compound
2:15 pm
Agent Thornley stood working his jaw as one of his agents
adjusted the bulletproof vest on Scully.
"I'm assuming Agent Mulder has one of these as well," she
asked, making a minor adjustment at the shoulders. <This is a
little tight around the middle,> she noted and wondered how
long it would be before this kind of activity would be out of
the question. For the moment, no one was going to stop her
from following Mulder to hell and back, or to right where he
was at present.
Thornley rubbed his face with his hand. "Well, to tell the
truth, he didn't want one. Said it would show a lack of faith,"
the older agent said and the look on his face showed that he
wasn't sure that was such a good idea.
Scully's eyes flashed, but she kept her anger in check. "He
frequently has delusions of immortality," she said dryly and
added a half hearted attempt at a smile. Thornley shook his
head and smiled back.
"Should we consider a wire?" one of Thornley's agents
asked.
"No," Scully answered before Thornley had the chance. "If
Mulder was worried about a vest, I think finding a wire would
really spook them. I'll be fine. So far, we really don't know
what's going on in there. I don't want to start something we
can't control." Thornley nodded in agreement. If he had other
ideas, he kept them to himself.
"Here's a medical kit," a fourth agent said, handing her a
small box approximately the size of a toolbox. "It's not much,
just what we had around. Mostly bandages, sutures, but no
real drugs of any kind. If it's worse than that, we should really
get the guy out. They let the other guy out, you know, by
ambulance."
"Yeah, and he died. I doubt they're going to be as
accommodating now," Scully said ruefully. "Well, better get this
show on the road." She reached over and took one of the
ballcaps that had been lying on the hood of the car, tucking her
hair up under it. She caught Thornley's questioning gaze. "No
use giving away all of our secrets, now, is there?" Thornley
smiled again and shook his head.
"Good luck, Scully," he said and waved the rest of the
agents back to give her room to move toward the compound.
"Luck has nothing to do with it," she muttered to herself
and started across the spring grass to the door of the low
clapboard building.
------------
Inside the Brotherhood compound
"You a doctor?" Jacobs asked as he divided his attention
between Mulder and the ailing man on the couch.
"No, I just know one really well," Mulder explained calmly.
"From the looks of it, that man is experiencing either the worst
migraine in the history of the world, or some kind of aneurism.
If it's the latter, you need to get him to a hospital immediately.
Waiting will only kill him."
"Well, it seems the last time we sent someone to the
hospital, he died anyway," Jacobs spat out. "I'm willing to let
a paramedic look at him, but he's not leaving this compound,
understood?"
Mulder nodded in compliance and sat watching the door.
So far, negotiations were going about as well as he had
expected. <This mess has been building up for over a month,
it ain't going away in a couple of hours,> he reminded himself
when his patience had been wearing thin. But at least, so far,
no more agents had died. Then, neither had anyone inside the
compound.
Jacobs was convinced that the first old man had died of
something in the water. Something put there by the FBI.
Hence, the 'eye for an eye' philosophy that had led to the death
of the agent. Now, another member of the Brotherhood
appeared stricken, mysteriously so and that did not bode well
for a peaceful completion of the talks. <Thank God Scully
hasn't called,> he thought. <She'd be out here in a flash and
pounding at the door, guns drawn. Hopefully she's still tied up
with the autopsy. Hopefully, she won't have any more to
worry about too soon,> he added with more than a little
trepidation.
"Somebody's coming," shouted the man at the door.
"Describe them," Jacobs ordered.
"One guy, short fella. Wearing a blue uniform. Looks like
the paramedics that were here the other night, took Jer. He's
got a first aid kit, from the looks of it," came the reply.
"When he gets to the door, pat him down, *outside*. Then
search the kit for weapons. If he's clean, let him in.
Otherwise, kill him," Jacobs said evenly. Mulder closed his
eyes and prayed Thornley was still treating this with kid
gloves. He didn't really want to watch an execution in
progress, he was fairly certain the one immediately following
would be his own.
At the approach of the 'paramedic', the man at the door
went out. After a few minutes, he opened the door, ushering
the uniformed person into the room. Mulder was too
preoccupied with the convulsive movements of the man on the
couch to notice who had entered.
Scully kept her head down, and walked steadily over to the
couch. She purposefully avoided looking at her husband.
<Partner,> she chided herself. <If he's your partner, you both
stand a fairly good chance of getting out alive. That might not
be the case if he's your husband.> Once to the couch, she
knelt down and began examining the patient.
The man was obviously in intense pain. He was also in
shock. His pulse was rapid and erratic, his breath coming in
short gasps. He had his hands pressing against his temples in
an effort to alleviate the pain. When Scully checked his eyes
they were dilated. There were no signs of aneurism, no blood
around either of the pupils, but Scully was not willing to rule
out that possiblity.
"This man needs to be in a hospital," she announced and at
the sound of her voice all the men in the room turned and
stared. Especially Special Agent Fox Mulder, who couldn't
hide the panic in his eyes.
"Well, he's staying put. That's how you've been managing
to kill off my men already. I can see a Trojan Horse. We
aren't letting anyone else out," Jacobs commanded.
"Then this man is going to die," Scully said forcefully.
"There is a very good possiblity that a blood vessel in his brain
has broken. Without surgery, he will bleed to death. I have
some bandages and aspirin in this kit. Neither of them is what
he needs."
"He's not leaving," Jacobs shouted, letting his voice echo
off the walls.
Mulder recovered from his shock quickly and looked
around at the other men in the room. They all look frightened.
Each one of them wondered what was going to happen next.
He needed to get control of the situation and fast. "Jacobs, be
reasonable," Mulder said calmly, slowly. "Let this man go to
the hospital. He doesn't have to die. . ."
Jacobs reacted with lightning speed. He reached into the
holster on his belt and drew his gun, raising it up and then
bringing the grip down on Mulder's temple with the speed of a
rocket. The force of the blow was enough to drop the agent
to the floor, unconscious. Then Jacobs turned the gun around
and held the barrel at Mulder's forehead. "When I want your
opinion, I'll ask for it," he hissed. Then he kicked the fallen
agent square in the ribs with all his might. "For now, just shut
the hell up!"
Scully stood there, stunned. She forced herself to be still,
even though the impulse to run over to her husband was
almost more than she could control. Jacobs turned slowly and
faced her. "Do what you can," he ordered, "and pray it's
enough. Because if Bo dies, he dies," he gestured toward
Mulder's still form on the ground. Scully nodded in
understanding and turned back to the man on the couch.
"The Fibbie ain't no use to you dead," a woman's voice said
from the far side of the room. A tiny woman, no more than 5
feet tall and probably weighing less than 90 pounds rose from a
chair and walked slowly toward Jacobs.
"This is no business of yours, Dixie," Jacobs growled.
"Just go on back to your cooking."
"Look, John. I might not be one of your 'men', but I have a
brain. You throw out another dead agent and this place goes
up in smoke. Those are Feds out there. They've been holding
off up till now, but they ain't gonna stand for this kind of
killing," Dixie said evenly, not backing down an inch.
"They killed your husband, you stupid bitch," Jacobs yelled
at her.
"You think I forgot that?" she shouted back. "My
Jeremiah's dead," she said sadly. "I have nothing left to lose.
But there is no reason that everyone here needs to die. Not
like this. Or are you too stupid to handle this without killing
all of us?" she challenged.
Jacobs' anger flashed again, but he knew better than to hurt
the tiny woman. He glanced around the room and realized
that his men would follow him far, but not to the point of
watching him harm the widow of one of their comrades.
After chewing on his lip a moment he slowly formed an evil
caricature of a smile. "You might just be right after all,
Dixie. He might be worth more alive than dead." He turned
his attention back to Scully and pointed to Mulder on the
floor. "When you get a chance, make sure he doesn't die on
us. Not till we're ready for it, at least," he laughed cruelly.
-----------
It was dark when Mulder awoke. His head was splitting
and the pain in his chest was all too familiar. <Scully is not
going to like my busting more ribs,> he mused. Then he
remembered. Scully was here. His anger flared and he tried to
get to his feet, but the pain in his body held him to the floor.
<Damn that woman, what was she thinking,> he cursed
mentally. It came out a groan.
"Lie still," a voice whispered in the darkness. He felt, but
still could not see, the hand that brushed his shoulder.
"Where are we?" he asked, wanting to get at least some
information before he let out his anger and frustration.
"I think it's a storage closet. They dragged you in here
after Jacobs clubbed you. I got tossed in here about an hour
ago." Scully reached up and let her fingers lightly touch his
forehead until she heard him hiss with pain. "I wish I could
see your eyes, but it's a safe assumption you have a
concussion. What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded.
"Wait a minute," he growled. "*I* am the one who's angry
here! What the hell were *you* thinking? Or Thornley, for
that matter. You're supposed to be performing an autopsy,
not sitting in a closet, waiting to die." He had raised his voice,
but it only caused his head to feel like it was exploding, so he
was forced to lower it.
"And I suppose it was a good idea to waltz in here without
a chest protector?" she hissed in return. "Damn it all, Mulder,
you make me so mad when you. . ."
"Dana," he said, and his voice was deadly calm. "I am not
risking our unborn child. You are," he accused.
That one hurt. He had never used that kind of tactic on her
before and she hadn't expected it now. "He isn't going to kill
us," she said, just as evenly.
"And how do you know that?" he laughed mockingly.
"You finally start believing in crystal balls?"
"No," she said, and tried very hard to keep the unshed tears
in check and out of her voice. "He's got other plans for you."
"For us, you mean. Otherwise, you'd still be out there with
them. Or out of the compound completely." Mulder closed
his eyes, the effort of talking and all the emotion was causing
his head to spin. "I'm sure whatever he has in mind is going to
be 'just peachy'," he said sarcastically.
Her reply was cut off when the door to the storage closet
suddenly opened and they were both blinded by the light from
a 100 watt bulb. "Hey, 'Doc', come with me," a gruff voice
ordered. It was everything Mulder could do not to grab
Scully's hand and keep her close to him. He knew that any
action on his part at that moment would only put her in more
danger, so he held himself back and watched as another of the
Brotherhood half helped, half dragged his wife out of the
closet and then slammed and locked the door shut behind
them.
<Where the hell did he get these guys? Rejects from the
NFL?> a small corner of his mind wondered. The men in the
compound were all big and burly, men who spent a good deal
of time in heavy labor, construction, farming and the like. The
thought of what they might be doing to Dana was more than
he cared to know, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from
straying in that direction. <And your last words to her were in
anger,> he thought bitterly. <Damn you, Mulder, when are
you going to learn to keep your mouth shut!>
He was still angry that she was here, but he had to admit,
he was no longer surprised. And, if the situation had been
reversed, he would have come into the compound himself to
try and protect her. It was a cheap shot, about the baby. It
showed how scared he really was about where this whole mess
was headed. He struggled to sit up and scooted back until his
shoulders hit the wall for support. The Brotherhood still didn't
know of his connection to Dana. Hopefully, that would keep
her alive.
"Look, I don't believe in you, I know," he prayed in a quiet
voice. "But she does. So help her, OK? Just keep her safe. I
don't care what they do to me, just don't let anything happen
to her, please?" Miserably, he sat and waited for his partner to
return.
-----------
Jacobs was pacing in front of the man still sprawled on the
couch. He was not pleased. The man, whose name was Bo
Deakins, was pale and not moving. His breathing was shallow
and irregular. In one look, Dana knew Bo was not going to
last very long.
She knelt down next to him on the couch and listened to his
heart, then checked his pulse. "Mr. Jacobs, please. Listen to
me. This man is dying. If I could get him to a hospital, there
is a fair chance that he might survive. Here, he has no chance
at all."
Jacobs marched over to one of the small windows of the
room and looked out. "They're doing this," he said to all
assembled. "The water, the air, whatever. They're filling it
with poison. They're killing us one by one."
The men looked at each other and the fear was strong on
their faces. Everyone was silent, which is why the one small
voice boomed so loud in the room.
"So why ain't we all dead?" Dixie asked, coming over from
the stove with a metal pot in her hand.
The frustration was obvious in his eyes, but Jacobs held it
in check. "Dixie, they're doing it. I don't know how and I
really don't care. But we can't let them continue to pick us off
one by one." He turned to Bo and Scully. "Can he be
moved?"
Dana looked at him, amazed. "No! He's dying, don't you
see that. To move him would kill him for sure. He needs an
ambulance, and now."
"I told you, that is not going to happen," Jacobs growled.
We'll wait it out. For now. Watch him, do what you can.
Bob, come with me. I think we need to 'talk' to that Fibbie
some more," he added menancingly.
Scully dropped her head, hoping no one noticed. She
wasn't aware of the woman bending down next to her until the
large wooden spoon came into her view. "Help me get this
down his throat," Dixie said quietly.
Dana looked up at her startled. "What is it?" she asked,
not sure she trusted the old woman.
Dixie smiled warmly. "Oh, a little of this, little of that. It
will help the shock. We need to get a half cup down him.
Won't save his life, not at this point at least, but it will ease
him a might."
"How do I know you aren't just trying to kill him?" Scully
asked, and then even she realized how ridiculous that sounded.
Fortunately, Dixie took no offense.
"Child, Bo's a friend. I don't want him to die. But I think
we couldn't help him with all the hosptial-ing in the world.
Something's going on here. I know it's not those fellas out
there. But old John, he'll use that excuse to get his way. He
wants these men riled up and he's doing a good job." Dixie
turned her attention to Bo, opening his mouth and spooning
small amounts of the mixture down his throat. "Your man's in
trouble, girl. You need to be careful. I might've stopped him
a while ago, but John wants his pound of flesh and your man's
the closest thing he's got."
Scully caught her breath. "I don't know what you're talking
about. I've never seen that man before in my life."
Dixie laughed softly. "Then why you wearing his wedding
ring?" she asked. "Or carryin' his child?" She put the pot
down and let her hand rest on Scully's arm when she saw the
young woman go pale with fear. "Don't worry, honey. These
men are blind as bats. They don't see it. I always had the sight
about things like that. I saw the way he looked when he heard
your voice and saw your face, but the rest of them were too
distracted to notice." Dixie lifted her hand from Dana and
adjusted Bo's blanket. "And I ain't telling no one. So don't you
worry, hear?"
End chapter four