Date: Sun, 19 Jul 1998 20:26:44 -0500 Subject: Story: Beyond the Grave , Part 1 Title: Beyond the Grave (Part 1/2) Author: IWant2Blieve Rating: PG Classification: X-file Spoilers: none Keywords: Alternate Universe Story Summary: Mulder is possessed by a vengeful crime victim's ghost while solving the case. Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Modell, etc. are property of Chris Carter, 20th-Century Fox, and 10-13. They are NOT MINE. DON'T SUE ME -- I have maybe $10 to my name right now, and it won't be worth the trouble. Mug me if you need that $10. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "No vampires?" Scully asked me as she drove to the motel where we were staying. I rolled my eyes at her. "Please! Roger White died at two in the afternoon! You said so yourself in the autopsy." "One-fifty," she corrected me, forever the neatnik. "Close enough. Why did they even bother calling us? Why did we have to put off work on that Truman file to come out here?" It was Scully's turn to roll her eyes -- luckily, we were at a stop sign, so the gesture was made in relative safety. "Mulder, we've been over this already. For the thousandth time, the Wichita Police thought White was killed by a vampire. You've got to admit, with the two punctures on the neck and maybe twenty cc's of blood left in his body, it does look like a vampire." "And with his body lying in direct sunlight?" I added sarcastically. "If the police had looked at the time of death with any imagination, they would have noticed that it couldn't be a vampire." "Whoa, Mulder, do I detect a hint of *skepticism* in your voice? Mr. 'I Want To Belive' saying it wasn't a vampire -- that's an X-file for sure," Scully jabbed. "But really, Mulder, you have to widen your scope a bit. Not all the cases can be alien abductions or poltergeists. If you really want to get back to the Truman file, you've got to quite being a wet blanket and help us find the killer." I knew she was right, but Pride has a bitter taste and I hate to swallow it. I stared out the window at the passing fields and debated whether to tell Scully about something that could help us find the killer as quickly as possible. I hated to keep anything from her, but I knew what she'd say -- Mulder you're crazy, Mulder psychic powers don't exist, Mulder ten million other things. Still, I had to try. "Scully, lend me your necklace for a second." "Um, sure." Surprised at the request, she pulled off the gold pendant set with what looked like emeralds and garnets and passed it to me. "What for?" "I need to show you something." I sat back and half-closed my eyes, clearing my mind for the demonstration. Images, some dry as a textbook and others soaked in emotion as a piggy pudding doused in liquor to be set on fire, flicked into my mind rapid-fire. With practiced ease I picked out a few and strung them together to form a narrative. "You got the necklace on - your twelfth birthday," I began. "Your mom had one just like it, and you always loved it. Then you received this one, and you were on cloud nine for the rest of teh day. You wore it to school one day and lost it. Your parents were livid, and you were sure you'd never see it again. Luckily one of your friends found it -- I can't get her name, Angelle, Angel. . ." "Angela," Scully whispered, amazed. I allowed a bit of smugness to creep into my mind. "Right, Angie. She found teh necklace, returned it the next day, and everyone lived happily ever after." I opened my eyes and looked at her innocently. "Well, was I right?" "To teh letter," Scully replie softly, still in shock. "How - how did you know?" "Scully, you've heard of psychometry?" "Yeah, but - Oh no, Mulder, don't get any ideas. What you just did, that wasn't anything psychic." "It's too late. I've had the idea for a while now, almost a year. You remember our buddy Modell? When I told you about how he uses mind control, it wasn't just speculation -- I'd 'read' the information off some items in his bedroom," I informed her, handing back the neckalce. "I wondered how you'd known so fast," she returned. "My powers were still in the rough stage back then. Remember Melissa Ephesian?" I felt a pang, as I always did when thinking about my soulmate. Not even waiting for an answer, I rushed on. "When I was hypnotized to see if she was telling the truth, the powers were somehow strengthened." "Okay, let's say for teh sake of argument, you really did 'read' my life story off the necklace. How will this help us? All White's belongings were confiscated by the police, and I'm not sure you want to go to the morgue and read a heart or a lung," Scully said. I drew a black plastic sports watch from my pocket with a flourish. "I made sure there were no fingerprints on it before taking the watch," I assured her. "The police will never miss it." As we got out of the car, Scully turned to me and said, "Tell me if you find anything new. Remember, you have to have evidence to support whatever you find. And - please be careful." * * * * * * * * * * * * * After shrugging off my coat, I sat on the edge of the bed with the watch. Again I closed my eyes and wiped my mind clean. Images came faster than with Scully's necklace, washing over me in a tidal wave and sending me reeling. I slowed the rush of impressions with some effort and was able to decipher a story from them. White had been reading the paper when he heard a suspicious noise and went to investigate it. The living room looked okay, but the front door was swinging wide open. A wave of apprehension and fear, then a splitting pain in his head -- I grimaced as I shared some of the unpleasant sensations in my own skull -- then White blacked out. When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was a pain in his neck. He felt something warm trickling from it - the force of his panic when he realized it was his own blood broke my concentration for a moment, causing me to feel my own neck and make sure I wasn't bleeding myself. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to keep reading. Blood trickled out agonizingly slow, promising death but holding it tantalizingly out of reach. White tried to reach up to staunch the flow but found his hands tied. The attacker, he noticed, was impassively watching White bleed to death. I paid particular attention to this part, hoping to find the killer's identity. Caucasian, female, black-haired, blue-eyed, mole on right temple -- White identified him as someone on the next block. I struggled for the name, and it took its own sweet time in coming -- names were never my strong point. Chrissy, Christine, Kristen, one of those -- the last name was Broderick. Remembering Scully's comment about needing evidence, I searched for more, but only received a strong feeling of anger. Probing for its reason, I found that White had vowed to take revenge on Ms. Broderick, willing himself to live long enough to tell someone who had killed him. Unfortunately, he had only ten more seconds to will himself alive - blood loss made him black out again, this time permanently -- "AAH!" Something blasted my mind with a tsunami of malevolence, something I couldn't name, forcing me to cry out. The closest name I could find for it was when Modell and I were waging a full-scale war in my mind a little less than a year ago. The feeling of something in my mind that shouldn't have been there, trying to control me, was something I would remember forever and hope never to feel again. Now the same sensation was crawling over me like ants over a crumb. Desperately I fought back, trying to push it away, but it was like trying to stop of truck going at full throttle. I convulsed on the bed, as though by physically struggling I could gather enough strength to win. The Thing fought tooth and nail, and I didn't stand a chance. I held onto myself with the barest edge of my fingertips. -- Finally, I'm back! -- Even the Thing's thoughts seethed with evil. -- I can't wait to get my hands on Christie; damn her for cutting off my life like this! -- -- Oh my God. You're Roger White? -- I asked it. -- In a matter of speaking. I've been waiting for someone receptive enough to sense me, someone whose body I can use to bring justice to that bitch Christie. Now where are the keys for the car? -- -- No way! You'll kill Christie! -- I struggled some more to overpower what I now knew to be Roger White, to no avail. -- Tell me! -- My body suddenly burned with pain, as though it were on fire. I cried out again and held out for as long as I could, then shouted reluctantly, -- Scully has them! -- -- Scully? Who's she? -- --My partner. She's in room 13. -- --Lucky 13,-- White thought wryly. "I" suddenly lurched to the door, to my horror. The last thing I wanted to do was bring this maniac anywhere near Scully. I struggled again with renewed strength, and managed to stop White from touching the doorknob, though another flash of murderous pain made me relinquish control. "I" opened the door -- just as Scully stood outside, he hand poised to knock. "Mulder - are you all right? I heard screaming," she asked, looking at my tousled hair and wrinkled shirt. "Fine," I heard White answer tersely. *No, nothing's all right!* I wanted to scream. *I'm possessed by Roger White's ghost and he's going to use me to kill his attacker!* The most my body could manage was a grimace, quickly wiped out by White. "Scully, I need the keys." "Why? What did you find?" she asked. "Anything new?" "Yes. I think I know who killed Roger," White replied. "You mean White?" "Yeah," he answered impatiently, beating himself for slipping. "I need to go to White's house now and find - ah, some evidence for it." "'Kay," she answered after a moment. "Let me go get them." --Finally! -- White thought, allowing his control to slip for a minute. It was enough for me to gasp out, "No! Don't!" Scully arched an eyebrow at me. "What are talking about?" White regained control and said, "Nothing. Let's go." "Right," she answered with a hint of suspicion. She disappeared into her room for a second. --Look, if you kill Christie, you'll get *me* in some serious trouble, -- I told him. --You think that concerns me? Nobody can see me, can they? You can take teh rap for it, I'll rest in peace, amd we'll all live happily ever after-- he shot back, echoing my own words to Scully in the car. Scully emerged with the keys. "You sure you're alright?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little shaken up from reading the watch," White said. "I" got in teh car, and we drove off to Roger White's house. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part II coming. No feedback, please, I prefer anonymity. Date: Tue, 21 Jul 1998 15:53:40 -0500 Subject: Beyond the Grave, Part 2 Title: Beyond the Grave (2/2) Author: IWant2Blieve Rating: PG Classification: X-file Spoilers: none Keywords: Alternate Universe Summary: See Part 1 Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and the X-files are NOT MINE. They are the property of Chris Carter and 10-13. Don't sue me, because not only would you traumatize me for life, it won't be worth it - I have only $10 to my name. Mug me if you need that $10 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I remained silent as we drove from the motel to Roger White's house, supposedly to collect more evidence. At least that was what White wanted her to believe. I knew he would try to kill Christie Broderick - her house was only a hop, skip, and a jump away from White's home. I didn't even struggle against White's control very much, and I let him answer Scully's repeated questions about what I'd found with an evasive "Ask no questions, I'll tell you no lies." I needed to think about the situation. Luckily White didn't seem to pick up on what I was thinking without me consciously thinking about "talking" to him. From what White had said when he first invaded me and from what I'd read off the watch, White was obviously trying to take revenge on his killer. I remembered ghost stories about apparitions who could never rest in peace until they avenged their deaths. As corny and stereotyped as it sounded, it was probably the case. While I was reading the watch, my guard was down, so he decided to use me to kill Christie. *And let me take teh blame for it, too,* I reflected grimly. There was hope, though. I'd noticed that strong emotion - fear, anger, elation - had caused White's iron grip to weaken, allowing me to regain control for a moment. If I could evoke one that was strong enough, I might be able to regain at least some control over my body. Right now White controlled both body and speech - he'd left my thoughts alone, thank God. Fear would be the best emotion to try to evoke, I reasoned. So all I had to do was find what White was afraid of, expose "myself" to it, and wait for his control to weaken enough so I could take over again. "At least tell me who the killer is," Scully asked again. White had managed to sidestep the last few times. -- Answer her, or she'll get suspicious, -- I told White. -- What can *she* do? Try to exorcise me with her cross? -- he scoffed. But he answered anyway. "I think the killer was one of White's family members," he answered Scully finally. "I didn't get her name, but I'd know her if I saw her picture in a photo album. That's what I'm looking for." "*She*? The killer's a woman?" Scully asked in surprise. "Yeah. Not all psychotic murderers are men, you know." "Right. It just threw me for a sec." Shew glanced at me sideways, and I wondered if she'd noticed anything suspicious. I hoped so - maybe she knew something that would help me get rid of White, maybe an exorcism prayer. I don't know anything about that stuff, I'm an agnostic. --It doesn't work like that. She can't recite the Hail Mary and poof, I'm gone.-- Damn, he'd heard me after all. As is her wont, Scully insisted on rolling up the windows, which had been open catching the balmy May breeze, a few minutes before we got to White's house. After a few seconds, the car seemed to suddenly shrink, and I was gripped by paralyzing claustrophobia. I honestly felt that I would suffocate in the car. I fought down panic, puzzled by the strange attack. "Hey, you all right?" Scully, totally unaffected, looked at me with concern. "Yeah. Just got a really bad headache," "I" gasped. "You sure reading the watch didn't make you sick?" "Yes. I'm fine." I felt much better once I got out of the torture chamber on wheels, and for a few seconds I leaned against the door with my eyes closed. It occured to me that I'd found what made White tick - close spaces. I cursed myself for not taking advantage of the moment to try another attack on his control. --Hey, as FBI, you get those handguns, right?-- White broke in. --Yeah. Why?-- --Why didn't you bring it with you?!-- --I don't trust you with one,--I answered. --Besides, you're the one controlling my body, not me. You should've gotten it.-- Once inside, White propelled me towards the stairs. "The albums are upstairs," he called down to Scully as explanation. I knew where White was really going, to get his own gun. I tried again to overpower his command, but the most I could do was slow my steps marginally. -- If you let me arrest Christie instead of killing her, it'll be a worse punishment than just a gunshot, -- I hazarded. --No way. Besides, who said I'd be merciful enough to kill he with just a shot to the head? She gave me enough pain for ten people, and I'm returning the favor.-- "I" finally made it to the closet, where the gun was on a high shelf. I briefly considered threatening to shoot myself if White made me come anywhere near Christie Broderick's house. --What would you gain? I'd just possess your lovely partner, and you'd be dead.-- "STAY AWAY FROM HER, YOU--" Fire burned my next thoughts before I could put them into words, racing though my veins and squleching any other thought of rebellion. I cried out loud, wondering if Scully heard. --Much better. Get the gun. It's already loaded. -- What else could I do? I took the gun from the shelf. --Now go out the back door. The third house from the corner across the street is Christie's.-- I started out of the closet, then slammed the door shut and waited for teh claustrophobia to take effect. It came quickly, and I gritted my teeth against the urge to rush out of the closet. "Mulder? I heard your voice. What's going on?" Scully's voice came from a lot closer than I expected. --OPEN THE DOOR! -- White screamed, sending me another wave of pain. I hissed in agony and redoubled my efforts of keep away from the door. The walls loomed oppressively, seeming to crush me. I fought again for control of my voice, and won this time. "SCULLY!" "Mulder! Open the door!" I heard a tugging at the closet door. "Don't open it!" I yelled. "Get away from the door," she called back. Through White's screaming at me to open the door, I heard a pistol being cocked. "SCULLY, DON'T!" I staggered to the door, fighting to control even this movement, and pulled it tightly closed, though it made the panic worse. Another attack of pain, this one worse than before. A gun fired, and my arm burned with new pain. It was the last thing I felt before I sank into merciful blackness. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The first thing I noticed was teh pain. In my arm, my wrists, and especially in my head. I was out of the closet, thank God and Scully, and lying in the hallway. My wrists felt chafed, rubbed raw as if with sandpaper. And my arm -- I winced as I looked and saw dried blood clotting my shirt near the area. Scully must have accidentally shot me there. I looked down and saw my wrists in handcuffs. Scully's handcuffs. My legs were also tied up with a sheet. A footstep. I looked up and saw Scully walking towards me with a cup of something in her hand. White struggled against the handcuffs, ignoring the burning sensation where he'd evidently been trying to pull my hands out of the cuffs. "Mulder - or White - it'll be much less painful if you stay still and don't fight." Scully's voice had a chill and distance I hadn't heard before. White looked at her, my face registering surprise. "Yes, I know you're possessed, Mulder. Now be quiet." Scully crossed herself and began chanting a prayer in Latin. I caught an occasional "excelsis Deo" or something religious-sounding, but my Latin was horrible so I didn't know what she was saying. White seemd to know - he screamed loud enough to wake the dead. --What'd you tell her? How did she know?!-- he asked me, vibrating with rage. "I didn't tell her anything!" I shouted out loud. Scully took this in stride and kept on praying. She switched to English occasionally, but the prayers could have been in Greek for all I oculd understand. Whie kept on screaming, so I couldn't hear a thing. I shook with spasms as he tried to escape from the handcuffs again. ". . .Give us this day our daily bread. . " -- You must have told her sometime, damn you!-- "I DIDN'T TELL HER!!" ". . .But deliver us from evil. . ." Another prayer in Latin, then Scully made the sign of the cross over me and began sprinkling whatever was in the cup over me. It burned like acid, and I screamed with White. "Sorry, Mulder, I know it hurts. I'm being cruel to be kind," she apologized. It was her sole deviation from the ritual she was carrying out. She sprinkled some more liquid onto my hurt arm for good measure, then began another prayer in Latin. The words pounded against my skull like a battering ram. Seizures racked my body as White desperately held onto what small section of my mind he could. "In the name of the Father. . ." --Damn you! Damn both of you!-- "And the Son. . . " White was slipping away. I watched with grim satisfaction, the pain where Scully had sprinkled me subsiding. "And the Holy Spirit, Amen." A final scream, and White was gone. I lay still for a minute, gathering my strength to open my tightly-shut eyes tentatively. I saw Scully kneeling over me, eyes wide with concern. "Is he gone?" I asked. "Yes." Scully sounded weary, as though the prayers had sapped her strength. I closed my eyes again, swallowing a lump in my throat. "I can't believe I remembered the prayers for an exorcism," she added. "We had to learn them in Catholic school. Never thought I'd have to use them." "Good thing you remembered. What was that stuff you sprinkled over me, anyway?" "Holy water." Scully was busy undoing the handcuffs. "After the gunshot knocked you out for a while, you started babbling about White controlling you. At first I thought you were hallucinating or something, but I decided to try the exorcism anyway. Couldn't hurt. I got the water from a church a few blocks away." The handcuffs came off, and I rubbed my sore wrists. Scully untied the sheet around my legs. I sat up and rubbed my aching head. "God, that was scary," I murmured. Scully nodded sympathetically. "You mentioned Christie Broderick before I left for the water." "She killed White. He was trying to get his gun so he could kill her." "Mulder -- Christie committed suicide. I checked her house, and she was lying on the couch. She'd slit her wrists." I nodded slowly. "I couldn't find any evidence to convict her, anyway." "That reminds me--" Scully hesitated. "Do you think you can still read objects?" "I don't know." I looked around for an object to read, and settled on a book lying on a table. I remembered how White had invaded me the last time I'd tried to read something, and hesitated, looking at Scully. She held up the cup of holy water, still half-full. Cautiously, I closed my eyes and waited for the images to come. I waited for a minute. "Nothing." I probed deeper. Still nothing. I glanced at Scully helplessly. "It's gone. I can't read anymore." She gave me a sympathetic smile. "Well, now I don't have to become psychic myself to compete with you." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Over the years, I got used to solving cases the conventiional way, with no psychic reading. Occasionally I'd try to read another victim's watch, or Scully would look at me meaningfully when we were stuck at a dead end. I shrugged and shook my head each time. I'd completely lost my ability to read objects. It didn't bother me as much as I'd expected, though. I'd let somebody else do the reading. Like Scully. I've given her a few lessons -- at her insistence -- and she's coming along very well. . . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- No feedback, please -- I'm very paranoid about the 'Net. Long live Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mark Snow!!! :-)