Author: Whimsicle-1
Disclaimer: This is not meant to infringe on copyrights held by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, Centropolis Productions, Fox, or anyone else (and besides, I have no money-suing me would be a waste of effort). This story, however, does belong to me, so please don't reproduce it without something approaching permission.
Summary: Just what was Donny Pfaster turning into the night he kidnapped Dana Scully? Scully and Mulder find out at the same time their relationship is realigning.
Date Originally Written: Some time in '95
Author's Note: This was written long before the second Pfaster episode.
Feedback: always welcome at whimsicle.dreams@gmail.com


Lamplighter Motel 8:10 AM
Dana Scully let the steaming water cascade over her, closed her eyes and aimed her face into the spray as she felt hot tears burn through her eyelids. Every muscle and inch of her body hurt, bumped and bruised from her brush with Donald Pfaster. The physical pain, however, was scant torment when compared with the images running through her brain.

The paramedics had treated her injuries, at least the ones they could see, the police had interviewed her about what happened after Pfaster kidnapped her, at least the simple straight forward facts of it, and a very nice psychologist had explained how none of it was her fault , not even surviving when others had not. After briefly falling apart in Mulder’s arms Dana had handled it all remarkably calmly, answering every question coolly and coherently...only nobody had been able to get the whole truth of it. No one was privy to the  the visions and demons that had tormented Dana Scully during her brief imprisonment.

Lost in her own private hell, Dana coiled her arms around her midsection as the tears turned to harsh, convulsive sobs.

She didn't hear Mulder’s knock or call over  her own tears. 

“Scully are you all right?” Mulder called worriedly. When she didn’t answer, he knocked steadily louder, until he was pounding and shouting her name. Finally, Mulder broke through the door, half afraid that Pfaster had somehow escaped and found her. He reached the shower in two strides, yanking the door open.

Sensing movement, but not knowing who was there, Scully panicked, striking out at him blindly. 

“Scully, it’s me,” Mulder shouted over the sound of the water as he fought to break past her wild struggles. He caught her flailing arms, shouting her name again as he pulled her around, forcing her to look at him.

Dana  froze  for a long moment, staring at him as if she didn’t quite trust him to actually be there. She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again, seeming to relax slightly when she found him still standing there, staring at her with a worried expression.

Already half in the shower, Mulder could feel her arm trembling where his hand touched her. “It’s all right,” he whispered gently and stepped toward, barely noticing the hot spray of water as it hit his back, drenching his shirt and suit pants. He wrapped his arms around his partner and felt her burrow in against his chest, petted her hair and whispered soothing phrases near her ear while she clung to him. Aware of the bruises Pfaster had inflicted, his hands were infinitely tender as he ran them soothingly over her back and shoulders.

Scully’s water slicked flesh was smooth and soft under his hands, bringing to mind thoughts Mulder knew had no place in their relationship.

As if  in response to the unwanted impulses he was feeling, Scully slid one hand around from his back, resting her palm lightly against his chest. She had stopped shaking and was just leaning against him, trusting him to protect her from the demons chasing her.

Trusting him...Mulder recoiled from the thought. He didn’t want Scully to trust him. Trusting him had already come too close to getting her killed. He suddenly wished he had never even met her, wished Skinner had cursed her on someone else, made someone else give a damn. She would have been so much better off if she had just never even heard his name. Her career wouldn’t be in constant threat of ending on a sour note and her life wouldn’t be in constant threat of simply ending. 

If he had thought about it, Mulder would have realized that he was the one crying now. Cheek pressed against Scully’s hair, he cried unwanted tears for himself, the woman in his arms, the sister he had lost and the poor souls  sacrificed to Donald Pfaster’s sick needs.

At some point he felt Scully shift in his arms, then became aware that she was staring up at him. Wordlessly, she reached out and brushed her fingertips along his brow. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered so softly that he sensed the meaning as much as heard the actual words.

He cupped her face in his hands, staring down into his partner’s glittering eyes. “I should go,” Mulder whispered raggedly. He had stayed too long, should never have entered in the first place. They were standing on a high precipice and he was terrified of what would happen if they stepped over. Fly or fall, either option terrified him. “This isn’t...I don’t... belong...here...” 

He started to pull away, but Scully’s hand on his shoulder stopped him, then drew him back. For the first time since entering the bathroom, he became consciously aware of her nudity, the smooth graceful curves of her body. He felt the rocks beneath his feet crumbling, felt himself losing the battle as she reached out and unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt with shaking fingers. She used the hand that had rested on his shoulder to peel his soaked shirt back.

Mulder knew he should pull back, walk away and never look back. Let Dana Scully live a long and uneventful life.

But...

He was frozen like a rabbit in the headlights. She she ran a light finger along his collar bone, then leaned forward to press a kiss where her fingers had touched. 

The ground beneath his feet disappeared and he was falling with no more choice in the matter.

Mulder turned fully back to face her, stepping back under the hot spray as he reached out. Strong hands curved to Scully’s waist and back as his mouth found hers. His kiss was hot, desperate and hungry and she met him fully, mouth opening under his as she fought with the remainder of his shirt buttons.

Finally the drenched fabric parted. Scully broke from their shared kiss to trail her mouth down the center of his chest as she pushed the dress shirt back off his shoulders.

Mulder shrugged out of the sodden material, popping the buttons at the cuffs when he realized she had forgotten  them. It fell to the tile at their feet, forgotten in the urgency of the moment. 

He wrapped his arms around her, muscles flexing with controlled power as he half lifted, half pressed Dana against the wall at her back.

Unleashed, desire reeled hot and heady through Dana Scully’s brain, making her almost mindless in the quest for more contact. Her hands ranged over his solidly muscled upper torso, worked through the thick length of his hair, holding him to her when she was afraid he might pull away.

The water washing over  the two lovers formed a cocoon around them as Mulder ducked his head to taste Scully’s neck and shoulders. Moaning softly, Dana found his belt buckle with shaky fingers. Long moments later, she slid his pants zipper down. With a low groan, Mulder dropped his hands to his waistband, kicking out of his shoes before peeling the dripping wool down over his hips.  Kicking the pile of wet fabric outside the still open shower door, he never lost contact with his lover as he reached back to pull the door shut, locking the world out.

When they finally, they parted to no more than a hand’s breadth, staring at one another for a long moment. It was a time both had sensed coming, but the reality was as frightening as it was exhilarating.

Mulder reached out first, tucking a finger under Dana’s chin, tipping her head up as he leaned down to press a healing kiss to the scrape left there.

The tender gesture was hauntingly erotic and Scully moaned again, clinging to his shoulders as she felt him move on, finding another bruise at the point of her shoulder. His tongue laved across it as though he could wash the pain away. His hands brushed across her breasts, exploring and teasing her warm flesh  before moving on. He worked his way down her body, pressing tender kisses to every bruise he could find, offering pleasure where there had been only pain.

Dana curled her fingers into his hair, enjoying the texture of the sleek satiny strands. She held him close as he moved lower, sliding to his knees at her feet. The soft brush of his lips and tongue against her stomach made her muscles flex with pure carnal pleasure. Scully’s head fell against the wall at her back as he moved lower still, tongue brushing against a bruise he found on her upper thigh.“Please,” she groaned weakly.
His mouth ranged on. Dana’s head fell back against the slick tile at her back, eyes sliding closed as pure erotic pleasure sliced through her. He teased and tormented until she  might well have collapsed were it not for the supporting strength of Mulder’s hands.

“No more,” Scully groaned at last and tugged his head up by the hair.

Mulder looked up, everything he felt for her showing in his eyes.

Hands braced on his shoulders, Dana slid slowly down the length of her lover’s body, drawing pleasure from the erotic sensation of flesh on flesh.

Mulder caught her just under her ribcage, slowing her descent.  He shifted his hands down to her hips, then his mouth found hers. “Slowly,” Mulder murmured against Scully’s lips as he let her continue her steady glide down his body.

Dana’s fingers flexed against her lover’s muscular back as he eased their bodies together, whispering his name as her flesh expanded around his.

“So good,” Mulder exhaled as her hips settled against his. He held tight, not moving as a heady, storm-wash of pure sensation threatened to overwhelm his control.
Her breath coming in rough, shuddery gasps, Scully leaned her forehead against his broad chest.

“I have you,” Mulder whispered near Dana’s ear as he slowly began to move his hips.

“Or maybe I have you,” she murmured, then traced the outline of his ear with the tip of her tongue. Her fingers flexed against his back, massaging and tracing the strong muscles that shifted and flexed as he moved with her.

The rhythm ebbed and flowed,  while their universe collapsed until it stretched no farther than their water washed bodies. As the pleasure stretched on, the water began to cool.

Neither lover noticed.

Scully hit her peak first, crying out as pleasure arced through her in a white hot flash, burning through mind and body. Her arms tightened on Mulder, fingers digging in as she struggled to ride out the wild storm.

Mulder felt her spasm in his arms  and let go of his own tightly leashed controls. He buried his face in the curve of Scully’s throat, whispering her first name over and over as he gave himself up to her.

The two  lovers stayed coiled together even as the tidal wave washed on past. Mulder slid a hand up, threading his fingers through Scully’s hair, tenderly massaging her temple with his thumb. She curved one arm around his neck and pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder.

“Water’s getting cold,” Mulder groaned at last.

Scully nodded silently.

He reached back and shut off the rapidly chilling spray. “We need to get up.” He tilted her chin up with his thumb until their eyes met.

Dana nodded and started to pull away, but he stopped her with a light hand on her back. “Let me take care of you.”

“Fox,” she whispered, using his first name almost for the first time.

“Mulder,” her partner, and now lover, corrected automatically.

Scully brushed the back of her hand along his cheek. “Not here and now.”

Mulder started to say something, then nodded. He stood easily, drawing her up as well, then lifted her high into his arms. Normally Scully wouldn’t have allowed it, but right then, she needed the protection he offered.

Outside, the day moved again toward night, the shadows deepening and lengthening as the sun made its way toward the horizon and two new lovers lost themselves in each other.

Throughout the day of hearings that bound him over for psychiatric evaluation and denied him bond during the ensuing investigation, Donald Pfaster sat emotionless, not seeming to listen to the court appointed public defender who was doing her best to protect his rights despite her obvious personal distaste. He did what the guards told him without threat or argument, showing nothing more than the occasional bit of confusion.

Somehow the other prisoners, in the holding cell, found out about his crimes and word spread quickly. Before the day was over, the guards were forced to move him into a private cell for his own safety.

The legal amenities took the full day and, by the time he was back in the orange prison jumpsuit, and locked back into waist, wrist and leg chains, the sun had fallen below the horizon and stars were just barely visible in a rapidly darkening sky.

A guard climbed into the paddy wagon first, then pointed the shot gun in his hands back at the waiting prisoners as they shuffled in behind him. Even the most hardened recidivist of the group sat as far away from the newcomer as possible. The disgust in their eyes was palpable, making for a dangerous feel to the night.

The guard stiffened his spine, flashing each of the men a warning glare. Half of the game was keeping them intimidated.

Donny Pfaster never noticed.

The nightmare came with bone wrenching force, clawing and tearing human flesh and bone with a demon’s face leering through the night.

“Dana! Scully, it’s all right” Mulder called urgently as he shook his partner awake, drawing her back from whatever black pit held her in its thrall.

Scully wakened with a soft cry, eyes going round in the darkened hotel room. The only light in the room was cast by the streetlamp outside one window. The thin illumination threw a soft pearlescent shaft of light through the center of the room , but left the rest in total darkness. Dana’s head swung around. It took her a moment to reorient herself and realize just whose hands held her so tightly. She stopped struggling the instant the truth sank in. “Mulder, I...” she panted, trailing off as she ran out of words.

“You were having a nightmare,” he said worriedly.

Scully nodded weakly.

Mulder loosened the hands on her shoulders, caressing her gently with his thumbs. “Can you tell me about it?” he asked carefully.

Dana pulled away from his light hold, tugging the sheet around her upper torso as she sat up and folded her arms around her midsection. Her gaze was unfocused as she stared ahead. “In the closet...I saw...” her voice faded away and she shook her head, unwilling, or unable to go on.

Mulder reached out, massaging Scully’s back. “You can tell me anything,” he assured her.

She just shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused in on herself. The nightmares were threatening to claw their way up through her spine into her brain, and it took everything she had to keep the walls up and the demons out.

Mulder leaned forward, slipping his arms around Scully’s body. He gently tugged her back until she was leaning against his chest. Soft tremors rippled through her muscles, and she was stiff in his arms.  Petting her hair soothingly, Mulder pressed his cheek near her ear. “What did you see, Dana? What happened?”

“Demons,” Scully exhaled, the single word so softly it was barely audible.

Mulder frowned, confusion showing in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Scully’s voice had a disjointed quality as she answered. “When Pfaster...opened the door, he...changed...he wasn’t...human..."

Mulder froze, uncertain what to say or do. “I don’t understand,” he whispered at last.
Scully pulled away to glare up at him, her eyes glossed by unshed tears, her voice shaky as she husked, “I saw something inhuman...like something out of the old testament accounts of hell.”

Fox framed her face in his hands, brushing her hair back from her face as he whispered, “Dana, you’d been hit on the head, you were scared, it was dark...”

“I know what I saw,” Scully snarled and slapped his hands away with unexpected force. She turned away, her bare back stiff and unyielding.

Mulder started to reach for her again, then thought better of it and dropped his hands away, his expression  uncertain. “Will you look at me?” he asked at last.

Her head swung around, eyes finding his,  even in the darkness. Her expression was faintly accusing and she looked as though a light tap would shatter her into a thousand pieces.

“I don’t know what happened—” he began carefully, but Scully cut him off.

“I do,” she whispered bitterly.

Mulder nodded his head jerkily, as though he wasn’t quite certain that was the right thing to do. “All right...” His jaw muscles worked convulsively. He couldn’t help the sudden flood of recriminations for making love to her. She was battered and vulnerable and he should have been strong enough to do what was best for her and pull away. “But he’s in jail now, Dana, locked up where he can’t hurt you.”

Scully’s eyes narrowed and she seemed to stare past him, her voice haunting as she whispered, “He won’t stay that way.”

A cold chill crawled up Mulder’s spine. “What do you mean?”

Scully turned away until her face was completely in shadow. “He’s coming,” she whispered in a dead voice.

Mulder had no idea what to say or do. He was too used to being the one throwing out all of the crazy ideas while Scully was the voice of reason. He briefly wondered if somehow her mind had snapped during her captivity. No, he refused to believe that option.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Scully turned back, eyes clear and focused as she reached out to brush several strands of hair away from his face. “I know you don’t believe me,” she admitted quietly, “But I also know what I saw...You’re always asking me to open my mind to the possibilities...” the plea was implicit in her words. She desperately needed him to believe her.

Mulder nodded slowly. “All right,” he said at last. “What do you want me to do?”

Scully shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted honestly.

Mulder exhaled a soft sigh, then muttered, “Fair enough.” They both sat silent for a long moment before Mulder put voice to the thought gnawing at the back of his mind. “About what happened...between us...” he began haltingly.

“Several times,” Scully murmured wryly, showing the first hint of humor since escaping Pfaster.

Mulder seemed to pull up short, peering at her. “Yeah,” he smurmured, then fell silent again, uncertain whether or not to use the speech he’d mentally rehearsed. “Look, I—” He began at last, only to stumble to a halt as Scully reached out to cup his face in one hand.

She turned a fond smile his way. “Not right  now, Mulder...please.” She looked away, shrugging her shoulders as she whispered, “I don’t think I can handle much more...”

Mulder nodded. “We’re going to have to talk this out...soon,” he offered after a beat, his voice soft, but insistent.

Dana wordlessly nodded her head .

Whatever else Mulder intended to say was cut off by the electronic beeping of his cell phone. Wrapping the blanket around his waist as he moved, he scrambled for his suit coat where he'd left it slung over a chair the night before. Keeping one hand firmly on the blanket, he grabbed for the phone with the other, fingers clumsy as he struggled to get it out of the inner breast pocket. Finally, he had the phone in hand and the jacket fell free on about the sixth ring. “Mulder here,” he snapped into the receiver as he flipped the handset open.

Watching him carefully, Scully frowned at the expressions flittering across his face. “He’s out,” she exhaled before he had even finished hanging up.

“Get dressed,” Mulder snapped as he flipped the phone closed and started to reach for his suitcase. He didn’t even pretend to understand what was going on, but instinct told him that somehow Scully was right about seeing a  demon, and if that was the case, they had to get out of there and fast.

“He’s out,” she said again without moving.

Mulder whirled on her, his expression enraged, not at her, but at the situation. “YES! He’s out! Now get dressed!” He let the blanket drop in favor of expediency as he started to yank on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Scully sat watching him, eyes round and terrified, but didn’t move.

Mulder was still barefooted and tugging on his sweatshirt when he realized she hadn’t moved yet. He finished pulling the shirt down and hurried over to the side of the bed. “Dana,” Fox whispered as he reached out to her, cupping her face in one hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we need to get out of here.”

Scully blinked, still not moving.

“MOVE!” Mulder bellowed, and grabbed Scully’s upper arm, all but hauling her from the bed in his need to break the paralysis that seemed to have her in its hold.

“Oh God,” Dana exhaled sharply as she went with him, scrambling stiffly to her feet.
Mulder pulled back a half step as he watched long enough to see  reach for her suitcase which he had rescued from the wreck of her rented car. She immediately grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater stuffed among the jumbled mess. Confident she was functioning again, he turned away, grabbing for his holstered pistol and the two spare clips he kept nearby. He stuffed the clips in a pocket, then slung the shoulder holster on, settling it comfortably under his left armpit before undogging his weapon and taking it out. He cocked it, then reset the safety before returning it to its holster and turning back to face his partner.

She was fully dressed and pulling on her shoes. Her field weapon lay out on the bed next to her hip.

“There’s a box of spare ammo in my suitcase,” he told her as he took a moment to pull on a pair of track shoes.

Scully nodded wordlessly as she rose, pausing momentarily to pull on her overcoat before retrieving the box of shells and stuffing it in one pocket.

Mulder grabbed his own overcoat and threw it on, then palmed the car keys. “Let’s go,” he snapped quickly.

Outside a slow steady rain drizzled down, making the pavement slick and silvering the world wherever it was struck by light from a street lamp. Occasionally a sharp flash of lightning snaked across the sky.

“Over there,” Mulder said as he pointed toward the end of a shadowed line of cars in the parking lot.

He slipped his weapon out, thumb resting on the safety, ready to flick it off as they crossed the parking lot at a dog trot.

“I told you,” the motel clerk repeated impatiently to the man standing on the other side of the counter. “I don’t give out room numbers. If you want to see your friends, call 'em and have ‘em tell you what room they’re in.”

Donald Pfaster smiled blankly, his expression perfectly neutral as he calmly argued. “If I knew what room  to call them in, I wouldn’t have to ask you.”

The clerk shrugged and inhaled another drag off his cigarette. “life’s a bitch,” he muttered unhelpfully.

Outside, lightning struck nearby and the accompanying thunderclap rolled across the room as the lights flickered in seeming response. “Damn storm,” the clerk grumbled, then fastened a hard gaze on Pfaster. “Like I said, I can’t help you.”

Pfaster was already staring out the window that looked across the parking lot. His head canted to one side and he seemed almost to sniff the night air. “That’s all right,” he said, his tone perversely pleasant. He left without looking back at the man behind the counter.

The clerk shrugged and went back to reading his racing form.


Scully and Mulder had almost reached their car  when the sensation flashed up Dana’s spine like the lightning flickering all across the night sky. Still running, she pivoted, trotting backwards as she drew her weapon and scanned the opposite end of the parking lot. Nothing was moving there or anywhere on the darkened street. As late as it was, every business and bar was closed.

“Scully, what is it?’ Mulder demanded as he spun and stared back the same direction.

“He’s here,” she called through the sound-damping thickness of the steady rain.
Mulder peered across the night-black parking lot, searching the shadows and pools of street light alike. "There’s nothing there," he clipped more sharply than he intended. He doubted the response even as he made it

“He’s there,” Scully said, and her voice had a dark, sepulchral quality to it.
Mulder cast another nervous glance across the parking lot, then spun back and crossed the remaining distance to their car in several long strides. “Come on,” he called as he slid into the driver’s seat. He already had the engine started when she climbed in beside him.

There’s nothing there, Mulder told himself over and over, as he maneuvered the Taurus out of the parking lot and onto the nearly deserted main street.
Only he didn’t quite believe it.

Not since speaking to the detective on the phone.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Scully asked. “How did he get away?”
Mulder glanced over just as lightning flashed somewhere nearby, perfectly silhouetting her profile. Scully sat perfectly straight, her posture unnaturally stiff. He knew what he was going to tell her wouldn’t relax it any. “They found the van that was transporting prisoners from the courthouse back to the county jail. It had been tipped over. The guards and the rest of the prisoners were dead. Pfaster was missing...”

“There’s more,” Scully whispered hoarsely when he didn’t continue.

“The roof of the paddy wagon had been torn open,” Mulder admitted against his will. “Bocks said they think a tree branch must have caught it when it rolled.”

Scully shook her head, then screamed suddenly. “LOOK OUT!!”

A figure stood in the middle of the road ahead, outline by streetlights and rain, yet not quite seeming to be there.

Mulder slammed his foot on the brakes, and the car slewed sideways on the rain slicked street, skidding out of control into a street sign before it came to a halt.
Mulder pushed his head up from the steering wheel, staring through the rain where the figure had stood.

Nothing.

Something hit the roof of the car with a dull thud, nearly collapsing it and sending a spiderweb of cracks through the windshield.

Screaming, Scully aimed her pistol straight up, firing off several shots in the direction of the thuds.

Ears ringing from the close quarters fire, Mulder shoved his door open and all but fell from the car, pistol aimed at the roof.

Nothing.

He spun around, careless of the rain that whipped across his face, half blinding him.

“Pfaster!” Scully shouted as she stumbled out on her own side.

Light cast by the overhead street lamps pooled on the street at regular intervals. Something stepped into a distant glimmering beam, glowing with silver edges as rain drops glittered like diamonds.

It was nothing more than a greyed out shadow, but something was wrong with it. It wasn’t quite...human.

Suddenly lightning struck the streetlamp over their antagonist’s head, exploding the globe and sending sparks out like shards of glass as it lit up the night for no more than the span of a heart beat.

“Oh, God,” Dana panted, terror burning in her eyes. She sighted her weapon on what remained of the exploded street lamp, squinting through the rain at the shadows until they seemed to take on a life of  their own.

Something moved and flickered in the shadows, but the proportions were somehow wrong for a man.

Scully blinked her eyes and shook her head as she tried to clear her vision.

“Don’t fire!” Mulder shouted, “ We don’t know it’s him!”

The next light in the row blacked over as if it had simply winked out of existence.

“The hell we don’t,” Scully muttered under her breath and fired, emptying the remainder of her clip as fast as she could pull the trigger. When the Walther was empty she dropped the clip and slammed a fresh one home, chambering a round with practiced ease.

“Dammit, Scully!” Mulder shouted as he came around the rear end of the car toward her. “Hold your—” His voice melded off into a pained grunt  of surprise as something hit him from the side and above and he was thrown sideways across the trunk. The world went black as he was tumbled against unforgiving metal. Mulder slung his arm out firing blindly as a fiery streak of agony burned down his left side. He struggled wildly, but the darkness wrapped tighter around him, making it hard to breathe.

“NO!” Scully’s voice was distant, the normally sharp retort of her gun, faded and muffled.

Mulder could feel himself sliding away from the world.

“NO!” Dana screamed again as the slide on the Walther kicked back and stayed that way. Empty. She almost howled in frustration. Unable to spare the time to reload a clip, she launched herself at the shadow covering Mulder, using the pistol in her hand like a truncheon.

Muscles rippled and shook, throwing the woman backwards through the air. She hit the ground, tumbling roughly across the tarmac, while her weapon went skittering off into the night. Tasting blood, she scrambled for her feet. “PFASTER!” she raged at the top of her lungs.

“Hello, Dana...” the voice, so harmless and innocuous sounding, came at her from all directions.

“DAMN YOU!!” she howled, staggering as she limped back to the car as fast as she could. Mulder’s gun lay discarded several feet from the car and she grabbed it, holding it high as she fell against the side of the Taurus. “MULDER!” she shouted, praying for a response.

Nothing.

She would have gone to him, but something black and dark as a starless night flowed between her and the end of the car.

“I’ve missed you, Dana.”

Scully stumbled and half fell backwards. “No,” she panted through tears mixed with rainwater.  Struggling to escape her tormentor, she tripped on the edge of her coat, falling headlong into the bright twin beams of the car’s headlights.

“It’s too bad we were interrupted...”

A clawed foot, inhuman and shaped like the haunches of an animal stopped only inches from the edge of the light.

Scully sighted Mulder’s Glock where she knew he had to be, only to find the safety was somehow on. “No,” she groaned through tears, crawling backwards as she fumbled with the weapon.

“We’ll just have to pick up where we left off...”

“You go to HELL!” Scully snarled as she found the safety and flipped it off.

And Donald Pfaster stepped into the light, seeming to meld from darkness into existence. He appeared perfectly, normally human. “You’re so sweet,” he whispered, then suddenly stopped, frowning slightly as he seemed almost to sniff the air. His expression shifted suddenly, brows drawing up on his forehead, mouth curving into a feral smile.

Scully brought the weapon up, barely needing to take aim at that close range, and fired, wrists grinding as the Glock slammed her backwards with every shot.
Pfaster jerked, obviously struck by each shot. He slipped to his knees, grabbing for the bloody wounds spaced across his chest. He looked down, staring at them in disbelief, then back up at Scully. Eyes wide, he shook his head slowly, “You...” he rasped weakly before falling forward, his splayed arms only a few inches short of her feet.
Gasping for air, Scully used the hood of the car as a brace as she pushed to her feet. Still pointing the empty gun at Pfaster, she leaned forward tentatively, hunting for signs of life.

His body was perfectly still. No sign of life.

Still, something kept her from reaching out to check for a pulse.

Finally, Scully turned, and leaning heavily against the side of the car for support, staggered around to where she had last seen Mulder.

He lay sprawled on the ground, arms flung wide.

“Fox,” Dana gasped and fell to her knees beside him, immediately reaching for the pulse in his throat.

It beat strong and steady against her fingertips.

“Thank God," she groaned and grabbed his shirtfront, shaking him. “Mulder, you’ve got to wake up.” Despite the fact that Pfaster had looked dead, she didn’t believe it for a moment.

Mulder moaned softly and his eyes fluttered, but didn’t open.

Scully’s head snapped up as something rasped like sandpaper across a rough surface. “COME ON!” she shouted and shook even harder.

Mulder’s head lolled and his eyes flickered open, looking up at her through an unfocused haze. “Sc-Scully,” he rasped.

“That’s right, Mulder,” Scully encouraged, still staring into the encroaching shadows. “You need to get up, now.”

Mulder shook his head, weakly. “I don’ think so,” he slurred. “Side hurts.”

Scully pushed his coat  aside, flinching as she made out the dark stain splashed across his pale blue sweatshirt. She traced the wound with her fingertips. It was long and shallow, and angled as though it had been delivered by the claw of an animal...a very large animal. Luckily, it didn’t seem to be deep enough to have damaged any major organs.

Another faint rasping sound reached Dana’s ears.

“COME ON!” she screamed and threw her full strength into hauling her partner upright.

He was a dead weight. “Get out of here, D-Dana ... I-I ... can’t make it,” Mulder groaned.

Scully shook her head wildly. “I’m not leaving you here. Do you hear me, Goddammit?!”

Fighting the dizziness and nausea, Mulder struggled to bring his head up. “Can’t,” he groaned.

“Then we’re going to die together,” Scully snarled in an effort to get him fighting. “Do you hear me, Mulder, if you don’t get up, we’re both going to die right here, in the rain...and it will be all your fault!”

“No!” Mulder exploded and somehow pushed to his feet with a superhuman lunge.
He would have gone back down if Scully hadn’t vaulted up after him, dragging his arm across her shoulders, and slipping hers around his waist. “That’s it,” she praised as he leaned heavily on her support.

The rain seemed to have let up slightly as she peered through the gloom, hunting desperately for somewhere to take him that might offer some kind of shelter. Unfortunately late night in the business sector offered precious little cover. Finally, she spotted a light burning faintly in the distance, offering the only visible sign of possible help.

Scully glanced back toward the front end of the car, where the lights seemed to be dimming steadily as the car battery wore down. Pfaster was up there, caught in the light, but would he still be Pfaster when the lights died...or would his body shift and mutate becoming...something...else?

Praying to a God she didn’t even believe in half the time, Scully made her decision. “Come on, Mulder, hold on,” she encouraged. “It’s not far.” Half carrying him, she headed in the direction of the light, breathing harder as he became more of a dead weight with every step.

“Almost there,” Scully told her partner between rough gasps. They crossed a narrow residential street, and Scully cursed softly as she dragged her partner back up the low curb on the other side.

Her chin came up, hunting for the light.

And Dana Scully’s jaw dropped as she saw where fate had brought her. For a moment, she almost believed in divine intervention as found herself staring up at a softly glowing stained glass version of the pieta.

The image of the dying Jesus stared up at Mary, reaching to his crying mother in his final agony.

Please God, Scully prayed silently, let there be someone inside who can help us. She redoubled her hold on her partner, dragging him forward through the front gates and up the stairs that lead into the main church. She all but fell against the main doors, fully expecting to find them locked.

Dana glanced back over her shoulder just in time to see the car lights die.

Cursing, she whipped back around, tugging on the door in the vague hope that it might be open.

Her jaw almost dropped when one of the double doors slid easily under her touch.
“Come on,” she panted to her partner as she dragged him inside, barely pausing long enough to push the door shut behind them. With that done, she brought her head back around. Here eyes rounded as she got a good look at the interior.

The church was old, with long narrow stained glass windows spaced evenly the full length of the room. Ornate brass plaques on the walls proclaimed the ways of the cross, and the pews had the gloss of well-cared-for, antique wood.

Scully didn’t waste her energy trying to speak at that moment, just dragged Mulder toward the altar. He was still conscious and trying to help her, but not by much. Finally, they reached the front of the church and she lowered him into the front pew, falling to one knee beside him with a soft grunt.

Dana tenderly brushed Mulder’s dripping hair away from his forehead. His eyes slid closed for a moment, then opened again. “So tired,” he exhaled.

“I know,” Scully breathed, “but I need you to stay with me.”

He nodded slowly.

Dana carefully moved his coat out of the way and peeled back the sticky weight of the sweatshirt. “Dear Lord,” the woman whispered as she got a good look at the injury for the first time. It wasn’t deep, but the long broad gash was oozing yellow puss mixed with blood. Scully frowned in confusion. No way in hell could any normal wound be that badly infected in a matter of minutes. She brushed a hand across his forehead and flinched at the heat put out by his skin.

Scully reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out the cellular phone. It responded with silence when she tried to activate  it.

“Damn,” the woman croaked. She tossed the phone away, then took a moment and did her best to mop up the mess on Mulder’s side with the torn remains of his shirt. He moaned softly and she could see the pain twisting his handsome features. Dana shook her head disgustedly. She needed help and she needed to get Mulder to a hospital...fast.

“Fox,” she whispered huskily. “I’m going to look for a phone, or someone who can help.”

“I’ll stay...here,” Mulder groaned with grim humor.

Dana nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She started to rise, but he caught her wrist.

“Spare clips,” Mulder reminded her, gasping as he twisted to reach into his back pocket. He pulled the two clips out and shoved them into her hand.

Scully nodded. Drawing his weapon from where she had stuffed it, in her waistband, she dropped the empty clip out and shoved a fresh one in, then pointed it skyward as she pulled the slide back and let go, chambering a round. “I’ll be back as fast as I can,” she assured her partner, then hurried off.


Leaning against the hood of the car for support, Donald Pfaster pushed to his feet. The car lights had dimmed, but they still flashed dull beams that cut through the darkness on either side of him. He tried to cross the thin beams, but fell back in agony as his chest burned where Agent Scully had shot him. He straightened with effort, pressing one hand to the still oozing wounds.

Inside Pfaster, the dark part of his soul flared furiously, screeching out with rage at being pinned down. Muscles and flesh expanded, changed, mutating with the familiar sensations of control and power. He spun, slamming a glossy black fist down onto the hood of the car.

Sheet metal bent and screamed as he punched it again and again.

Cold rain sizzled as it hit hot flesh.

The radiator exploded, blowing steam upward into inhuman features.

The creature leaned into the superheated water as if it were a cool spring breeze and reached for the battery cables, tearing them free with inhuman ease.

The car lights winked out instantly.

The dark thing in Pfaster grew, gaining strength as it absorbed the night. Soon enough, it would grow stronger still on the woman’s blood. She was perfect to meet its wants, far better than the dead children or teenage whore that it had first used to tempt Pfaster into letting it out. Better too than the tainted souls of the prisoners in the van or jaded minds of their jailers. She would complete its journey to life.

The thing turned slowly, sniffing the air as it hunted for her, but her scent had changed and he couldn’t mark the new smell in the steadily dripping rain. He turned in the direction they had come from. They did not lay that way, but an answer might.


“What's the meaning of this?” an astonished voice demanded as Dana Scully spun around a corner in the narrow corridors of the rectory, the weapon in her hand sighted on the sounds moving her way.

She tipped the Glock up as she got a look at the old man in a black suit and priest’s collar. “Thank God,” the F.B.I. agent groaned gratefully.

The priest frowned, visibly trying to decide whether she intended him ill or not. After a moment, he whispered, “Are you all right, my child?”

Scully nodded, digging out her I.D. as she explained, “I’m F.B.I. agent Dana Scully...My partner and I were attacked. He’s hurt. I need an ambulance and the police.”

The old man blinked, visibly uncertain how to proceed. Finally, he caught her arm in a supportive grasp. “The phones are out due to the storm, but I’ll help you any way I can.”


The motel clerk stared at the slashed and destroyed wires that, until recently, connected the hotel to the main breaker box in disgust. “Damn frat boys,” he growled furiously. He had come out when the power went out, expecting to find nothing more serious than a blown breaker. This, however, would have to wait for a real repairman, which would cost real money.

A resounding crash from one of the rooms brought his head around. He grabbed for the baseball bat he always kept handy. “Little bastards’re gonna wish they’d fucked with somebody else,” he growled as he hefted the slugger.

The Pfaster-thing roared in fury, hurling the mattress aside as it realized the reason for the change of her scent. The smell of their bodies mixed together on the sheets told the entire tale, enraging him beyond measure. He lifted a plastic trash can that smelled strongly of their coupling, sniffing the jumbled remains once before crumpling it in a massive fist and hurling it aside.

If the woman thought this would save her, she was mistaken. He would rend her flesh from her body and laugh as she suffered all the torments of hell, then make a necklace of her fingers and toes.

“You fucked up the wrong motel this time, asshole,” a rough voice cut into his plans for revenge. He turned slowly, noting the pathetic human holding the baseball bat aloft.
He laughed, the sound echoing evilly through the room, then reached out.

The bat whistled as it was swung with human strength.

The Pfaster-thing caught it, splintering the wood with ease.

“What the-” the clerk exhaled sharply as the remains of the bat were torn from his hands and he caught a dim glow of red in the space occupied by his intended victim.
It was the last thing he ever said as the creature punched one shattered end of the bat through his skull.

It watched the human offal fall to the floor and knelt down, barely sparing the time tear the blunt and scarred fingers free. Power grew and swelled still farther, feeding the darkness. It stepped into the pouring rain, careless of the water that spattered and steamed as it contacted inhuman flesh. Tonight, it would have the woman. Tonight, it would be completely free of the fleshly bonds that held it.

Newly formed shoulder muscles flexed and rippled.

Soon, oh so soon, the final transformation would be complete.


Scully finished taping a handful of gauze pads to Mulder’s newly cleaned side. The injury was still oozing, but  not as badly as it had been. She set aside the bowl of water the priest had brought her so that Mulder couldn’t accidentally tip it. Mulder moaned softly in pain, but made no other sound as he watched her work.

She looked back at the old man to find him staring at her strangely. She had told him they had been attacked by an escaped criminal, but mentioned nothing of what she thought she had seen. His name, she had learned was Father George Leary and the church was, or rather had been, St. Joseph’s. The building, he said, was in poor repair, the roof leaky and the floor sagging, and the church had decided to salvage what they could and demolish the rest. Apparently the civil engineer who’d come to evaluate the difficulty involved in removing the furnishings had left the front door unlocked.

“What’s really chasing you, Agent Scully?” he whispered quietly.

“I-I told you,” she stammered.

Father Leary shook his head. “Those injuries weren’t made by any man, and I’ve never
seen fresh wounds infect within minutes before.”

"I-I d-don’t...” Scully started to stutter, but Mulder silenced her, covering her hand with his as he whispered, “Tell him, Scully.”

“I don’t know what he is,” she whispered honestly. She shook her head slowly, folding her arms tightly around  her midsection as she fought to keep the tears at bay. “But, he’s not...human.”

The priest just stared at the two of them, gauging the truth of her words. “This church is sanctified ground. Perhaps he cannot follow you here,” he said at last.

The laughter was perfectly timed to point out their weakness and vulnerability. Pitched low and rumbly, it echoed through the church.

Scully spun, drawing Mulder’s weapon, and taking aim on the open doors, while Mulder rolled and slipped to his knees on the floor.

“HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY, KITTY...” A voice that both was, and was not Donald Pfaster’s called out, rattling the walls.

“YOU’VE BEEN A VERY BAD GIRL, AGENT SCULLY.”

Plaster dust rained down on the occupants of the church as cracks spread in the ceiling over their heads.

Keeping the weapon in her right hand trained on the doors, Scully caught the priest’s forearm with her left, drawing his attention with desperate urgency. “Forgive me, Father,  for I have sinned...”

“My child...” the priest would have interrupted, but she kept going.

“It has been...two years since my last confession.”

“YES, AGENT SCULLY, CONFESS. MAKE YOURSELF CLEAN FOR ME.”

“I have lost my faith...”

“You have lost nothing, my child.”

“Scully,” Mulder rasped as he struggled to push to his feet. “Don’t do this.”

“Taken the name of the Lord in vain, had carnal relations outside of the bounds of wedlock...”

The priest dipped his hand in the red tinted holy water he  had given her to clean Mulder’s wound and made the sign of the cross on Scully’s forehead. “The Lord forgives you all, my child.”

“YESSSS!!!!!!” the Pfaster-thing’s scream was almost sexual, rising in volume as it peaked. The high stained glass windows on either side of the church vibrated, then cracked, then shattered, blowing inward with terrifying violence. Shards flew and whirled like a million knives, forcing the three people to their knees.
Scully threw her arm up in front of  her fact and pressed closed to Mulder, putting her jacket and body between his torso and the worst of the flying glass.

The assault seemed to go on forever, then just stopped.

Scully stuck her head up, peering around the interior of the church as the last of the glass, ground as fine as talcum powder, floated to the floor in an eerie fog of glitter.

An inhuman shadow moved with an alien gait to block the doors to the church. “I ONLY WANT YOU, DANA, BUT I’LL TAKE THEM AS WELL, IF YOU FIGHT ME.”

Dana pushed shakily to her feet.

“Scully, no,” Mulder hissed and caught her arm, trying to drag her back.

She turned back far enough to cup his face in her hand, mouth finding his with driving hunger. “I love you,” she whispered huskily, then pulled away faster than he could grab her back.

“Get out of here,” she snapped at the priest, who reached out to press the reloaded third clip she’d dropped earlier into her hand.

“Go with God, child.”

She took it, stuffing it into a pocket as she stepped into the aisle between the pews.

“Scully, don’t!” Mulder shouted at her swiftly retreating back. “Stop her,” he begged the priest as the man knelt down beside him.

“ALL MINE,” the Pfaster-thing sighed in a satisfied voice.

And Scully fired.

Three shots hit the shadowed creature in rapid succession, driving him backwards.
Scully glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Leary was dragging a resistant Mulder out the priest’s door. She dove sideways into the pews, running hard, her coat flying out behind her. She slammed into the side entrance, spun and fired, hitting Pfaster twice more, driving him back  when he seemed about to gain his balance. She lunged out through the door, and into the falling rain.  

“IF YOU WANT ME, PFASTER!” she shouted. “COME AND GET ME!”

A ruffling sound beat the night air, as a shriek melted up through the blackened sky. Scully’s head snapped up in response as even the thin light on the clouds reflecting the city lights far below was blacked out. Scully fired straight up at the shadow, emptying the remains of the clip in only a second or two, and was rewarded with a scream of agony and rage.

Blood, black, thick, and hot, like road tar, spattered the ground around her, hissing and melting the earth like acid as it struck. It hit her arm and burned, etching holes in the agent’s coat before she ran, ducking under the edge of the roof line, and away from the deadly rain.

A heavy thud sounded on the roof overhead, and a close flash of lightning lit up the sky so that it seemed brighter than daylight for no more than a millisecond.

“Very good, Dana,” Pfaster’s voice panted from above, sounding more human than it had before. “It won’t stop me, though.”

Either the bullets or the lightning flash had weakened him, but she doubted it would last long. No more running. It was time to take the battle to him.

Scully hurried along beside the wall, hunting  until she found an old metal access ladder that ran up one side of the building. She tucked the pistol back in her waistband and began climbing. The straight pipe ladder was cold and slick with rainwater and she nearly fell twice.

Breathing hard, she gained the roof of the small church, and had to catch herself to keep from slipping on the uneven tile.

“Hello, Dana,” Pfaster’s voice, sounding as worn as she felt reached her ears through the damping effect of the rain. “The game’s almost over.”

Scully turned toward the sound of his voice, hunting for him. “Is that what it is to you?” she called out. “A game?”

His answering laugh deepened over the space of the sound. “The most wonderful game of all,” Pfaster responded.

Picking her way across the tiles, Dana clambered toward where she thought he was hiding.


Fox Mulder pushed the priest away as he stumbled past him and out into the rain. “They’re on the roof,” he panted as the distant sound of thunder reached his ears. “How do I get up there?”

“You’re in no condition—” Father Leary started to argue, but Mulder cut him off.

“My life is nothing without her! Do you understand? NOW, how do I get up there?“”

“There’s a staircase inside that leads up to the roof, but it’s not—”

“Show me,” Mulder rasped hoarsely and staggered back inside.

It occurred to him only minutes later, as the staircase creaked and wobbled with every step, that the priest had probably been about to tell him it wasn’t safe.

The old man followed only steps behind him, arms stretched out as if to catch Mulder should he start to fall.

A distinct possibility, the younger man thought as he pressed a hand tightly against the slashing wound in his side. The pain had become a dull throb that reminded him of its presence with every step. “Stay here,” Mulder warned the old man when they were about halfway to the top.

The priest shook his head. “Whatever this thing is, I belong up there.”

Mulder visibly started to argue then thought better of it. Perhaps the priest was right.


Dana crept around the side of the ancient swamp cooler that had been installed on the roof of the old church, using it for cover as she hunted Pfaster. She could hear him moving around, sliding across the rough, water slick tile. Instinctively, she sensed that Pfaster, or whatever it was he was becoming was gaining in strength with every passing second. “I THOUGHT YOU WANTED ME, PfASTER!” she screamed in an effort to draw him out.

“Soon enough, Agent Scully,” Pfaster called back.

Scully spun toward his voice, peering hard through the rain. Suspicion prickled up her spine. His voice had sounded different, but like he was restraining it, trying to sound human when he was something else.

Lightning flashed no more than a half block away, perfectly silhouetting the thing hunting her, outlining the broad corded muscles, high domed head, and clawed hands.
It was no more than a half dozen steps away.

Scully fell back, hitting the tiles on her hip, firing as fast as she could pull the trigger at the image that would forever be seared in her mind.

Laughter, deep and evil echoed up through the night as Pfaster straightened, stretching broad bat’s wings away from huge shoulders. He seemed to flinch slightly as the bullets struck, but didn’t falter.

Scully popped the clip out as the weapon went empty, and quickly reloaded as she pushed to her feet and staggered backward. “DAMN YOU! DIE!!!” she raged.

Pfaster laughed again and it spurred her fury even farther.

A huge clawed hand swung out and Scully ducked. It barely glanced off her shoulder and still held enough power to fling her backwards several feet.

Scully hit the tiled roof and tumbled, nearly losing her grip on Mulder’s pistol. She came to a halt only inches from the edge of the roof line. Body aching from the battering she’d received, Dana struggled to get her feet back under her.

She didn’t get the chance.

Clawed fingers dug into the back of her coat, lifting with impossible strength.
Scully screamed as her feet left the ground. Twisting in the demon’s hold, she arched her  back desperately and somehow managed to press the gun barrel against the Pfaster-Thing’s face.

Not even the dark thing that Donald Pfaster was becoming could withstand the 9 millimeter slugs fired into its face at point-blank range.

The thing screamed and hurled Scully away, but not before she had pumped three rounds into the right side of  its face.

Dana was suddenly flying, uncertain which way was up or down. The gun was lost, flying away from her hand into the rain-drenched night. One hand brushed across water-slick tile, and she grabbed for the rough surface, fingers digging in. Her body hit more tile, skidded, then was out over open space in free fall. Scully barely managed to hold on, and a howl of agony was torn from her throat as she caught her full weight on one arm.

“NO!” Mulder’s shout cut across the night as he saw her fall. He would have run forward but the shadow black outline of the demon stood between him and where he had last seen Dana.

The Pfaster-Thing turned slowly, fastening a red-gleaming eye of fury on Mulder. One hand was pressed against the side of its face.  As it looked at him, it dropped the hand, contemptuously flicking away more of the hot-tar blood. “You,” the thing panted. “She’s mine,” the beast whispered, deep voice rattling and rumbling with every word.

“Like hell!,” Mulder snarled and lunged at his antagonist.

He never even got close.

Pfaster’s hand flashed out, long fingers wrapping around Mulder’s throat. He lifted his prey almost too easily.

Lightning slashed across the sky all around them

The F.B.I. agent gagged, grabbing for the hand wrapped around his throat as he was lifted off his feet. His long legs pumped helplessly as he twisted and struggled.
Pfaster shook him. “You should have stayed away,” the creature snarled and Mulder could smell its hot, sulfur breath.

“GET THEE BEHIND ME!” the priest’s once weak voice seemed to boom across the night as he appeared from out of the darkness, swinging a weather-vane  snatched from another part of the roof. The heavy cast iron shape of a crowing cock slammed into Pfaster’s side, tearing at the obdurate flesh. Lightning flashed behind him, and for a brief moment, the priest almost seemed to glow against the black sky.

The creature shrieked in agony, letting go of Mulder as it  spun toward this new enemy. The priest swung his impromptu weapon again, catching Pfaster in the chest as he shouted, “IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY GHOST!”
Mulder hit the roof on his knees. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the beast roaring in rage as the elderly priest struck at him, shouting prayers with every blow. For the briefest moment, their eyes met.

“SAVE HER!” Leary shouted before turning his attention back to the monster.

Mulder scrambled toward where he’d seen Scully tumble over the edge of the  roof line.
Somehow, she still clung there, dangling helplessly by one hand, her other hand pressed tightly against her side.

“SCULLY!” Mulder shouted as he grabbed for her.

Her chin came up and she stared up at him in raw disbelief. “Mulder,” his name came out half whispered, half sobbed.

“I’ve got you,” Mulder grunted as he wrapped a hand around her forearm, dragging her up with an adrenaline induced surge of strength. Scully cried out in pain and was a near dead-weight in his arms. Mulder got his other hand on her waistband, and somehow found a well of energy. He hauled her up and over the edge of the roof line.
“Mulder,” Scully groaned weakly as she fell against his body. It seemed as though all of her remaining strength had been spent simply holding on, and now she collapsed against her partner.

“I’ve got you,” Mulder repeated near Scully’s ear as he wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

A howl that trailed off  into a scream brought both their heads around.

Nearly twenty feet away, the priest had somehow succeeded in driving the beast that had been Donald Pfaster to its knees and plunged the  cast iron weather-vane deep into the creature’s chest. Nearby streaks of lightning  outlined the two in perfect silver relief seeming to splay out behind the priest’s shoulders like sharp edged wings.
As they stood there in a horrific tableau, another bolt of  lightning seemed to reach down from the sky like a hand coming down from the heavens. Slashing fingers of electricity found the barb in Pfaster’s chest with unerring accuracy, sending sparks and runners of electricity all around man and beast.  Caught like a fly in a trap, the inhuman creature’s head fell back as it roared in agony and rage.

“HAIL MARY, FULL OF GRACE...” The priest’s voice rang across the night, before being lost in the chaos of screams and explosions.

The beast’s roars  turned to terrifyingly human  shrieks of anguish.

Another flash of lightning followed hard on the first, again finding the burning hot metal buried in Pfaster’s chest.

And the night burst apart like the center of a battlefield.

Mulder threw his body across Scully, pressing his face into her hair as the world tore apart around them. He felt her burrow in against his chest, then lost track of everything. It was as if they were caught at the center of a nuclear blast as heat and fire sliced over their heads.

By the time the eruption of fire and flame died away, Mulder had lost all sense of of how many seconds, minutes, or even hours might have passed. Slowly, muscles trembling from the effort required, he looked over to where the priest and Demon-thing had been locked in mortal combat.

The  smell of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air and not even the softly falling rain could wash the stench away.

“I think it’s over,” Mulder exhaled.

Scully pulled far enough away from him to look back over her shoulder to the smoking remains where the lightning had struck. She nodded slowly. “He’s gone,” she agreed in a shell-shocked  voice. With a soft sob, she turned back to face him, leaning her forehead against his chest.

Mulder wrapped his arms around her and felt  her grab him and hold on tight. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered near Scully’s ear, “It’ll be all right.” He said again, as much to convince himself as her.

After a long moment, he gently peeled her hands away. “Scully, I have to go...look.”

Dana would have risen and gone with him, but Mulder shook his head slowly.
“You don’t need to see this,” he said gently.

He wasn’t gone long, and when he came back he looked like a high wind would knock him over.

“Oh, God,” Scully exhaled on seeing his expression. “Pfaster isn’t—”

“It’s not that, Scully. Pfaster’s dead...” his voice trailed off and he shook his head slowly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say.

“What?” Scully whispered in a dead voice.

“There was only one body...I-I couldn’t find any sign of the priest.”

Dana’s eyes slid closed and she clutched the cross around her throat. Her lips moved soundlessly, as if in private prayer. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring down at her. “I’m all right,” she assured him.

Mulder nodded, then brushed a hand across his side where he’d been wounded. Little more than a pale scar remained of the slashing injury. “Well,” he muttered dryly, “I guess instant healing is better than instant infection.”

Scully nodded, then accepted the hand up he proffered her.

Far in the distance, the sound of police sirens echoed across the night.


Mulder slung an arm across Scully’s shoulder and she leaned against his body, as they stared out across early morning landscape. Around them, police and F.B.I. swarmed around the church, hunting for, and cataloguing evidence. As the two agents stood there, Agent Bocks snapped his cellular phone closed and hurried over.  He massaged the back of his neck as he peered at the two agents. “That was a secretary for the local diocese. According to them, there was a Father George Leary in this parish, but he died six weeks ago. Heart attack.”

Mulder nodded as he absorbed Bock’s information. He listened to the rest of what the other agent had to say with only distant interest as he mulled what had happened over in his mind. When Bocks finally left them, he leaned his cheek against Scully’s hair. “Do you think it’s possible?” he whispered.

Scully peered up at him. “What?”

“That the old man was,” he paused for a long moment. “If Pfaster was a demon. then maybe...” Mulder trailed off.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully sighed and leaned against her partner. “I just don’t know.”
They were both silent for a long time. “For our next date,” Mulder murmured thoughtfully. “Maybe we should just do dinner and a movie?”

Despite, or perhaps because of what had happened, Scully couldn’t help her half-hysterical, short bark of laughter. She hugged him hard, burying her face in his shoulder, still laughing softly as she whispered, “I love you, Mulder, but you’re crazy.”

He peered down at her. “That wasn’t exactly an undying declaration of love and passion,” he complained.

Scully peered up at him through raised eyebrows.

“Okay,” Mulder allowed gracefully. “We’ll save that for later.”

“It’s a deal,” Scully agreed through a sudden wave of tears as she held on tight to her partner.