Title: Sfumato (5/? - Sequel to "The Marionette Rebellion") Author: supernova Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue. Rating: R Category: MSR, Angst-O-Rama Archive: Not this time. Visit Ephemeral or my site to read this story: http://www.angelfire.com/ms/KtblleStorage/main.html Feedback: Feed me at supernova818@aol.com Author's Notes: I've received several e-mails from readers who have questioned specific plot points of this story; while I'm not going to give anything away, I will say that "Sfumato" will in later chapters address this paraphrased quote by David Duchovny, "there has been no accumulation of experience (for Mulder and Scully) over the years." Like I said, paraphrased; that's not the exact quote, but that's the gist of it. I may be a little slower with the next update because a friend is coming to town this week. We plan to party until the wee hours of the morning, watch feel-good movies, make (in large quantities) the adult beverage we created, as well as participate in various other mind numbing activities. Ah, the crash after midterms is glorious. Many thanks and hugs to Beach for beta. Much love to Snick. --------------- Sfumato ---------- Chapter 4 --------------- "What's your name?" "Why do you want to know?" "It doesn't seem right for me to kill you without knowing your name," Mulder says. "Oh, well, in that case, my name is Paul. You wanna shake hands now?" "No," Mulder huffs. "With a name like Fox, I had plenty of time to contemplate all the other names out there I might want for my own, instead of the one I had. I spent an entire summer poring over books, looking at names and their meanings. Paul, huh? Latin, derives from Paulus, and means small. It's always small men who commit the most heinous crimes. You know why, Paul? Because when they were in elementary school, they were awkward and lonely. Your father was a drunk, probably went to the store for milk and never came back; your mother was physically abusive, given your predilection for hitting women. In middle school, you were smart but also an outcast. The two most influential things in your life were fear and weakness; by the time you were ten, you'd mastered both, and in turn, they'd mastered you. You had terrible acne and really believed that masturbating would cause blindness. You were nothing short of pathetic. In high school, you were the only one that didn't go to prom, because you couldn't get a date; it was a relief, though, because you couldn't afford it anyway. You graduated from high school and went to college. After you graduated from college, you were hired for a meaningless management position, probably in a warehouse setting. After about ten months on the job, maybe a little longer, your boss called you into his office and confirmed that you were as pathetic as an adult as you had been as a child, and proceeded to fire you. After being fired, you worked odd jobs that never paid worth shit, and started frequenting bars to pick up women, and there, Paul, is where you met the man you now work for. You thought it would be easy cash, and at first, you enjoyed the feeling of importance, of being a part of something dangerous, but then after some vigilante mission, which you thought would curry favor with the boss, you realized how powerless you were, because he sent another one of his lackeys to beat the shit out of you. Fear, Paul, it's all over you like an old friend. You do this because, now, you can't do anything else. You're in too deep, and yet, you probably don't realize how in the thick of it you really are. Am I getting it right so far, Paul?" Paul's mouth is hanging open, catching flies, effectively confirming everything Mulder just said. "There are a few discrepancies, but who am I to argue?" he replies, flippantly. Mulder scowls. "Yeah, that's basically it," Paul says. "I'm going to tell you a little something about irony, Paul. Listen carefully: your entire life has been one pitiful attempt after another to gain power over the weak, to put in place all those schoolyard bullies, abusive parents, and bosses that fired you. You crave power because you've never been powerful. You've used and abused and betrayed everything that was good, right, and true; you've sold your soul to the devil for what you thought would make you something other than small, and now here you are at the end of your life, still at the mercy of someone else." Mulder pauses, his forefinger applying gentle pressure to the trigger, "Tell me Paul, are you sorry?" "Sorry for what?" Paul asks, swallowing noticeably. "For everything you've done - to me, to my children, but most importantly, to her," Mulder says, tilting his head toward Scully. "Yeah, I'm sorry," Paul answers, and there is the slightest bit of sarcasm in his tone. "Good," Mulder retorts. The kickback from the gun causes Mulder's arm to fly upward, a little toward heaven, before it falls, a little toward hell. -X- "What's going on?" "We've got trouble," Sebastian says. "What kind of trouble?" "The kind that requires the last resort. Dara is out of the picture; Dana Scully has returned home." "How do you know?" "Kennedy tailed Fox Mulder from his house to an isolated spot off I-95. He witnessed him bury something; after Mulder left, he uncovered a grave and discovered Dara, shot once through the head," Sebastian explains. "I can only assume he is behind Dana's extrication from our premises." "What do you want to do?" "You know what has to be done. We prepared for this eventuality," Sebastian says, shifting the phone to his left ear. "Where are they?" "Washington D.C.," Sebastian says, "Funny if you think about it," he comments. -X- "Hope, wake up," William murmurs. "What is it, Will?" Hope asks, rubbing her eyes. "We have to go," William says. "What?" "It's not safe here; we have to go now," he says in a panicked voice. "How do you know?" He pauses, and answers honestly, not understanding, but believing, "I don't know how I know. It's just - I know it's not safe for us here." "Okay, Will. Where are we going, though?" "Hope, I need to ask you something. Is this like your dream?" Hope sits up in bed. Smoothing down her flannel pajamas, she begins to fidget with one of the red buttons, and then squeezes her eyes shut. "In my dream, it was Mommy who woke me up, and she told me we had to go real fast, that we had to leave our house. Will, Daddy is never in my dream, he is never with us when we are running; it's always just you, me, and Mommy. Now, though, it's just you and me. Do you think Mommy and Daddy are okay?" "I know they are okay, Hope. They are both okay, but we need to go right now," William says, briefly hugging his sister. "Are we going to tell Mr. Skinner?" Hope grasps William's hand and holds on to it tightly. "I don't know yet," he says, gently squeezes her hand, and then lets it fall between the two of them. "I think we should," she mumbles. "Just get your duffel bag; throw everything in there. Let me think about this for a minute." Hope goes to her duffel bag and begins rolling her clothes into tight little balls. She spots the doll her daddy gave her last Christmas; the hair is brown and curly like hers; the dress is periwinkle with a lace fringe at the bottom; on the bottom of the doll's right foot is the embroidered word "love" and on the left foot is "daddy." "Hey William, can I take my doll?" she says, pointing toward the bed. "Of course, Hope," William says, looking for all the world like a man trapped in a boy's body. "Of course you can take your doll." -X- Scully stares blankly at Mulder. A muffled sob reverberates around them and she breathes in metallic air. "I can't kill you, Paul. Do you know why?" Mulder asks. Paul shakes his head indicating he doesn't understand. "I can't kill you because then I'd be you, and it's not high on my list of priorities to be a good for nothing, piece of shit excuse for a human being." Paul nods in agreement, and lifts his hand to his ear, where he's sure the bullet scraped on its way by. His hand comes up dry, nothing to show for his brush with death. Mulder informs Paul that he is going to tell he and Scully everything he knows about Scully's abduction and the creation of the recently deceased Dara. Paul bows his head in defeat. The clincher, the most fucking ironic fact of all, the words Mulder will hear and not want to believe, is that Paul knows nothing. He tells them that he was hired by Sebastian Crenshaw five years ago, and that at first, he was a security man at a warehouse. He doesn't know what they were doing inside. Silence and lack of curiosity were well paid for. Five nights a week for four years, he guarded a ubiquitous warehouse in Virginia. Only twenty-three people had access; he knew them all by name, by physical appearance, something Crenshaw had insisted on. There was a shoot on sight policy for anyone else who dared to approach the building. He could handle that, he says, it was good money after all. In November of last year there was a change in venue, they were moving the operation to Maine, and Sebastian offered to let him tag along. He didn't have many friends and both his parents are dead, so he agreed to relocate. He turns to Scully, "I first met you in February of this year," Paul states. Scully looks away. Paul continues to explain that he was assigned inside duties once they moved to Maine, and that in February, his assignment was to watch over Scully. He admits that he knew Dara, and knew that she was living Dana Scully's life, but the only reason given was that Scully was involved in government work, and that she knew things that Sebastian needed to know. He guarded Scully seven times before her abduction a month ago. He never asked why they performed tests on her; he says that he didn't want to know. He just did what he was told. He tells them that they'll never get to Sebastian Crenshaw, but that his right hand man is Darren Kennedy, and that he knows all about what has been going on. Kennedy would tell him stuff from time to time, but nothing important, just mundane things. Dawn begins to peek through the trees, the remnants of night fading slowly away. Both Mulder and Scully are surprised that so much time has passed since Scully first returned home; it seems like minutes but in a way it feels like days. It is almost too much to take in. Paul rambles on about Sebastian, and hurriedly states that he was forced to do and say a lot of things. He says he never really wanted to hurt Scully. Mulder glares at his blatant attempt to shirk responsibility. Scully laughs. "Don't insult my intelligence, or hers," he says, pointing to Scully. "We're going to go inside now, and while I've spared you so far, don't do anything stupid. I want to kill you more than you can possibly imagine. And another thing, don't even so much as look at Scully," Mulder says. "Yeah, okay," Paul answers submissively. Mulder motions for Paul to walk ahead of him, he and Scully trail behind their captive, and they slip easily into their partnership of years ago. "Open it," Mulder says, when Paul reaches the back door. He does, and as they move inside, Mulder tells Paul to sit on the couch. Without Mulder having to ask, Scully goes to Mulder's office to retrieve his handcuffs. She glances at his desk; his badge and wallet are near the corner; the wallet is open and she stares for a few seconds at the picture of Hope and William it contains. She has missed them so much. Her life is a shambles, she thinks, and the only consolation at this moment is her children. They are the embodiment of everything good and pure. She has missed Hope's antics, and the way Hope's spirit makes her feel alive; she has missed William fingers gliding over ivory, playing Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata", the absolute contentment of it lulling her to sleep on lazy Sunday afternoons. "Scully?" Mulder calls to her. She clears her throat, "Yeah, I'm coming," she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. Mulder cuffs Paul as tight as he can. He hopes the cuffs dig into the tender flesh of his wrists; he hopes Paul's wrists will, in the end, look and hurt as badly as Scully's. Scully sits off to the side, in an overstuffed chair, her body folding in on itself. Except to answer him a few moments ago, she hasn't spoken since Mulder fired the gun, and now she sits quietly, pondering all that has happened. Mulder paces the kitchen, his gun now tucked in the waistband of his jeans, while he mulls over what their next move will be. The phone rings, breaking the silence, startling them all from their respective contemplation. Mulder grabs his cell phone off the kitchen counter, "Hello," he says. "Uh, Fox Mulder?" "Yes, this is he," Mulder answers. "Uh, yes, Mr. Mulder, this is Special Agent Michael Browning, FBI, D.C.," the man says. "Yes, why are you calling me, Agent Browning?" Mulder questions. Scully automatically looks toward Mulder at the mention of Agent Browning. She mouths, "What's wrong?" Mulder looks past her and stares at the end table to the right of the couch. Two silver frames sit on top of the table, smooth metal outlining William and Hope's school pictures from last year. Scully follows Mulder's gaze and glances at the pictures of their children. "Well, Mr. Mulder, I assisted Deputy Director Skinner in locating and subsequently picking up your children yesterday. I was assigned detail in the parking lot of the motel where we were holding your children until your arrival later this afternoon. There was some commotion here a little while ago, and so I went to check in with Skinner. Have you spoken with Deputy Director Skinner recently?" "No," he says, bowing his head, and Mulder doesn't know whether he's answering the question or addressing the implication of the situation. The desperate edge in his voice leads him to believe it is the latter. "That's what we were afraid of, Mr. Mulder. No one has been able to locate Walter Skinner, or your children. We've been looking for almost an hour. What drew our attention was shots fired, Mr. Mulder. William, Hope, and Deputy Director Skinner have seemingly vanished into thin air. We've got several agents working to find them, but frankly, we don't know what was so important about having them in protective custody to begin with. The Deputy Director said their safety was top priority and that we were to follow his orders without question. We need you to advise us on the threat against them so we can better formulate our response." "How did you get this number?" "Excuse me?" "I asked how you got this number," Mulder says. "In your children's room, there was a piece of paper that had 'Call Dad' scribbled across the top, and this number written beneath it," Agent Browning explains. "Agent Browning, they're in trouble, I'll be there as soon as possible. Call me at this number if you need anything, and for now, just keep looking for them until I arrive," Mulder says, and hangs up the phone. It is a moment before he can face Scully. Already, he can hear her murmured protests. When their eyes finally meet, she is shaking her head and chanting 'no', as tears stream down her cheeks. The soft curves of her body begin to blur; her shirt slowly blends with the fabric of the chair in which she sits; she is distorted by his ocean of unshed tears. He picks up a coffee mug, throws it at the wall opposite him, and it shatters, falling in pieces to the floor. Scully's soft murmuring is drowned out by a noise so loud it startles him. The sounds of heartache echo all around him, a guttural, anguished cry pierces his soul, and it is only when he gasps for breath and focuses on Scully, that he realizes he's been screaming. Continued in Chapter 5