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eve11Title: Ghost of a Chance
Author: Eve11
Spoilers: fourth season/fifth season up to Emily
Summary: This is in response to Brandon Ray's challenge for creating a story entirely within the confines of the J.Edgar Hoover building...
Ghost of a Chance
by Eve11
I don't know why it happened.
I certainly don't know how.
Maybe it was because my last thoughts were of her. And this is the only place I'd ever seen her, aside from the last time. Well, whatever the case, here I am. Could've picked a better place, like home with mom, or maybe a little peaceful glade, but no. That's not how it worked out.
Drink yourself into a stupor, embarass yourself in front of the love of your life, and then throw yourself in front of her. I always wanted to throw myself at her feet. Sad, but true. I just never thought it would be in taking a bullet for her.
Eric Pendrell. Complete fuck-up in life, and now, complete fuck-up in death too. Only I would end up haunting my old workplace.
After working things out, I believe I am what para-psychologists would call a localized phenomenon. I "woke up" in the main entrance lobby, right on top of the damn federal seal. I stood up, if you want to call it that, and Dana Scully walked right through me. Christ, I thought I'd felt invisible before. I shouted, I screamed, I ran after her, but she didn't even flinch. Nobody did.
I had never been so scared in all my life. I didn't even know I was dead. I didn't know what happened. All I know is that when I tried to follow her out the door, I ran into a solid invisible wall. I couldn't get out of the building.
I don't really remember what happened for a while after that, except for a very immense panic attack. It took me about a day to calm down and realize what had happened.
I remembered the bar.
I remembered the pain and confusion.
I was pretty sure I hadn't survived.
It took me about two months to accept it. I sat for weeks in the same spot, in denial, willing myself to die. Stupid, really. I was already dead. But I didn't know what else to do. I thought ghosts were supposed to have some sort of spiritual guidance. A guru, or at least someone who could tell them what was going on. I had nobody. Nobody else in their right mind would choose to haunt the J. Edgar Hoover building. Not any of the corpses we did DNA analysis on, no angry serial killers out for revenge (actually, I'm kind of glad about that), no field agents killed before their times. Just Eric Pendrell, a low-grade nobody lab technician who got killed by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then for some reason ended up back at work. What, did the Great Beyond expect me to finish my own lab results?
After the denial phase, I think I went a little crazy. I tried everything I could to get out of the building, but nothing worked. Doors and doorways leading out were all solid like the main door. Windows may as well have been walls. I couldn't even throw myself out of the open ones. After I learned how to walk through walls, I tried walking through a few that led outside. No such luck. I was definitely meant to wander the halls of FBI HQ.
So wander I did. I think the Hoover building was designed by a nutcase. It's really confusing. I used to get lost in life. Now, it was even worse, because I couldn't ask directions. Plus, it gets quite interesting when you add in the whole walking through walls factor. I guess it took a few weeks before I knew the whole place.
And boy, did I know it. All the doors, all the rooms, everything. I thought I would be able to discover all the FBI's secrets, but it is impossible to do this when you can't open filing cabinets, or even leaf through papers on a desk. I learned that I could concentrate all my energy in one spot for long enough to make the equivalent of a gentle breath. Too tiring, and too frustrating. So instead, I listened to people.
Holly and Mike, in Computer Records. Watching them is like watching a soap opera. She is crazy about him, really, and to this day has never said a word about it. I want to kick her sometimes. She should tell him. She doesn't want to regret anything. I know.
Bill Patrick in VCU is going to be a father for the seventh time. I always look over his shoulder at the new pictures he proudly displays to his co-workers. I think they are daunted, more than anything else, at the responsibility he has. How anyone can plan for seven kids...
even just the normal grocery bills would skyrocket. Of course, it helps that his wife is a lawyer. I always wanted to be a dad. Hell, I thought maybe... this is dumb... but maybe if Dana and I got married, we could have beautiful Irish redheaded children. A whole brood of
them.
That was before I tuned in to the X-files saga.
More and more, I found myself in the cramped basement office, staring at the pipes in the ceiling, listening to the most bizarre things you would ever imagine. Shape-shifters, alien bodies, ghosts... I laughed at that one. The paranormal elitist "Spooky" Mulder thought he knew all about ghosts. He didn't even know he was sitting three feet away from one. A bona fide X-file, right in front of their noses.
Above all, I discovered two things:
1) Fox Mulder is a certifiable wacko. Anyone who drills a hole in his head to find 'repressed' memories is a few bananas short of a bunch. He doesn't deserve her.
2) I am still madly in love with Dana Scully. So much for leaving earthly desires behind when you go.
********
When I saw her, I mean after the time she walked through me-- then I was just waking up and didn't have a good grasp on what I could do-- when I saw her, she was as beautiful as ever. Angelic. I always thought she was angelic. But I could tell something was wrong. I can't explain it, it has something to do with how I see things. She was too bright, but in a dark way. It was like she had an aura that made me see her more clearly than anyone else. But the aura was gray. It is sort of like how you can see things very brightly on gray days,
in diffuse light. She was so much clearer than everyone else.
And then I discovered why. She was sick. Dying. That's why I could see her better. That was the gray. Somehow, I knew she was closer to death than the other people I saw here. She was closer to me.
I followed her into the ladies room one day when she was very bright. I watched her bleed into the sink for about ten minutes. A steady stream from her nose. And always she grew furiously brighter. She cried, silently, but I could hear her. And I cried for her, sobs escaping my ethereal throat, silent to all but me. If I could have held her I would have. When she finally gathered the strength to leave the bathroom, I imagined that I had taken her sickness on to myself. I'd saved her life before. I could do it again. But she never dimmed. I followed her back to the office.
At her partner's glance, she tensed. "I'm fine." A tired lie.
The day she collapsed in the conference room, I thought I would never see her again. I wanted to touch her so badly. To tell her how I felt. To re-assure her. I could tell she was so close. As A.D. Skinner held her in his arms, as they waited agonizing seconds for a doctor, I knelt before her.
I touched her hand the only way I knew how. It probably felt like a kiss. "Dana, Dana it's okay..." I hadn't spoken in months. She was on the brink of consciousness when her eyes opened.
And focused on me. I was seized with terror and wonder. She could see me. She was dying. God, I couldn't let it happen. I didn't want it to be true.
"Save your strength," I said. "Close your eyes... It's not... It's not your time." A lie, more for me than her.
She nodded, her mouth turning imperceptibly up in a smile. She closed her eyes. I watched her strength ebb. And then I heard her voice. I think she was talking to me in a dream, but she was crossing over.
"Pendrell... I never even knew your first name."
"Eric," I said, stupidly.
"Eric. Thank you for saving my life."
Then, abruptly, she was carried away from me. After that, I wanted to howl. I sat in the conference room, keening for her. I'm sure no one heard me. Later, I ran through the halls, running through chairs, desks, walls, people. They shuddered, as if feeling a chill as I ran past. That night, I was terrible to behold, I'm sure.
Mulder re-appeared, brooding and guilt-ridden as ever. I knew he was never dead. I could tell. He never had the aura. She never convinced me with her act. But through him, I learned of hope. She wasn't dead. He was looking for a cure. I was so antsy. I didn't know what to do with myself. I ended up using every ounce of my strength to confuse my old co-workers in the lab. I rattled the test tube racks. Silly, yes. But it drove Tom "you-call-this-a-clear-NMR-scan-do-it-all-again" Riches nuts. Petty revenge can be therapeutic, and mind-numbing as well.
When Dana came back, the aura was gone. I saw her, and for a split second, I thought she had died and ended up with me. I almost retched at the thought. No, not her. She didn't deserve this. I was too afraid to speak to her. I tried to call her name, but the words stuck in my throat. I don't even have a throat anymore. I was frozen. Then, I heard a voice.
"Welcome back, Agent Scully."
She smiled and said a thank you, and I melted. Alive. She was still alive and well. I laughed out loud in the hallway. I leaped up in the air. I thought about teaching myself to fly. I remembered from somewhere that all you had to do was fall and miss the ground. I could
do that.
When she sat down at her desk, I summoned up all my strength and kissed her hand. She seemed startled, then shook her head, absently rubbing the spot where I had touched her. "Welcome back," I said, but she didn't react. I had never been so happy to be invisible.
********
I wonder if she remembers anything from the conference room. I wonder if she thought I was a dream. I wonder if this has changed me. If maybe I can move on. There must be more than this. Still, things have gone back to routine. Holly still stares at Mike when she thinks he's not looking. I think he's catching on. Smart boy.
Bill Patrick's seventh turned out to be twins. Identical boys with orange-red hair, or so I gathered from the pictures.
Some things have changed. Dana can't have children. I think it hurts her more than she would let on. So much for our Irish brood. Of course, the fact that I am a ghost killed that idea long ago.
I think I am growing restless.
Today, as always, I watch the J. Edgar Hoover building swell with people. All bustling around in power suits and lab coats. All hurrying along to private agendas, all bright and glowing.
Glowing.
Fiercely dark.
Everyone.
I see Dana from a corner, with her partner. The aura surrounds them both. I can barely look. It's everywhere, assaulting me from every corner. A young intern. The security guards. A tour group.
Oh, god. Everyone. I sink to my knees.
Everyone's clear to me. And that can only mean one thing.
Something terrible is going to happen.
Here.
Here, they are all going to die.
****************
The room is spinning around me. Why is it now, after so many months, that I finally realize I can't breathe?
Calm... calm down Erie. I hear myself say these words, using an old high school nickname. A name I used when I got nervous or unsure of myself. Now, I can't help but realize how fitting it is. Erie, eerie, I'm feeling way too eerie. I think haunting causes undue stress...
I've closed my eyes. This is hard to do, as a ghost. It takes effort to push away vision. To push away the sight of all those people and auras like shrouds, hovering around them. Waiting to smother them. Oh god. This isn't happening. This is not happening.
I am saying it out loud. I am using my voice. I know what I am doing. I am acting as though I were alive. Part of me screams to stop, get a hold of things. But it is so overwhelming.
This is how I felt when I woke up.
(All those silly warnings on t.v. cop shows, "watch your step or you could wake up dead." I would never wish this on anyone. Never. It's more terrifying than anyone would ever believe.)
I think I am whimpering. I try to open my eyes slowly, but instead the vision hits me full force in an instant. I steel myself, try to see things without panic.
It's the building. The building is the bond. I watch as the aura silently grows on those that enter. I watch its taint slowly dissipate on those who are walking down the steps, across the street. They are closer to death when they are here.
Not sickness. It is not subtle.
This building will kill them. They will die here. I let out a strangled groan, and the room starts spinning again.
God, I'm falling to pieces.
No. I'm falling. Period. I am falling through the floor. I've lost the concentration that keeps me up. I land in the basement. I can no more sink into the ground than I could walk
outside. This is the boundary of me, and I am cringing in a corner, melted into a dense, gray wall, when I hear her voice. She is laughing.
"... why, so you'll have prettier ones floating belly-up?"
Why is she laughing?
"No... I thought I could add some more variety, you know..."
Mulder's voice, teasing. He continues.
"... they say women are attracted to that kind of thing. Shows you're sensitive, or something."
She lets out a peal of laughter, and I can't help it. I slither into their office. The sickly aura swims around them both, and she is beautiful and terrible. I am hit with a wave;
I would call it nausea if I had a stomach.
How can she laugh at a time like this? How can he?
"With a fish tank? God, Mulder, that's really scraping the bottom!..."
Something finally registers in my stupid, stupid consciousness.
They don't know.
"...You've got feeder fish in there to justify the water. Anything else for 'variety' would just eat them."
Of course.
Obvious. I start sinking into the floor. I have to warn her. I need to tell her, maybe I can stop...
"So you're saying it's a bad idea."
Stop what? I don't even know what's wrong. Oh christ, but I need to find out.
"Mulder, face it. They've probably got fish horror stories about your tank. Anything you put in there winds up dead in under a week."
Wonderful plan Erie!, I scream at myself. Masterful! Find out what's wrong! You can't stop anything, you're damn useless. You're dead. You're a goddamn haunt. You should be fucking
exorcised.
"Don't you trust me?"
Dana, Dana you have to leave. Everyone has to leave. I am pleading in front of her, speaking as though she could hear, but my voice is useless.
(I always wondered why ghosts in movies did stupid things like talk to people they know couldn't hear them. From the beginning, I saw it as denial, and my voice fell silent. What is the need?, I asked. Now I know. It is a cry from someone who needs, more than anything, to be alive at this moment.)
I need you to hear me, I say. Please.
"I certainly don't trust you to keep anything alive."
Her words freeze me, and I am sure she is reading my thoughts, agreeing with my doubts. Rejecting my petty attemps to save them. Rejecting me.
For a moment, I am stunned to silence, even too shocked for tears. But it passes. The words were not intended for me. I am invisible. I remember the conference room, the utter dread I felt when she could see me, the flurries of panic as she spoke to me. I never want her to see me again.
It is too late to tell her anything.
I suddenly realize that in life, I could have moved on if she said no. But I never gave her the choice.
They continue their conversation. The aura glimmers around her. It has been brightening. It is a gleaming evil, pervading them, and I can do nothing. I start screaming. Ranting. Even to me, it makes little sense, but I can't help it. The words just pour out.
I'm sorry Dana. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have told you. We'd have left everything behind. Just you and me, and I would never send you chasing after demons and angels, I would never let them steal your children, I... christ, I'm sorry, sorry, you are going to die here and I can't help...
I hear a laugh from her partner, and it is all that I need.
And you, you crazy wacked out psycho! You don't even know what you do to her, do you? She's all you've got left and you leave her behind and don't even tell her how you feel? You feel the same way, you bastard, and you are going to die without telling her. This building is going to fucking explode and she will never know how you felt!
I hate you for keeping it from her. I hate you for being a coward. I hate...
Did I say explode? Jesus Christ.
The image swamps my mind immediately. I saw it... Christ, I saw it. Where?
Dust.
Dark, cramped space.
Crawlspace. Shit, I saw it when I fell into the basement.
I wish I'd taught myself to fly. Now I can only rely on spectral legs for speed. Ignoring the walls, I run to the corner where I fell. Look in the ceiling. It's got to be there. I try
to leap up, but I can't get high enough.
Don't get stupid now, Erie. You're a ghost. Stop thinking like a living being. You don't need to jump.
Floating is easier than I ever imagined it would be. I yank my legs out from under me, fall down...
... and miss the ground.
I peek up through the ceiling. There it is. I've never seen a bomb before. But that is all it can be. Blinking lights and clay. Lots of clay. Probably C-4 explosives. Enough to obliterate the lobby above it. Enough to destroy the basement below. The auras testify to that. A timer, meticulously counting down the seconds.
I have no idea how it got there.
I have no idea how to disarm it. Even if I could touch it, I would be afraid to do so. I don't know the first thing about them.
The clock reaches 12:00.
11:59.
I have no time. Oh god. This is going to happen. This is causing the glow. There must be something I can do. There has to be. This is going to happen.
I need to move them.
Past the courtyard? To the back? It is a big building, nothing could possibly kill the whole thing. I think of Oklahoma City. Oh, God. This is going to happen here. Bodies and wreckage. 300 pounds of fertilizer only destroyed the front.
One way to find out. On my newfound wings, I soar straight up to the seventh floor. The auras are still here. Still sickeningly bright. I head for the back. Past the courtyard, the auras dim. The back is safe.
Now for the hard part. I return to the basement office, a harbringer of doom.
She is typing at her desk. He is reading a file. They are glowing so brightly, I want to shield my eyes. The keyboard. I can do this. Concentrate. She pauses to check her notes, and
pouring forth my strength, I bring a finger down on a key:
f
She is still reading. I concentrate. It is like trying to hold your breath. I start to feel dizzy.
fo
I can't stop now. No, no giving up. She looks back at the keyboard, and stops. She knows she hasn't typed this. Her hand reaches for "delete."
I strike again, using all of my strength to hold it down.
folllllllll
"What the hell?"
Mulder looks up. I am gasping. Please, I need to continue. How can this be so hard? I need more energy. I don't know where to get it.
"What's wrong?"
A ghost writer. That's what is wrong.
"Mulder, did you mess with my computer?"
Ghost writer. Ghost. For the first time, I know what is wrong. I am doing this the hard way.
Ghosts don't need fingers.
Ghosts don't need eyes, or bodies.
I have been deceiving myself.
"No. Why would you say that?"
I have been clinging to words. I have been holding on to everything. I am still in denial.
The time for words is long gone. I am a lifetime too late for words. When I could use them, I didn't, couldn't find the right ones, couldn't bring myself to say anything. I was silent out of... fear? Stupidity? No matter. I do not need words anymore.
And all this time, I have had a voice. I just haven't used it. It is still the same denial. It is my energy. I've been holding on to it, molding it into me. A shade of the living me.
I need it now.
Voice does not exist. Body does not exist. I don't need a body.
concentrate.
folllllllllo
She jumps. "Look at this, would you?"
folllllllllow
I feel it. I feel stronger. I don't need eyes.
Energy to the light in the ceiling. I am cold. I am absolute zero. I envelop the bulb.
The lightbulb shatters with a pop.
"Jesus Christ!" Mulder leaps out of the way.
Now the hallway. I don't need icy breath. I am breath.
The bare light bulb shatters.
I laugh as they follow me out the door. Up the stairs. I don't need laughter.
To the lobby. We need to go up. I can't lead them out here. The walls of my prison are still intact. I can't risk them not knowing what to do. I flow to the security desk. Energy to the main entrance system. Energy to the locks.
No one else is getting in.
I am waking up. I don't need a name. I don't need fear. I can suddenly hear their thoughts. Dana is at the doorway, watching. She and Mulder are bewildered. I shatter a desk lamp bulb.
"There!" she cries. The rest turn. All of them. I don't need a voice to tell them to follow. I just say it.
Up each floor, and it is the same. I don't recognize my surroundings anymore. I don't need to. I am floating from one light to the next. I know only what I need to do.
But I am tiring.
At the seventh, I am weak. I am hindered.
The glow is still surrounding them. All of them, and I need to lead them away. I've told them to follow. I can't stop now.
What am I holding on to?
The answer comes in an instant: she is the only one I recognize.
Oh, Dana. I don't want to lose you. And suddenly I am confined. Trapped. I can feel everything reversing. I can't have both. I have to let go. I should have done it so long ago.
There's no turning back now.
Before we move on, I give her dreams of red-headed children, and a kiss. I will forget her.
*******
In the crawlspace below the entrance to the J. Edgar Hoover building, a scarlet timer glows in the dark, fortelling catastrophe.
*******
Here. Here there is no glow. Here is safe. Here is the end.
*******
Three.
*******
The answer is here. The exit is here. No going back.
*******
Two.
*******
Back to where? It's been here the whole time. A simple step in the right direction.
*******
One.
*******
In the beginning, there is nothing but light.
********
Maybe I am imagining things, but I could swear I saw a flash of
light.
Before I have time to think, it happens.
CRACK!!! My heart stops and there is nothing but noise. I feel the building shake underneath me, and out of instinct, I throw myself to the ground, covering my head. In an instant, it is over. I am almost afraid to look up. I feel like I am waking up from a
nightmare.
The people around me-- where did they all come from?-- are sitting up. I feel a hand on my arm.
"Scully? Are you all right?"
Mulder. I survey myself for damage. None. The room is intact, if disheveled. I still see the broken lights, but there is more of a mess now. I turn to face my partner.
"Fine. What the hell just happened?"
"I don't know. It felt like... I think we need to get out of here."
He stands and heads for the door we came in. There are people everywhere. Were we all following the... the...? I can't say it. I don't know what it was. I chase after him, re-tracing our steps. Oh god. I see fallen beams, broken glass. I see cracks in the
walls.
We reach the end of the hallway. Literally. I want to pull Mulder back, it's too dangerous, don't go any further, but I can't. It draws me in.
There is a hole where the hallway should be. Where we should have been. It's nothing but twisted metal. A pile of rubble. I feel a breeze on my face from the exposed air. I feel sick.
"Oh my god, Mulder. Oh God."
Silence attacks us. Then, he says five words.
"We need to turn around."
"I... we should be dead, Mulder." I can hear the others behind us. "We should all be dead."
He turns around, motioning everyone else to do the same. "Let's go, everybody. We're going out the back."
"Did you hear me? We should all be..."
"I know. I know. I can't explain it. I have no idea what happened." He surveys the throng of people crowding the hall in front of us, "But I don't think they'll find anyone in the wreckage. Now, please, we need to get out of here. It's not safe."
Sometimes, I want to kick him.
The rest of the crowd seems lost. They are waiting for us. Mulder and I take up the lead. We descend the staircase in murmuring silence. I hear people crying behind me.
I think I am using up my good graces. So many times I should be dead. Cancer, bounty hunters, assassins, military...
I suddenly focus on one scene. A crowded bar, and a fearful witness. A birthday I would rather forget. And Eric Pendrell throwing himself in the path of a bullet. For me.
Eric Pendrell. Where did I get that? At the glass door, I stop.
"Mulder, what was agent Pendrell's first name?"
His eyes betray the stony look on his face. He is surprised at the question. So am I, really. But I know he has the answer stored in his brain...
"I don't know. He never mentioned it." He opens the door for me. The traffic is already starting to back up.
Eric. I know it is Eric. For some reason, I feel the need to thank him. I whisper a silent prayer of gratitude, and step out into the open air.
*************
Author: Eve11
Spoilers: fourth season/fifth season up to Emily
Summary: This is in response to Brandon Ray's challenge for creating a story entirely within the confines of the J.Edgar Hoover building...
Ghost of a Chance
by Eve11
I don't know why it happened.
I certainly don't know how.
Maybe it was because my last thoughts were of her. And this is the only place I'd ever seen her, aside from the last time. Well, whatever the case, here I am. Could've picked a better place, like home with mom, or maybe a little peaceful glade, but no. That's not how it worked out.
Drink yourself into a stupor, embarass yourself in front of the love of your life, and then throw yourself in front of her. I always wanted to throw myself at her feet. Sad, but true. I just never thought it would be in taking a bullet for her.
Eric Pendrell. Complete fuck-up in life, and now, complete fuck-up in death too. Only I would end up haunting my old workplace.
After working things out, I believe I am what para-psychologists would call a localized phenomenon. I "woke up" in the main entrance lobby, right on top of the damn federal seal. I stood up, if you want to call it that, and Dana Scully walked right through me. Christ, I thought I'd felt invisible before. I shouted, I screamed, I ran after her, but she didn't even flinch. Nobody did.
I had never been so scared in all my life. I didn't even know I was dead. I didn't know what happened. All I know is that when I tried to follow her out the door, I ran into a solid invisible wall. I couldn't get out of the building.
I don't really remember what happened for a while after that, except for a very immense panic attack. It took me about a day to calm down and realize what had happened.
I remembered the bar.
I remembered the pain and confusion.
I was pretty sure I hadn't survived.
It took me about two months to accept it. I sat for weeks in the same spot, in denial, willing myself to die. Stupid, really. I was already dead. But I didn't know what else to do. I thought ghosts were supposed to have some sort of spiritual guidance. A guru, or at least someone who could tell them what was going on. I had nobody. Nobody else in their right mind would choose to haunt the J. Edgar Hoover building. Not any of the corpses we did DNA analysis on, no angry serial killers out for revenge (actually, I'm kind of glad about that), no field agents killed before their times. Just Eric Pendrell, a low-grade nobody lab technician who got killed by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then for some reason ended up back at work. What, did the Great Beyond expect me to finish my own lab results?
After the denial phase, I think I went a little crazy. I tried everything I could to get out of the building, but nothing worked. Doors and doorways leading out were all solid like the main door. Windows may as well have been walls. I couldn't even throw myself out of the open ones. After I learned how to walk through walls, I tried walking through a few that led outside. No such luck. I was definitely meant to wander the halls of FBI HQ.
So wander I did. I think the Hoover building was designed by a nutcase. It's really confusing. I used to get lost in life. Now, it was even worse, because I couldn't ask directions. Plus, it gets quite interesting when you add in the whole walking through walls factor. I guess it took a few weeks before I knew the whole place.
And boy, did I know it. All the doors, all the rooms, everything. I thought I would be able to discover all the FBI's secrets, but it is impossible to do this when you can't open filing cabinets, or even leaf through papers on a desk. I learned that I could concentrate all my energy in one spot for long enough to make the equivalent of a gentle breath. Too tiring, and too frustrating. So instead, I listened to people.
Holly and Mike, in Computer Records. Watching them is like watching a soap opera. She is crazy about him, really, and to this day has never said a word about it. I want to kick her sometimes. She should tell him. She doesn't want to regret anything. I know.
Bill Patrick in VCU is going to be a father for the seventh time. I always look over his shoulder at the new pictures he proudly displays to his co-workers. I think they are daunted, more than anything else, at the responsibility he has. How anyone can plan for seven kids...
even just the normal grocery bills would skyrocket. Of course, it helps that his wife is a lawyer. I always wanted to be a dad. Hell, I thought maybe... this is dumb... but maybe if Dana and I got married, we could have beautiful Irish redheaded children. A whole brood of
them.
That was before I tuned in to the X-files saga.
More and more, I found myself in the cramped basement office, staring at the pipes in the ceiling, listening to the most bizarre things you would ever imagine. Shape-shifters, alien bodies, ghosts... I laughed at that one. The paranormal elitist "Spooky" Mulder thought he knew all about ghosts. He didn't even know he was sitting three feet away from one. A bona fide X-file, right in front of their noses.
Above all, I discovered two things:
1) Fox Mulder is a certifiable wacko. Anyone who drills a hole in his head to find 'repressed' memories is a few bananas short of a bunch. He doesn't deserve her.
2) I am still madly in love with Dana Scully. So much for leaving earthly desires behind when you go.
********
When I saw her, I mean after the time she walked through me-- then I was just waking up and didn't have a good grasp on what I could do-- when I saw her, she was as beautiful as ever. Angelic. I always thought she was angelic. But I could tell something was wrong. I can't explain it, it has something to do with how I see things. She was too bright, but in a dark way. It was like she had an aura that made me see her more clearly than anyone else. But the aura was gray. It is sort of like how you can see things very brightly on gray days,
in diffuse light. She was so much clearer than everyone else.
And then I discovered why. She was sick. Dying. That's why I could see her better. That was the gray. Somehow, I knew she was closer to death than the other people I saw here. She was closer to me.
I followed her into the ladies room one day when she was very bright. I watched her bleed into the sink for about ten minutes. A steady stream from her nose. And always she grew furiously brighter. She cried, silently, but I could hear her. And I cried for her, sobs escaping my ethereal throat, silent to all but me. If I could have held her I would have. When she finally gathered the strength to leave the bathroom, I imagined that I had taken her sickness on to myself. I'd saved her life before. I could do it again. But she never dimmed. I followed her back to the office.
At her partner's glance, she tensed. "I'm fine." A tired lie.
The day she collapsed in the conference room, I thought I would never see her again. I wanted to touch her so badly. To tell her how I felt. To re-assure her. I could tell she was so close. As A.D. Skinner held her in his arms, as they waited agonizing seconds for a doctor, I knelt before her.
I touched her hand the only way I knew how. It probably felt like a kiss. "Dana, Dana it's okay..." I hadn't spoken in months. She was on the brink of consciousness when her eyes opened.
And focused on me. I was seized with terror and wonder. She could see me. She was dying. God, I couldn't let it happen. I didn't want it to be true.
"Save your strength," I said. "Close your eyes... It's not... It's not your time." A lie, more for me than her.
She nodded, her mouth turning imperceptibly up in a smile. She closed her eyes. I watched her strength ebb. And then I heard her voice. I think she was talking to me in a dream, but she was crossing over.
"Pendrell... I never even knew your first name."
"Eric," I said, stupidly.
"Eric. Thank you for saving my life."
Then, abruptly, she was carried away from me. After that, I wanted to howl. I sat in the conference room, keening for her. I'm sure no one heard me. Later, I ran through the halls, running through chairs, desks, walls, people. They shuddered, as if feeling a chill as I ran past. That night, I was terrible to behold, I'm sure.
Mulder re-appeared, brooding and guilt-ridden as ever. I knew he was never dead. I could tell. He never had the aura. She never convinced me with her act. But through him, I learned of hope. She wasn't dead. He was looking for a cure. I was so antsy. I didn't know what to do with myself. I ended up using every ounce of my strength to confuse my old co-workers in the lab. I rattled the test tube racks. Silly, yes. But it drove Tom "you-call-this-a-clear-NMR-scan-do-it-all-again" Riches nuts. Petty revenge can be therapeutic, and mind-numbing as well.
When Dana came back, the aura was gone. I saw her, and for a split second, I thought she had died and ended up with me. I almost retched at the thought. No, not her. She didn't deserve this. I was too afraid to speak to her. I tried to call her name, but the words stuck in my throat. I don't even have a throat anymore. I was frozen. Then, I heard a voice.
"Welcome back, Agent Scully."
She smiled and said a thank you, and I melted. Alive. She was still alive and well. I laughed out loud in the hallway. I leaped up in the air. I thought about teaching myself to fly. I remembered from somewhere that all you had to do was fall and miss the ground. I could
do that.
When she sat down at her desk, I summoned up all my strength and kissed her hand. She seemed startled, then shook her head, absently rubbing the spot where I had touched her. "Welcome back," I said, but she didn't react. I had never been so happy to be invisible.
********
I wonder if she remembers anything from the conference room. I wonder if she thought I was a dream. I wonder if this has changed me. If maybe I can move on. There must be more than this. Still, things have gone back to routine. Holly still stares at Mike when she thinks he's not looking. I think he's catching on. Smart boy.
Bill Patrick's seventh turned out to be twins. Identical boys with orange-red hair, or so I gathered from the pictures.
Some things have changed. Dana can't have children. I think it hurts her more than she would let on. So much for our Irish brood. Of course, the fact that I am a ghost killed that idea long ago.
I think I am growing restless.
Today, as always, I watch the J. Edgar Hoover building swell with people. All bustling around in power suits and lab coats. All hurrying along to private agendas, all bright and glowing.
Glowing.
Fiercely dark.
Everyone.
I see Dana from a corner, with her partner. The aura surrounds them both. I can barely look. It's everywhere, assaulting me from every corner. A young intern. The security guards. A tour group.
Oh, god. Everyone. I sink to my knees.
Everyone's clear to me. And that can only mean one thing.
Something terrible is going to happen.
Here.
Here, they are all going to die.
****************
The room is spinning around me. Why is it now, after so many months, that I finally realize I can't breathe?
Calm... calm down Erie. I hear myself say these words, using an old high school nickname. A name I used when I got nervous or unsure of myself. Now, I can't help but realize how fitting it is. Erie, eerie, I'm feeling way too eerie. I think haunting causes undue stress...
I've closed my eyes. This is hard to do, as a ghost. It takes effort to push away vision. To push away the sight of all those people and auras like shrouds, hovering around them. Waiting to smother them. Oh god. This isn't happening. This is not happening.
I am saying it out loud. I am using my voice. I know what I am doing. I am acting as though I were alive. Part of me screams to stop, get a hold of things. But it is so overwhelming.
This is how I felt when I woke up.
(All those silly warnings on t.v. cop shows, "watch your step or you could wake up dead." I would never wish this on anyone. Never. It's more terrifying than anyone would ever believe.)
I think I am whimpering. I try to open my eyes slowly, but instead the vision hits me full force in an instant. I steel myself, try to see things without panic.
It's the building. The building is the bond. I watch as the aura silently grows on those that enter. I watch its taint slowly dissipate on those who are walking down the steps, across the street. They are closer to death when they are here.
Not sickness. It is not subtle.
This building will kill them. They will die here. I let out a strangled groan, and the room starts spinning again.
God, I'm falling to pieces.
No. I'm falling. Period. I am falling through the floor. I've lost the concentration that keeps me up. I land in the basement. I can no more sink into the ground than I could walk
outside. This is the boundary of me, and I am cringing in a corner, melted into a dense, gray wall, when I hear her voice. She is laughing.
"... why, so you'll have prettier ones floating belly-up?"
Why is she laughing?
"No... I thought I could add some more variety, you know..."
Mulder's voice, teasing. He continues.
"... they say women are attracted to that kind of thing. Shows you're sensitive, or something."
She lets out a peal of laughter, and I can't help it. I slither into their office. The sickly aura swims around them both, and she is beautiful and terrible. I am hit with a wave;
I would call it nausea if I had a stomach.
How can she laugh at a time like this? How can he?
"With a fish tank? God, Mulder, that's really scraping the bottom!..."
Something finally registers in my stupid, stupid consciousness.
They don't know.
"...You've got feeder fish in there to justify the water. Anything else for 'variety' would just eat them."
Of course.
Obvious. I start sinking into the floor. I have to warn her. I need to tell her, maybe I can stop...
"So you're saying it's a bad idea."
Stop what? I don't even know what's wrong. Oh christ, but I need to find out.
"Mulder, face it. They've probably got fish horror stories about your tank. Anything you put in there winds up dead in under a week."
Wonderful plan Erie!, I scream at myself. Masterful! Find out what's wrong! You can't stop anything, you're damn useless. You're dead. You're a goddamn haunt. You should be fucking
exorcised.
"Don't you trust me?"
Dana, Dana you have to leave. Everyone has to leave. I am pleading in front of her, speaking as though she could hear, but my voice is useless.
(I always wondered why ghosts in movies did stupid things like talk to people they know couldn't hear them. From the beginning, I saw it as denial, and my voice fell silent. What is the need?, I asked. Now I know. It is a cry from someone who needs, more than anything, to be alive at this moment.)
I need you to hear me, I say. Please.
"I certainly don't trust you to keep anything alive."
Her words freeze me, and I am sure she is reading my thoughts, agreeing with my doubts. Rejecting my petty attemps to save them. Rejecting me.
For a moment, I am stunned to silence, even too shocked for tears. But it passes. The words were not intended for me. I am invisible. I remember the conference room, the utter dread I felt when she could see me, the flurries of panic as she spoke to me. I never want her to see me again.
It is too late to tell her anything.
I suddenly realize that in life, I could have moved on if she said no. But I never gave her the choice.
They continue their conversation. The aura glimmers around her. It has been brightening. It is a gleaming evil, pervading them, and I can do nothing. I start screaming. Ranting. Even to me, it makes little sense, but I can't help it. The words just pour out.
I'm sorry Dana. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have told you. We'd have left everything behind. Just you and me, and I would never send you chasing after demons and angels, I would never let them steal your children, I... christ, I'm sorry, sorry, you are going to die here and I can't help...
I hear a laugh from her partner, and it is all that I need.
And you, you crazy wacked out psycho! You don't even know what you do to her, do you? She's all you've got left and you leave her behind and don't even tell her how you feel? You feel the same way, you bastard, and you are going to die without telling her. This building is going to fucking explode and she will never know how you felt!
I hate you for keeping it from her. I hate you for being a coward. I hate...
Did I say explode? Jesus Christ.
The image swamps my mind immediately. I saw it... Christ, I saw it. Where?
Dust.
Dark, cramped space.
Crawlspace. Shit, I saw it when I fell into the basement.
I wish I'd taught myself to fly. Now I can only rely on spectral legs for speed. Ignoring the walls, I run to the corner where I fell. Look in the ceiling. It's got to be there. I try
to leap up, but I can't get high enough.
Don't get stupid now, Erie. You're a ghost. Stop thinking like a living being. You don't need to jump.
Floating is easier than I ever imagined it would be. I yank my legs out from under me, fall down...
... and miss the ground.
I peek up through the ceiling. There it is. I've never seen a bomb before. But that is all it can be. Blinking lights and clay. Lots of clay. Probably C-4 explosives. Enough to obliterate the lobby above it. Enough to destroy the basement below. The auras testify to that. A timer, meticulously counting down the seconds.
I have no idea how it got there.
I have no idea how to disarm it. Even if I could touch it, I would be afraid to do so. I don't know the first thing about them.
The clock reaches 12:00.
11:59.
I have no time. Oh god. This is going to happen. This is causing the glow. There must be something I can do. There has to be. This is going to happen.
I need to move them.
Past the courtyard? To the back? It is a big building, nothing could possibly kill the whole thing. I think of Oklahoma City. Oh, God. This is going to happen here. Bodies and wreckage. 300 pounds of fertilizer only destroyed the front.
One way to find out. On my newfound wings, I soar straight up to the seventh floor. The auras are still here. Still sickeningly bright. I head for the back. Past the courtyard, the auras dim. The back is safe.
Now for the hard part. I return to the basement office, a harbringer of doom.
She is typing at her desk. He is reading a file. They are glowing so brightly, I want to shield my eyes. The keyboard. I can do this. Concentrate. She pauses to check her notes, and
pouring forth my strength, I bring a finger down on a key:
f
She is still reading. I concentrate. It is like trying to hold your breath. I start to feel dizzy.
fo
I can't stop now. No, no giving up. She looks back at the keyboard, and stops. She knows she hasn't typed this. Her hand reaches for "delete."
I strike again, using all of my strength to hold it down.
folllllllll
"What the hell?"
Mulder looks up. I am gasping. Please, I need to continue. How can this be so hard? I need more energy. I don't know where to get it.
"What's wrong?"
A ghost writer. That's what is wrong.
"Mulder, did you mess with my computer?"
Ghost writer. Ghost. For the first time, I know what is wrong. I am doing this the hard way.
Ghosts don't need fingers.
Ghosts don't need eyes, or bodies.
I have been deceiving myself.
"No. Why would you say that?"
I have been clinging to words. I have been holding on to everything. I am still in denial.
The time for words is long gone. I am a lifetime too late for words. When I could use them, I didn't, couldn't find the right ones, couldn't bring myself to say anything. I was silent out of... fear? Stupidity? No matter. I do not need words anymore.
And all this time, I have had a voice. I just haven't used it. It is still the same denial. It is my energy. I've been holding on to it, molding it into me. A shade of the living me.
I need it now.
Voice does not exist. Body does not exist. I don't need a body.
concentrate.
folllllllllo
She jumps. "Look at this, would you?"
folllllllllow
I feel it. I feel stronger. I don't need eyes.
Energy to the light in the ceiling. I am cold. I am absolute zero. I envelop the bulb.
The lightbulb shatters with a pop.
"Jesus Christ!" Mulder leaps out of the way.
Now the hallway. I don't need icy breath. I am breath.
The bare light bulb shatters.
I laugh as they follow me out the door. Up the stairs. I don't need laughter.
To the lobby. We need to go up. I can't lead them out here. The walls of my prison are still intact. I can't risk them not knowing what to do. I flow to the security desk. Energy to the main entrance system. Energy to the locks.
No one else is getting in.
I am waking up. I don't need a name. I don't need fear. I can suddenly hear their thoughts. Dana is at the doorway, watching. She and Mulder are bewildered. I shatter a desk lamp bulb.
"There!" she cries. The rest turn. All of them. I don't need a voice to tell them to follow. I just say it.
Up each floor, and it is the same. I don't recognize my surroundings anymore. I don't need to. I am floating from one light to the next. I know only what I need to do.
But I am tiring.
At the seventh, I am weak. I am hindered.
The glow is still surrounding them. All of them, and I need to lead them away. I've told them to follow. I can't stop now.
What am I holding on to?
The answer comes in an instant: she is the only one I recognize.
Oh, Dana. I don't want to lose you. And suddenly I am confined. Trapped. I can feel everything reversing. I can't have both. I have to let go. I should have done it so long ago.
There's no turning back now.
Before we move on, I give her dreams of red-headed children, and a kiss. I will forget her.
*******
In the crawlspace below the entrance to the J. Edgar Hoover building, a scarlet timer glows in the dark, fortelling catastrophe.
*******
Here. Here there is no glow. Here is safe. Here is the end.
*******
Three.
*******
The answer is here. The exit is here. No going back.
*******
Two.
*******
Back to where? It's been here the whole time. A simple step in the right direction.
*******
One.
*******
In the beginning, there is nothing but light.
********
Maybe I am imagining things, but I could swear I saw a flash of
light.
Before I have time to think, it happens.
CRACK!!! My heart stops and there is nothing but noise. I feel the building shake underneath me, and out of instinct, I throw myself to the ground, covering my head. In an instant, it is over. I am almost afraid to look up. I feel like I am waking up from a
nightmare.
The people around me-- where did they all come from?-- are sitting up. I feel a hand on my arm.
"Scully? Are you all right?"
Mulder. I survey myself for damage. None. The room is intact, if disheveled. I still see the broken lights, but there is more of a mess now. I turn to face my partner.
"Fine. What the hell just happened?"
"I don't know. It felt like... I think we need to get out of here."
He stands and heads for the door we came in. There are people everywhere. Were we all following the... the...? I can't say it. I don't know what it was. I chase after him, re-tracing our steps. Oh god. I see fallen beams, broken glass. I see cracks in the
walls.
We reach the end of the hallway. Literally. I want to pull Mulder back, it's too dangerous, don't go any further, but I can't. It draws me in.
There is a hole where the hallway should be. Where we should have been. It's nothing but twisted metal. A pile of rubble. I feel a breeze on my face from the exposed air. I feel sick.
"Oh my god, Mulder. Oh God."
Silence attacks us. Then, he says five words.
"We need to turn around."
"I... we should be dead, Mulder." I can hear the others behind us. "We should all be dead."
He turns around, motioning everyone else to do the same. "Let's go, everybody. We're going out the back."
"Did you hear me? We should all be..."
"I know. I know. I can't explain it. I have no idea what happened." He surveys the throng of people crowding the hall in front of us, "But I don't think they'll find anyone in the wreckage. Now, please, we need to get out of here. It's not safe."
Sometimes, I want to kick him.
The rest of the crowd seems lost. They are waiting for us. Mulder and I take up the lead. We descend the staircase in murmuring silence. I hear people crying behind me.
I think I am using up my good graces. So many times I should be dead. Cancer, bounty hunters, assassins, military...
I suddenly focus on one scene. A crowded bar, and a fearful witness. A birthday I would rather forget. And Eric Pendrell throwing himself in the path of a bullet. For me.
Eric Pendrell. Where did I get that? At the glass door, I stop.
"Mulder, what was agent Pendrell's first name?"
His eyes betray the stony look on his face. He is surprised at the question. So am I, really. But I know he has the answer stored in his brain...
"I don't know. He never mentioned it." He opens the door for me. The traffic is already starting to back up.
Eric. I know it is Eric. For some reason, I feel the need to thank him. I whisper a silent prayer of gratitude, and step out into the open air.
*************
