Chapter 4
He awoke the next morning disoriented, unsure for a moment of where
he was. His body felt heavy, still weighted with sleep, but his
senses had the false crystalline clarity of fatigue, rendering the
rattle of the train too loud around him and the blankets harsh
against his skin. From the light coming in the window he could see
that he had slept late, and the call for the second seating of
breakfast brought him out of bed quickly. The weight of the night's
resurrected memories sat heavily on his mind, but for the moment he
ignored it, promising himself that he would deal with them later.
Today he had to focus on the present. He didn't know what the day
would bring and he couldn't afford to be distracted.
Krycek's cabin was empty when he passed it, and Mulder hovered for a
moment outside the door to the dining car, brushing at the lock of
light brown hair that fell into his eyes. He felt slightly
uncomfortable, unaccountably nervous, and resolved to keep his
composure today, not to embarrass himself by babbling on at the first
sign of a sympathetic ear.
Krycek smiled up at him as he approached, and he felt himself smile
back too broadly, a wide lunatic grin that he tried to bury in the
cup of bitter coffee that the waiter handed him as he sat down.
"All right" he finally managed after a long swallow of the tepid liquid
"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt about your little green men,
and I'll definitely accept that something big is happening. What do
you suggest we do about it?"
He felt the lunatic grin threaten again and wondered at himself, but
Krycek didn't give him time to feel awkward. He was all business this
morning, wearing gray slacks and a conservative shirt, case-file open
before him. He had obviously been making plans.
"I think, Mulder, that we should check out the Gauthier's show this
evening. They wanted you around for the one tomorrow, but I don't
think it would be too suspicious if we threw them off a little. That
gives us the day to do some reconnaissance around the hotel. Then
tomorrow you should stay away from the lodge for the morning. Visit
the town, talk to some people there, give them a chance to contact
me
with their plans."
Mulder nodded his agreement. It seemed as good a place as any to
start.
A shuttle met them at the station when they disembarked and carried
them up the slopes to the lodge. It was an angular modern building,
pale wood and local stone and great expanses of plate glass window,
harshly reflecting the stinging winter sunshine and the glare off the
snow. The roofs slanted off in different directions, pitched steeply,
slanting low to the ground to prevent snow build-up. The whole thing
looked to Mulder like it might lift right up out of the hillside and
into the cold clear air -
"Damn Krycek" he thought. The man and his talk of aliens were making
his imagination run away with him.
*
*
*
It was snowing. Flakes drifted down, pale blurs against the darkness
outside the window, and both fireplaces in the bar had been lit
against the chill of the evening. Mulder sat next to one of them, at
the very end of the bar, a drink in his hands. He was watching his
new partner.
The younger man had been cornered by a tipsy businessman who was
haranguing him on some point of economic policy, shoving his sweating
face close to Krycek's and poking his chest now and then to emphasize
a point. Mulder watched the man's fingers tap the front of Krycek's
shirt, touching him in the shallow valley between the smooth planes
of muscle he had glimpsed in the dining car last night. His own
fingers tightened on his glass, and he relaxed then with an effort.
He didn't want to think about last night, not yet. Krycek caught his
eye for a moment and smiled the briefest twitch of a smile. Saying
something apologetic to the businessman, he ducked beneath his arm
and headed over to Mulder's inconspicuous corner.
They had split up for the bulk of the day, each covering different
parts of the hotel, mixing with different groups of guests. Mulder
had caught sight of the other agent from time to time, and as he had
watched him blend unobtrusively with everyone, from the families on
holiday and young skiing singles to the conventioneers now crowding
into the bar, he had to acknowledge that the man was very good at his
work. Even as he assumed the tipsily fatuous expression and breezy
manner of the men around him, a reserve of cool intelligence was
subtly visible in his eyes, a presence that listened carefully,
assessing and storing away information.
Mulder himself was off his stride today. He felt jittery, distracted,
paranoia prickling sharply at the base of his skull all day. He had
been in danger before, of course. But he had never had a case before
that left him so adrift, so cast loose from his moorings. The thought
that someone from his own side was involved in this gnawed at him.
He
might be seen as a maverick at the agency, but he had still been
aware of its power and authority backing him up in his work. The
thought that those forces might be lined up against him this time was
more than unsettling. He didn't know what was at stake or who he
could trust, and it flooded him with a kind of angry vertigo.
His own questions preyed on his mind as he worked, a darker undertone
to his routine enquiries. Who had been here during the last
electronics convention? (Who here was not what they seemed?) Had they
noticed anything out of the ordinary? (Who watched his movements? Who
wished him ill?)
It was strange too not to be in control, to be so dependent on
Krycek's knowledge and contacts, on Krycek's word. He had trusted
Scully with his life before, but in those cases he had known who the
enemy was. He had never been a piece of the puzzle in his own case
before, and it seemed to change the rules. He didn't like it, but the
thought of facing this alone and unaware was even worse. The glimpses
he caught of Krycek throughout the day gave him an almost
embarrassingly intense sense of relief.
"God save me from the captains of industry," grumbled Krycek now,
rubbing his own chest ruefully as he slid onto the stool next to
Mulder. "That guy just about bored a hole through me."
"So what do you think?" said Mulder, too wound up to chat.
"Of the psychics?" asked Krycek. They had watched the show tonight.
It had been surprisingly sophisticated for the location. The
Gauthiers, an older couple and their three daughters, had managed to
create a genuinely mysterious atmosphere, marred only slightly by
persistent problems with their AV system.
Mulder shook his head dismissively. "No, they were bogus. I could
tell within the first fifteen minutes, and the agency didn't need me
to tell them that. For instance - that thing with the envelopes is
one of the oldest tricks in the book. It's all in how the questions
are phrased - they work out a kind of code, key phrases and word
order, even gestures. Though I think they might have added a new
twist - that feedback from the speaker system, those flickers in the
lights - I don't think they were random. In fact - " he was warming
to the subject now, "in fact, I bet that one of employees of
the
electronics firms noticed that - or even helped them set it up - and
thought it would be a good distraction to cover their own activities.
The Gauthiers aren't going to *deny* that they can read minds -
they'd lose their audience".
"You sound almost disappointed," commented Krycek.
Mulder shrugged. "I guess I am. I know there are individuals out
there with true psychic abilities - I've met a few of them. But just
think what you could learn from a whole family, what you could
determine from studying them. But no, this was all smoke and
mirrors."
A voice from unexpectedly close behind them said "Unhappy with our
evening's entertainment, gentlemen?"
They both turned quickly. No one should have been able to approach so
close without their noticing. Behind them stood a woman. She was tall
and broad-shouldered, an expensively tailored beige suit sitting
elegantly on her spare frame, greying hair piled neatly on her head.
She looked vaguely familiar to Mulder but he couldn't place her, and
he puzzled over it for a moment. He had a good memory for faces and
hers was distinctive - strong jawed, blunt featured, and marked
with
dark, decisive brows.
She nodded to Mulder, a half-smile on her face, and said, "You look
like a man who wants his fortune told for real." Before he could
answer she had scooped his left hand off the bar and flipped it over,
looking closely at his palm.
"The left hand tells us where you've been, what you were born with.
And yours is unusual, Mr. Mulder. There's a lot of history and a long
journey behind you. A great deal of work has gone into bringing you
to where you are today. But you're not quite so sure where that is,
are you? You've had your wrist slapped once or twice but in your own
way you've tried to be a good boy. They're counting on that, you
know. Counting on that and watching you carefully."
They both simply stared at her as she reached for his other hand.
"Your right hand is what you've made of yourself, and your future.
I
see a journey before you as well as behind you, a journey marked with
stars and shadows, Mr. Mulder, stars and shadows. None of it will be
easy - changes never are. I can tell you that." she laughed, at what
it wasn't clear. "A lot rests on you. You won't be alone, but you'd
be wise to watch your back."
She let Mulder's hand go, and turned to Krycek, who looked reluctant,
hands clasped together tightly on the bar. Mulder kicked him lightly
in the ankle and said
"What's wrong? Afraid of what she might say? Haven't *you* been a
good boy?"
There was an edge to his words. Some of her pronouncements had stung,
and none of this was helping his paranoia.
Krycek stared back at him, and without looking away offered his left
hand to the woman. She laughed again, a surprisingly deep sound.
"I don't need your palm to tell that no, you haven't even *tried* to
be a good boy. Though it doesn't show much. Yet." Krycek was staring
at her now.
"You see some things too clearly, my boy, always have, and that's
earned you a bruise or two. But it's not enough in itself - you
haven't figured out what to *look* for yet and that can make all the
difference - there's some lessons you're going to have to unlearn.
You can't rely on secrets to get you through."
She looked at his other hand "You may have more choice in this than
he does, but you'd best be careful yourself. There are always
consequences, whatever your intentions." He gave her strange look and
she released his hand.
Mulder was reaching for his drink as Krycek took his hand back, and
somehow they collided, fingers brushing against palm. Caught by
surprise, Mulder felt a wave of heat up his arm and snatched his hand
away, sending his glass spinning off the bar where it spilled scotch
over both of them and then shattered on the rail. By the time order
was restored, the woman had vanished.
"Who the hell was that?" said Mulder, ears still burning with
embarrassment. He stuck his head out of the bar but she was nowhere
to be seen, not in the lobby or on the stairs. The desk clerk stared
at him blankly when he asked, and, frustrated, he turned back to the
bar. The bartender had placed a new drink at his place and he
swallowed it and gestured for another before facing Krycek. The
younger man was frowning down at his own palm, flexing the fingers
thoughtfully, but he stopped when he felt Mulder's eyes on him.
" The plot thickens. I haven't seen her before, but somehow I don't
think she was one of the Gauthiers. It sounds like she might be on
your side, Mulder."
Mulder shrugged. "Whatever else she may be, she isn't psychic -
a
long journey? I hate to admit it but I've never been further than
England. I think they're just trying to keep me off balance." He took
another swallow of his drink. Apparently neither one of them
particularly wanted to discuss what she had said. "Did you find out
anything else today?"
They compared notes. The sum total of their investigation so far was
the bogus psychics, two adulterous affairs at the convention, a minor
theft ring in the kitchen staff, and three men who didn't seem to be
quite what they said they were. And now the mysterious woman. Nothing
definitive.
"No one's contacted me yet," said Krycek "and I was told they would.
Why don't you catch a morning shuttle into town? I'll meet you on the
one that gets back here at 3:00. Hopefully I'll know something
definite by then."
Mulder swirled the ice cubes in his glass restlessly, sensing the
other man watching him. "Don't worry," Krycek said finally.
"Forewarned is forearmed. Now tell me about the psychics you've met."
*
*
*
Mulder swayed on his stool, wobbled as he reached for his wallet.
They had talked for a long time, it was far too late, and he had had
entirely too much to drink.
As he tried to climb down from his stool, Krycek suddenly grabbed his
shoulder and spun him sideways. In a panic Mulder found himself
falling heavily against the other man, the dark walls of the bar
moving dizzily around him in the flickering firelight, his nostrils
filled with the scent of Krycek's hair, close-cropped and bristling
softly against his cheek.
Confused and alarmed he tried to wrench himself away before realizing
that Krycek's hand was wrapped around his wrist, blocking a punch he
hadn't even noticed throwing.
"Chill, Mulder," he said. "You were going to step on that." He
gestured with his chin at the floor, where the base of the glass
Mulder had broken still lay, jagged edges pointing upwards.
"Oh," said Mulder, ears burning red again. "Oh. I'm sorry - I - too
much to drink. I'm a little on edge. Sorry." He winced at the slurred
banality of his own words. Most definitely too much to drink.
Krycek's hand was still wrapped around his wrist and he wanted
nothing more than to pull his hand free, but he stopped himself,
embarrassed by the violence of his first reaction. "I think," he
said, trying to sound casual "that it's time for me to go to bed."
He hesitantly moved his arm and Krycek looked down at his own hand in
surprise, releasing Mulder immediately and backing away. Mulder
turned and left the bar, not looking to see if the other man was
following him as he climbed the stairs.
His eyelids were drooping and his feet felt leaden with fatigue and
liquor. He barely had time to shed his shoes and pants and climb into
the cool hotel bed before an alcohol-fumed sleep came crashing down
on him.
*
*
*
He woke with a crushing headache, the painfully bright morning light
shining through the uncovered window. His stomach churned with bile,
but in some ways he was glad of last night's drunkenness. At least
he
had slept, and if he had dreamed, he didn't remember. A shower
rendered him slightly more human and he saw he could still make the
first morning shuttle down to the village. Time to start asking
questions there.
As he walked down the hall past Krycek's adjoining room the door
opened and the dark-eyed man popped his head out. "Heading down
already? It's barely seven."
"Yeah," said Mulder "I wanted to catch the first shuttle." He kept
his eyes averted from the nearly naked figure in the doorway.
Krycek yawned hugely and shook his head. "Better you than me. And
remember your mysterious message - watch your back!" He sketched a
mocking half-salute at Mulder before shutting the door. The glint in
his strange eyes seemed not mocking now but conspiratorial, and
Mulder felt reassured.
As the day wore on, though, and he slipped into the usual rhythm of
his work, away from Krycek's stories, he began to question his
decisions so far. The very unlikeliness of Krycek's theories inclined
him to accept them - he knew too well what it was like to be
disbelieved - but the younger agent hadn't exactly proven himself
trustworthy. He seemed perfectly willing to play each side off
against the other in pursuit of some vague goal of his own. What was
to stop him from manipulating Mulder for the same reasons? What the
woman had said about the younger man last night was unsettling too,
almost a warning. As his doubts grew, Mulder decided to head back up
to the lodge early and see for himself what was going on.
Back at the station he mingled with the arrivals off the 1:00 train
and boarded the shuttle with them. They were let out just in front
of
the main lodge doors, and he slipped away from the group, making his
way round to the back where the slope of the hill let him see into
the windows of the second-floor conference rooms. Squinting against
the glare off the snow, he moved nonchalantly, just another guest
exploring the grounds.
Everything looked ordinary until he reached the end of the east wing
and peered up into the window of the smallest conference room, set
at
the end of the hall. What he saw there made his heart skip a beat,
then race. Krycek was inside the room, and he was talking to Mulder's
father.
Arguing with Mulder's father, in fact. Krycek's movements were
aggressive and his father's face was as cold and impassive as he
remembered from his dream. Cautiously he moved forward, leaving the
path and climbing the side of the drift next to the window, keeping
his head low. Soon he was close enough to hear a murmur of voices
within.
"Goddamit!" Krycek's shout penetrated the glass easily. "I'm telling
you, Dr. Mulder, they sent me here to kill you and frame your son for
it - I'm giving you a break. Tell me what's going on and you'll
escape with more than your life - we could make this work for us.
What's your connection with Dr. Himmelman and why does he want you
dead? Why is Fox so important to them? They want him kept alive, but
set up so his disappearance won't be questioned. They want him for
something but I've talked to him and he doesn't have a clue why.
*You* know, though, don't you. You have the knowledge, and I think
he'll follow my lead on this - he trusts me, and the man's so
desperate for someone to believe in him that if I spin a few spooky
stories I think he'll play along. Whatever they want from him,
between the two of us we've got it, and I'm certain they'll be
willing to pay the price!"
Mulder couldn't hear what his father said but the shortness of his
responses made it clear he wasn't co-operating.
Then things started happening too quickly to follow. Krycek pulled a
gun from his jacket and a new man, a man with the conspicuously bland
face of agency training, entered from the hallway. He too held a gun
in his hand.
Krycek spotted the movement and turned towards it, Dr. Mulder leapt
up from his chair, and Mulder jumped at the window, hoping at least
to cause a distraction. He bounced uselessly off the thick winterized
glass and slid in an undignified scramble down the side of the drift.
There was a burst of gunfire and when he raised himself up to look
again, Krycek was bent over the still figures of Dr. Mulder and the
other agent where they lay sprawled on the floor. When he
straightened, his face was hard and set, and he held a gun in his
had. He examined it for a moment before reaching to holster it.
The movement turned him towards the window, and his head jerked back
as his eyes met Mulder's through the glass.
They held each other's gaze for a moment, the dark eyes and the
hazel, tension snapping between them, holding them both rooted to the
spot. Then Krycek spun towards the door and Mulder rose to his feet.
The windows were clearly too thick to break by hand and no doors were
in sight but he wanted get inside quickly, get inside before the
police arrived and everything became official. He wanted to find
Krycek himself and demand answers, force answers from him, wring the
answers from his lying throat if he had to.
A cold rage filled him at the layers of betrayal he faced. He glanced
rapidly around him. If he pulled himself up on the low-hanging gutter
and scaled the central wing, past the lobby skylight, he could drop
down by the main entrance and be inside in minutes.
He jumped and hauled himself up over the edge of the roof. Then he
heard glass shatter below and one of the heavy conference-room chairs
came tumbling down the side of the drift. Mulder froze - he hadn't
expected Krycek to pursue him, but there he was, struggling with the
gutter himself, cursing under his breath. Mulder sped up as best he
could. Krycek was almost certainly armed and he was vulnerable here
on the exposed slope. He gauged the distance between himself and the
skylight, his own best chance of escape now. He had some climbing
ahead of him yet.
He heard Krycek scramble onto the roof and wondered if the next sound
he would hear was a gunshot. Instead, Krycek called out to him.
"Mulder - wait! You don't understand. You're still in danger! You
need to know what I know - it's in your own best interests to
cooperate!"
"You just played me like a poker chip and then you killed my father"
Mulder yelled back "and you're trying to make deals? You're a dead
man, Krycek!" He kept crawling towards the skylight. This time he
heard Krycek's gun being cocked.
"I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, Mulder." Krycek sounded very
close. His voice was calm and faintly regretful.
Mulder thought fast and, curling into a ball, let himself roll
backwards down the slope of the roof, colliding with Krycek hard
enough to rattle his teeth. The gun fired into the air and they
wrestled for its possession, flailing together as they slid down the
slope of the roof. One of Krycek's arms was pinned between their
bodies and Mulder grasped the wrist of the other, keeping the gun
pointed away from him. Krycek ground his knuckles painfully into the
other man's sternum and Mulder's grip loosened just enough for him
to
pull his other arm free. He brought the gun down towards Mulder's
skull but at the last moment they slipped again and the gun barrel
came down hard on his shoulder. Mulder felt his collarbone snap
painfully.
Krycek's face swung close to him, eyes glittering blankly with
aggression and his breath, vaporous in the cold air, heaving raggedly
against Mulder's cheek. Mulder smashed angrily at the looming face
and brought his knee up hard into Krycek's groin, hearing him grunt
and feeling the body locked against him ripple and squirm with pain.
The gun went flying. He pulled free, kicking hard, and his foot
connected with Krycek's stomach, audibly forcing the air from his
lungs.
He started for the skylight again, almost there now, but his
collarbone slowed him down and looking back he saw Krycek on the
move, pulling himself up the roof after him. He tried to move faster,
grip precarious on ice and fingers numb with cold, until with one
final heave he came close enough to grab the frame of the skylight.
There was a sound behind him and he looked back to see Krycek launch
his body in a desperate uphill tackle.
It was just enough warning. When Krycek came flying towards him
Mulder rolled to one side. The other man's momentum carried him over
into the skylight and for the second time that afternoon the air was
filled with the sound of breaking glass. There was a flurry of limbs
and shouts and Mulder felt his arm yanked painfully, his whole body
jerked forward and wedged against the frame of the skylight.
Now Krycek hung just inside the shattered glass, one hand gripping
the shoulder of Mulder's jacket, the other scrabbling for purchase
on
the frame. Krycek's elbow was twisted at an unnatural angle and his
skin was greenish-pale with pain. A circle of shocked and blurry
faces gazed up at them from below where the polished flagstones shone
hard and unforgiving in the winter sunlight.
Krycek swung his other arm and grabbed at Mulder, trying to lever
himself back up again, face contorted, eyes panicked. Mulder's collar-
bone sent lances of pain through him and as he winced his eyes fell
on Krycek's fingers with their gnawed nails -
//Gnawed nails. The man in the shower, it had been Krycek and -
and his own reaction and his memories of Matthew and oh, god, what
would his father say, no, his father would never say anything again,
Krycek had -
- Krycek had touched him in the observation car, in the bar, hand on
his arm and breath on his face and what he had felt and - //
With an incoherent cry of refusal, of denial, he clawed wildly at
Krycek's hand, trying to dislodge him. But the other man's grip had
the strength of desperation, and he just hung on tighter. Mulder
finally grabbed his arm and swung him sideways, twisting Krycek's
mangled elbow and pushing his arm against the side of the skylight.
A
large piece of glass remained in the frame and he forced the arm
against it, sawing it back and forth. Krycek screamed and Mulder
watched dark blood well from the wound, the glass slicing through
flesh until he felt it grind on bone. Krycek's grip faltered, Mulder
yanked at his arm one more time, and the dark-eyed man fell with a
great crash to the floor far below.
Mulder stayed where he was on the roof, collarbone aching. The snow
around him was scuffed and stained with blood and he saw that he was
bleeding from small cuts to his face and hands. Fragments of broken
glass added sharper glints to the brightness of the ice and snow, a
brightness that was suddenly unbearable. He shut his eyes against it
and let himself sink into the chill of the snow, feeling still and
empty, all rage, all emotion vanished. There were urgent voices from
the lobby below and in the distance he heard the sound of sirens.
==================================
Continue to next chapter.