Dungeon (PG-13)

Mulder woke, stiff and confused.  His shoulders hurt, and his wrists.  He tried to shift them, ease the strain and realized that he couldn't move.  What the fuck?  He wasn't in bed, were his eyes open?  He blinked but could see no more than before.  Shit, he'd never been in such total darkness and where the hell was he?  He was sitting up, think man!

Okay, he was sitting against a wall, brick or stone and he was pretty sure he was underground.  A basement?  There was a dampness to the air and it explained the dark.  The next obvious question was where or maybe why.  Now his hands - he tugged again experimentally and felt the flare of pain.  He was in restraints, metal ones and . . . he felt around with his fingers, trying not to cause his wrists to bleed any more.

His wrists were covered with a thick manacle.  Wrought iron?  Where was he, the damn middle ages?  The chain that linked the manacles was looped over another iron rod.  That didn't move.  Damn it was dark.

Think, man.  Okay, he was dressed in jeans and t-shirt.  He had on shoes, felt like tennis shoes, yeah and socks, and his feet weren't restricted.  When had he been taken?  And from where?  Why was he so damn fuzzy?

Was he alone?  Scully?  Was she here?  Was it safe to speak?  He couldn't feel anyone, which meant that Scully wasn't here.  He didn't know if that caused more relief or fear.  Where was she?

A sound caused him to look to the right.  Instinct, since there was nothing to see, not in this darkness.  It, it sounded like silk on rock.  He should be grateful it didn't sound like the skittering of little feet.  He suppressed a shudder, if they didn't know he was awake, no reason to give it away.

He kept his face toward the sound and maybe there was a lightening of this place in that area, or was it wishful thinking?  No, there was definitely some sort of light.  The word 'wispy' came to him, but it was the right word.  Was someone coming?  He narrowed his eyes to try to see better, then they opened wide.  It couldn't be, but, but it looked like Boggs, Luther Lee Boggs.  What the hell?

Boggs moved closer and the light grew.  He looked directly at Mulder then and his mouth moved.  There was no sound, but Mulder 'heard' him anyway.  "Where is Scully?"

Mulder shook his head to dislodge the sight.  He had to be hallucinating because of the dark.  Sure enough, the 'ghost' of Luther Lee Boggs faded from sight.  The problem was the question he'd ask.  That didn't fade from his mind.

He sat in the dark waiting again.  Surely whoever had imprisoned him would come to check on him eventually.  He was getting chilled against the stone of this . . . dungeon.  Yes, that's what it was, a dungeon.  He wished he could remember or at least figure out what was going on.

The dark continued but once again he began to hear the silk on stone sound.  Now what?  He looked toward the sound, to the left this time, causing him to shift as quietly as possible but still caused the pain to flare in his wrists.  He swore silently and stared into the darkness.  Again the lightening of a far corner came. 

As he watched the light twisted and roiled for a moment before becoming . . . Donnie Pfaster?  No!  He was dead, as dead as Boggs.  He was hallucinating, he had to be.  It wasn't that he didn't believe in ghosts, he did, but . . . Pfaster moved closer.  "Where is she?  Not with you, huh?"

Mulder opened his mouth to retort, then shut it quickly.  It was a trick, something. He couldn't buy into it.  Pfaster stood looking at him, not quite close enough for Mulder to reach with his feet.  He shook his head at Mulder as though wondering just how stupid he was, then suddenly he was gone.

Mulder blinked, the complete darkness was back.  He began to wish that whatever drug he'd been given had been a little more fun.  It wasn't as long this time before he heard that sound.  If he didn't know better he'd say it was a ghost moving toward him.  He did know better, right?  He recognized the bald head of Leonard Betts and his eyes narrowed.  Betts didn't speak, looking around, as though searching for someone.

"Scully, right?" Mulder finally muttered.

Betts looked at him and after a moment nodded, then faded away.

It was Modell next, and he was in a chatty mood as usual.  He looked Mulder over and grinned.  "Just can't do it without her, can you Mulder?  Got yourself all locked up and helpless, huh?  Where is she?  Did she finally leave you, like she should have ages ago?"

"Why are you here?"  He knew he shouldn't engage him, but Mulder was ready to end this now.  He felt like some sort of bizarre Ebenezer Scrooge.  But hell, it wasn't like he wanted to be apart from Scully.

"You don't know, Mulder?"  The asshole grinned at him and vanished. 

Shit, where were Maurice and Lidia?  At least they'd had a sort of  purpose in haunting them.

And it continued, Phillip Padgett, Oral Peattie, Alfred Fellig some speaking, some not, but all obviously looking for Scully.

The apparition this time caused him to catch his breath.  He'd heard that the suicide watch hadn't worked, but still it was a shock to have Bill Patterson suddenly standing over him, his hands on his hips.  "Where the hell is Agent Scully?"

He was going to get a complex, no one wanted to see him.

"You know you're useless without her.  Don't tell me she's not with you."

"What's going on?" Mulder finally spoke.

"You don't see it?  Come on 'Spooky' think.  You're only half now.  You need her."

Mulder refused to speak now, regretting his outburst.  Bill looked down on him in disapproval and shook his head, then winked out of existence.  Boy, how much fun was this going to get?

There was a long pause then, longer than any since this damn thing had started.  What now?  Chester Bonaparte?  Mulder's head swiveled as he heard the sound again, but he froze in mid-movement when he recognized the man now approaching him.  Deep Throat?

"She's not with you and that weakens you.  Do you not understand, even after all this time what she gives to you, what you give each other?

"You need to hurry, Agent Mulder.  Your family, everyone, is in danger and you're running out of time."  He leaned forward and shoved a small piece of paper in Mulder's jeans pocket, then he stepped back and winked out of existence.

Mulder woke with a start, jerking upright.  He looked around and recognized his hotel room before collapsing back against the pillow.  He took a deep breath and sat up again, more slowly and brushed his hair back. 

There was something gritty in his hair and he looked down at the pillow.  It was covered with a fine red grit like . . . like brick dust.  He shook his head and more of the brick dust fell onto the bed and his shoulders.  He rose then and grabbed up his t-shirt from the floor.  The back of it was covered in brick dust.  Mulder looked around the room not sure what he was actually looking for.  There was no brick in this room, hell, the whole motel probably was built out of particle board.  Slowly he picked up his jeans - there was dirt on the seat, as though he'd been sitting on the ground.

What the fuck?  The dream began returning to him.  He'd been . . . visited by ghosts, people he and Scully had worked together to find or defeat.  They had all been surprised that Scully wasn't with him.  They didn't understand, he'd had to leave her, her and William, to keep them safe, to find out what he could about what was coming.

Deep Throat!  He'd, he'd shoved something in his pocket.  He reached for the jeans again.  It had been a damn dream, Mulder, he thought for an instant then looked back at the brick dust on his pillow.

He reached into the pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper.  Mount Weather Complex, Bluemont, Virginia.  He stared at it for a long moment.  Was this it?  Scully, I'm going to see you soon, with the answers, then you, you and William, will be with me.  I promise.

Just a little ghost story - Happy Halloween!