"Scully! Agent Scully!" Doggett exclaimed, shaking the limp body of his partner.
Scully groaned and rubbed her head. "Where…where did they go?"
"Jason and Bobby," Scully said, letting John help her to her feet. She rubbed her temple. It felt bruised; she must have hit it on the floor. "Don't ask me to explain it now, but Bobby's the one we're after."
"Well, I went to find Sheriff Hutchins," Doggett said as they stepped into the hall, their pace quickening to a jog, "and they told me he was in the restroom. I got in there, and there was blood all over the floor and it looked like somebody shoved a screwdriver or something in his eye. Then there was all this commotion going on by the door, like somebody was busting out of here. I haven't made it there to see what was…oh man…"
The agents stopped and surveyed the chaos of the police station. It looked like a small war had taken place. Papers were thrown all around, blood was splattered on the walls and floor, and seven police officers lie groaning in pain. Some of them were clutching their legs, others their arms. Either way, it looked like a monster had pushed its way through, slashing at anything that got in its way.
"What happened?" Doggett shouted.
"That Smith kid came through here, some kid was pulling him by the hand," an uninjured officer said. "And from what these people say…they say something like Jason Voorhees pushed them out of his way. I didn't see nothing like that though."
"Where did they go?" Scully asked.
"They went outside—took a left into the woods."
"Oh great…" Doggett muttered, and he and Scully followed the trail into the woods.
When the agents stepped foot into the woods, it was like they had stepped across time. The air suddenly got colder, the sun disappeared behind ominous clouds, and the woods were quiet, deathly quiet, as if everything in them was afraid to make a sound.
"Bobby and Jared Smith, you are under arrest!" Scully shouted, pointing her gun this way and that, knowing, just knowing, something was about to jump out at her. "Come out with your hands up!"
"We're never gonna find them like this," Doggett said. "I think we should split up."
"Right," Scully said. "How many horror movies have you seen again?"
"And is it ever a good idea to chase Jason Voorhees and 'split up'?"
Doggett shook his head. "Have any better suggestions?"
Scully shook her head. "No. Let's split up."
Scully went left as Doggett went right. They had not seen any tracks, and they were walking blindly through the forest. Suddenly, after leaving Doggett's view, Scully heard the snapping of twigs to her right. In an instant, her gun was aimed and she took a few cautious steps forward. "Jason? Bobby?" she called as she sidestepped around a tree. There was nothing behind it, but she suddenly became aware of the dense fog surrounding her. It was thick, pea soup thick, and she could see only a few yards in front of her face. It hadn't been foggy when they entered the woods.
Snap. Pop. More twigs cracked behind Scully, but she couldn't see through all the fog. She strained her ears, but she could only pick up silence. Nothing dared to move in the forest, and she swallowed hard, biting her lip. Her finger was on the trigger. She listened more. Silence. Awful silence. Her own breath. The crunching of leaves under her feet. Silence. More silence. More leaves crunching. Silence. Her heart racing. More silence. And a piano.
Faint, very faint, piano music filled the air. It was only three notes, and it sounded familiar. Scully had heard it before, but it took her a few moments to place it. It was the Halloween theme; the music played right before Michael Myers kills somebody.
"Bobby, I know you're there. Come out with your hands up," Scully said, and she wondered how she avoided choking on the words. The music grew louder, a bass part joined in, and the tension was almost matched by the tenseness of Scully's muscles.
Twigs snapped to her left, and Scully shot around to see a man, a tall frightening man in a Halloween mask holding a long, bloody, butcher's knife. "Drop it," Scully demanded, pointing her gun at the individual. Through the mask, he seemed to smile.
She cried out as vines wrapped around her arms and legs, like a dozen evil serpents, and pulled her down to the forest floor. She fought and kicked but nothing she did could free her from their terrible grip. The man appeared over her, and his soulless eyes ran over her, leaving an icy trail in their wake. He could smell her fear, and he flipped the knife over in his hand so the point was aimed at her throat.
"Stop it, Bobby!" Scully shouted, and the vines tightened around her.
The man kneeled down and held the knife so that when she swallowed, she could feel the lump in her throat brush against the sharp blade that wanted to end her life. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, helpless, and knowing there was nothing more she could do. She waited for the end; she knew it was close. After all the times she had cheated death, she wondered why fate chose for it to end like this.
But then fate changed its mind.
"Bobby Smith, you're under arrest." Doggett said, pointing his gun at the boy. He stood over Doggett's partner as she fought against demons he could not see.
Bobby looked up at Doggett menacingly, like a little devil child. Doggett watched, his mouth hanging open in awe, as the boy's form stretched and grew until he was a full grown man. A full grown man with a hockey mask and chain-saw.
"Drop your weapon," Doggett ordered, aiming the gun at him.
Even through the hockey mask, Doggett could see the smile of a boy pulling the wings off flies and breaking a cat's legs. The man charged at him, growling like a wild animal instead of a human, and Doggett shut his eyes and fired his first and only shot.
He aimed for the man's heart, and the bullet hit to the right of the target. Doggett expected to see a man hit the ground, but heard only the quiet thud of a small body falling onto the leaves.
"Oh my god!" Jason shouted, running over to the fallen boy. "Bobby! Bobby! Say something! Please…oh, God…please…please say something," Jason stammered over and over, cradling the boy in his arms. It didn't matter that Bobby's shoulder covered them in blood; he would give anything just to hear his brother's tiny voice again.
"Let me look at him," Scully said, kneeling down over Bobby. She had to pull him from Jason's arms, which was difficult since she was still shaking. She felt for Bobby's pulse, and she saw she was as pale as the boy. "He's breathing. He's alive, but barely. We have to get him to the hospital, fast. Doggett, we need you to carry him."
Doggett did not hear her. He was leaning against a tree, staring down at them but not seeing them at all.
"Doggett! Did you hear me? We need you to carry him?" John again didn't answer. "Agent Doggett, what's wrong?"
"I…" he choked. "I can't believe I just shot a kid."
Doggett shook himself off and bent down to pick Bobby up.
If fear is our most primitive emotion, our most primitive instinct, then what is its opposite? What is our most complex? Many would argue, and I, Dana Scully, would agree, that it is love. Where fear merely brings a sense of suffering, love brings with it the following: happiness, longing, sorrow, lust, and a host of others. We share our love in many ways. Be it for a family member, a friend, or the person that you would follow to the end of the Earth and back. In literature and cinema, love is always portrayed as a positive emotion—a good feeling. Yet in our lives, how much of our suffering, our sorrow, can be attributed to it? I believe that love, when you are with the ones you care about, and you can hold them, hear them, and feel their breath on your hands, is a positive feeling. It's the closest some of us may ever get to Heaven. Yet when the ones we share love for are taken or kept away from us, and we wonder when, if ever, we will hear their laugh or see their smiling face again, then love is truly the closest thing we have to Hell on Earth.
Caitlin Thompson tightened her jacket against the cold breeze blowing through the cloudy cemetery. She's read the tombstone in front of her eighteen times, but she never understands the words. It seems like they are written in a foreign language, because they cannot possibly be real.Jaime Thompson
Daughter. Sister. Friend.
She shivers, but not from the cold. She wipes a tear from her eye, sets some flowers on the grave, and she thinks of all that she wishes she had said.
Three counties away, Jason Smith sits with his father's hand on his shoulder. The chair is cold and hard, but not nearly as hard as the glass that separates him and his brother. They couldn't send Bobby to jail, he was too young, but they could send him to the hospital. They said he was disturbed, and that he was dangerous. They keep him in isolation. He doesn't deserve to be here, Jason thinks, and it isn't fair that he spends twenty-three hours of the day in a plain white room, all by himself. Jason could see the toll it took on his brother; Bobby's once happy, boyish face looked like an aged, eighty-year-old man's. Bobby tries to smile, tries to give his brother strength, and Jason almost laughs. He is supposed to be strong for Bobby, not the other way around. He touches his hand to the glass and sees his brother struggle against his shoulder cast to do the same.
The house is quiet except for the sounds coming from John Doggett's television. He watches a video that's at least a decade old, and the hardened cop, who has seen deaths we can't imagine, is blinking hard to keep the tears in his eyes. On the screen is a little boy. He's on top of a slide, and he gives a little wave, but his eyes show that he is scared to death. "You promise you'll catch me?" he calls down to a man. To the boy, the man, his father, seems miles away, but his father assures him he's there to catch his son. "You promise?" "I promise. Would I ever lie?" the man says. Finally, with these words, the boy summons the courage to let go of the slide, and his eyes are tightly shut as he plummets downwards into his father's arms.
The man holds the boy tightly, and spins him around for a moment. "How was it?"
"I told you it was. And I told you I'd catch you."
The boy pulls himself away for a moment so he can look his dad in the eye. Then he smiles and gives the man a great big hug around the neck. "Can we do it again?"
John Doggett smiles, and he rewinds the video.
In her apartment, Dana Scully sits on a couch as well. An hour ago the doctor told her that her baby and pregnancy were both doing well and everything was going according to schedule. In a few months she would have a perfectly healthy and normal baby bouncing around. The news should have put her at ease, but she was still on edge. On her coffee table, there was a photograph of a man, a man who knew her better than anyone else. She didn't need a photo to see his face, to see his eyes or his emotionless smile, and she shook a little as she looked at it. It had been so long, so very long and she was no closer to finding him than she had been months ago. "Mulder…" she muttered, her voice like broken glass. "I miss you."
Oh let our love survive - or dry the tears from your eyes
Let's don't let a good thing die
When honey, you know
I've never lied to you
Mmm yeah, yeah
We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out
because I love you too much baby