Trial

Title: Trial

Author: Vickie Moseley

Spoilers: various villains from seasons 1 – 7 (television), VS8 and

VS9

Special engagement for VS10, Halloween special event

Rating: PG 13

Category: MA

Disclaimer: Lovingly produced for the IMTP Virtual Season. If

Carter ever finds out what we’re doing, maybe we’ll ask him to

submit a story. No copyright infringement.

Cyberroses to Dawn and Deb for speed of light beta under

tremendous pressure!

Feedback to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Trial

By Vickie Moseley

October 31, 2002

8:06 pm

“Scully, you have to love this!” His partner shot him a warning

glare, but Mulder ignored her and continued with his sarcastic

diatribe.

“Here it is, Halloween. The night of the walking dead. And what

is the X Files Division doing? We’re pulled in on a stakeout of a

bunch of abandoned warehouses for some drug kingpin who is

probably right now sipping margaritas at his hacienda overlooking

Bogota, Columbia!” He cracked open another sunflower seed and

ceremoniously spit the shell in the general direction of the driver’s

side window. “Is this a great job, or what?”

Scully sighed, not for the first time that evening. “Mulder, I really

don’t think the seance would have resulted in a ghostly visitation.

Just because this one was happening on Halloween . . .”

“He promised, Scully. Harry Houdini promised he would come

back on Halloween! Besides, that isn’t what has me pissed off.

We have our own assignments. Do you see us calling in the rest of

BSU every time we have a big case? We’re always on our own–”

“Without backup,” Scully muttered, but Mulder ranted on, not

hearing her or choosing not to respond.

“And we manage to still have a solve rate that blows all of them

out of the water!” Another seed, another shell, but this time he

missed and the wet seed stuck to the edge of the glass. Angrily, he

flicked it off to the rain soaked pavement below.

“Mulder, would you stop whining! You aren’t the only one who

has had their plans changed tonight,” she reminded him.

He took a moment to look over at her sympathetically. “I know,

Scully. You love passing out candy with your mom. But I really

doubt she got many beggars in this rain,” he told her with a shrug.

The couple lapsed into companionable, if not happy, silence. The

rain pattered on the car roof, Mulder cracked seeds and spit them

out until the wind shifted and the rain started coming in his

window. Scully glared at him until he reluctantly rolled it up.

Without even that small distraction, he started to fidget.

“Charlie one, report,” came a crackle from the walkie-talkie

stationed on the dashboard. Scully grabbed it, grateful for any

interruption to the near terminal boredom and clicked the response

button. “Charlie one here. Nothing new to report.”

“Roger, Charlie one. Bravo one out.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, Scully, the guy is on the southern side of the

Equator. He’s long gone. And we’re sittin’ here, freezing our–”

“Mulder, what’s that?” Scully interrupted his tirade to point out the

windshield toward the warehouse nearest his side of the car.

Mulder swiveled in his seat, rolling the window down and bringing

up his night vision goggles.

“Very interesting,” he muttered.

“Bravo one, this is Charlie one. We have spotted a target. Male,

approximately 5’10”, long, black coat, breaking into the east

entrance to warehouse number 17. Do you want us to intercept?”

Scully asked quietly into the receiver.

“Negative on the intercept, Charlie one. Tail suspect but do not

attempt contact.”

Mulder tongued his cheek. “Shit, I really hate this part,” he said

with a sigh. “Scully, you head around to the northside entrance.”

“Why don’t we both go in together?” she asked, brow furrowed in

the dim light.

“Too much noise. Just stay close to that north door in case he

spots me and makes a break for it.” At her worried stare he smiled.

“I’ll be careful,” he assured her.

“What I would consider careful?” she shot back.

“Hey, if we’re gonna split hairs, we’ll be here all night.”

“If I don’t hear from you in ten minutes, I’m calling for backup and

coming in,” she replied with a growl.

“Aye, aye, captain,” he said with a grin, then opened the car door

quietly, pushing it shut so that it didn’t make a sound. She did the

same. They jogged side by side as they approached the building,

but at the door, Scully ran to the right, glancing over her shoulder

to see Mulder squeezing in through the opening in the door that

their unidentified target had just entered a few minutes before.

“Mulder, be careful,” she whispered to the air around her as she

turned the corner and took up a spot where she could keep

surveillance on both the east and north doors.

Inside, the warehouse was almost pitch black. The few windows

toward the top of the 30-foot ceiling were grime covered and the

rainy evening offered no source of light. Mulder fingered the

Maglight in his pocket, but shook his head as if answering his own

question. Using the light was too risky, too easy to be detected.

He moved slowly, guardedly, watching for movement and

anything that might cause him to trip and stumble.

He heard a door creak up ahead and to the left. He could just make

out the shape of an office, set like a crackerbox off to the side of

the warehouse floor. A light was flipped on and suddenly there

was illumination. He crouched in the darkness outside the splash

of light from the open office door.

Shit, it was Enriquez. Just as they’d been told. Mulder huffed at

his find, then moved farther away from the office, to the point

where he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be overheard, and clicked on

the walkie-talkie at his shoulder.

“Charlie one to Bravo one. I have suspect in sight inside

warehouse 17. Send back up. Agent Scully is in place outside the

north door. Repeat, Agent Scully is outside the north door. I’ll

await further instructions.”

“Roger that, Charlie one. Troops are moving in. Keep

surveillance. Do not attempt to apprehend suspect. Repeat–do not

attempt to apprehend. ETA three minutes.”

Mulder sighed. There was nothing to do but wait out the three

minutes. He moved slightly so he could see inside the office door.

It was a buy. Apparently Javier Enriquez was dealing out of

warehouse number 17. Mulder realized he’d be a material witness

at the trial and started taking note of little things, the time on his

watch, the positions of the suspect and the buyer, what the suspect

was wearing. He was intent on making sure this asshole, who had

ruined his Halloween, was not going to walk on a technicality. He

moved closer, still staying out the light on the floor, to get a better

look.

There was a crunch beneath his feet. Before Mulder had time to

lift his foot and see what was happening, the floor broke under him

and he was free falling through the air. Pieces of the rotten wood

from the trap door he’d fallen through rained in on him as he fell.

There was only one problem. He didn’t seem to be landing.

He awoke with a start. Mulder’s head was pounding, but aside

from that small complaint, he seemed to be fine. He was seated on

a hard backed chair, wooden as far as he could tell. He was in total

blackness.

“Scully? Agent Mathews? Anybody there?” he called out,

wondering if he was still in the warehouse. Then, a terrifying

thought hit him. Maybe he was in the warehouse and he was

blind! He blinked several times, trying to clear the darkness.

“That won’t help,” a voice said to him from above.

“Mathews? Who’s there? Where are the lights?” Mulder asked. A

bright white beam of light engulfed him from above. He blinked

again few times. Now he could now see he was sitting on a chair,

but beyond the three foot circle of brightness, there was only pitch

blackness.

“Scully? Scully, if you’re here, answer me! Where the hell am I?”

The voice chuckled. “Close, but no cigar, Agent Mulder. You

haven’t reached your final destination, yet. But then, that’s really

what this is all about now, isn’t it?”

Mulder frowned and started to get up, but found he was held fast to

the chair. “Who are you? What the hell is this? Where’s Scully?”

he demanded, his voice rising in pitch as well as loudness.

“No need to shout, Agent Mulder. We can hear you quite well,”

came another voice, a female voice. It sounded familiar, but he

was having a hard time placing the voice. He knew it, several

years ago . . .

“A little light would be beneficial,” the female said and suddenly,

the room was flooded with natural light. Mulder looked around

him, disoriented. Hard wood paneling, twin tables separated by a

three foot space, a railing behind them with benches beyond–he

was in a courtroom. And when that realization made its way into

his brain, he discovered he was on the witness stand.

The woman who had been talking stepped closer. Mulder shook

his head when he recognized the face, it was Sally Kendrick; or

Eve 7 or 8, he could never keep them straight.

“What do you want?” he demanded, but there was a thunderous

banging right next to his head and Mulder jumped, turning to look

up at the judge’s chair. John Barnett gave him a feral smile.

“You’re in no position to be asking any questions, Agent Mol-der.

You are here to answer for your crimes.”

“Crimes? What crimes? I haven’t committed any crimes,” Mulder

shouted back. He started to rise but found his arms were strapped

to the chair, his legs similarly restrained. “What is the meaning of

this?”

“You killed us, now you stand trial for our murders,” came a

second female voice. The woman stepped from the jury box and

licked her lips as she walked over to Mulder.

“Diana,” he gasped. “I didn’t . . .”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve convinced yourself that you had nothing to do

with my death, Fox. But if you hadn’t made me fall in love with

you I never would have considered crossing the consortium. Yes,

you are as guilty of my murder as the bastard who ordered me

dead.”

“No, I didn’t. I-I had nothing to do with it,” Mulder stammered,

shaking his head from side to side.

“Well, you can’t say that to me, can you, Fox?” The shadow that

came over his chair caused Mulder to jerk his head toward the

other side of the courtroom. John Roche was smiling that same

oily smile he always had plastered on his face. “A bullet to the

brain, pointblank. Not much to quibble about there,” he said with

an evil grin.

“You were about to kill a little girl,” Mulder spat out, anger

replacing his former remorse.

“How would you know that? How could you be so certain?”

Roche hissed, losing his congenial persona.

“You told me, you son of a bitch! You said you were going to kill

her!” Mulder shouted.

“And that makes it all right for you to shoot me in the head?? You

couldn’t disarm me, you couldn’t have shot me in the shoulder?

No, you wanted me dead and you succeeded. And for that, you are

going to pay!”

The gavel pounded down on the judge’s desk. “Now, now, we

have to have a conviction before we can impose sentence,” chided

Burnett. “So let’s get this show on the road. Prosecution,

proceed.”

Mulder licked his lips, which had quite suddenly become very dry.

From the table to the left stood a man dressed in an expensive suit.

His head was down and Mulder couldn’t see his face. As he got

closer, the unmistakable stench of bile struck Mulder hard and he

felt his stomach try to revolt.

Eugene Tooms smiled and his yellow eyes glowed brightly.

“Agent Mulder. Would you please tell the court what you were

ordered to do the day before you invaded my private residence and

dragged me to my death?”

“Dragged you? You son of a bitch, you chased me through that

subbasement! I was on my hands and knees, crawling to get away

from you. You grabbed me, you were pulling me back to your

nest!”

“Objection!” shouted Barnett, grinning like the madman he had

been in life. “The witness will answer the question!” Bang! The

gavel hit the wood and made Mulder jump.

Tooms grinned happily at Barnett. “Thank you, your honor. Now,

Agent Mulder, will you please tell the court what you had been

ordered, by no less than Assistant Director Walter Skinner that

day?”

Mulder bit down hard on his lip and tasted blood. There was no

way he was going implicate himself by answering the question.

Bang! The gavel, and this time it hit the wood just an inch from

his head. The implication was clear, answer the question or the

next time the gavel would strike flesh and bone.

“Answer the question!” Barnett hissed.

Mulder craned his neck to the side, trying to work out a knot in his

muscles and possibly get farther away from that gavel. “I was

ordered to stay away from you. I was ordered to drop any

investigation of the case.”

Tooms smiled grandly, turning toward the jury stand. Mulder still

couldn’t see the faces on the jury because the sunlight through the

windows cast them all in shadows.

“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. A confession. He was

ordered to leave me alone and he still came after me and killed

me.”

“Wait just a damned minute!” Mulder shouted, forgetting his

restraints and trying to stand. His arms strained against the

bindings, the cords cut into his flesh. The gavel came down so

close to his head that he felt the breeze. He glared at Barnett, who

glared back.

“The defendant will be seated. Any further outburst and you will

be removed from this courtroom!”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Mulder shot back with a sneer.

Barnett twisted his glare into an evil grin, pointing toward the

double doors at the end of the room. The bailiff walked over to the

doors and slowly pulled one open. Flames as tall as a man danced

beyond the doors. The heat caused the varnish on the wooden door

to peel and scorch.

Mulder let out a deep breath. “I would say that’s a yes,” he

mumbled.

“QUIET!” Barnett shouted. When Mulder remained silent, Barnett

smiled happily. “The Prosecution may proceed.”

Mulder sat there as each of the twelve jury members and all the

faceless people from the audience slowly converged upon him.

Victor Dugas, with the bullet hole right in the middle of his

forehead where Mulder had placed it, Assistant Director Harper,

the sheets that strangled her still hanging from her neck, he could

just make out Bill Patterson’s features from the grotesque mask

carved into his flesh–all the serial killers, mutants and monsters

he’d finished off or who had killed themselves after their capture in

his 15 years with the Bureau. They all walked past him, glaring.

Each one placed a black marble in a bowl on a table before the

judge’s bench. No one had to tell him what the black balls meant.

They were casting their votes for his guilt.

Diana came forward, after the last of the ‘prosecution’ filed past,

and carried the bowl to Barnett. He took it from her hand and

placed it reverently on the side rail nearest the witness stand. “I

suppose I would be remiss if I didn’t at least look for a white

marble,” Barnett said with a trumped up, mournful expression.

“Why bother?” Mulder growled. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten

here, wasn’t even sure where ‘here’ was, but it wasn’t looking good

for the home team.

“If you waive the count, we can go directly to sentencing,” Barnett

suggested with a helpful smile.

“By all means. Let’s get this over with,” Mulder said with forced

politeness.

“Your crimes are many and heinous. Only the most severe penalty

will suffice. On earth, that would mean losing your life, Fox

Mulder. But here, it means losing your soul,” Barnett said with a

chilling glare.

“Bailiff, take the prisoner away,” he shouted and Mulder looked up

to see one last person approach him. It was Mrs. Paddock, the

‘kindly’ science substitute teacher he’d encounter so many years

before. But as she approached, her face changed and finally none

other than Cancerman himself stood directly at his side.

Cancerman smiled down at Mulder. “I knew you’d lose your life,

son. But I thought you’d at least keep your soul.” With smoke

billowing around him, he grabbed Mulder by the arms and dragged

him off the stand.

“But you’re not dead! I didn’t kill you! You’re still alive, at least I

thought you were,” Mulder shouted at his captor.

“I am alive, Fox. Very much alive. See, you can’t kill the Devil,”

replied the old man and he threw back his head to cackle out a

laugh that sent shivers down Mulder’s spine.

“No! Wait! I don’t want to lose my soul! Scully!! Where’s

Scully?” he cried and Cancerman yanked on his arm, dragging him

closer and closer to the fires beyond the double doors of the

courtroom. Then he saw her, holding the doors open, waiting for

him to be dragged to his doom.

“Mulder, why did you go in there without me?” she asked

sorrowfully.

“Scully, save me!” he cried out. “Please, save me! I don’t deserve

this, Scully! You have to do something! Save me!”

“Mulder, you left me behind,” she said, shaking her head. As he

was being dragged through the doors, she leaned over him, her

tears rolling down her cheeks and falling on his face.

“Oh, Mulder, why couldn’t you just wait?” she asked and he

grabbed her hand, clinging to it. The heat from the flames was so

intense he had to close his eyes.

“Save me, Scully,” he sobbed. More tears fell from her eyes, he

felt them on his cheeks.

“Mulder, open your eyes,” she ordered, but she softened her words

by caressing his cheek.

“Is he OK?” asked a voice in the darkness.

“I think he hit his head. And his tailbone is probably going to be

sore,” Scully’s voice had lost all its sorrow. She was using her

Doctor voice, but at least she was still stroking his cheek. “C’mon,

Mulder. Stop playing possum. The sooner you wake up, the

sooner we can swing by the ER. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to call

the ambulance and neither of us really want that, do we?”

Tears were still falling on his cheeks. Or were they tears? Slowly,

he opened his eyes to see Scully smiling down at him. There

weren’t tears on her cheeks, there were raindrops. They were

outside the warehouse in the pouring rain.

“Hey, there,” she said and her grin got bigger.

“Ouch,” he replied, but attempted to sit up, until his sore tailbone

came into contact with the hard ground underneath. “Shit!”

“I’m going to be really pissed at you if you damaged yourself

again, Mulder,” she told him sternly. Then she dutifully helped

him to his feet. Standing wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be.

But sitting was going to be a major problem.

“The bust?” he asked, as she helped him toward their car.

“Over and done. Enriquez was caught selling 10 kilos. More

than enough to put him away.”

Mulder nodded. “I watched. At least I was watching until . . .

what the hell happened?”

“You found a trap door, Mulder,” she told him as she settled him

into the car seat. He slid down so that his weight wasn’t directly on

his tailbone. “From the looks of it, it was a way of accessing the

basement under the warehouse. The wood had rotted; there was a

hole in the roof directly over it. You just fell through. Fortunately,

you’d already called out the troops, so we were able to catch the

drug buy. But it took us a while to find you. We kept calling for

you, but you wouldn’t answer.”

“I was . . . I was in hell,” he whispered, swallowing hard.

“Hell’s probably not as wet and cold as where you were, Mulder.

Come on. I think I can manage to play ‘doctor’ for tonight. Let’s

get you home and in bed.”

“Can we play dress up?” he asked, relieved that whatever he’d been

through had been a bad dream caused by unconsciousness.

“What have you got in mind?” Scully responded with a raised

eyebrow.

“Doctor and patient. But I get the scrubs and you get the flappy

hospital gown,” he leered.

“How about we both get the flappy hospital gown,” she countered.

“As soon as your back end is feeling better. I’d guess that would

be in a couple of days,” she added with a grin.

“See, Scully, I told you. This Halloween is a complete bust!”

the end

Special thanks to all the I Made This Production authors whose

wonderful villains inspired me to create this vision of judgment

day for Mulder.

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