--------------------------- THE AWFUL TRUTH by Pellinor --------------------------- Winner of the Fluffy Trophy(R) 1998 for the Best Humor (Melody Morgan Carter, xduchess@freemail.it) "The Awful Truth" part 1 of 1 by Pellinor (Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk) ___ RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: XH, I suppose. It should really be HA, but I don't suppose Angst-Humour pieces are exactly ten a penny on the archive. SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully discover the Truth, and it's rather horrible. Characters die with lots of angst, but this _is_ a humour piece - honest. ____ DISCLAIMER: Oh dear. Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox and are used without permission and without profit. Other people and institutions mentioned be- long to themselves, and no offence intended. Okay, this is an Angst-Humour piece, and could be seen as rather warped. It's an idea I've had drafted for nearly a year, since I first saw Anasazi, and have finally decided to write. Parts of it can be read as a satire of.... Well, that would be telling. But please remember that it's all fondly meant, and not at all malicious. ********** Hell. It was like Hell. Scully couldn't suppress a shudder as she set her foot on the metal rung of the ladder, preparing to descend into.... A quick flash. Flames. Burning, burning.... The acrid smell of smoke. The shrivelled twisted bodies of the dead, tormented until they were scarcely human. Hell. "Stop that!" she chided herself, silently, cursing her imagination. This wasn't Hell. This wasn't a fiery inferno. This was just.... darkness. A deep, subterranean darkness. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. Clang.... Her foot clashed against the metal rung, as the light slipped away above her. The wrong shoes again. She half smiled at the thought, even amidst her worries. Hard-soled high heels for scram- bling down hillsides in the middle of the desert. Not the most sensible sort of footwear. When that green blood had eaten through her new shoes a few months back she should have taken that as a hint. Mulder and high heels just didn't go together. Clang.... Another step, taking her closer to.... to..... Was he there in the dark, lying dead or dying? Or had they descended from the sky and taken him? "Oh my God, Scully, what have they done?" Were those terrible words destined to be the last she ever heard from him? Clang.... And then there was a noise in the darkness. A gasp.... A painful breath.... "Mulder?" She fumbled for her torch as she spoke, her voice scarcely above a whisper. She couldn't speak too loud, just in case.... She blinked, trying to adapt herself to the dark- ness. It could be anyone. A gun trained on her in the dark- ness. Cruel hands waiting to choke and strangle.... "Mulder?" Louder this time. She _had_ to make sure. "Is that you?" And then her fingers found the torch's switch and she saw him. "Oh God! Mulder!" He was lying motionless in a huge pool of blood on the floor, his face etched with pain. He showed no signs of ha- ving heard her. "Mulder?" She hardly dared touch him, but she had to - had to find out the truth even if it was terrible. Shakily, she touched his throat and couldn't suppress a gasp when she found a pulse. How could anyone lose so much blood and yet live? "Oh, Mulder." She stroked his forehead with gentle fingers. They were still covered with red dust from where she'd scrambled over the rocks outside, and left behind a smear of red on his face, like a streak of paint. And then he moved. Slowly, barely at all, he moved his mouth and whispered a word that was unmistakable even though his voice was as quiet as the wind in the trees. And there are no trees in a desert. "Who did this to you, Mulder?" She was all fire, eyes bla- zing with righteous fury. She would find them. She would make them suffer. She would.... "I.... did...." Her hands fell limp to her sides in horror as she took in his words. God! It all made sense. His own gun on the floor near his hand. The look of despair in his eyes. The horror in his voice over the phone. His confession just now.... "No!" She spoke aloud with the force of her denial. She would _not_ think of this. There must be a perfectly ratio- nal explanation of this. There was no evidence to warrant jumping to such conclusions. "I'm sorry, Scully...." She couldn't listen to him. There was so much pain in his words. If she let herself listen to it she'd be lost. Better to do something, than sit around wallowing in the horror of it. There would be time for that later. "Mulder, I'm just going to look at that wound." "No!" He tried to protest, but was too badly hurt to move. Gently she pulled up his shirt, chewing her lip in horror when she saw the blood that still oozed from the gunshot wound low on his abdomen. It was terrible. It was critical. But it didn't need to be fatal. There was hope. Not much, but some. She forced a smile. "For once, I'm glad you chose not to go by the book." It was better to humour him in his delusion that he'd shot himself. He was in no state to fight. "Most people shoot themselves in the head. I couldn't bring you back from that." "I.... did...." He didn't smile at her feeble attempt at a joke. "Aimed at head.... Dropped gun.... Hit by.... rico- chet...." She followed his gaze and saw a bullet-shaped indentation in a filing cabinet on the left of the boxcar. She frowned. The evidence was mounting up, but that was all the more rea- son not to believe it. And then she saw it. The name on the filing cabinets.... "The project...." Her voice was the merest whisper. "The project...." "No!" Mulder tried to hold her sleeve but was too weak. "Don't.... Scully.... Don't...." "What _is_ that, Mulder?" She held him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. "What's in this boxcar?" "Scully...." Sweat was pouring down his brow with the ur- gency of his message. "Don't...." "What is in this boxcar, Mulder?" Her voice was ice. "The word...." He was gasping for breath. "My father.... When he died.... Said I'd understand the word.... I.... I understand now....." "Mulder." She gripped him tightly, her voice like steel. He was drifting away. She _had_ to stop him. "Stay with me, Mulder. Tell me." She shook his gently, trying to keep him conscious. "Damn it, Mulder. You've ditched me often enough. You are _not_ going to run away from this life without at least telling me why. I do _not_ want a cryptic email from...." She frowned. Did God have Internet access? No matter. The way he'd been going, it would be the other place anyway. "Mulder." She shook her head, recognising the signs of stress on her wandering mind. "Tell me what you've found." "I.... can't...." His eyes welled up with pain. "I'm sorry.... You can't know the Truth.... For your own sake...." "No Mulder." She let his head fall back to the floor, le- arning from the clash it made that the floor was metal too. What _was_ this place? "I want.... No, I _need_ to know." She stood up and walked across to the filing cabinet, and opened a drawer with shaking hands. She'd thought she'd been prepared for anything, but she'd _never_ expected the sight that greeted her eyes. Files. Lots and lots of files. She pulled one out at random, noting the code letters typed on the front. XR? What did it mean? I _will_ open it. I _will_ open it. She spoke to herself silently, trying to get the courage. After all, it was just a file. She'd seen her name in a file already that day, and was coming to terms with that. What fresh horror could this contain? Nothing she couldn't cope with. But she was wrong. "My God!" She could feel her cheeks burning hot with em- barrassment. Had Mulder read this? Could she ever look at him again? The pages held her with a horrified fascination, as the terrible words assailed her imagination. Mulder... Had he....? God! _How_ long? Throbbing.... _Nine_ times in one night? Pert.... _pert_? God! It was horrible.... She wiped a hand over her brow. Strange how hot it was underground. It was horrible.... It was.... She turned over quickly, anxious to quell _that_ thought, and then.... "Mulder! I didn't know you and Kry..." She clapped her hand to her mouth, realising she'd spoken aloud, but fortu- nately he appeared to be unconscious and didn't hear her. Quick, Scully! Turn over! She muttered to herself as her awkward fingers fumbled with the pages, struggling to turn them. Then the next few minutes whirled together into a swirling nightmare of horror, leaving her reeling. Skinner and her mother? Skinner and _Mulder_? Mulder and Bigfoot.... God! It got worse. Mulder and a vampire called Kristen? She almost laughed at that one, even amidst her disgust. As if he'd ever.... And the words! The language! "Oh Mulder," she read aloud, mouthing the words under her breath and finding them so alien to the cadences of her own speech. "I was so scared, Mulder. I thought you were dead, and my heart just went pitt-a-pat with fear. Because I love you, Fox Mulder. Yes, I love you. I love you and want to have your babies. Take me, Mulder. Let me lower myself on your throbbing....." "No!" She slammed that file shut. She knew their game. It was Them - the project. Inventing slanderous rumours to discre- dit their work. It was almost disappointing. She'd expected more of them. As if anyone would believe _that_..... But then she opened the second file, and felt the blood freeze in her veins with the very horror of it. XA, that's what it was labelled, and as soon as saw it she knew without a doubt that she was holding in her hands the reports of some of the most evil people who'd ever lived. It was all there. Pain. Death. Indescribable torture. De- spair. Madness. "Oh Mulder." She looked at him, tears in her eyes. "As if you'd ever...." And then the tears swallowed up the words. She couldn't even bring herself to _say_ the things that these.... these monsters could write about so calmly. God! They even seemed to revel in it. What was their game? Were these the evil fantasies of their enemies? Were they blueprints for future campaigns? Were they.... God! Were these too part of a sinister cam- paign of misinformation, designed to cover their villainy? They could kill Mulder and get away with it. All they had to do was to circulate a few of these stories, and no-one could fail to believe Mulder had killed himself "Oh, Mulder." She moved over and crouched down beside him. "As if you'd really kill yourself." Something didn't seem quite right about this statement, but there was no time to worry about that. "Mulder?" She touched him gently. What was it they'd said? Caressing his soft skin like.... She stopped that thought abruptly. "It's okay, Mulder. I've seen it all. I know." Slowly, painfully, his eyes opened. "You've seen it?" His face spoke of his astonishment that she still lived. His eyes _were_ hazel. Strange she'd never noticed it before. And she'd forgotten about those glasses. "You're.... you're okay....?" "Of course I am." She tried to smile reassurance. After all, it wasn't _that_ bad, was it? "I know about the project. It's.... it's evil. But it could be worse." "The.... project?" He frowned with confusion, wincing with the pain of speaking. "Yes. You know, Mulder. The project they keep talking about. Project G...." She couldn't bring herself to say the word. She could tell it was evil. Something about those cruel sinuous "s" sounds. Gossssssamer..... He frowned again, shaking his head. Strange how she'd never noticed that stubborn lock of hair that fell across his forehead. "Oh.... yes... Project Gossamer. I know...." "There's more, isn't there?" Terrible realisation gripped her as she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him round to face her. "That's _not_ the Truth, is it?" He looked at her pleadingly, but was silent. But if he _did_ look like a puppy, it was a very pained sort of mon- grel. "Mulder...." she warned. "No." It obviously hurt him to admit it. "Project Gossa- mer... not authorised by Them.... They.... underhand methods to attack.... Read the.... disclaimers...." "Then who _does_ write...." she began, but then cut off. There was no time to think about that. "So what _is_ the Truth?" But Mulder's head fell back and he passed into unconsciou- sness. She didn't waste another second but jumped up and returned to the filing cabinet. She _would_ find out the Truth. And there it was in the second drawer she looked at. Pho- tographs. Lots and lots of photographs. Surveillance photo- graphs of her, of Mulder, of the two of them together. It was only as she flicked through them a second time that she realised. She hadn't.... They hadn't.... God! What had they _done_ here? She knew people could use computers to forge photographs but she'd no idea they could do it this well. It looked just like her. It _was_ her. And that was definitely Mulder. But in bed together....? With a dog....? And that other man...? She didn't even need to ask who the other man was. That he was one of Them was obvious from the air of evil he exuded - from the selfish and cruel glint in his eyes. This was a man just like Cancerman. A man who toyed with people, answering questions with questions, suppressing them without mercy of they dared to think that the Truth belonged to the people not to a select few. But that he should put himself in a photograph - a forged photograph - with her and Mulder.... That he should _sell_ it to appear on the front cover of a magazine.... God! What sort of a person would get pleasure from looking at such a picture? "Mulder!" She tore her horrified gaze away from the pic- ture, returning to Mulder's side. She wanted to talk about this with him - to help each other get over these horrible discoveries - but he was still unconscious. And then she remembered.... God! She'd forgotten to call an ambulance! She cursed under her breath as she reached for her phone. Why had she forgotten? It should have been the first thing she'd done. It was as if she was the Scully who appeared on those terrible Gossamer files, controlled by one of those evil authors who wanted to prolong the agony, even if it meant going to immense and implausible lengths to delay the arrival of help until it was too late. But there was no phone. She must have dropped it in her haste to get to Mulder's side after the line went dead. She looked around desperately for Mulder's phone, but it was no use either. He'd fallen on it when he'd landed and crushed it beyond recognition, obviously falling on that one weak point in its design that she'd warned him about repea- tedly. "Oh God!" she muttered, looking around desperately. There was no help. She would have told Albert where she was going, but he'd been unexpectedly called away. And his grandson.... God alone knew where he'd gone to. She couldn't even drive back for help because her car had run out of gas, purring to a halt just next to the boxcar. There was nothing for it but to wait. And to find out the Truth.... She moved to the other side of the boxcar this time, de- termined to investigate the shelves. Her hands were shaking with her rising panic, and she knew she was getting close. Crash! A jar of Eugene Tooms Body Lotion fell to the floor, pushed aside by her desperate searching hands. Crunch! Something soft collapsed under her foot and she bent down, peeling a label off the brown goo that was spread across the floor. Some of it got on her finger. It smelt like.... "Oh my God!" she muttered. "I think it's chocolate." "Chocolate Mulders," she read aloud from the label. "To suck with a languorous tongue, or to crunch to a pulp with your teeth. How do you eat yours?" "Oh my God!" She licked her finger absent mindedly, let- ting the rich taste flow around her mouth, feeling the sa- liva flow with desire for more. "This is.... this is...." She picked up some more and savoured its taste for while. "This is _terrible_!" she said, firmly, at last. But then she saw something that made all her previous di- scoveries pale into insignificance. It was a huge pile of boxes. Shaking, trembling, she moved toward them, knowing so- mehow, deep within her, that this was the key - this was the reason Mulder was lying unconscious in a pool of blood. They were pink boxes, covered with stars and cute aliens and fluffy scalpels and knives. But inside there was.... nothing. Just box after box of emptiness. "Alien Abduction Barbie," she read out with a shaking voice. "Only fifty dollars. Give your child a purpose in life." "Oh God!" She sank to the floor in horror, as she turned the box upside down, knowing that this would change her life for ever, but unable to stop reading. _This_ was what had destroyed Mulder. She _had_ to know the Truth, so she could help him. Even if it made her lie awake at night in perpe- tual horror, she _had_ to put him first. It was worse than she'd ever feared. "Certificate of authenticity," she read. "Alien Abduction Barbie is guaranteed a perfect replica of our genuine ab- ductee model, Samantha Mulder. Every doll has been thorou- ghly tested for accuracy." And then came the worst thing of all. It was dated 1995. "Oh, Mulder." She returned to his side, stroking his head to return him to consciousness. She _had_ to talk to him about this. She couldn't leave him alone to cope with this.... this horror. "Scully...." It was the tiniest whisper. "I know, Mulder." She felt tears rise in her throat but choked them back. She had to be the strong one. "I know about Samantha...." But what more could she say? What could she say that could make it better, this discovery that his sister had been kept alive for 22 years in a living hell? "Samantha." All the grief in the world was in his cry. It wasn't Mulder she was hearing. It was the terrible tortured not-Mulder of those files. "But she's still alive." She was clutching at straws, trying to smile when there was no hope. "We can still find her." "No...." He shook his head in despair. "She's gone.... That's what.... That's why they need her to.... to model.... empty boxes...." "We _will_ find her." She saw the truth of his words, but she couldn't bring herself to agree with him, not now. "I'll look.... See if I can find Their address...." "No!" Mulder struggled to sit up, a look of terror in his eyes. "Don't go there...." "But, Mulder. I might find something to help." She forced a smile as she reached out for the cupboard. Why she'd over- looked it before, she couldn't tell. It was right next to where Mulder was lying. "No! Scully.... Don't....." "It's okay, Mulder. I want to help....." But then her words were but off as the bottom fell out of her world. It was her. Hair a little too red, but her none the less. Twelve inches of plastic Scully, held in her hand. There was a string in the middle of the back, and she pulled that, ri- veted to the sight with a horrified fascination, and heard the doll speak in a tiny artificial voice: "Mulder, it's me. Where are you?" And then the blackness of the boxcar was suddenly filled with a blinding light.... Flash..... Lying on a steel table, as cruel faces bent down above her, and cruel hands probed her.... Flash.... The pain. The fear. Not knowing where she was or whether she'd ever be returned to life. Flash.... The voices, cruel and hard, talking about her. "DNA.... Hybrid with the plastic.... Growing nicely..... Clones.... Project Barbie....." Flash..... Floating on a boat, drifting away from life. Voices cal- ling to her from far away. Concerned voices, talking.... "Branched DNA.... Something weird in her blood...." Flash.... And then the darkness of the boxcar surged through the me- mory, and she knew she couldn't live. It was too horrible. That they'd used her DNA to create this.... this monstro- sity just for the amusement of the nation's children - the brainless pawns of the Military Industrial Entertainments Complex. It was more terrible than anyone could ever contemplate. "Mulder." She could hardly speak. "You said.... The word. When your father died, what was the word?" Tears were pouring down his face, but he didn't speak. "Mulder, what was the word?" She picked up his gun and raised it slowly to her head. Its touch was cold, like the touch of a lover with very cold fingers after a romp in the snow. "The word, Mulder....?" Her finger tightened on the trigger. Softly, softly.... Just a little touch more and.... Then slowly, painfully, he opened his mouth, and spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper. "The merchandise." Then the world exploded in a flash of noise, and then there was nothing. ********** END Now, I'm sure I needn't add that I don't _really_ think that the Gossamer project is evil incarnate. Nor do I mean this to be an attack on _any_ writers, on fans in general, on people who like Barbie dolls, or anybody. Please remember that I satirise myself here as much as I satirise anyone else. Now, please send feedback. Tell me how warped I am. Tell me other ideas for things that could be in the boxcar. Tell me about other Angst-Humour pieces - I'd love to read them. Rip it apart on fictalk, if you like. I'm sure it deserves it. Whatever. --,--'--,(@ rchived with author consent by Melody Morgan Carter (Monica) xduchess@freemail.it on http://www.angelfire.com/mo/nica