The X-Files Origins--Devil's Advocate

by Jonathan Maberry

  “Project? How?”

  Sunlight raised his arms to indicate the Chrysalis Room. “In the same way that we flew into outer space, Dana. Whoever is doing this is like us. He is a powerful psychic.”

  It stunned her for a full five seconds, but then she began to nod. It made sense, though in a crooked, awkward way. The floor beneath her feet still seemed ready to tilt, and even though the pear had helped a little, her brain felt like it was filled with cotton candy, angry bees, and sharp thorns. She imagined this was what being drunk must feel like, and she decided right there and then that she wanted no part of any real disorientation. Meditative freakiness was plenty, thank you very much.

  “Look, there’s something I haven’t told you,” said Dana, “but I think I know something about the killings that even the sheriff’s department doesn’t know.”

  Sunlight narrowed his eyes. “How?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said, “but I think Maisie Bell was killed in a way that was supposed to reproduce the wounds of Jesus.” She explained about the wrists, feet, and other injuries. Sunlight looked grave.

  “I … don’t know what to say about that,” he said.

  “What could it mean, though?” she asked. “Why would someone want to do something like that?”

  Sunlight shook his head slowly. “It’s hard to say. Maybe he doesn’t understand what he’s doing.”

  “No,” insisted Dana. “I think he knows exactly what he’s doing, but I don’t know why. What does he get out of imitating the way Jesus died? Is it some kind of blasphemy thing?”

  “No,” said Sunlight firmly. “No, more likely it is because this … person … feels that he has a connection of great importance to Jesus Christ. That, perhaps, he is like him in some way. Who knows, he might even believe he is honoring his victims by giving them the same wounds as Christ.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “Probably not according to the world as he sees it. Can you remember his face?” asked Sunlight. “Can you still see it?”

  She closed her eyes and almost immediately lost her balance. She stumbled, and Sunlight caught her with a slender but surprisingly strong hand. The floor gradually, reluctantly steadied beneath her.

  “Almost,” she said. “I can almost see him.…”

  “Try,” he urged.

  She did try. Dana let Sunlight steady her balance as she once more closed her eyes and willed herself to reopen that page of her recent memory. She could see the beautiful face of the angel, and despite everything Sunlight had said, the creature still terrified her, but she endured it because she had to know what face was hidden by the image of Lucifer.

  She tried and tried.

  But the harder she grabbed at the memory, the more surely and completely it drifted backward into darkness.

  She opened her eyes and sighed. And for a moment she leaned her head against Sunlight’s chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Sunlight stroked her hair the way her father sometimes used to when Dana woke from a nightmare. It made her feel safe, protected. She could not imagine Sunlight allowing anyone or anything to hurt her.

  “It’s okay, Dana,” he said as he pushed her gently to arm’s length and looked down at her. “We can try again another time.”

  Tears, unexpected and red hot, rolled down her cheeks. “But … but I have to try again now. Let’s start again. I can’t just stop. Not when I’m this close to knowing who the killer is. I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this kind of thing drains a person. You’ll be out of it for a couple of hours. You should go home and lie down. I’m going to soak in a tub and then eat a couple of pounds of protein.” He gave a small laugh. “We may only wear these suits of flesh and bone, but the body has limitations. We have to honor that. So, no, as much as we both want to know the truth, it is simply not possible right now. We’re both exhausted, and that makes it highly dangerous.”

  “But—”

  “Go home, Dana. Wait, here, take this,” he said, and took six sticks of the special incense, wrapped them in a silk handkerchief, and gave them to her. “It’ll help you center yourself. Light one and meditate, or just light it and sleep. It’s better than chamomile tea for soothing jangled nerves. Go on, take them. Good. Now, we should leave it all here for now. We can’t do what we can’t do.”

  And that was it.

  She picked up her school backpack from where she’d dumped it by the door and left, wobbling as the world rocked uneasily on its creaky wheels.

  In the hall she saw Corinda going into the ladies’ room, and Dana followed her. A stall door clicked as she entered, and Dana crossed to a sink and washed her face with soap and cold water. When she looked into her own reflection, she was surprised at how flushed she looked. And her pupils were huge. All from floating around in …

  In what?

  Not actual outer space. That was nuts.

  In her imagination? In the spirit world? Dana realized that she had no idea how to label what had just happened, but she felt like she finally might begin to understand God. How He could be all-seeing, all-knowing, connected to all beings. Was this like the religious ecstasy she had read about in stories of certain saints?

  The toilet flushed, jarring her out of her thoughts, and Corinda stepped out of the stall.

  “Hey,” she said. “I didn’t know that was you out here. How was your session with Sunlight? He’s amazing, isn’t he?”

  “That doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  Corinda took her place at the sink and washed her hands, then accepted a paper towel that Dana took from the dispenser. As she dried her hands, she studied Dana.

  “Don’t hate me for saying it, sweetie, but you look like crap.”

  “Thanks. I feel like crap.”

  Corinda reached out and brushed a strand of red hair from Dana’s face. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

  “I…”

  “I can see it,” said Corinda softly. “You saw the killer’s face, didn’t you?”

  “I think so,” said Dana, her own voice small and scared. “But it wasn’t clear. I couldn’t see exactly who it was. I’m so close, but I just … can’t.”

  Corinda’s face was serious and her gaze penetrating.

  “Maybe,” she said, “I can.”

  CHAPTER 49

  The Observation Room

  7:01 P.M.

  “He’s here,” said Danny.

  Agent Malcolm Gerlach usually responded to comments with a mixture of snark, indifference, and mild threats. Not this time. He shot to his feet, pulled on his black suit coat, and smoothed his tie.

  “Okay,” he said nervously. “Show him in.”

  The technician went out and returned in under a minute. He held the door open for three people to enter the room. Two were agents in identical black suits, with wires behind their ears and merciless faces. The third man was tall, heavyset, with jowly cheeks, wavy gray hair, and merciless eyes. He was immaculately dressed in a smoky blue suit and hand-painted silk tie, and he carried with him an air of immense power. Danny, who was used to being cowed by Agent Gerlach, now saw the red-haired man fidget like a grubby schoolkid as their guest entered the room. Danny had no idea what the man’s name was. When he was mentioned at all, which was rarely, Gerlach and some of the other top agents referred to him as the First Elder. No actual name was ever given, and Danny was too smart, young as he was, to ask questions.

  “Have a seat, sir,” said Gerlach, gesturing toward a comfortable leather chair that had been brought down that morning from the priest’s old office. Now it was clean and polished and placed beside a table on which were a fresh pot of coffee and some expensive little cakes.

  The First Elder glanced at the chair and his mouth turned down in a sneer. But he sat down anyway. Gerlach poured coffee into a porcelain cup and backed away, almost giving the impression that he was bowing. In any other circumstance Danny would have been embarrassed on the agent’s behalf. Not now. Not
with this man. No way. Danny stood apart from Gerlach, back against the wall of monitors, but he wished he could be absolutely anywhere else but here.

  “We had a meeting last week,” said the First Elder without preamble. “We had a lengthy discussion about this operation.”

  Gerlach stood as straight as a ramrod. Danny could see sweat glistening on Gerlach’s forehead and upper lip. The agent said nothing.

  “It’s fair to say that we aren’t as enthusiastic about the progress of the Craiger Initiative as you seem to be in your field reports,” said the Elder. He had a high-pitched but gravelly voice. He did not touch the coffee or cakes.

  “We are moving as fast as caution allows,” Gerlach said.

  “That sounds like an excuse rather than an explanation.”

  Gerlach’s left eye twitched.

  The First Elder’s eyes were so cold, almost dead. “Perhaps you think that because we are playing a long game, we have unlimited time. That is not the case. In your preliminary assessment, you spoke very highly of your man, this ‘angel,’ as he calls himself. You made certain predictions as to a timetable you swore you could manage.”

  Gerlach said nothing.

  “We are playing a very dangerous game, agent. Very dangerous. We are risking a betrayal of trust on all sides. When this project began, we all knew that we were putting ourselves at risk. We were putting the world at risk. You convinced us that the angel would be able to cultivate the abilities of these children. You said that they would form the core of an elite army that we could put into play against our…” He paused and considered the best word, then finished with, “Masters.”

  “That is what we’re doing,” said Gerlach.

  “And yet you are dangerously close to missing your own deadline.”

  “Sir … this is new territory for us. For anyone,” insisted Gerlach. “It’s not an exact science.”

  “That is your concern, agent,” said the First Elder. “You made promises that we have taken seriously. We expect you to deliver the promised assets.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The First Elder studied him with the kind of look Danny had seen people use when selecting a lobster from a tank at a seafood restaurant. “In your most recent memo, you asked for an extension in order to deal with some unforeseen complications. Please explain to me what constitutes a ‘complication,’ as you see it.”

  “It’s the angel,” said Gerlach. “From the beginning it’s been about him.”

  “Exactly what is it that concerns you?”

  Gerlach cleared his throat. “He’s erratic, unstable, psychotic, and dangerous.”

  “Yes,” drawled the Elder slowly, “that was rather the point when we recruited him into the Montauk Project. We wanted dangerous operatives, and he is very dangerous.”

  “Dangerous, yes,” said Gerlach, “but also unstable. He’s a loose cannon. His, um, methods are endangering the entire program here.”

  “Because he is killing children?”

  “Well … yes … that’s a huge concern. He’s killed six of—”

  “We don’t care how many coffins are put into the ground,” interrupted the First Elder as he got heavily to his feet. He sighed and began walking toward the door. “We need results. We need a weapon or we are going to lose this war.”

  “I thought we already had lost.”

  The Elder paused at the door. “The future isn’t written in stone, Agent Gerlach. The key to survival is to be prepared when an opportunity arises. To that end we need him to push.”

  “The angel is pushing.”

  “Tell him to push harder. Turn up the amplification,” he said. “Turn it all the way up.”

  Gerlach took a breath. “Even with the Scully girl?”

  “Especially with her.”

  “What if he kills her?”

  “William Scully has four children,” said the First Elder. “He owes us one.”

  Then he left with his bodyguards in tow. They did not bother to close the door.

  CHAPTER 50

  Beyond Beyond

  7:03 P.M.

  Dana and Corinda sat together. Not at the usual table, but in the curtained niche in the far corner of the big store, away from the majority of the foot traffic.

  “Sit,” said Corinda as she pulled the curtains together. They were sheer, with a pattern of swirling planets interspersed with astrological symbols. Corinda turned and looked down at her, then frowned. “Are you high?”

  “High?” said Dana, almost laughing. “God, no! Why would you even ask something like that?”

  “You look it. Your pupils are dilated and you’re flushed.”

  “I’m freaked out and I spent the last hour in a dark room.”

  Corinda chewed her lip for a moment. “Okay, I guess that must be it.”

  She pulled up a chair and sat. The niche was cramped, with a small round table, two kitchen chairs with pads, and a small three-drawer cabinet. The chairs were painted with swirling lines of color that wound around the legs and exploded across the back splat. A thick brocade tablecloth lay across the table, embroidered with some kind of mystical symbols Dana only half recognized. She thought they might have been alchemical symbols, but she wasn’t positive. The cabinet was painted blue, but each drawer was a separate shade of purple. The drawer pulls were brass, shaped like turtles. Atop the table was a single fat candle with three wicks, but they were unlit. Corinda folded her arms across her chest, head tilted to one side as she assessed Dana.

  “Please,” said Dana, “if you have something to tell me, let’s talk about it. But no more psychic journeys or readings or Vulcan mind-melding or whatever it is you and Sunlight seem to dig doing. I am about as far out on the edge of going completely berserk as possible. I want to go home and hide in my room. I want to find whoever’s doing this and … and…”

  She stopped, unwilling to put into words the red thoughts that filled her woozy brain.

  “Don’t worry,” said Corinda. “I’m not here to play any mind games.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “I could tell that you had another vision as soon as I saw you in the bathroom. I could feel it, Dana. And it must have been really powerful, because the air around you crackled with spiritual energy. Even now I can see sparks shooting off you.”

  Dana looked at her hands and arms. “I don’t see anything.”

  Corinda smiled at that. “We have different gifts, sweetie. It seems like it’s your destiny to see into darkness. It’s mine to see light. When I look at you, I can see your aura. It’s like seeing an electrical junction box that has too much energy running through it. I know it’s hurting you and I think I can help.”

  Dana grabbed her hands and squeezed them. “How? Not even Sunlight could help. We did this weird astral projection thing and it fried us both.”

  “Ah,” said Corinda.

  “What?”

  “Look, I don’t want to talk out of turn here, and I wouldn’t say a word against Sunlight. He’s amazing. But … people think he’s more of a big deal than he actually is. It’s that post-hippie love god groove of his. Everyone falls under his spell, and they think he can walk on water.”

  Dana was surprised. “You wouldn’t say that if you were in the room with us just now.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong,” said Corinda quickly. “I’m not saying he doesn’t have power, but he isn’t an ascended master or anything like that.”

  “I thought you two were friends,” Dana said.

  “We are, we are. I just think it’s important to understand things as they are. Perspective is part of how we embrace the real truth.”

  “Truth?”

  “Truth is everything,” said Corinda. “Everything that I do here, everything that goes on at Beyond Beyond, is part of the search for the truth—don’t you know that? Meditation, yoga, astrology, divination—all of it is about unlocking information that is normally hidden from us. We have to learn to see differently and learn differently,
to be open to pathways to the truth that are different from what they teach in school or preach in church. Essential truths are cosmic, and when we are brave enough to accept them and live by them, then we free ourselves to—”

  Dana held up her hands. “Please! I can’t do any more of that stuff. Not today. My head’s going to burst. I just need to know who killed Maisie.”

  “Sorry,” said Corinda. “You really must be overloaded. Sunlight wore you out with his games, and now I’m browbeating you with more.”

  Dana wiped at her eyes, expecting to find tears, but there was nothing. Her eyes stung, though, and the room—even now—seemed to rock back and forth. Lights were too bright and sounds seemed to hammer and grate.

  “If you know who the angel is, then tell me,” she begged.

  “I’m sorry, Dana, but it isn’t as easy as that,” said Corinda, softening her voice and taking Dana’s hands in hers, kneading them the way she had before. “It’s not like I get a face, name, and life details. What I get is a series of impressions. A glimpse of a face and then some loose and cryptic images.”

  Dana’s shoulders sagged. “Oh.”

  “But it’s something certain,” Corinda assured her. “I know it is.”

  Dana squeezed back. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she promised, “but this angel is strong. He knows who I am and he is afraid of me. He hides his face from me.”

  “Can you try?”

  Corinda sneered. “I’m not afraid of him. I have psychic defenses he knows he can’t get through. Now … breathe slow and let go. Imagine a doorway in your mind. Okay, now pretend that is the door to your inner mind and I’m standing on the other side. I want you to see yourself reaching for the knob, turning it, opening the door. That’s it. Now step back and let me in. Let me take your visions from you so I can decode them.” Corinda closed her eyes and took several long moments breathing slowly and deeply, and then she began to speak in a trancelike whisper. “I see a knife. It flashes silver. It clicks. Not a … hunting knife. Smaller. Something that folds.”