Title: Midnight's Sorrow Author: Semantics Rating: NC-17 for violence, language and sexual situations. Category: WIP, X-file, MSR Spoilers: Seasons one through six. Keywords: X-file, MSR Summary: Agents Mulder and Scully search for a serial killer responsible for the murder of several young women while investigating unexplained visions of a mysterious young boy reported as being seen at the crime scenes. Feedback: Encouraged, responses given. E- mail me at Semantics@writeme.com. Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder, Scully, Skinner, The Lone gunmen are property of Chris Carter and 10-13 productions/Fox. I am only borrowing them for this completely non-profit, fictitious story. No infringement is intended. Authors Note: Thanks again and again to my very patient, thorough and all around wonderful Beta's Brandi, Foxcat and Memento1. Chapter 1 Ramona Stark Residence Harper's Ferry Virginia July 6 10:42 p.m. Ramona fumbled her lipstick then heaved out an annoyed sigh as she bent to retrieve it from her bathroom floor. She immediately observed the small dent in its top and the orange smudge that had resulted across the yellowed linoleum. "The desert sunrise smudge." She corrected herself. "Shit." That was her favorite color and at ten dollars a tube she needed to be less careless with it. "Girl, are you done in there?" Her sister's voice traveled in to her from the living room on the other side of the wall. Jerry Springer threatened to drown out any reply she would have immediately made so she rolled her eyes and waited for the roar of his audience to subside. "I'm almost done, get off my case and turn that crap down or you'll wake Jordan!" Ramona frowned at the hiss that followed. The volume lowered to a murmur. She recapped her damaged tube of desert sunrise and slipped it into her black leather handbag, a cheap Chanel imitation. She stood back to survey her image in the small mirror of her metal medicine cabinet. Her long black hair fell in gentle waves over her bare shoulders, the ends just brushing against the swell of her breasts where her glittery strapless, dark dress began. With midnight black eyes she scanned the coffee and cream colored skin that lie exposed. The short dress and stiletto high heels emphasized her long, shapely legs and ample curves. She nodded silently at her reflection and ran a manicured hand over the curve of her hips before flicking off the light. Jodi sat bathed in the blue light of the television, the worn brown sofa sagging more than her 80-pound frame was responsible for. "You gonna be back late again?" She asked the question without turning around to face her sister. "Its not a day job, you know that." Ramona walked around to the front of the couch, blocking her sister's view of the t.v. show. Jodi had covered herself with a black and green plaid fleece throw and had pulled it up tight to her chin so that only the tired dark eyes on her 14- year- old face were showing. Ramona knelt in front of her. "I'll be back before breakfast. Get some sleep." She guided her sister onto her side readjusting the blanket around her then kissed her gently on theforehead. "Maybe we'll make some blueberry pancakes in the morning. I know you and Jordan both love those. He may just show you up with how many of them he can eat this time." She watched the tension melt on Jodi's face as she spoke. "Close your eyes and I'll be back before you open them again sleepy head." Ramona said turning off the t.v. set. She stood and walked towards the door, purse in hand and turned back in the darkened room, sure she could see her sister's eyes closed and listening to the rhythmic breathing of her son, fast asleep in his bedroom. Satisfied she left, locking the apartment door behind her. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Bubbles N' Fizz Pub 11:30 p.m. He sat quietly at the bar listening to the inane, inebriated drone of adulterers, philanderers and alcoholics. All in search of their weekend fix. Surely they had come to the right place, Bubbles N' Fizz was crawling with cheap prostitutes and stunk of hard liquor. The smells of Cuervo tequila mingled with the heavy, sickly sweet smell of discount perfume, burning the inside of his nose. He shifted a few stools closer to a smoker, preferring the lingering stale ashtray smell. He watched the man sit there in faded blue jeans and a frayed denim jacket, grasping a tumbler of caramel colored liquid with two large, stained hands. He smelled of smoke and booze and of manual labor, of sour sweat and the musty smell of freshly tilled soil. His short brown hair sat disheveled, his weathered face covered with about two full days' worth of stubble. His green eyes were glazed over, seemingly staring past the multiple colored bottles lining the bar shelf into some place only he knew, some place he likely frequented. His Morely sat beside him in a filthy metal ashtray with about an inch of ash hanging from its top. Thin ribbons of gray smoke swirled around his arms and face and disappeared into the smoky cloud that hung to the low ceiling. He felt a familiar ache rise within him as he watched the man with his stupefied gaze, an envy for how easily he had found his oblivion, a calling to find his own. He glanced down at his glass of flat beer, untouched since he ordered it. He wished he could find his amnesty at the bottom of a bottle but that had never done for him. Agitated, he rubbed his hand over the smooth skin of his clean shaven face. The coolness of his class ring had a soothing effect on him and he brought his hand back down to look at it. Antique silver with garnet and the symbol of the red raiders embossed on the side. It had been a graduation gift from his mother, one of the few gifts she had given him and he still cherished it. He sighed and surveyed the bar with obvious boredom. Drunkards and loose women, the same crowds of them as when he had come in. No one in particular grabbed his attention. He had turned on the stool deciding call it a night when he heard the hinges creak loudly on the front door. His breathing became shallow as he watched her walk in. "Twenties", he immediately observed "and gorgeous. Long black hair and skin the color of milk chocolate with a reveling little black dress and lips an intriguing shade of orange. She's the one, she's it." He tried to calm himself as he thought this, to act nonchalant. She saw him looking at her and she smiled at him, a playful little smile. He smiled back, heart racing in his chest and gestured towards the empty stool to the left of him. His hands trembled as she took the seat, her dress shifting further up to reveal more of her curvaceous legs. "Hello." He offered, leaning in closer to her noticing the absence of a wedding ring. "Hi there. You alone tonight?" Her voice was deep and smooth and obviously practiced. The whole bar seemed to fade as he focused in on her. "Yes", he answered sadly, "alone again." His eyes never left hers, he felt lost in their inky darkness. He knew what she hid in there, her secret, he was almost certain of that now. He'd become so good at spotting it. He'd ask her, he always asked them, just not here. "Well, I think I could help you with that. If your interested." She gave him a wink and a naughty little smile as a selling point. "Yes, yes, of course. Just, not here. Let's go elsewhere." His mouth went dry, his head spun a little as he stood and offered her his arm. She took it, smiling. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The Road King Motel Route 340 12:32 a.m. He removed the keys from the ignition of the Ford Taraus and clenched them in his left hand. "I have to be honest with you about something..." He looked over at the dark- haired woman on the passenger side who glanced warily at him waiting for him to continue. "I don't want to have sex. But don't get me wrong I'll pay you, up front if you prefer." The plastic on the key tag for the rental car began to cut into his hand so he loosened his grip. "Listen, I don't do any of the strange underground stuff so if that's what you're looking for forget it." She turned pulling the handle of the door to leave. "No, it's not that. Its nothing like that." His palms began to sweat causing the metallic scent of the keys to transfer on to his hands. He dropped the keys into his jacket pocket and brushed his hands across his pants. She hesitated, undecided, eyeing him cautiously. "I'm just lonely." He hung his head as he continued, stared down at the dark red stone on his class ring, offering her an occasional glance off to the side. Her expression softened and she released the door handle. "I guess that's fine, just unusual. So, what did you have in mind?" "If its okay with you it would be nice to go somewhere private where we could just walk and talk. Do you know of a place?" He had her now, he knew it and he began to feel the intoxicating numbness spread throughout his body. "Actually there's a path behind the motel that leads to a park. My sister and I used to play there often. She smiled sweetly as if through a memory. "That's perfect." He followed her lead, after they left the car, as she wound past trees and bushes, past the yellow light of the motel sign. She rambled around, mumbling about childhood games that she had played in the park as they walked on and he chuckled occasionally, pretending to be interested. The evening was warm and humid; the sound of crickets chirping soon became the only other sounds besides their talking. The moon shone on her raven black hair giving it a silken appearance as he allowed himself to catch up with her. Winded, she stopped and he decided to seize the opportunity. "So, what is a girl like you doing in this line of work?" She regarded him seriously for a moment, handbag clenched in one hand as she rubbed a shin with the other. "It's a living." "Well, surely there must be other ways to make a living?" He prodded intent on getting his answer. "Nothing that pays enough to keep a roof over my son's head and food on the table. Nothing I can do at least." "I see." He swallowed hard. He had his answer, now it was time to move. He patted first his pants pockets and then his jacket pockets, being careful not to jingle the keys that rested there. "Oh, no!" "What?" She looked up, quickly concerned. "My keys, they must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere along the path." He groaned for added emphasis. She ran a hand through her hair thoughtfully and turned to look back at the path that lay behind them. "We've stuck pretty much straight to the path, they must be back there somewhere." "Would you help me find them? You seem so familiar with this place." "Its pretty dark but I suppose I could try." She sighed and proceeded to search the trail in the moonlight. As she did so he started a search of his own. He ignored her distant complaints of aching feet and dim light, his breathing grew heavy with excitement as he looked along the path for just the right sized rock. Not so large that he couldn't carry it easily but it had to be large enough...Soon he found it and quietly slipped on a pair of latex gloves he had hidden in his pants pocket, then picked it up slowly, carefully. "Did you find anything?" He could barely hear himself call out past the roar of blood rushing through his head. He peered back over his shoulder, concealing the rock in front of him. "No, I've found and old shoe by this tree but that's all." "Are you sure because I think I may have brushed up against it?" She knelt back down to check again; her back turned to him. He crept closer. "I still don't see it..." He held his breath now as he came closer still. She dropped her shoulders, lowered her head. "No, nothing else is here." He raised his weapon above her almost noiselessly, patiently lined it up with his intended target and then brought it down swiftly with great precision. The rock met the back of her head with a great thud she slumped face forward towards the tree, leaves crunching loudly as she fell. He dropped the rock, now wet and warm and grabbed her under her arms and dragged her limp body back and laid it out neatly. He took a deep breath, noting the warm coppery smell that now filled the surrounding air. He felt a calm coming over him as a sort of autopilot kicked in, a familiar and comfortable sensation. He removed the soiled latex gloves, carefully turning them inside out and exchanged them for a fresh pair. He methodically pulled a black fabric case from his inner jacket pocket, carefully untying it and spreading it out in front of the motionless body. He admired the silver glint of the blades in the pale moonlight, tried to take it all in, to make it last. But he knew he would have to work quickly. Daylight was only hours away. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Denise Neilson Residence July 7th 6:42 a.m. Denise Neilson had started her Sunday morning in much the same manner as she had faced weekends for the past three years after having her husband unexpectedly pass away. She awoke early, the empty spot beside her on the queen bed too difficult to ignore. By six a.m. she showered, casually dressed and admiring her flowerbeds from the kitchen window as she brewed her coffee for one. Breakfast was a simple bowl of bran flakes with skim milk and banana slices, her usual. And as usual Mr. Bones joined her beside the table, the soft clicking of his toenails breaking some of the early morning's silence as he trod across the dining room to greet her. At six years her English sheepdog had lost most of the spunk that he had had as a pup but he still seemed to look forward to their morning walk together. At six-thirty they were out the door. Mr. Bones waited obediently at her side as Denise stretched in the driveway, her 63-year-old body slowly limbering as the heat of the day gradually built. The bright morning sunshine gleaned off the dew as it began its task of re- warming the earth. The morning had started out beautifully, she would remember, mild temperature, blue skies, certainly nothing ominous about it. Denise and Bones started down Peach Street at six-forty-two. Denise walked briskly enjoying the sounds of chirping birds, the noise of traffic buffered by the small patch of woods that lie between them and the much busier 23rd street. That was just one of the reasons she had chosen to remain in her large house in its residential neighborhood. Being able to take long walks with her dog and plant her flowers helped her to keep it together when things got rough. She continued to follow Peach to the walking trail that branched off into the trees. Mr. Bones tugged excitedly at his leash as they turned onto the path and Denise tightened her grip. He'd broken free from her before to chase up rabbits and squirrels and there were plenty of them out here. She'd recently put up wire fencing around her small vegetable garden to keep their damage at bay. Bones snorted as they continued, his large black nose nudging at and sniffing the decaying leaves that crunched beneath their feet. He darted forward, yanking Denise's right arm as he did so. She tugged back quickly, ordering him to heel as a squirrel scolded them loudly from his hiding spot in the treetops, rustling the leaves. Bones whined and danced, wet eyes pleading as he cocked his head to look back at his mistress. Denise sighed to herself, her dog was agitated, uncharacteristically so. She scanned the area, sunlight swirled in spotted patterns across the forest floor, a woodpecker hammered away in the distance and a small furry animal scurried off to the left of the path taking cover under a patch of thorn bushes. Bones stayed oblivious to it all, fixed forwards and softly whining. She reached down with her free hand to pat the thick gray hair that dominated his head and he tilted back to look at her once again, whining loudly as he did so. Something inside of Denise told her to listen to him, a visceral sensation that spoke more loudly than reason. "O.k., Bones, lets go." She told him, allowing some slack in his leash and he took off with an enthusiastic bark. He pulled Denise off to the right of the trail and crashed through the brush with a dry panting sound as he struggled against the collar in his rush. Denise followed, alternating between a jog and a sprint with her left arm held in front of her face to protect her from the tree branches that slapped as she was pulled along. The woods became a whir of trees and ground as Bones raced on with Denise in tow, her knees throbbing, and right hand raw and tingling where the leash had wrapped tightly around. As he continued, unrelenting in his pace she began to worry about finding her way back. He seemed to stall all at once circling slowly and sniffing so deeply that dried bits of papery leaves clung to his damp nose. Denise looked around, somewhat relived to see the trail that led off 22nd street to the park not far ahead of them. Bones sneezed loudly with a shake of his head as Denise tried to slow her breathing. Her lungs burned, her sides ached and she didn't want to think about the trouble her knees would be giving her likely well into the week. Bones tugged again and started for the trail ahead of them, this time giving up his break- neck pace for intensified sniffing as they continued. She had no doubt he was on to something and that they were getting closer. She searched the area closely as they walked, her heart still racing from the run, not knowing what to expect. A twig snapped underfoot and Bones jumped back, an uneasy expression in his eyes as a breeze ruffled his heavy fur. Denise stopped and listened. There were forest sounds, distant traffic and something else as the wind blew. The sound of plastic crinkling as the wind whipped through it. She walked behind her dog with guarded curiosity, the sound intensifying as she approached the path. Trees thinned as they closed in and she saw something. Just a small patch of brown, moving slowly, though not with the wind. She took a few more quick steps and stopped shocked. It was a boy, a young boy not more than eight years old kneeling beside a tree on the other side of the path. His back faced her, brown hair stirring in the breeze. He appeared to be barefoot and in pajamas, cream colored ones with brown cowboys, like the ones her older brother had worn some fifty years ago. "Honey, are you lost?" Denise called out and the boy turned back to face her, tears streamed from his large brown eyes, rolling down onto his pale cheeks. He looked tired, thin and frightened. Denise's concern quickly turned to fear for the child. Something seemed very wrong. "Sweetie, do you need some help? I can help you find your parents." Mr. Bones backed up, intent on turning back and forcing Denise to pull him along as she started towards the boy. The little boy stood as they came forward and turned, darting off into the woods ahead of them. "Wait!" Denise yelled, breaking into a run after him but she stopped abruptly as she crossed the trail, her eyes fixing on the object the boy had been kneeling over. Beside a tall oak tree was a sheet of plastic, black like an oversized trash bag but split open on the sides to make to make a sheet that loosely covered something. Large rocks had been placed around the edges to hold it in place, one of them appeared to be covered in blood. Denise looked up for the boy. He was nowhere in sight. She stood quietly for a moment hoping to hear him, uncertain if he was hurt or traumatized. No new sounds, except for the plastic in the breeze. Reluctantly she looked back down to where the wind had lifted an edge and she peered under. Denise cried out in horror, the sound of her terrified cry sounding foreign to her own ears, her mind reeling as she fought to remain conscious. Mr. Bones twisted, frantically trying to pull away from her and Denise, shocked, lacked the presence of mind to hold tight to him. Mr.Bones escaped what Denise at that moment could not and he ran through the woods, leash dragging, without a look back. XXXXXXXXX J. Edgar Hoover Building, Employee Parking Garage July 9th 7:42 a.m. Dana Scully brushed at the beads of perspiration that had formed on her forehead and shoved back the dampened strands of her coppery red hair for what seemed like the sixth time in the last five minutes. The temperature had reached a sticky 98 degrees Fahrenheit, not too unusual for a summer day in Washington, D.C., but definitely made less tolerable by whatever affliction it was that she had managed to contract. Sweltering heat gave an added edge to what had been intermittent nausea, causing her to swallow at about three times her usual rate just to keep down the meager blueberry muffin she had eaten for breakfast. The building's doors across the parking garage seemed to be growing further away with each step rather than closer. She checked the gold Omega on her left wrist; 7:45, 15 minutes early. She had allotted herself plenty of time as usual to get there. Scully was especially thankful for that habit today; she would need the extra time to freshen up as best she could. She had shed her suit jacket before the drive over but still her white blouse clung stubbornly to her chest dampened by sweat that she could still feel running between her breasts and soaking into her satin bra. She had already loosened as many buttons as she felt she could without becoming risque. The newly parked vehicles offered assaulting blasts of hot air as she trudged on, keenly aware of the sensation of her nylons, warm and wet against her overheated skin. Visible waves of heat rolled across the pavement giving the cars and building a rippling, hazy appearance. The air smelled heavily of hot asphalt and softened tires, the combination of the two caused Scully's stomach to lurch and she quickly pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a gag. As she did so an irritability that had been building all morning rose within her. She had woken groggy and cranky with a gnawing pain in her stomach that she had unfortunately mistaken as hunger. Then, the air conditioning in her Toyota Corolla had picked this particular morning to fail, wheezing out warm, musty puffs and leaving her to choose between its stale breath or to roll down the windows and allow in the summer morning's thick, humid air. Scully chose to unroll the windows and after an uncomfortable drive she arrived at work sticky, hair disheveled and deodorant melted into a sticky slime on her armpits. She did a quick visual check of her underarms. Large, dark rings under both, just as she had suspected. "Damn it." She muttered under breath, hoping not to attract any attention from the various federal employees as they found their way in to work. Scully entered the building silently, slipping her way through the morning's hustle with practiced ease and grabbing no one's attention. This particular ability, she attributed more to her life style choices and less to her division assignment. Although working out of a basement did little to promote one's social life, she noted. She headed straight for the nearest ladies' room with her suit jacket tucked under left arm as her stomach continued it's loud complaint over her breakfast. xxxxxxxxxx Mulder's Office 8:05 a.m. Mulder stood in front of the slide projector, immersed in thought. With hands on hips and a half eaten egg and sausage biscuit lying on it's crinkled yellow wrapper on top of his already cluttered desk, he mentally calculated the time it would take to arrive at Denise Neilson's house via automobile from Washington D.C. He'd already filled out the necessary paper work earlier that morning so that when Scully arrived he could fill her in with the morbid little slideshow he'd put together along with the usual facts, details and speculations and then off they'd go. That is if she'd arrive. Mulder confirmed her tardiness with a check of his Timex Indiglo. He sat down on the edge of his desk, facing the doorway, grabbed a folder and began rummaging through its contents with a husky sigh. He soon heard the familiar clips of her high heels on the floor as she approached and he let the file rest on his lap crossing his arms over his chest as he watched for her. Scully entered the office in rare form. She carried her wrinkled suit jacket under her left arm, her normally neat red hair windblown, her brow shiny with perspiration and her silky white blouse unbuttoned further then Mulder remembered it ever being and clinging tightly to her breasts. Mulder regarded her momentarily, uncertain how to address her on her disarrangement. He cleared his throat feeling suddenly uncomfortable on his desktop and shifted. From his slight movements a pile of papers pushed free from their folder and spilled over the edge of the desk scattering like white leaves across the office floor. Mulder chose to ignore the mess and remain seated. "Where ya been Scully, I've got stuff just piling up here?" Mulder asked choosing to skirt the obvious. "Suffice to say that it hasn't been my morning so far Mulder." Scully answered walking past him to drop her jacket on the table, carefully avoiding the spilt papers. "Well, I hope going on a road trip is in your definition of a better morning Scully. Cause we've got ourselves a case in West Virginia." Mulder leapt off the desk and began gathering the former contents of his folder. "What's in West Virginia?" Scully queried, joining him in the pickup. "A town called Harper's Ferry but more specifically there is the matter of all of this..." Mulder added handing the newly reassembled folder to her. He made adjustments to the slide projector as she read, bringing into focus the heavily marked, naked body of a young women who lay lifeless on a forest floor. Scully looked up from the reading her gaze going immediately to the blatant image and reflexively she breathed out a small huff of air in disgust. Mulder faced Scully, a sober and thoughtful look overtaking his countenance as he launched into his briefing, reciting facts by memory in his usual rapid pace. "We are looking at the late Ramona Stark. Found early Sunday morning next to a local walking trail by a Mrs. Denise Neilson. Ms. Stark is one of seven women found in this fashion. Now, Scully, most of the injuries on her body as with the injuries on the others are believed to have been made post- mortem. Cause of death on all of the victims appears to have been from a single blow to the back of the head so that chances are they never knew what was about to befall them. After death a single incision seems to have been made from the base of the throat to the pubic bone. These women have all been found with their eyes taped shut, bodies concealed under a plastic sheet. There has been no evidence of rape on any of these women and no signs to indicate a struggle." Mulder ended his small speech by clicking through the slides of the other six victims, all very similar to the first. "So exactly what are *we* doing then Mulder?" Scully asked him dead pan. Mulder's eyes widened in an expression of disbelief then shook his head. "C'mon Scully," he complained impatiently, "We just went over this, besides that, the files right there in your hand." Scully laid the folder back on his desk and crossed her arms over her chest as she explained herself. "Yes, I've been through the file Mulder. Photographs, police records and coroner reports of seven women all murdered and mutilated in a ritualistic fashion. The accounts were disturbing at best. I also understand that we are potentially dealing with a serial killer. And I hardly consider a rushed briefing first thing Tuesday morning as being *over this*. Moreover, its not so much the case details that perplex me Mulder, it is your interest in this case that I have yet to understand." Scully raised an eyebrow in question as she waited and attempted to brace herself for the colorful explanation that was sure to follow. "My interest Scully, lies in what motivated Denise Neilson to call me, in a factor that we can not see in these pictures..." Mulder gestured towards the screen behind him as he continued. "But one that has been present upon all of the seven victims being discovered. An apparition of a small boy has been reported as crying over these bodies." "A ghost?" Scully sighed. She lowered her crossed arms to stomach level and pressed them tightly against her torso hoping to squelch some of the angry rumblings that had started there. "Well, that's where things get a little fuzzy." Mulder flipped the projector off and reclaimed his seat on the edge of the desk. "Its not clear if this boy is an actual *ghost* or just a residual imprint resulting from some past tragic event." "Dare I ask?" Scully ventured. Mulder smiled softly, undaunted by her incredulous nature. "Like the entire phantom armies that have been seen marching across battlefields. It's a play back, if you will, of events that have already happened. The soldiers are not actually spirits, their images have just been captured, their energy recorded and then played back when the atmosphere is receptive to it. The principle deals with physics, Scully." "Paranormal physics, I guess that I must have missed that day in class Mulder." "That's alright Scully," Mulder stood and grabbed his navy blue suit jacket from off the back of his chair and retrieved the folder from his desktop. "Because I'll have plenty of time to catch you up on it on the way to Mrs. Neilson's." xxxxxxxxxxxxxx He stirred in his bed, still dreaming, the sound barely registering at first. Until it came again this time more loudly. He opened his eyes wide to the familiar darkness of his bedroom and pushed back his blue chenille bedspread straining to hear. Silence now. But he could have sworn he heard it before, the straining sound the wood made as someone walked up the stairs. He held his breath waiting to hear sounds of footfalls as they approached his upstairs bedroom. The grandmother clock ticked softly downstairs in the living room, and the muted sound of the leaves rattling as the wind shook the maple tree beside his window, nothing else. He felt his heart pounding, shaking the soft cotton fabric of his favorite cowboy pajamas and he swallowed against the lump of fear rising in his throat. He sniffed loudly and ran a trembling hand this bed ruffled brown hair. "Mommy!" He called out, his voice shaky. No reply came so he tried again. "Mommy! I'm scared!" Silence followed again. His sniffling intensified as he wiped at his eyes with a pajama sleeve. Cautiously, he swung his legs over the side of the twin bed. Moonlight cast dark shadows that crawled about his window, scattered onto the floor and crept dangerously close to the edge of the bed. He jumped off, carefully avoiding the shadows lurking on his floor and sprinted to his doorway. "Mommieee!" He called out into the darkness of the hallway. His rapid breaths were the only sound that followed. He swallowed again before turning into the hall and starting down the stairs walking stiffly, eyes scanning rapidly. As he neared the living room the sound came again, a creaking sound not coming from the stairs. He followed it noiselessly down the remainder of the steps, behind the sofa and past the grandmother clock into the entryway. Moonlight bathed the cream colored rug in a warped rectangle giving the appearance of a pale yellow runner that led from the beginning of the entry straight out through the front door and onto the porch. The wind blew again, a warm gust of summer's night air that swept through his hair and tousled his pajamas. The wooden door swung on its hinges, groaning loudly under it's own weight. His feet carried him across the threshold without his mind's consent. He traveled numbly down the porch steps and into the night. The walkway felt cool and coarse on his bare feet, the grass along side the path brushed against the cuffs of his pajama pants leaving them soaked with dew. Crickets chirped somewhere off in the distance, beyond his yard and the white picket fence. The wind had blown the gate open leaving it to crack loudly against the fence with each gust, beckoning him further out into the darkness. He crossed the road and walked into the field beyond rustling through a sea of dampened hip high weeds focused on the small grove that lie ahead. With breaths that came in shaky intervals he closed in on the oak tree. Light broke through its heavy branches spilling onto the motionless figure that lie below it. He knelt down beneath the tree, hot tears spilling onto his cheeks carefully touching the still hand beside him. Nights faded light gave a strange dimension to her pallor that caused him to shudder. "Mommy?" He cried softly, his voice a hoarse whisper. Her hand felt cool against his, a stark contrast to the warm summer air. A dizzying mix of fear and denial filled him and he shook her. "Mommy, mommy, mommy!" Choked sobs escaped him as he continued in vain. The weight of her limp body caused an ache to burn through his arms and shoulders, tiring him. "Mommy, please, please." He pleaded, exhaustion washing over him like a giant wave. Crying, he reached out gently wiping away the orange lipstick that stained her mouth with his pajama sleeve before curling up on the ground beside her. "Don't ever leave me again mommy, just don't leave me again..."He rested his heavy head on her shoulder, stroking the cool skin on her cheek. His breathing slowed. His eyes fought to stay open. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx House of Pancakes Morris, IL July, 9th 9:24 a.m. "More coffee?" The question startled him out of his trance. The young waitress stood poised, a black and silver thermal carafe in hand with fingernails painted the color of lima beans. Errant strands of bleach blond hair framed her youthful face. He imagined that she had probably practiced the failed upsweep on her Barbie doll before trying it out on her self and wondered if the skirt of her brown and orange checkered uniform had been a couple of inches shorter if he would have been looking at a couple of skinned knees. "Sure." He told the child tiredly and she quickly filled his mug before skipping off to the next booth. He stared down at his plate, the big country breakfast, most of it sat there cooling. An orange twist swam in a combination of imitation maple syrup and bacon grease doing little for his appetite. He rubbed aggressively at his eyes, attempting to chase away the groggy sensation that had been weighing him down. He needed to be back in to work the next day but his inability to get a good nights sleep had chased him throughout his time away. If he could just figure out a way to get the nightmares to end... but nothing he tried seemed to help. Sunday morning had been the worst of them, graphic, greatly upsetting. Last night was disturbing and left him exhausted but still paled in comparison. He knew from experience that eventually they would faze out, until the next time. He had hoped with each woman that she would be the one to end it all but he found himself let down once again. The last one had been so beautiful, dark skin and hair but she proved to be the same as all the rest. He sighed and grabbed his steaming cup of coffee. His class ring made a clinking noise as it hit the mug, a sound to him that was more lovelier than wind chimes or a bubbling fountain could ever be. He drank his fourth cup of coffee quickly hoping to keep the sleepy feeling that threatened him and the nightmares that resulted away. It would likely be nights before he could find peaceful rest again, and it would come just in time for the need in him to start to rise again. He set the mug back down, staring at the dark maroon of the garnet on his ring a far away feeling tugged at him, a sensation that had plagued him in his youth, to escape inside of himself. He shook it off. Such complicated feelings always followed the nightmares. Such was the price he paid for a moment's release. End of chapter 1. Continued in chapter 2.