Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 10.
Disclaimer in Chapter 1.
This story is rated NC-17.



Mercy Memorial Hospital
Intensive Care Unit,
Room 103
July 13th 
12:10 p.m.

Mulder knocked twice on the heavy hospital
door.  He held a Styrofoam cup of vegetable
rice soup in his left hand as he waited
for a response.  It had seemed like something
Scully had recommended to him once when his
stomach wasn't up to the challenge of his
ordinary menu.  He had eaten his own lunch in
his rental car on the way over: a bacon,
chili cheeseburger, with cheese fries.  Not
something to be eaten in front of Scully
without suffering a health lecture, and
definitely not something to eat in front of
anyone recovering from a stomach ailment.  In
retrospect, not something to be eaten in a
rental car either.  The chili stain on the
driver's seat was sure to lose him his
security deposit. Mulder knocked harder and
finally pushed the door open when no reply
came.

A freshly cleaned antiseptic smell rushed out
towards him as the door opened.  Mulder's
eyes quickly scanned over the vacant room
and  the neatly made hospital bed "Where is
she?"  he demanded loudly, turning towards
the nurses station.  

A young nurse turned from her work to look up
at him, but her response didn't come fast
enough.

"Where is she?"  Mulder quickly demanded
again, his voice booming down the hallway as
he made his way to the station.

Nurse Miller stepped out of a patient's room
and approached him.  "You'll have to keep
your voice down, sir, this is an intensive
care unit!"  she warned in a harsh whisper. 
"Now, who are you looking for?"

"Dana Scully, room 103.  She was there
earlier this morning." Mulder lowered his
voice but remained insistent.  He closed the
normal courteous  gap of personal space as he
spoke, and leaned in close to the nurse, his
eyes piercing.

Nurse Miller crossed her arms over her chest.
She had dealt with many difficult situations
in the intensive care unit over the years;
she wasn't easily rattled.  "Ms. Scully has
been discharged," she stated matter-of-fact.

Mulder backed down somewhat on his defensive
posture as he thought this over. "No, she
didn't call me. I was suppose to pick her up. 
She wouldn't have just left without telling
me."

"I don't know what your arrangements were,
sir, but I do know that Ms. Scully was
discharged this morning at ten," she added
curtly, turning to return to her work.

"Where are your phones?"  Mulder called after
her.

Nurse Miller pointed to a small hallway off
to the right of him before disappearing into
another patient's room.

Mulder dashed down the hall to the phone
booths that lined the right side of the wall. 
He set the container of soup on top of the
nearest one and fished in his pants pocket
for change.

Mulder fed the coins into the machine and
started dialing the number for her hotel room
in what almost appeared to be one smooth
motion.  He pressed the phone to his ear,
leaning up against the booth with his free
arm.  "C' mon Scully!"  He groaned as the
phone continued to ring past seven rings. 
Mulder hit the button to hang up, the phone
still pressed to his ear as he reinserted the
coins and dialed her cell phone number.   


Mulder waited impatiently as the phone rang,
tapping his fingers on top of the phone booth
until he received the recorded unavailable
message.  Mulder slammed the phone down. Two
hours had passed since her discharge; there
was no good reason that she shouldn't be
answering her phone.  Or at least no settling
reason.  Mulder made his way back up to the
nurses station, forgetting about the soup.

"Who did she leave with?"  Mulder demanded
loudly as he reached the desk.

The young nurse looked up quickly, visibly
startled.  She shook her head at him.  "I
don't know," she replied softly.

"Then find someone who does know!"  he
insisted.

Bright red splotches formed on her cheeks. 
She pressed a call button behind the desk. 
"Kathleen?"  

"Yes, Angie?"  her reply came back shortly.

"I could use your help out here," she
answered, eyeing Mulder warily.  She twisted
the light brown hair that hung down from her
ponytail as she waited.

Nurse Miller stepped back out of the room and
towards Mulder.

"Who did she leave with?"  he questioned
before she finished walking.

Nurse Miller stopped in her tracks. 
"Hospital policy does not allow me to..." 

"Hospital policy," Mulder interrupted,
"states that she has to leave the grounds in
a wheel chair.  Who wheeled her out?"

"Someone from the hospital's escort service
accompanied her."  

"Who?!"

"Anthony Olsen," she replied, sighing in
frustration.

"Get him up here, I want to talk to him"
Mulder insisted.

The younger nurse spoke up from behind the
desk, her cheeks still bright red. "Sir, I
don't know if we can do that."

"I've got an FBI agent that's missing after
being discharged from your unit. Now, I  sure
as hell wouldn't want to have been  working
your shift if anything ends up happening to
her."

"Angie, go ahead," Nurse Miller directed.

Mulder waited less than patiently as she
dialed and spoke to the escort service,
pacing the floor in front of the desk.

"He'll be here shortly," she replied, looking
up at Mulder as she set the phone back down.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


12:20 p.m.


Mulder paced the small span of hallway before
the nurses' station, checking his watch
frequently.  He paused as the silver elevator
doors to the left of him opened, and a large
man dressed in a white hospital uniform
stepped onto the ward.

"Is this him?"  Mulder called up to the desk,
pointing at the man.  Nurse Miller nodded
back to him, her lips stretched into tense,
thin lines as she returned to her work.

Anthony stopped where he was as the elevator
doors closed behind him.  "Anthony Olsen, I
work for the hospital escort service."  he
offered, extending his huge dark hand.

Mulder took his hand, " Special Agent Fox
Mulder with the FBI.  I believe that this
morning, you were escort to my partner,
Dana Scully."

"I remember Ms. Scully, small lady with red
hair.  Dead tired, could hardly keep her eyes
open, not to mention, her head up."  

"Who'd she leave with?"  Mulder interrupted.

"Someone in a white van picked her up.  It
looked like it might have been her father."

Mulder shook his head, his jaw tense. "No,
her father is dead."

Anthony slipped his hand into his shirt
pocket. "I still have the license plate
number, I left it in my pocket."  he
explained, withdrawing the small piece of
paper.  He handed it to Mulder.

Mulder took the paper and studied it for a
moment.  "Who called for you to escort her?" 
he asked.

" I believe the order came from a Dr.
Voight."   

Mulder withdrew his card from his coat
pocket.  "Thank you. Please call me if you
can remember anything else."  he handed the
card to Anthony and stormed up to the desk.

"Get me Dr. Voight."  He demanded.

The two nurses exchanged uneasy glances. "I
can't do that, he just left after working a
double shift."  Nurse Miller stated.

Mulder motioned for the phone on the other
side of the desk.  Nurse Miller set it beside
him.  Mulder pressed the receiver to his
ear and turned to them before dialing, the
small slip of paper still in his hand.  "I'm
calling in this license plate number, and
while I do that, you get him on the phone. 
Either he can return here, or I'd be
more than happy to pay him a visit at home. 
He arranged this pickup for her, and now he
can help straighten this all out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX


Scully moaned and attempted to turn over; the
weight of her body had seemed like an
impossible load for longer then she could
clearly recall.  She knew she needed to take
advantage of this moment of lucidity to try
to get her bearings, to figure out where she
was, but her mind's first battle was with her
reluctant body.  Her  arms trembled violently
underneath her, the muscles aching and
burning  as she tried to push up, before
completely giving out underneath her. 
Scully's head slammed into the cold, hard
floor as her strength was spent, sending a
sharp flash of pain that spread like an
electric shock throughout her face and
forehead.  She lay still, feeling the
warmth spill out of her nose, her arms still
trembling from exhaustion.  Her mind felt
ready, but her body remained an impediment.  

Scully let her heavy head fall to the side;
grit stuck to her where blood had oozed its
path down her face.   It was dark and dank
where she lay, probably a basement, but she
had no way to prove that at the moment.  She
rested, trying to reserve as much strength
as possible, realizing she may soon need it. 
She thought of Mulder, and wondered how much
time had passed, wondered if he realized
she was gone, if he was coming for her right
now.  Scully pressed her eyes closed,
shutting out the darkness around her.  In the
years since she had known him, Mulder had
talked about sixth senses and precognition,
had believed in them as he had in many other
pseudo-psychology practices.  She had always
argued against these, had filed them in the
same place in her mind as she had mythical
creatures.  Her scientific background had
taught her that such phenomena had no more
basis then the Easter Bunny, and that is
where she had stood, unwavering in her
beliefs.  She had held her beliefs in
science, in herself, and in her own strength
and ability to overcome. Today, things felt
less certain.  The visions of the boy that
she had refused to share with Mulder, that
she had explained away to herself, had now
left her without any explanation other then
the fantastic. Until her strength returned,
until her body regained its ability to fight
with all her being, her beliefs would have to
lie in Mulder.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Harold Voight Residence
12:25 p.m.

Harold set the phone back down on its cradle,
his hands trembling.  Things were not going
as planned.  He knew the FBI woman's
partner would look for her, but he hadn't
planned on it being so soon.  He would have
to go speak with him at the hospital now, or
risk having him show up on his doorstep.  He
ran a hand over his brow where the first
stinging droplets of a cold sweat had begun
to form.  He couldn't kill her now: it was
too early, and he wouldn't have enough time. 
He had waited for her, had suffered many
nights of confusing nightmares before
actually finding her.  He would not allow
this to be taken from him now.  Harold
tightened his hands into angry fists; he
would not lose this without a fight.  If it
came to it, he would fight, and he would win
what was rightly his; but it may not need to
come to that.  He just needed to employ his
diplomacy.  He was clever and cunning, and
soon she would see that too.  Harold Voight
was a man to be taken seriously.

Harold walked into his small kitchen and
opened a cabinet drawer.  He grabbed a large
roll of gray duct tape and threw it onto the
orange counter top beside a dishrag.  He
pushed the side of the brown refrigerator,
slowly scooting it off to the side and
revealing the small latched door that had
been hidden underneath it on the kitchen
floor.  Harold grabbed up the tape and
dishrag and placed them in his pants pockets. 
He took a small silver flashlight from the
counter top beside him and turned it on
before flipping up the small door.  

A musty, mildewy scent filled his nose as he
walked down the steep, creaking  wooden
steps.  Cobwebs brushed his face and arms as
he reached the bottom.  He shone the beam
ahead of him, onto the cracked concrete
floor.  A small animal scurried off to the
left of him, just outside of the light . The
room was mostly silent, except for the
scraping sound of his shoes on the dirty
floor, and swishing above him, as the water
ran through the pipes to the clothes washer
he had running.  Harold shone the flashlight
on a small wall built of field stone to the
right of him.  He walked through the
crumbling doorway, sweeping the light across
the empty, dust-covered wooden shelves that
lined the small room, and then on the woman
who lay sprawled out on the floor below them. 


He immediately wished he had more time,
wished that her meddling partner had not
disturbed him.  He took a deep breath of the
dank air, calming himself before proceeding. 
All things in due time, he reminded himself. 
Harold shone the light onto her face. Blood
was crusted across her nose and mouth.  She
squinted and attempted to move away from him,
managing only to squirm.  The medicine was
still working, he realized, but not for much
longer.  He wouldn't take a chance on her, he
had already risked too much.  Harold set
the flashlight on a shelf so that it shone
down on her, and withdrew the rag and duct
tape from his pocket. 

She moaned as he turned her onto her back and
straddled her, managing only to roll her head
from side to side and attempting feebly to
push him away.  Harold forced the rag into
her mouth easily, shoving it in until she
gagged, before ripping a piece of duct tape
off, and taping it over her mouth.  He turned
her back over and held her wrists together as
he passed the roll of tape around them
multiple times, and then moved on to taping
her ankles together.  Harold flipped her back
over onto her side.  He stared into her wide
crystal blue eyes. "Don't worry," he crooned,
stroking her cheek with his fingers, "I'll be
back so soon.  It'll seem like we were never
even apart."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX