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sisterspooky1013 · 5 months

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Gaslight, Chapter 38/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

When Mulder walks out of the restaurant with Cal and the kids trailing behind him, Frohike and Byers, who are standing beside the van, exchange a worried look.

“Calvin Rose, this is John Byers and Melvin Frohike,” he says, gesturing to each man in turn. “And this is Abby and Peter.”

The Gunmen regard Mulder with wide eyes.

“Calvin Rose?” Byers repeats, extending his hand for Cal to shake. “As in Dana and Calvin Rose?”

“Cal received a letter, purportedly from Scully,” Mulder explains. “It instructed him to get on the train at the Henryton tunnel at noon.”

Frohike checks his watch. Cal hands Abby the keys to their car.

“Ten, mijita. Go see if there are any more M&Ms in the car.”

The four men watch the children go, waiting until they are out of earshot to speak again.

“We need to hit the road in fifteen minutes if we’re going to make it by noon,” Frohike says urgently. “What’s the plan, Mulder?”

“Cal is coming with me to look for Scully,” he says. “You two need to stay back with the kids.” He hesitates, then adds, “Their chips haven’t been removed yet.” The Gunmen’s eyes widen, and Mulder can see the questions and concerns running through their heads. “You said it’s not real-time tracking, right?”

Byers swallows nervously.

“Based on the size of the device, they’d only be able to triangulate a rough location, maybe within about five miles, every thirty minutes or so.”

“So if you keep moving you should be safe?” They don’t respond right away, just look at him and then at each other reluctantly. “We don’t have time to second-guess, guys,” he says, irritated.

“In theory, yes,” Byers finally says.

Mulder turns to Cal.

“Do you know how to fire a gun?”

The corner of Cal’s mouth quirks a little, the closest thing to a smile Mulder has seen on the man.

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s gear up and go. The kids stay with the van, and we’ll take your car.” He turns to Byers, who looks entirely uncomfortable with the last minute change in plans. “I’ll call you when we make it back to town so we can arrange a place to meet.”

Byers touches Mulder’s upper arm, turning them slightly away from the other two.

“I hate to ask this,” he says quietly, “but…what if you don’t come back?”

Mulder gives him a significant look.

“I trust your judgment,” he finally says, and Byers briefly closes his eyes.

Each man is outfitted with two weapons, one to be worn at the hip and the other strapped around an ankle as backup. Cal moves the children’s bags from their car into the van and then beckons them both over, crouching down to bring himself to their eye level.

“Eschúame, niños,” he begins, taking one of each of their hands. “These are my friends, John and Melvin.” Abby glances at the Gunmen and leans in to whisper something in her father’s ear. “Yes, Melvin is kind of a funny name. I need to go with this man to pick Mommy up.” He gestures to Mulder, who smiles reassuringly. “It’s not safe for kids, so John and Melvin are going to take you on an adventure while Daddy and Mr. Mulder go get Mommy, okay?”

Peter lets out a long, petulant whine.

“I was gonna ride the train!” he complains.

“I know, Pete. I’m sorry. We’ll ride a train some other time, okay?”

“Promise?” Peter asks, scowling.

“Pinky promise,” Cal says, holding up his fist with the pinky out so Peter can link it with his own.

“When will you be back?” Abby asks, her bottom lip plumping up and her eyes wet.

“I’m not sure. Hopefully soon,” he says, and she nods.

Frohike slides the van door open and Frenchie pops her head out, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Abby sucks in a breath and moves closer to her father, grabbing on to his arm.

“Daddy,” she whimpers, and Cal follows her eye to the dog.

“Puchica,” Cal mutters. “I’m sorry, Abby, I have to get going or we’ll be late. The dog won’t hurt you, I promise.”

The child only tightens her grip.

“This is Frenchie,” Mulder says, patting the dog’s head. “She’s a very gentle dog, and she loves kids.”

“It’s 11:33,” Frohike points out.

“Daddy has to go,” Cal says again. “I need you both to be brave for me, okay? Can you be brave?”

A tear slides down Abby’s cheek, and she wipes it away.

“You can be brave and scared at the same time,” she says in a tiny voice, and a pained smile stretches across Cal’s face.

“That’s right, mijita. You can.”

“I’m not scared of dogs or alligators,” Peter says proudly, and Cal pulls him into a hug.

“Be good, okay? Listen to Melvin and John.”

“Okay, Daddy,” the children recite in unison.

Cal sits back on his haunches and gives them both a long look.

“I love you,” he says tightly, and Mulder feels a sudden kick of guilt. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He gives them each a last hug and kiss on the forehead, and then stands and walks purposefully toward his car.

“Let’s go,” he says over his shoulder, not looking back. “We’ve got a train to catch.”

It takes them twenty minutes to get to the tunnel. Cal is silent for the entirety of the drive, and Mulder can’t think of anything to say to fill the silence that wouldn’t feel painfully frivolous given the situation, so he stays silent as well. The small-town scenery gives way to an even more rural area, houses becoming further and further apart. They’re bumping down a pitted dirt road when Cal sits up and his mouth falls open.

“What?” Mulder asks, looking between him and the road. “What is it?”

Cal shakes his head as though disoriented.

“I’ve been here before,” he says. “I remember this road with the tracks up ahead. There’s going to be a little gravel lot on the left up here.”

Sure enough, a small gravel lot appears to their left just as the road runs up against a set of train tracks, and Mulder can see the train tunnel about fifty yards beyond it. He makes a U-turn and heads back down the road a short ways, pulling the car into a small clearing that will obscure it from the view of anyone on the train. The men exit the car and walk quickly back to the gravel lot, and Mulder looks at Cal expectantly. The sun sits high in a cloudless sky, and sweat is already beading on both men’s foreheads.

“What should we do now? What do you remember?” Mulder asks, shielding the sun with his hand. Cal is scanning the surrounding landscape, his jaw jutting out to the side unnaturally before his shoulder quirks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cal says cooly. “I was brought here in a transport van. The train passed partway through the tunnel and stopped. I was walked into the tunnel and told to get into a boxcar.”

“So should we wait in the tunnel?” Mulder asks, and Cal shakes his head.

“We gotta get through it,” he says, then sets off jogging toward the tracks. Mulder follows after him, and they quickly approach the opening of the west end of the tunnel. “There will be men in the boxcar,” he says breathlessly, his arms pumping. “We’ll have to get on a different car and ride out there without anyone seeing us. Better odds of that at the back of the train.”

The interior of the tunnel is dank and covered in graffiti. As they near the halfway mark, Mulder hears the distant, muted hiss of a train whistle and his heart jumps into his throat. When they emerge from the east end of the tunnel, the headlight of an engine car is close enough that Mulder can make out the silhouette of the engineer as he reaches up to blow the whistle again, warning them off the tracks.

“Down here,” he directs Cal, and the two scramble down a small embankment, flattening themselves against the ground as the train begins to pass by above them.

Dry grass tickles his nose as the wind generated by the train sends it whipping against his face, and he feels the sheer mass of the locomotive rumbling in the ground beneath his chest. The brakes screech and he winces, resisting the urge to cover his ears. The clack and rumble of the train over the tracks becomes slower and slower for several minutes until finally they hear the sequential bang of the cars coming to a stop. They wait and listen, their faces turned toward each other. Mulder flicks his eyes up toward the train, suggesting that they go now, and Cal shakes his head.

There is the crunch of boots on gravel, and the men lock eyes, holding perfectly still.

“Anything?” a voice calls out from inside the tunnel.

“Nah, nothin’,” someone answers, so close that Mulder can hear them sniff and clear their throat. The crunch of the boots becomes further and further away, but they keep waiting.

“When the train starts moving, we go,” Mulder mouths, his voice less than a whisper, and Cal nods.

They hear a door slamming shut, then several minutes of silence. The train whistle blows and a few seconds later, loud clangs sound off along the track as each car lurches forward and the train begins to move. When they hear a clang just above them, Mulder gets up on his hands and knees and Cal does the same.

The freight train is carrying so many cars that the caboose is still miles down the track, hidden from view. Boxcars, flatbeds, and tanker trucks start to slowly move past them, and Mulder considers which would be the most practical to ride on.

“This one,” Cal says, pointing to a white hopper car.

They begin to jog beside it as it slowly picks up speed. Cal guides them to the rear of the car where the slope of the hopper leaves an empty space they can sit on and be protected from the wind. He grabs hold of a ladder and runs alongside the car until he can pull himself up and get a decent foothold, then slips through the beams supporting the structure of the car and holds his hand out to Mulder.

The train is picking up speed, and the gravel is loose under Mulder’s feet as he begins to run to keep up with the car. He reaches for Cal’s hand but only manages to brush the tips of his fingers before the train enters the tunnel. It’s dark now, and there are just a couple feet between the wall of the tunnel and the train car.

“Come on!” Cal shouts in the dark, bracing his shoulder against the support beam and extending his arm as far as possible.

Mulder pushes himself harder, kicking up gravel as he struggles to keep pace. Soon, the train will be moving too fast for him to safely get on. He has barely any clearance between his body and the tunnel wall on one side, the fast-moving train on the other. If he so much as stumbles, he could be easily thrown under the wheels of the train and crushed. He pulls in a huge breath and forces himself to run faster, his arm extended. The light at the other end of the tunnel is beginning to reach them when he sees Cal’s hand close around his wrist and his feet lose contact with the ground. He flies up, tethered to the car by Cal’s hand and brought airborne by the momentum of the train, but soon enough his feet smash down against the gravel surrounding the tracks and he cries out.

Cal slips his other arm between the rungs of the ladder, fumbling to get a better hold on Mulder as his feet strike the ground and send him flying up before he crashes down again like a rock skipping across water. Cal manages to get a fistfull of his shirt and tugs on it violently, and suddenly Mulder’s chest is pinned against the rungs of the ladder, his feet dangling just above the ground.

“You gotta get your foot up!” Cal shouts, his body crammed against the metal beams on the train car that are preventing them both from falling to their deaths.

Mulder bends one leg and scrambles to find footing, and finally he lands on something solid. Slowly, he pulls himself up until he is supporting his own weight and Cal is able to release him. Both men fall into the empty space at the back of the hopper, panting and exhausted.

“You good?” Cal asks, looking him over.

Mulder’s shirt is stretched out around the collar and his boots are scuffed to shit, but aside from some soreness he appears to be unscathed.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Thank you.”

Cal nods, and they are quiet for a time as they travel alongside the river, each catching their breath and taking in the picturesque countryside while the train gently jostles them.

“Do you remember what comes next?” Mulder shouts over the noise of the rails as he uses the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “How long were you on the train?”

Cal stares out into the distance, contemplating.

“Less than an hour,” Cal shouts back, leaning in. “I know we didn’t stop at all before we got there. There weren’t any windows in the boxcar so I couldn’t see what we passed or anything, but I remember that when we stopped it wasn’t at a train station. It was just kind of in the middle of nothing, like the tunnel.”

Mulder nods. Less than an hour until they arrive. He feels some sickening combination of excitement, fear, and nervousness, and he checks to be sure that both his weapon and backup weapon are still present and properly secured. He can’t wait to see Scully again, to feel the way he feels when he’s with her. Like someone really sees him. Really knows him.

“Do you remember what’s after the train? Where they took you?”

Cal shakes his head, looking disappointed with himself.

“Hopefully when I see it I’ll remember. It’s like I have to see or hear things to remember them. Something has to jog the memory,” he explains, and Mulder nods.

“That’s what Scully said too. Dana, I mean.”

“They didn’t get you?” Cal asks, touching the back of his neck.

“They did,” Mulder tells him. “But for whatever reason, very little has come back to me.”

“You remembered Dana, though,” he says, as though it’s a given.

Mulder doesn’t see any reason to get into specifics, at least for now.

“She’s hard to forget,” he says by way of an answer, and Cal flashes him a knowing smile that sends a stab of jealousy shooting through him.

When they hear the brakes screech a short time later, they exchange a look. The train begins to slow and they ready their weapons, just in case.

“I think it will be safest if we wait until the train starts up again before we jump off,” Mulder suggests, and Cal nods his agreement.

“If this is the spot, there will be a dirt road right off the tracks,” he says, and Mulder is grateful for his steadily unraveling memory.

The train eventually comes to a full stop, and they listen to indiscernible voices in the distance, doors opening and closing, and the mechanical roar of vehicle engines for several minutes. The engines fade away, as do the voices, and when the cascade of clangs signals that the train is starting to move, they put away their weapons and prepare to jump.

The earth beside the tracks is covered in bramble, but the dirt beneath it is soft enough to effectively break their fall. They carefully drop down, first Mulder and then Cal, and pick burrs off their jeans while the rest of the train chugs along beside them. There do not appear to be any other people around.

“This way,” Cal says, un-holstering his gun and taking the lead.

Mulder follows behind him, pistol in hand but with the safety on, as they approach a hard-packed dirt path that disappears around a bend into the woods.

“Is it far?” Mulder asks quietly.

Cal shakes his head.

“Not very. Let’s stay off the road though.”

They make their way into the edge of the woods, keeping the path in their line of sight as they follow it deeper into the lush green of summer in full bloom. Acorns crunch under their shoes and birds sing a carefree song overhead, and it all feels so tranquil and out of place for their mission.

The dirt path curves generously to the left, then dead ends in a small parking lot. The two men crouch down at the edge of the woods and watch as a woman in medical scrubs walks back and forth across the lot, intermittently holding her cell phone up to the sky before bringing it to her ear to shout, “I can’t hear you!”

The parking lot itself has only six spaces, three of which are occupied by a golf cart, a van, and a motorcycle. In front of the spaces there’s a stone retaining wall of some kind, and seemingly nothing else.

“Where is it?” Mulder asks quietly, and Cal shrugs.

“I headbutted the guy who was walking me in and tried to run, and I think they knocked me out or something. I don’t remember anything after this except waking up in a hospital bed.”

“Hello?!” the woman shouts, bending forward as though that will somehow cause cell service to materialize. She finally gives up and stuffs her phone into the pocket of her scrubs with a huff, stalking towards the retaining wall.

“Where is she going?” Mulder wonders under his breath.

When the woman reaches the wall, she walks around the edge of it and disappears into the forest. Cal looks over at Mulder and he looks back.

“You know what I just remembered?” Cal says. “That place didn’t have a single damn window. Not a one.”

“Let’s just hope these guys have more regard for fire code than they do for human life,” Mulder says, and Cal quirks his head at him. “There’s gotta be more than one way in. And out.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #dana scully #txf #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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whitepolaris · 1 year

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Henryton Center

Glenn Dale isn’t the only abandoned medical facility in the state. Between 1923 and 1955, the state’s department of health and mental hygiene built twenty-two buildings, known as the Henryton Center, in Carroll County. The center was built to serve the state’s African American population as a tuberculosis hospital. In the time, TB vaccinations reduced the number of patients, and the center was repurposed as a home for the developmentally disabled of all races. Like many mental institutions, it was closed down in the 1980s, when the prevailing philosophy was to integrate the disabled into society at large.

This has left a lawrge abandoned hospital off Marriotsville Road in Marriotsville, right next to Maryland’s historic railroad. The place is prominently marked as private property and is often patrolled by police, how not onnly arrest trespassers but ticket cars parked on the property. Beginning in 2005, the state began actively soliciting developers to redesign the buildings into something that would serve the community, but for now it’s just a big, empty complex of buildings that are beautiful by day and menacing by night.

We do not encourage anybody to trespass on such properties, because it’s just not right to do so. But some people who wrote in to Weird have furnished us with some other reasons to avoid Henryton. Their stories follow, and if you’re still keen on visiting the place . . . well . . . don’t say you weren’t warned.

A Smashing Time at Henryton

One night, three of my friends and I went to explore the Henryton Center. One of my friends considers herself psychic. She constantly gets bad premonitions about things, and she is usually right. But, the whole time we were walking around, she didn’t have any. The largest building is a sort of “E” shaped and there are many lampposts so that everything is lit up around the building at night.

My friends and I went around to the back of the building and stood looking up at the huge structure. It is about 4 or 5 stories tall and brick, with rows and rows of windows on each level. I made a comment about the dark windows: “Isn’t it funny how if someone were looking out on of those windows right now, they could see us, but we could not see them?” We laughed and proceeded into the building. Most every door and window is boarded up, but because this is a common place for thrill-seekers, one of the lower doors had been unboarded.

We walked through a creepy kitchen and into a long hallway. On one side of the hallway were the long lines of windows we had seen from outside, and on the other side were doors to many small rooms. We walked to the end of this hallway, and there was a very large room and a stairwell. We walked up the stairwell to the next level, where the hallway was similar to the first floor. The whole time, my psychic friend had no commented on having any bad feelings. In fact, she led the way. We got to the end of the second hallway, and climbed the stairwell to the third floor hallway, which was similar to the first two.

This time I spotted at one of the windows about halfway down the hallway, and peered down to the area where we had been standing outside looking up at the windows. Then said, “Isn’t it funny that now I could see someone if they were down there, and they can’t see me!” And I laughed. Right then, my psychic friend freaked out and said, “We have to leave now, I don’t want to be here!” She started running down the hallway, down the flights of stairs, through all the doors we came through, and back out to the parking lot we had been standing in. We tried our best to keep up with her, but she beat us outside. When we got out there, she was standing staring up at the rows of windows where we had been standing on the third floor. She had a horrible look of terror on her face. So we turned around to see what she was looking at, and almost right where we had been standing, the large window was completely shattered. It was not broken when we were up there. -Carly L.

Lights Go on at Henryton

Everyone who has been to the Henryton Center at night knows that when you go, you feel like you’re being watched. At night, you can see faint lights in the windows. Or perhaps that creeped-out feeling you get is because the place is a haven for beats. Maybe you can see them out of the corner of your eye and subconsciously register that they’re there without actually consciously seeing them. But whatever the explanation, there’s something about that place that just isn’t right! -FineTime

#type read #weird maryland

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notice-this · 4 years

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#moss #marriottsville #henryton #rocks #spring

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fuckyeahabandonedplaces · 4 years

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Fave place: good ol henryton asylum in Maryland, baby’s first urbex spot. Creepy af and dead silent, but appealingly melancholic. Just wish I’d been better at taking photos when I was there. P sure I heard a disembodied voice while I was there, it was rad. I miss it

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thecurtis · 6 years

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Henryton... ⠀ .⠀ Elevator shafts, extended corridors, shattered windows, and crumbling stairwells. ⠀ .⠀ Three years before it was demolished was the first (and last) time I made photos at Henryton State Hospital. ⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ #henryton #marriotsville #md #nikon #shotwithmynikon #raw #rawartists #mirror

#md #marriotsville #nikon #raw #rawartists #henryton #mirror #shotwithmynikon

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venimex-blog · 5 years

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One of Kansas Haunted House: Sallie’s House

Over the years however, it began to exhibit other hauntings besides that of the little girl. There are lots of haunted houses all over the planet, and such structures truly do spark the human imagination. People don't usually walk away from a perfectly great home or building unless there's something significantly wrong by it. Today the home is a favorite 10-room bed and breakfast. Despite people's opinions about the topic, the Sallie House has come to be among the most important attractions of Atchison, Kansas and has become the topic of many TV documentaries.

People today describe the method by which they have experienced ghosts. With a bit of research and a couple of hours to explore local haunts, you could just meet a ghost. Ghosts and orbs are thought to be connected in some manner. Some individuals believe in ghosts while some don't. The ghosts of an entire family are also believed to lurk around. A lot of people see ghosts of family members in their house.

Real Haunts are an extra method to celebrate the Halloween Season, where paranormal enthusiasts have the chance to learn about the regional places on Long Island that are thought to be truly haunted. Regardless of the absence of documented on fact info, the haunting of Henryton Hospital is recognized. There are essentially three different kinds of haunting, read reviews. While there are numerous residual type hauntings at the Rawlings Frontier Prison, there are lots of different kinds of activities that happen in and about the facility.

A good deal of people don't like to chat about the paranormal since they don't actually believe in ghosts, or the subject makes them uncomfortable. The paranormal is an immense interest of several men and women. Paranormal is an umbrella term used to spell out happenings or events which do not occur within the domain of the five senses. If you like the paranormal you would definitely have enough time of your life. Unexplained mysteries are extremely interesting to read about and speak about. Ghost stories have existed for many centuries. Today, there are various stories surrounding ghosts that seem to live in the haunted cemetery. Explore America’s top rated and most visited haunted house in US with Hauntrave.com, your ultimate haunted house directory for Halloween houses and party events and festivals. Get full reviews of most talk of the town haunted houses near you!

#haunted house #haunt rave #haunt rave haunted house #haunted attractions #halloween #halloween haunted houses

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saturdaycompanion · 2 years

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‘goteia moms’ or whatever they’re calling themselves now: this is mr. bob. he eats only lox and cream cheese bagels. he has exquisite legs and beats imps to the death if he is within 3 feet of them. also he has darkvision. the breeder said he would be a nightraven or something but we all know that’s false info and they are ACTUALLY owls

quasit owners: yeah this is earl henryton fitzzbald the 43rd. he eats trash and we thought he was a stray cat when he first appeared in our backyard. he is obsessed with goatics or whatever the fuck they’re called now despite them wanting to rip him to shreds

#ars gotetia #mischief #unreality #demons #demon #demon memes #hb fans are not allowed within 3 feet of this post #devil #demonology #i guess #more me fooling around then anything #shitpost

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917studios · 7 years

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Autumn Leaves #photography#dmv#dmvphotographer#dmvphotography#colorphotography#autumn#color#leaves#autumnleaves#leaf#tree#trees#tunnel#railroad#train#darkness#tracks#railroadtracks#landscape#landscapephotography#landscapelovers (at Henryton Heights, Maryland)

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wanderingmind13 · 3 years

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Reworking an old piece

Forever nostalgic for Henryton ❤️

#art #self taught artist #art of tumblr #art on tumblr #artists on tumblr #artwork #art of the day #painting #acrylic painting #progress #bear #henryton hospital #henryton #abandoned #abandoned mental hospital #urban exploration #nostalgia

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sisterspooky1013 · 5 months

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Gaslight, Chapter 36/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder sleeps in the back of their rented van on the drive to Henryton, exhausted from nearly twenty-four hours of preparation and worry. His mind feels like an oversaturated sponge, and he finds himself in a perpetual state of frustration as memories tease the edges of his subconscious, never fully revealing themselves. It’s all on the tip of his tongue, burbling just under the surface, but woefully inaccessible.

Langly remains in critical condition, his bedside now attended by his younger brother who flew in on a redeye from out of state. Byers dutifully calls for an update every few hours, and the men make it their mission to save Scully in his honor. What they can’t bring themselves to say aloud is that if he dies, it will hurt all the more to have lost them both in one fell swoop. Never seeing Scully again is an idea that Mulder can’t even allow himself to entertain. He just has to find her. He has to.

Frenchie is curled up near his head, intermittently cracking one eye open to verify that he hasn’t left her again. She’s been glued to his side since she arrived, and between her clear separation anxiety and the fact that they have no idea how long they’ll be gone, he decided that they couldn’t leave her at the Gunmen’s house in good conscience. Having her in tow will also allow him and Scully to set out for Canada right away, without returning to Washington, as will the lock box under the driver’s seat containing two sets of passports, ID, birth certificates, a marriage license, and $10,000 cash.

In the back of the van there are also several firearms. To Mulder’s recollection, the last time he fired a gun was during his short stint at Quantico. But when Byers slid a pistol into his palm, he instinctively released the magazine to verify that it was loaded, slammed it back home, and racked the slide without a single conscious thought regarding what he was doing. He hopes that he doesn’t need to use it, but knowing that he would be able to do so effectively instills the confidence he’ll need if he’s going to pull this off.

It was Byers, fresh from the hospital, who suggested that Teena Mulder’s cryptic message regarding the trains that pass through Henryton tunnel should be interpreted to mean he needs to board a train there. Henryton, however, has no train station, only the infamous tunnel. The railway schedule indicates that between three and five trains pass through the tunnel each day, as early as 10:00 am and as late as 6:00 pm. Their plan is to arrive by 10:00 and scope out the area, then board the train if given an opportunity to do so. They have surveillance equipment, radios, a first aid kit, and detailed maps of every square inch of land within five hundred miles of Henryton, none of which have offered any answers or even suggestions as to Scully’s location. As prepared as they are, they are operating off little more than a hunch and an audacious amount of hope.

They arrive in Marriottsville, a small town near Henryton, just past 10:00 am and stop for breakfast at a mom and pop cafe called Ruth’s. It’s a weathered clapboard house that’s been gutted and converted into a restaurant, and they slide into a booth next to an antique fireplace with historical photos displayed on the mantle.

“Good morning, gentlemen, what can I get for you?”

Their server is an older woman with a moon-shaped face and wiry salt and pepper hair, and a name tag on her apron that says “Moira.” She meets Mulder’s eye and smiles, and she’s so genuinely warm and welcoming that he can’t help smiling back despite his sour mood.

“Coffee, please,” he says, and she winks at him.

“Three coffees, coming right up.”

They sit in relative silence, thinking about Langly, or Scully, or the potential outcomes of boarding a train to nowhere and encountering who knows what on the other side. Mulder has tried, unsuccessfully, to force his brain to remember where he and Scully were taken before. Any tiny detail that might give them some context regarding the level of security in the building or how far it is from a source of transportation. He worries over what they’ll do if she’s injured or ill, or if they’ve already wiped her memory clean and she no longer knows who he is. There are a million ways it could go wrong, but never for a single second does he contemplate not trying. He could never live with himself if he doesn’t at least try.

Their coffees arrive and they order pancakes and waffles, bacon and eggs, carbohydrates and protein to fuel the journey ahead. Byers lays the maps out over the table, following the train tracks with his index finger and looking for an out of place building along their course. He’s already done this dozens of times, but he’s just as meticulous now as he was on the first pass. Mulder watches him with heavy eyelids and a worried heart, wondering what Scully is doing at this exact moment.

The bell above the door jangles and the excited squawk of children draws looks from several patrons. Mulder glances at the newcomers as they are shown to a table, and they seem familiar to him. The man, presumably the father, is tall and tawny, and he takes one side of the booth while the two children, a boy and a girl, sit on the side that is facing Mulder and the Gunmen’s table. The girl is older, and her hair is long and ruddy against her porcelain cheeks. The boy looks more like the father, with protruding ears and raucous laugh. Mulder watches them for a long time as they color their menus, wondering if he knew them before but just can’t recall the memory.

“Flapjacks and scrambled eggs,” Moira says as she sets a plate in front of Mulder, and he is distracted enough by trying to force himself to eat that he forgets about the familiar family for a time.

“I think John should stay back,” Frohike announces, shoveling a forkful of waffle into his mouth.

Byers turns and gives him an incredulous look.

“I agree,” Mulder chimes in, and Byers turns his incredulous look to the other side of the table. “For one, we can’t leave Frenchie in the car; it’s too hot. And if we don’t come back…”

The men all stop eating and look at each other. He doesn’t need to say the rest: if they don’t come back, someone will need to look after Frenchie, and be there for Langly. Someone will need to try and send for additional help.

Byers slowly nods and lowers his eyes to his plate. Though he won’t say it, Mulder can tell he’s relieved.

In his periphery, he sees someone small approaching the table. When he looks, he finds the young girl from the familiar family walking towards him, her eyes on the ground. She crouches down beside the booth and picks up a yellow crayon, then stands and looks at Mulder, locking her brilliant blue eyes on his.

“Abby! Get back over here!” the man, her father, calls out, turning in his seat to admonish her.

Mulder gets a better look at his face, and it’s just so familiar. He knows he’s seen it somewhere before. The little girl scurries away, and her father gives Mulder a long look. A warning look.

“How’s everything tasting?” Moira asks, a stack of dirty dishes resting on her hip. They assure her that the food is up to snuff, and she takes in the pile of maps now neatly folded in the middle of the table. “Where ya headed?” she asks, gesturing to the maps with her chin.

The men exchange glances.

“Henryton,” Frohike supplies after an awkwardly long silence. “Any recommendations?”

She pulls a face, indicating that Henryton is not what she was expecting to hear.

“There’s not much to do out there in terms of tourist attractions, I’m afraid, but lots of great walking trails. Lotsa people like to visit the train tunnel; it’s the third oldest in the world that’s still in operation. And haunted to boot.”

“Haunted?” Byers asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well,” she says, shifting the dishes to her other hip, “It’s really the old sanatorium that’s haunted, but the tunnel is right nearby. Legend is that they didn’t used to let the patients bathe for weeks on end, and they’d get to smelling so bad that they’d escape and run down to the river to wash up.”

Byers sets his fork down and pushes his plate away.

“Even now,” she continues, “people claim that they see ghosts crossing over the tracks on the west end of the tunnel. Sometimes trains will even stop right there, halfway through, to let ‘em pass.”

“The train stops in the tunnel?” Mulder asks, too urgently, and she gives him a perplexed look.

“Sometimes,” she says, hiking the dishes up higher. “Not always. That’s why people think it’s the ghosts. If the engineer spots one, he better throw on the brakes or the whole thing could derail.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Frohike says blandly while giving Mulder a significant look.

“Anywho, I better get back to it. You ready for your check?”

They nod, and she leaves them.

“Ghosts on the tracks,” Mulder says, pushing his plate away. “Why else would a train stop in the middle of a tunnel?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Frohike says, shaking his head.

They settle the bill and collect their maps, and as they head toward the door, Mulder passes by the table of the familiar family. The children are dowsing their pancakes in an ungodly amount of syrup while their father stares absently at the table top, his own plate untouched. Just as he reaches the front door, Mulder turns back and approaches them, seeking resolution for the familiar feeling that he just can’t shake.

“Excuse me,” he says, addressing the father. The man looks up sharply, alarmed, and Mulder takes half a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Have we met? You look so familiar to me, but I can’t place you.”

The man flicks his dark, intense eyes over Mulder once, sitting up taller in his seat in a show of dominance.

“I don’t think so,” he says levelly.

The little boy, taking advantage of the fact that his sister is distracted by Mulder’s presence, sticks his finger into the half-melted scoop of butter sitting atop her syrupy pancakes and then stuffs it in his mouth.

“Peter!” she shrieks, “Don’t touch my food!”

“Abby, shhhh,” her father says softly, and she sticks out her lower lip.

Abby and Peter. He remembers from the maps that Ellicott City isn’t far from here. What are the odds?

“Cal,” Mulder says, turning back to the man. “Calvin, is that your name?”

The man stands abruptly, positioning himself between Mulder and his children, and Mulder takes another step back.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man hisses, and Mulder is surprised to find himself quite intimidated. He holds his hands up, palms out, in deference.

“My name is Fox Mulder,” he says. “I know Dana.”

Cal looks at him for a beat, his expression unreadable.

“Mulder?” he repeats, and Mulder nods once. “How do you know Dana?”

He has no idea what this man knows regarding the nature of he and Scully’s relationship. Most likely nothing at all.

“We used to work together,” he offers, and Cal relaxes a little.

Cal seems to become suddenly aware that the whole restaurant is looking at them. He extends his hand, and after a brief moment of consideration Mulder shakes it.

“Calvin Rose,” he says, then cocks his head over his shoulder towards the children. “This is Abby and Peter.”

“Hi,” Mulder says, looking at the children and smiling. Abby shrinks towards her brother shyly.

“Hi, I’m Pete!” the little boy says proudly.

“Did Dana tell you to come here?” Cal asks with narrow eyes. He may have concluded that Mulder isn’t a threat, but he clearly doesn’t trust him.

“No,” Mulder says, and his heart sinks. The children are both watching him intently, and he doesn’t want to scare them. He motions for Cal to come closer, and the man leans his upper body forward, turning his head to the side to offer his ear. Mulder speaks in a low voice, one he hopes the children can’t hear. “We’re trying to find her. She was…taken.”

Cal slowly leans away and stares at him.

“What do you mean?”

Mulder looks at Abby and Peter. Their syrup-sticky faces and their wide, innocent eyes.

“Maybe we should discuss this in private,” he suggests, and Cal follows his gaze back to the very observant children.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

They sit down at the dirty table just vacated by Mulder and the Gunmen, close enough for Cal to keep an eye on the kids but far enough away that they won’t hear them.

“What do you mean taken? Taken where?” Cal asks, his elbows on the table top.

“I don’t know,” Mulder admits. “I’m not sure how much Dana told you about what happened to us before, but I believe she’s been taken back to the place where our memories were initially manipulated.”

“Who took her?” Cal asks urgently, questions tumbling out too quickly for Mulder to answer. “Did you see this happen? Where were you? I don’t even know where she’s been, she just left and then I got this letter yesterday—”

“You got a letter? From who?”

“From Dana,” Cal says, reaching into his pocket.

He sets the letter on the table and Mulder reads it several times. Henryton tunnel at noon. He checks his watch. It’s almost 11:00.

“This isn’t from her,” he says, handing the note back. “I’ve been with her for the last seventy-two hours, and I know she didn’t write this.”

Cal looks at the note like it’s suddenly a foreign object.

“Then who sent it?”

Mulder shrugs.

“The people in charge of all of this, I assume. They may be trying to lure you there, instead of taking you by force.” An image of the black van tearing out of the parking lot at the safehouse flashes through his mind. “That’s what happened to Scully.”

“Scully? Who’s Scully?”

“Sorry, Dana. Scully is…her maiden name. That’s what I’ve always called her.”

Cal looks at the table.

“Right,” he says. “I guess I should know that.”

“Even if this isn’t from her,” Mulder says, pointing to the letter, “it’s helpful. It confirms that I need to get on the train at the tunnel, and at an exact time. But you don’t want to get on that train, Cal. Especially not with the kids.”

Cal’s eyes widen and he looks over to the children, then back to Mulder.

“What are they doing to her?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says, and his chest tightens. “Best case scenario, they plan to wipe her memory again. Worst case…they’re destroying the evidence of what they’ve done.”

“I’m going with you,” Cal says without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mulder objects. “I have no idea what we’ll encounter. It’s going to be dangerous, and there’s a possibility that we won’t make it back.”

Cal leans in, locking his eyes on Mulder’s.

“Mira, cabrón,” he says, his voice suddenly venomous, “I appreciate your concern, but that’s my wife out there.” Cal must see Mulder’s reaction in his face, because he softens a little. “I mean…the kids don’t know,” he says, glancing over at them. “They still have their chips in, they’re still taking their meds. She’s their mom. I have to find her.”

The queasiness he feels seeing how attached Cal clearly is to Scully, that he still thinks of her as his wife, is quickly replaced by fear.

“They still have chips? That means they’re tracking you, Cal.” Mulder looks around the small restaurant. No one seems to be paying them any attention. “If the kids don’t get on the train, they might come for them.”

Cal sits back and swallows, then his eyes dart around erratically while he thinks.

“Who are those guys you’re with?” he asks.

“Friends,” Mulder tells him. “Of both mine and Dana’s. We’ve known them for years. They’ve been helping us.”

“You trust them?” Cal asks, very seriously.

“Absolutely,” Mulder says emphatically. “I’d trust them with my life, and Dana’s.”

“You trust them with my kids?”

Mulder sees how much the question hurts to ask. Sees the fear behind it, the risk. It only reinforces how deeply Cal cares for Scully. For a fleeting moment, Mulder wonders what will happen to the three of them if they make it out of this alive.

“I would, yes. They’ll do everything within their power to protect them, if necessary.”

Cal sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He looks over at his children, who are piling the remains of their breakfast onto one plate and covering it with salt and pepper.

“We better get going,” he says resolutely. “The train will be there soon.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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