Are you really sure about this now Mr. Mulder?" the weatherbeaten
lighthouse keeper asked seriously.
He was an old man, working as a seaman most of his life, and only in his
later years as a lighthouse keeper at different places. He was big and
still strongly built, and he emanated power, strength and peace. He had
probably seen and experienced much in his long adventurous life. Yet horror
shone from his ocean blue eyes as he glanced towards the lighthouse on the
windswept hill.
Mulder looked thoughtfully at the man, wondering whether his fear really
were justified, or if it just were old superstition, or a lively fantasy
blooming from long nights alone. He felt thrilled about the possibility that
he might experience the paranormal at the old lighthouse, yet he was aware
of how many times old tales and rumors were fakes. Lighthouses however were
ideal settings for hauntings, isolated harsh places, destinies and fates of
generations of solitary lighthouse keepers and their families imprinted in
the settings of the wind and wave-swept beacons.
"Yes, Mr. Bradley, I definitely want to stay," Mulder said with emphasis,
seeing in the other man's eyes that he thought he was completely crazy.
Mulder however tried to look as sane as possible, and the old seaman sighed,
pushed off his knitted navy blue cap, and scratched his white hair.
"Okay, if I can't change your mind then, I wish I could, but... well, I'll
come... and pick you up as agreed tomorrow morning then," Bradley said,
looking sadly at Mulder.
"Thank you Mr. Bradley. I appreciate this," Mulder said cheerfully.
Bradley just snorted, lifted the last bag out of the boat, and extended
his hand for a handshake.
"Take care now, and remember everything I've told you!"
"I will. See you Sunday morning then."
The old seaman nodded and turned away, mumbling something like "I hope so",
then pushed the boat off the stones of the shore and boarded it. Mulder
watched as the boat got smaller on the vast waters, then turned to look up
at
the lighthouse and the little building beside it He was stuck here for the
time being, but he didn't really mind.
The wind was fresh and salty, and the sun that shone from the blue sky
filled with screaming seagulls couldn't manage to warm the air. Autumn was
definitely in the air, and even more obvious on the island than it had been
on the mainland.
The lighthouse itself wasn't that tall, but it was situated on a hill high
above sea level. It was white whitewashed, crumbling away here and there,
through which the underlying red brick and mortar was visible. Perfect! The
structure was remote, old, with many odd people having lived and died there
in the past, and known to be haunted. Mulder's eyes shone like he was a kid
on Christmas as he picked up his heavy luggage and started to walk up the
hill.
There was this little lake deep in the forest that he used to visit every
summer when he was a kid. It was always cool and clear, almost magical with
its water lilies and dragonflies. Diving from a cliff at the Eastern
Shore, there was almost a bottomless deep, and the kids used to challenge
each other to dive that pit. Worst of all were the Krycek brothers, spurring
one another to swim deeper and deeper, yet nobody had seen the bottom of it.
"You're a chicken," Nikolaj, the older brother could say with a smile, and
this always made his younger brother Alex's eyes gleam like the green leaves
of spring, pushing beyond his limits.
There were moments when Alex Krycek relived the experience of nearly dying
in that lake.
Closing his ears to the mocking words of his brother and the older boys,
he'd taken several deep breaths and jumped into the lake to prove to
himself, if not to the others, that he could do it. Swimming further and
further down, easing the pressure in his ears, it was as if he could swim
forever and yet not reach bottom. He wouldn't give up, although his lungs
ached and it was pitch black and cold. Something slimy slithered around his
belly and arms, and he felt disoriented, not quite knowing which was up or
down.
There was a monotone sound in his ears, as if the lady of the lake called
for him, and the cold fingers of her servants touched his lanky body,
wanting to
grab him. It was snaring and tempting, but he refused their calling, and
tried to swim back up, when he finally saw distant lights penetrating the
dark waters from the world of the living high above him.
Paddling desperately to return to it, his mind was getting numb, and he
started to sink just before reaching it. Then there were strong arms
grabbing his body, taking him up towards the light. The first breath was
both painful and wonderful, a mix of contradictions, and he had almost had
to force himself to take it as he broke the surface.
Looking up in the anxious pale face of his older brother and the other
boys, Alex realized he was holding something sharp in his hand, squeezing it
so tight that he bled. The mussel shell was big and shiny, nothing like the
mussel shells you could find at shallower waters. It was a gift from the
lady in the lake, because he had been at the bottom of the pitch and
returned.
It was with those feelings of being almost lured down into the deep dark
endlessness that Krycek woke up now. He was lying on his belly in the dark,
feeling rough sand and stones against his face and body. The roaring of
wind, waves, and the whipping of rain filled his ears, and he was freezing.
He coughed and puked up what seemed to be a pint of salty water, and the
recollection of the shipwreck came back to him.
Carefully lifting himself up, he looked out into the darkness, just barely
able to see the upset ocean and wet rocks. His had been hit on the head, and
he knew he had been amazingly lucky to be washed up on this shore. Working
himself up to sitting position with a grunt, he felt a big piece of wood
beside him, and remembered how he had held himself up on it, clutching to it
in the choppy waters as he had slipped into unconsciousness. That piece of
driftwood had probably saved his life.
Krycek wondered whether any of his companions had survived the surprisingly
harsh storm that had hit them. He cursed the entire day. He hadn't been too
fond of the idea to go at all, and he was not that surprised to see how the
trip had ended.
Trying to distinguish the surroundings as his eyes got used to the dark,
there was a sudden flash of lightning, illuminating the dark. Blinking the
rainwater out of his eyes, Krycek could see something that looked like a
building up a hill, perhaps a beacon or a similar structure.
Rising up with effort and trying to ignore his aching head, he stood and
tried to regain his balance for a moment. It felt like he had inhaled at
least a pint of water. In addition he had a stinging feeling at the back of
his throat, and a strange feeling in his chest, but he tried to clear his
lungs before struggling up to where he had seen the building.
The wind and rain whipped his body, and the deep gravel gave way under his
feet, making it almost as if he were walking in a swamp. His steps were
heavy, and he was already exhausted and numb from the struggle and cold in
the water.
Finally reaching the crest of the hill, a high building rose up towards the
sky in front of him, which indeed was an abandoned lighthouse. Feeling
relieved to be able to get shelter from the storm, Krycek walked around it
to find a door, but stopped after he realized he had gone completely around
the structure. There was no door? Deciding that he must have missed it in
the dark, he took another circuit, a bit slower this time. This time the
door found him, or his head, to be exact, as it hit him while flapping in
the wind. It was a moldy outer door, worn by wind, salt, and water. Krycek
propped it against the outer wall, and wondered how the hell he could have
missed it the first time. He was prepared to break into the building, but,
to
his amazement, the inner door was open, and he could just walk right in.
Closing the door and shutting the storm behind him, he found the building
quiet and dusty inside. Wiping away the water dripping from his hair into
his eyes, Krycek was amazed to see a flicker of faint light streaming from a
room that was up a flight of stairs from where he stood. Someone must have
survived the shipwreck, he thought, feeling a bit uneasy. He neither liked
nor trusted the men he had been aboard with, and the idea of sharing this
place with some lunatics tonight wasn't that appealing. Walking carefully
over the floor to the stairs, Krycek leaned towards the banister for a
while, trying to ease the pounding in his head. He almost felt nauseated,
and wondered whether he had contracted a minor concussion.
As he climbed the stairs to the upper room, he found a small lamp lighting
the room dimly, but no one in sight. When he reached the top step, suddenly
someone jumped him from behind, taking him totally by surprise, and
knocking him hard to the floor.
Someone rolled him over roughly, sat on him to hold him down, and shone a
flashlight in his face. Krycek squinted as the light stung his eyes, and he
heard a sharp intake of breath and felt hands touching his body and face
fervently.
"Jesus Christ! Krycek?? Is it really you?"
A breathless, upset voice broke the silence. The voice was somehow very
familiar to Krycek, yet out of place, and he carefully opened his eyes, to
see no one other than Fox Mulder sitting on top of him.
"Of course, it's really me!" Krycek growled through his teeth. "But I can't
believe it's really you! What the hell are you doing here, Mulder?" he
asked, completely surprised at his discovery.
"Never mind that... You're certainly not the White Cliff lighthouse ghost?"
Mulder asked with disbelief in his voice.
"What?!" Krycek frowned, making the crease over the bridge of his nose
deepen. "Of course I'm not a ghost! I just washed up on the shore of this
goddamned place after a rather unfortunate cruise. However, you might be a
ghost soon if you don't get your hands outta my face and get off of me right
now!" Krycek said, suddenly feeling grumpy. A crazy Mulder was more than he
could manage at the moment.
Mulder let go of Krycek's face, since he was not an illusion after all.
Krycek noted his pale complexion and huge eyes, and, if he didn't know
better, might have said he looked scared.
As soon as Mulder got off of Krycek, he sat up, touching his head, then
examining his bloodstained hand in the light. Mulder reached forward as if
to touch his head, and Krycek twitched back in reflex.
"You're bleeding?" Mulder said, grabbing the back of Krycek's neck and
pulling him closer, running his fingers through his hair and finding a big
bump on his head.
"I hit my head," Krycek mumbled.
"You're all wet."
"No kidding! You tend to get wet when you fall into the ocean," Krycek burst
out sarcastic. "And don't you dare say anything about rats and sinking
ships!" Mulder merely looked at him, then walked away a few steps and came
back with a piece of cloth that he gave Krycek to hold against his wound.
"Well, believe it or not, I enjoy some company... even from you, Krycek,"
Mulder mumbled, looking anxiously around the room. Krycek glared at him,
getting up from the floor, and moved over to one of the benches by the
table.
"As long as you dont start to sing campfire songs, I'm glad you feel that
way," Krycek said tiredly. He sat down on the bench and studied the room
for the first time.
It was a rather big place, and the faint light didnt manage to illuminate
every corner. It was an old lighthouse indeed, dusty and worn, and they
seemed to be in a small sitting room.
"Have you tried to light a fire Mulder?" Krycek asked hopefully, as his eyes
fell on the chipped fireplace.
Mulder's big eyes followed his, and he shook his head.
"No, I haven't..."
"Let's try it then. I'm freezing!" Krycek said and stood up. There was
something strange about Mulder, even more than usual, but Krycek couldn't
put his finger on it, and couldn't care less either at the moment. Right
now, he just wanted to be warm, to rest a bit, and hope that they wouldn't
get any visits from other survivors from the shipwreck tonight.
There was some firewood in a nearby chest, and Krycek gathered up some logs.
"Do you have matches?" Krycek asked, turning with a jump when he found
Mulder right behind him, handing him a lighter and some kindling paper
without a word. Damn, he was acting skittish, he'd never heard him move.
"Great," Krycek mumbled, as he crumpled the paper beneath the wood and lit
it. It started to burn, but smoke began to fill the room.
"Jeez!" Mulder coughed. "You didn't think of opening any dampers, did you?"
Fumbling in the smoke for a while, Krycek found a lever inside of the
chimney. The smoke was immediately sucked out with a long moaning sound,
putting out the fire at the same time. After another try with the lighter,
and some more sticks, a steady fire burned in the fireplace, and Krycek was
pleased to feel the warm that it produced.
There was a thud over at the table, and Krycek and Mulder looked up, and saw
that a bag had fallen down on the floor. Mulder stood frozen, staring at the
bag with a strange look on his face, and Krycek wrinkled his forehead as he
saw him.
"Come on—it's just the draught from the draft."
Krycek didn't like how the other man was acting. Mulder was always calm and
secure, but now he was somehow jittery and stayed close to him like a
shadow... odd really. Krycek felt tired, but thinking of it, he didn't like
this place either. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he had had an
awkward feeling ever since he got in from the storm, closing the tricky door
behind him. Somehow it made his skin crawl. There was something very wrong
with this place, and whatever that was, it didn't feel exactly friendly.
The wind outside roared, and there was strange chirping, whining, and
cracking sounds inside the lighthouse. Krycek was glad he didn't have to
stay outside in the cold, but didn't fancy the thought of being in here
either. There were like two scales of bad things to choose from, but Krycek
wouldn't hesitate to choose which of them he preferred over the other.
"Let's take the cushions from the benches and sleep in front of the fire,"
Krycek suggested. He needed to lie down, feeling a little bit dizzy, and he
didn't intend to play Ghostbusters, but sleep as soon as possible.
Mulder nodded. "Yes, that'll be fine," he mumbled, moving to the table so
they could arrange his things near the fire."
"You have food?" Krycek asked, looking expectantly at the bags.
"Yes. You're hungry?" Mulder asked. Krycek nodded, so Mulder sat on the
cushions and opened the bag. Krycek followed his example and sat as close to
the warmth as he could. A ripping cough shook his body, and he leaned down
his aching head down towards his knees. He got the taste of salt water in
his mouth again.
"You need to take off those wet clothes," Mulder said seriously. "We can
hang them up to dry on some chairs by the fire."
Krycek nodded: the clothes were wet and cold against his skin, and the
sooner he got them off, the better.
After awhile, they sat on the cushions with their backs towards the fire,
munching salami sandwiches. Mulder had zipped his sleeping bag open, and
they shared it as blanket. At first, Krycek had seemed a little bit
uncomfortable about the revelation that they would have to be so close, but
now he contentedly ate his sandwich with his long legs crossed under the
sleeping bag, almost touching Mulder's. He wasn't the one to say no to any
comfort he could get, although it surprised him a bit that Mulder hadn't
tried to hit him or call him names even once yet. This was something he had
no problems whatsoever to deal with though: it suited him very well, tonight
especially.
Mulder was utterly aware of Krycek's closeness, sitting beside him in only
his underwear under the sleeping bag. He could feel the warmth from Krycek,
and it was almost electrical, sending little tickling feelings in his body.
He had tried not to stare at the other man's body as he undressed, but it
was really as beautiful as one could imagine. Krycek was a slender yet
muscular man, and the light and shadows from the fire was very flattering on
his body. The long well-shaped limbs, the firm buttocks, the pectoral
muscles, the... damn! He had turned away so that Mulder didn't get a good
look at he front side of that underwear.
Krycek drank the last of the coffee, sneaking himself yet another cube of
sugar, chewing it delightedly. Mulder's packed lunch tasted wonderful—he
had been really hungry.
Mulder merely nibbled a sandwich, as if just to do something—he didn't feel
hungry at all. As a matter of fact, he almost felt nauseous, while the
entire room and the air inside it felt kind of oppressive to him.
No matter how hot Krycek's skin was against his, though, Mulder couldn't
deny the cold creepy feeling of the lighthouse. It was like something was
watching them, waiting and contemplating the situation with the arrival of
the second man. The wind hissed around them, moaning loudly. The thing
watching them was in no hurry whatsoever, but could lay low and bide its
time. After all, it had waited for over a century now, and it didn't need to
make haste.
"Do you feel it too?" Mulder whispered to Krycek. He had to know. Krycek
stopped chewing, turned his head towards Mulder's, and studied his face
quietly, skillfully avoiding direct eye contact, though.
"Feel what?" he asked slowly, his eyes sort of half closed, as if he didn't
really want to face him.
"I don't know... like something's watching us, like this something isn't
especially glad, to have us here, or worse... that it is glad in a malicious
way, that we are here," Mulder answered, trying to sound as serious as he
could.
"Come on! You have obviously watched too many horror movies, Mulder. Go to
sleep—I intend to, right now to be precise!" Krycek exclaimed. He set down
the crust of his sandwich off of the sleeping bag, licked the grease from
the salami from his fingers, and resolutely turned his back against Mulder
again. Mulder didn't feel relieved though. He had seen something in Krycek's
eyes, and knew that even though Krycek had sounded cool and calm about it,
it had been fake. He had felt it too.
The old cushions smelled of dust and a little bit moldy, but they were soft
and nice. Mulder sighed and nestled down under the opened sleeping bag that
they shared as blanket. Krycek was right: maybe the best thing was to
pretend everything was all right and try to sleep. He knew he wouldn't, but
he could at least rest his eyes. Putting his sandwich beside Krycek's piece,
Mulder curled down under the sleeping bag as well, listening to the strange
noises of the place, trying to sort out his fears, and only listen to
Krycek's low and steady breathing.
"Fuck it Mulder! Stop waking me all the time. Damn you, I finally drift off
and then you wake me up!
"I need to make sure you're still conscious. If your head trauma was too
severe, you could slip into a coma and die."
"And what if it was? What are you going to do? Drill a hole in my head to
reduce the pressure? Knock off this Florence Nightingale crap and sleep!"
"Man, you're edgy. Here I worry for your wellbeing and all I get is shit
back!"
"So, what did you expect! Hello? You don't even like me, remember?" Krycek
snarled, turning under the cover of the bag, fussing as he tried to find a
new position, but suddenly froze in the move, staring at something in the
dark.
"W-what?" Mulder whispered. Krycek seemed to hold his breath, staring firmly
as if in a trance. Mulder slowly lifted his gaze in the same direction as
well. He heard something rattle against the wood floor, and maybe something
that moved so fast that he couldn't see it. It could have been a trick of
the shadows, but he wasn't sure.
Krycek made a moaning sound as he lay down again.
"What did you see?" Mulder asked quietly.
"I'm going to sleep—good night!" Krycek said, his voice kind of slurred.
"Tell me, Krycek!" Mulder exclaimed.
"Good night, Mulder!" Krycek mumbled, body language pretty clear that he
wasn't going to discuss anything further. Mulder sighed—he felt so
frustrated. The minutes in between waking Krycek were creepy, and he had
more than twice tried to decide whether he would leave the lighthouse and go
out instead.
He must have drifted off after all. He didn't know for how long, but any
minutes that would have passed were blessed. It was still dark, but the fire
had died down, leaving only glowing embers here and there.
Turning his head, Mulder
noticed that Krycek wasn't lying beside him anymore, making the creepy
feeling down his spine return. However, he could tell that he wasn't alone.
Glancing up, he could just barely see Krycek's form by the window, his
features silhouetted in the dim light from outdoors. He had no idea how
long he'd been up, but the space beside him was cold. Knowing that his
companion hadn't gone far should have given him some comfort, but the sense
that something peculiar was going on still troubled him.
"Are you okay, Krycek?" Mulder asked and sat up.
The man by the window turned slowly, the profile
unmistakably Krycek's though the rest of the face remained in the shadow.
Something in his gaze made the standing man seem to have forgotten about
Mulder, evident in the strange luster of his eyes even in the low light.
Mulder went cold as he realized those eyes weren't their usual green, but
instead a deep, shining red with pupils huge and pitch black, unnatural in
the way they penetrated the dark.
"Krycek..." the man repeated thoughtfully, slowly, as if tasting the word in
his mouth. He sounded so strange. "It was worth the wait..." he continued,
the voice chilling Mulder like ice. This wasn't Krycek. Who, or rather
what, was standing here before him, studying him? While it had Krycek's
body, Mulder had no way of knowing whether the rat he knew was being
possessed, or if this were just a phantom based on his memories of the man."
"Who are you?" Mulder asked quietly, as if afraid of raising his voice too
loud.
There was a sudden sound of light running steps above them, and a whining
sound of the wind, almost like a woman's scream. The gleaming eyes left
Mulder for a heartbeat, and when they returned, they almost flamed, and the
temperature inside seemed to drop several degrees.
Mulder cast a quick glance at the staircase, wondering if he'd have any
chance if he bolted downstairs and outside. Maybe the creature standing
before him was only powerful here in this building, and could not hurt him
if he were to leave it.
An evil laugh echoed around the room, and in the blink of an eye, the thing
taking Krycek's form stood directly before Mulder, foiling any chance of
escape. As the thing stood there staring maliciously at Mulder, he noted
the swirl of vapors in the air just out of the corner of his eye. Despite
his terror, Mulder had to admit that this was an X-File, and one of a
fascinatingly high caliber at that.
However, Mulder's fascination was cut short by a sudden pressure around his
throat, though no hands held him. Krycek's features twisted unrecognizably,
causing Mulder to realize that his appearance was only an illusion, its
details blurring before his eyes. Meanwhile, an unseen force wrestled him
to the floor with a grip of iron. He struggled, but it was impossible to
fend for himself against its great strength.
Even as oxygen deprivation started to affect him, Mulder chose to use what
strength he could muster to prevail upon whatever part of Krycek remained in
the phantom before him, to beg him to overpower whatever possessed him and
come to Mulder's assistance.
A sudden gust of wind blew a torrent of rain fiercely against the window,
causing the clatter to echo inside the lighthouse. For a moment, Mulder
thought he could see a hint of Krycek's green eyes struggle through the red,
and the grasp on him weakened just a little.
Things started happening quickly. Light footsteps seemed to run through the
room. A gray shimmer accompanied by a moaning sound filled the air both
inside the building and outside the window. Whispered voices, maybe those
of a woman and some children, reverberated around Mulder, as the grip was
released a little further. The red eyes looked around, as if searching for
something.
Certain that he was hallucinating due to lack of oxygen, Mulder caught a
glimpse of figures hovering in the air. They were small, shimmering, and
almost transparent.
Suddenly, the entire building began to shake as if in protest. Krycek fell
to the floor, convulsing like he was having a seizure. At once, everything
became quiet and still, and the air felt clean like after a spring
rainstorm.
Krycek slowly lifted his face and looked at Mulder beseechingly. His green
eyes were back, but his skin was ashen and his body obviously badly bruised.
Mulder gave him a nod of recognition as he gasped for precious air, but
Krycek began to shiver slightly.
There were hundred of things that needed to be talked about, but for now,
Mulder just wanted to go as far away from the lighthouse as possible.
"Let's get out of here. I'll sleep anywhere but here," Mulder said, shaken.
"It's raining," Krycek said hesitantly.
"I don't give a shit. I'd rather lie in a dirt ditch than staying here,"
Mulder said in a voice that wouldn't accept an argument. He started to
gather his things, and was ready to leave in a few seconds.
They descended the staircase, one more willing than the other, and if Mulder
had turned around at that moment, he would have caught the faint glimmer of
red in Krycek's eyes.
Finding the remains of the shipwreck washed up on the shore, they crawled
under it seeking shelter from the storm. It still felt safer there than in
the lighthouse, though Mulder could swear that he heard footsteps in the
grass and gravel nearby.
Krycek wasn't saying much, just grumbling as they walked that he wanted to
stay closer to the structure and take advantage of the shelter of its walls.
Mulder walked on, refusing to argue and failing to notice the dimming of
the red shine as they moved away from the lighthouse in the rain and
struggled across the loose gravel.
Something woke him up, and squinting towards the daylight, Mulder tried to
figure out where he was. The seagulls screamed, circling the light blue sky
The wind was cold and raw, and the waves threw themselves against the rocky
shore and whipped salt into the air. Lying on the beach, tucked under an
old leaky rowboat, Mulder remembered the night just past with an aching
back. Having survived his ordeal, he should be picked up anytime now that
daylight shone on his face.
There was no sign of the fierce storm of the night before, and the windswept
island looked as normal and bare as any other. Glancing up at the
lighthouse, he found that it looked quite normal and serene as well...
though it wasn't.
There it was again, someone shouting his name. Mulder realized Krycek wasn't
there with him under the boat... but the voice didn't belong to Krycek.
Getting on his feet with an effort, Mulder stretched his stiff joints, saw
the white head of the weather-beaten seaman, and waved towards him. The old
man looked almost relieved to see him, and walked towards him. Checking his
watch, Mulder could conclude he was early, as it was only 6.30, and he must
have left the harbor in the half-dark to come and pick him up so early.
"You're okay mister?" Bradley asked Mulder as he came towards him.
"I'm alive," Mulder said, nodding silently to himself, as he was alive
indeed. The old seaman looked at him with piercing blue eyes and nodded too.
He didn't need to know any more—it was already obvious to him that the
young agent had experienced something out here, something that he would
ponder for ages, if not a lifetime.
"Did you see someone else here?" Mulder asked, suddenly thinking of Krycek
again.
"No, no one else," the Bradley answered, looking oddly at Mulder.
"You sure?" Mulder asked. "There was a shipwreck victim here overnight, and
he came to the lighthouse seeking shelter. Maybe he went back up there..."
"I've already walked around the perimeter, looking for you..."
"...But, he was here—we were staying together by the fireplace in the room
on the second floor. Maybe he went back inside during the night?"
Bradley looked strangely at Mulder, whose eyes darted around the island,
looking for Krycek. Feeling the big callused hand on his shoulder, Mulder
looked up at him.
"There's no way you could have been inside the lighthouse. The door's sealed
with bricks and mortar. You were going to spend the night in the little shed
next to it, remember?"
Mulder stared at him, not wanting to believe what he was hearing, and
started to run towards the lighthouse. It was true: running around the
entire building, he could see there was nothing but brick walls. Standing in
front of the place where the door had been, Mulder couldn't understand. Had
everything been a hallucination, a dream—what had happened here last
night?
He turned to the big man who had walked up beside him, looking for an
explanation that wasn't there.
"I told you that strange things were happening here," Bradley said
seriously, with a comforting tone. "Come on now, young man—let's leave
here. There's nobody else to find on this island, and I'll bet you could
use a hot shower and a good breakfast. My wife will have it ready for us
when we get back."
Epilogue
Somebody was splashing water into his face. He was cold and miserable, and
felt like he had been going a round against a heavyweight boxer.
Hey, Krycek—wake up now. Finally, you're coming to your senses!" an angry,
harsh voice shouted at him. The fog in Krycek's head slowly dissipated, and
he opened his eyes.
He saw some rough sailors standing around him, and in front of them,
Cardinale, squatting beside him.
"Where... am I?" Krycek croaked.
"Where are you? You crazy bastard—if you had just finished the job as
ordered, and not gotten into that fight with that dumb bastard, this would
have been an easy mission," Cardinale snorted. "When that big storm blew
in, you fell overboard along with our target. Thank your lucky stars that
we managed to haul you up again before you were washed up against the
cliffs. You hit your head pretty hard, and have been out cold all night."
Things began to come back to him as he sat up, though it was all very
confusing. He lay under a blanket on the deck beneath a light blue daylight
sky filled with screaming seagulls. Looking over the gunwale, he saw that
they were anchored next to a windswept island, which was quite ordinary
except for a lighthouse rising from a hill on the island's far side. Did he
know this place... or?
"There was a helluva storm," Cardinale continued. "We had to anchor near
this island to find a bit of shelter from the wind."
Krycek nodded, but didn't say anymore, and Cardinale soon lost interest in
him, and walked inside the engine room instead.
The seamen had gone back to their chores, hauling anchor and starting the
engines. Krycek thankfully accepted the mug of hot coffee that was handed to
him, and he looked thoughtfully back at the island as the fishing boat
chugged away from it.
Then he saw it, a little motorboat came around from the other side of the
island, speeding back to the mainland. There were two men inside it: a big
white haired man and another one... looking undoubtedly like Mulder...
The Lighthouse Tale
by Scout
Prologue
