Agent of Chaos (The X-Files: Origins #1)(49)

Across the room, a fancy gilded birdcage hung from the ceiling with a black-and-white bird inside that alternated between chattering and the warbling call he’d heard a minute ago. It looked exactly like the magpie Mulder had seen lying on Billy Christian’s chest in the cemetery.

Earl Roy was nowhere in sight.

Muffled sounds echoed from the other side of the wall—footsteps, a bell ringing, scraping, and the same gravelly voice, muttering and singing. Mulder maneuvered back down onto his side to make it appear as if he were still unconscious. The angle allowed him to peek up from the bottom of the cage and keep watch.

A broad-shouldered man backed into the room, dragging something. The soles of his heavy work boots thudded against the stone floor, each step slow and deliberate. The top half of his blue coveralls hung around his waist, and the back of his white undershirt was stained with sweat. He was holding the top of a fancy gold chair like the ones upstairs, tilting it back carefully as he pulled it into the room.

Earl Roy had something white all over his arms and hands. It wasn’t chalky like baby powder. It looked more like house paint. But the man had his back to Mulder, so he couldn’t see much without sitting up. The magpie chattered, and Earl Roy lowered the front legs of the chair and left it facing the wall.

He turned and pointed at the cage. “Don’t test me.”

Mulder saw Earl Roy’s face and froze. A pair of blue eyes stared out from a mask of white that covered every inch of the man’s face and blended into his hairline and down his neck in sloppy strokes. The opaque color and greasy texture reminded Mulder of the makeup clowns and mimes used to paint their faces.

Or the cover of Stormbringer.

An albino warrior.

Earl Roy had transformed himself into the image of the Eternal Champion, Elric from the book. The effect erased the killer’s features, except for the panicked blue eyes darting around the room.

“Four more days,” Earl Roy said to himself, using the hushed tone of someone keeping a secret—or trying to talk himself out of doing something rash. “You can wait four more days to destroy the demon. You’ve done it before.”

Four more days.

He was talking about day eight, when he killed the kids.

Mulder’s logical side told him to stay quiet and hope that Earl Roy left the room long enough for Mulder to work his hands free. But logic almost never won out with him. He acted on instinct. Right now, his gut was telling him to get as much information about Earl Roy as possible.

Initiating a conversation with an unstable man seemed risky, but he wasn’t about to sit in a dog kennel and do nothing.

“What happens in four days?” Mulder asked, his voice not much louder than a whisper.

“The cycle will begin again.” Earl Roy didn’t look at him, but at least he didn’t seem irritated that Mulder had spoken to him.

Mulder scooted to the side of the cage that was closer to Earl Roy, and he saw something dangling from the seat of the chair.

Two small feet.

“Leave me alone. It’s not your decision,” Earl Roy said, facing the birdcage and the back of the chair. Was he talking to the bird again? He turned the chair around, leaving streaks of white greasepaint on the blue velvet.

Sarah Lowe was propped up in the gold chair, her small body nestled against velvet. She was dressed in a white gown, with her blond hair neatly brushed and a garland of white roses draped over her shoulders like a mantle. The top of the chair was decorated with silver Christmas tinsel and cheap gift-wrap bows like a makeshift throne. Strips of fabric were wrapped around her chest and wrists and tied in loopy bows, securing her to the chair.

The child’s eyes were shut, but Mulder saw her shoulders quiver as if she was having a bad dream. She looked drugged, most likely with a sedative like the one listed on Billy Christian’s autopsy report.

“The vessel is making an honorable sacrifice. You want a gift?” Earl Roy stood in front of Sarah, looking disgusted. “In four days, I’ll give you the gift you deserve.”

What the hell is going on?

Earl Roy stormed out of the room. Mulder heard the bell again and more shuffling. He caught a glimpse of something pink near the doorway.

No …

Mulder tasted bile in the back of his throat. Earl Roy was pushing a child-sized pink bicycle with rainbow-colored streamers and a shiny gold bell. Mulder’s mind flashed back to the scrap pile of bikes behind the house. Had those been “gifts” for other children once?

“Here it is,” Earl Roy said proudly as he presented the bike to the drugged child.

Play along. Get him talking again.

Mulder cleared his throat. “That’s a really nice bike,” he said, fighting to stay calm. “Are you going to let her ride it?”

“I never had a bike.” The killer turned toward Mulder, but he didn’t make eye contact. “My father said bikes were expensive. Special things for special people.” He wandered over to the pink bicycle and rang the gold bell. “He said I wasn’t special enough to have one.” His painted white lips formed a hard line, and he shook his head. “Me. The only human who can see the sword.”

Mulder had Earl Roy talking. But now that he did, how was he supposed to respond? He needed the Major to translate.

“If you let the drugs wear off, Sarah can ride the bike when she wakes up,” Mulder said. “You didn’t give her anything that will hurt her, did you?”