Agent of Chaos (The X-Files: Origins #1)(51)

Mulder’s stomach bottomed out. A deranged serial killer was bargaining with the psychotic voice in his head, and from what Mulder could tell, his soul was the bargaining chip.

Earl Roy slid on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and picked up a wide paintbrush like the kind Mulder’s mom used to paint their kitchen, and a glass container. He opened the container carefully and scooped out a brush full of brownish green pulp.

Aconite. The poison that killed Billy Christian.

Earl Roy must have mashed up the leaves.

“‘As Chaos lays me down to sleep, I beg the Law my soul to keep.…’”

“What are you doing?” Mulder squeezed himself into the back corner of the cage and desperately felt around for a rough piece of metal he could saw the ropes against. Logic told him he’d never have time to cut through even an inch, but it was a Hail Mary.

“It’s not my fault,” Earl Roy said as he walked toward the cage. “Stormbringer wants a soul. You weren’t supposed to be here.”

Mulder looked over at the little girl as he worked the ropes against the cage. He had failed again. Maybe Phoebe and Gimble would make it back here in time to save her.

Earl Roy bent down in front of the cage and unlocked it with one hand, holding the paintbrush in his other hand.

This is it.

If Mulder was going to die tonight, he wanted to die with an answer to the question that had never stopped haunting him.

“Did Samantha Mulder sacrifice herself, too? November 27, 1973. Chilmark, Massachusetts, 2790 Vine Street. Did you kidnap her?” he shouted.

“‘When in the dark of night I wake, show me the soul that I must take.’” Earl Roy reached inside the cage.

Mulder kicked, but the killer grabbed his leg and dragged him out on his back. Mulder’s hand scraped against a piece of rough metal, and his head hit the lip of the cage, then slammed against the stone floor.

Earl Roy froze and pointed a shaky finger at Mulder. “What’s on your hand?”

Is he talking to me?

“Is that…?” Earl Roy’s eyes went wild. He let go of Mulder’s leg and scrambled backward, gagging and dry-heaving. Tossing the paintbrush aside, he struggled to peel off the yellow gloves. His eyes darted to the floor next to Mulder, and he gagged again, shielding his eyes with his arm.

Mulder looked around.

A red streak of blood was smeared on the floor.

He sat up and twisted so he could see his hands. One of them was bleeding. He must have cut it on the cage, but it was no big deal. At least not to him.

But Earl Roy was acting like Mulder had severed a limb. “Don’t look,” he tried to comfort himself.

Mulder turned so his bloody palm was facing Earl Roy. “At my hand? It will stop bleeding. I hope,” he added, using the kidnapper’s phobia against him.

“Clean it up. All of it.” Earl Roy kept his face shielded.

“I don’t know if I can,” Mulder said. “There’s sooo much blood.”

Earl Roy made the mistake of moving his arm and caught sight of the blood. He gagged again, and this time he puked down the front of his undershirt.

The truth hit Mulder so hard that he felt sick, too.

The killer who had mutilated the bodies of his adult victims to remove their bones wouldn’t throw up at the sight of blood.

The man cowering in front of him wasn’t capable of executing either of those tasks.

Which means there’s a second killer. The real Eternal Champion.

Earl Roy wiped his mouth on his sleeve and staggered out of the room. Mulder got on his knees and crawled toward the pair of yellow rubber gloves on the floor. He wanted to get to the paintbrush, but with his hands bound, he probably couldn’t slip the gloves on to pick it up. He still had to try. Even if he couldn’t stop Earl Roy, slowing the guy down was the next best thing.

But Mulder didn’t get anywhere near the gloves or the paintbrush, because Earl Roy returned a minute later carrying a heavy moving blanket and a stack of rags. He had something else in his other hand, but Mulder couldn’t see it.

Earl Roy opened one eye just enough to determine Mulder’s location and tossed the rags at him. “Clean it up now!” he roared. “All of it!”

“And if I don’t?” Mulder challenged him.

The killer bolted across the room and picked up the pink bike. He hurled it straight at Mulder. The bike missed him by inches, and it crashed into the cage.

“If you don’t, I will throw this blanket over you and beat you until you lose consciousness again.” Rage flashed in Earl Roy’s eyes. “Then I’ll deal with Stormbringer.” He raised his other hand and Mulder finally saw what he was holding.

A baseball bat.

Fear ripped through him, destroying his false sense of calm. “You don’t want to hit me with that. I’ll bleed even more.”

“That all depends on where I hit you.” Earl Roy dropped the blanket and kicked it across the floor. “Get under the blanket.”

“Wait. Just listen,” Mulder pleaded.

“I’m done listening to you and the sword.”

“Just give me a second.”

“Get under the blanket now!” he shouted.

“I’m doing it.” Mulder crawled under as Earl Roy closed in on him.

Then Mulder heard a sound—