Devil's Advocate (The X-Files: Origins #2)(32)

She came bursting up out of sleep, finding her voice at last and crying out in pain. She was on the floor beside her bed, the sheets coiled around her legs. The burn in her chest was still there, still burning hot. Dana kicked savagely at the sheets until they released their tentacular hold and she was up, running to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She yanked up her pajama top, needing to see how badly she was hurt.

There it was. A red mark as livid as a fresh burn, shaped like a starburst, with rays extending outward. It seemed to throb with heat and light and pain.

Then it faded and disappeared, taking with it all sensation and any traces of the burned flesh. It left behind only smooth skin.

She stood there, hips pressed against the sink as she bent closer to the mirror to examine her skin.

Nothing.

Dana sagged back against the bathroom wall. She slid down and huddled there, shivering, trembling.

“What’s happening?” she asked the empty room.

No one answered her.

It took a long time for her to climb back to her feet, using the sink and doorknob as handholds. She washed her face, staggered back to her bedroom, and dropped down to pray. But the words of every prayer she tried came out wrong, clumsy, broken.

Dana crawled into bed and begged God or the universe or anyone at all to let her sleep, pleading for no dreams at all. Not even good ones. Nothing but darkness and peace.

And she did sleep.

But she dreamed again. This time she dreamed that she was dead. That she’d died in her sleep. She dreamed that she floated like a mote of dust in the still air of her bedroom, watching with helpless dread as her mother came in to wake her. The moans that were torn from her mom’s throat when her fingers touched the cold, slack skin of her daughter’s flesh were horrible beyond words.

When Dana woke in the cold, pale light minutes after dawn, she lay there, panting, feeling weak and spent.

“God,” she gasped. “Oh my God.”





CHAPTER 30

Scully Residence

April 4, 6:07 A.M.

“You look like death,” said Melissa when Dana came into the kitchen.

It was just the two of them. Dad had come home late and was still sleeping, Gran was dozing in her chair in the living room, and Mom was sitting in the backyard, drinking tea. It was what she did when she wanted to be left alone. It was a cold, quiet morning in the Scully house.

“Thanks,” muttered Dana as she reached for a knife to cut a bagel. The blade caught her reflection, and for a moment Dana stood there, staring at her own face. Melissa was right: she looked awful.

“You have more dreams?” asked Melissa.

Dana avoided her eyes. “Kind of.”

“Another vision?” her sister asked, jerking upright from the comics page of the newspaper.

“No,” said Dana, not wanting to describe those dreams. “Ordinary stuff. Nothing I want to rehash. Is there coffee?”

“You hate coffee.”

“I need some.”

Melissa got up and made a fresh pot. Dana poured just a little cream into hers and sipped. They sat in moody silence until they were almost done eating. Gran shuffled in and sat down, smiling benignly. “Oh, hello, Margaret,” she said to Melissa. “Who’s your little friend?”

They did not bother to correct her. The girls kissed her, gathered their school stuff, and went out.

They did not see the curtains part on the second-floor master bedroom window. They did not see the face of their father watching them walk away.

*

Dave and Eileen intercepted them again, and they walked to school in a pack. From the bright smile Dave gave Melissa, Dana figured he had planned to “run into” them. Dave gave Melissa a smile brighter than the April sun.

“That’s a really pretty blouse,” he said.

Melissa plucked at it. The blouse was sheer, but the swirling pattern of wildflowers kept it from being totally see-through. It was low-cut, though, and Melissa wore a new color of lipstick.

“Thanks,” she said. “I just threw on the first thing I could find.”

It had taken her half an hour to pick out the right blouse, and the very tight jeans to wear with it, and it was clear to anyone with a pulse that she had planned for this encounter. Especially since it wasn’t that warm outside and she must have been freezing. Eileen caught Dana’s eye, and they both turned away to hide smiles.

“Much as I love school half days,” said Dave, “I wish it wasn’t because they’re letting everyone out because of the viewing. That sucks. And a bunch of people got permission to skip school tomorrow for Maisie’s funeral.”

Eileen glanced around. “Are you guys going?”

“No,” said Melissa. “I don’t do viewings and I don’t do funerals.”

Eileen cut a look at her. “Because you didn’t know her?”

“No, because death should be about rebirth and not a bunch of people staring at a corpse in a box. That’s creepy.”

No one commented on that, and silence followed them for almost a full block.

They crossed a street and saw Karen and her friend Angie. The girls paused to study Dana with unreadable eyes. On reflex Dana nodded to them, and after a moment Karen nodded back. No words were exchanged, though, and the other girls walked ahead.

“What was that all about?” asked Dave.