The characters in this fanfic belong to their respective creators--the X-Files gang to Chris Carter and the Crow gang to their creator. Still consider James O'Barr to be the owner of that character... Making NO money off this--why pay for something you can read for free? LOL.

Scully studied Mulder from where she sat on the hard couch in the corner waiting room of Murphy Memorial hospital. They had been there for three hours, waiting. Scully knew that Mulder had to be here, that he had to know the outcome of the surgery, but his incessant pacing was getting on her nerves. "Would you like to get something to eat?" Scully suggested. Better solid food than another cup of the coffee Mulder had been downing. Five in the past hour alone. He was wired from a caffeine overload topped by an adrenaline high. That happened after being shot at, especially when it was the second time in one week. And the shock and stress factor came in to play now that an innocent had gotten caught in the crossfire.

"No," Mulder muttered, as he passed by Scully. He turned sharply on his heel and paced back across the rug.

"You need to eat," Scully persisted, even though she knew Mulder had made up his mind already. To be honest, she wasn't hungry either, but Mulder needed a distraction. Scully had seen the victim, David Collier. The bullet meant for Mulder had entered Collier's chest, leaving a gaping wound and tearing up vital organs. Scully knew that the man would not survive surgery. His insides had been turned into hamburger. It was senseless and tragic, yet a part of Scully was relieved that Mulder had been spared that fate. She didn't want to lose him.

Mulder knew what Scully was trying to do. He also knew the truth. David Collier was an innocent. A man who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. His presence had saved Mulder's life, but his own life was forfeit. Mulder knew that Collier would die. It wasn't fair. But he said none of this to Scully, Mulder simply continued to pace.

Scully heaved a sigh and rose from the couch, feeling the need to stretch her own legs. She headed for the water fountain in the hallway to ease her thirst and was just heading back when she spotted Dr. Florence walking towards her. The look on the man's face said it all. Scully hurried back to Mulder, wanting to offer him moral support when he got the news.

"I'm sorry, Agent Mulder," Dr. Florence stated, as he entered the waiting room. "Mr. Collier died of massive chest wounds and internal bleeding. There was nothing I could do." Florence felt a bit awkward delivering this news to two FBI agents rather than David Collier's famliy. But he had been issued a gag order for the time being without being told why. Not that it mattered, for Florence was a man who played by the rules. He had worked too hard to get where he was to let politics, or his conscience, drag him down.

"Thanks for trying," Mulder responded, an automatic response. He turned away from Florence and headed towards the exit, only to be blocked by a beefy agent, openly wearing a weapon.

Scully hurried to catch up to Mulder, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. She knew he was ready to explode, and he would be more than likely to do so after she delivered her news. "We're under orders to fly out to a safe house immediately, Mulder," Scully announced, her fingers digging into her partner's flesh. She could feel his tension like the vibration from a live wire. "It's not an option," Scully reiterated. "It's an order. They want you protected twenty-four hours a day."

Mulder shook his head then laughed. "What about you, Scully?" he shot back, his bloodshot eyes flashing blue sparks. "You coming along for the ride?"

"It's believed that I could be targeted next, Mulder," Dana replied, not letting Mulder's attitude get to her. He had a right to feel the way he did. After all, two attempts had been made on his life and the FBI had no clue as to who was doing it. Or why. It seemed logical that Scully might be targeted as well, since she was his partner.

"You won't be safe with me!" Mulder hissed. "I just get people killed!" His anger and frustration made itself felt as Mulder's body shook. He was finally reacting to the shock that he was feeling. Bad enough that an innocent stranger had died. Mulder could not bear the thought that Scully might be next. If he was targeted to die, then so be it. But Scully did not deserve such a fate. She had suffered enough in the past year to last a lifetime. "I'll go alone," Mulder allowed, his eyes pleading with Scully to simply walk away.

She shook her head. Scully knew that Mulder needed her. Now more than ever. "I go where you go," she stated firmly.

Mulder wanted to protest, but he simply lacked the energy. Nodding his head, he shook Scully's hand off his arm, only to snag it with his own. The warm strength of her slender fingers comforted Mulder as the beefy guy escorted them down the hallway towards a waiting limo.

Once inside the vehicle and on their way, Scully made one last attempt to reason with Mulder. "This isn't your fault, Mulder," she said softly.

"Nice try, Scully," Mulder drawled. "But there's no one else to blame." That said, he leaned his head back against the cool, leather upholstery and pretended to sleep. But even though he was wide awake, Mulder was haunted by nightmares. Of blood and bullets and death.

Eric Draven stirred from his place on the floor. He had been trying to meditate. To clear his mind of negative energy so that the positive flow that he related to Shelly would wash over him. It had been two months since he had last connected with his love. Eric missed her, more than he missed his past life. But a voice called to him now. Not human in nature, but a call for help none the less. Eric knew the voice. The Crow.

Rising to his feet with catlike grace, Eric glided over to the broken window. The Crow was perched on a shard of iron, its dark eyes watching him. "What now?" Eric questioned, heaving a sigh. He closed his eyes and let the vision wash over him. A man with blue eyes and a woman with red hair. Eric saw them as slightly blurred images, but what was clear to him was that the man was in danger. That death had touched him and would soon claim him. He understood that this man was not to die. Too many lives would be lost were that to happen.

"What do you want me to do?" Eric asked the Crow as he opened his eyes and came back to himself. The vision faded but the feeling of dread remained. Shaking his head, Eric answered his own question. "I'll do what I can," he promised, as he reached for his leather jacket and pulled it on. Ever since losing touch with Shelly, Eric had refused to wear his long coat. He couldn't explain why, but he connected it to Shelly in some strange way.

Leaving the apartment, Eric ran to his motorcycle and hopped on. A moment later he was roaring down the road. The man from his vision was nearby and in danger. Eric could smell blood in the air, and feel death. As he cruised along at eighty miles an hour, Eric sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn't be too late. Too many innocents had already died.

Mulder gave up the pretense of trying to sleep. Even with the sedative that Scully had given him two hours ago, he couldn't rest. So he pulled on sweats and a t-shirt and made his way into the kitchen, waving to the beefy agent who was watching TV in the livingroom. Another agent was dozing in a lazy boy rocker, and two more were stationed outside the door. Mulder should have felt safe, but he didn't. It bothered him, too, that Scully was asleep in the master bedroom, Mulder having offered to take the smaller guest room as his own. He believed that she was in danger by staying with him. Not that anyone seemed willing to listen to reason.

"Shit!" Mulder hissed, as the milk carton he had removed from the fridge slipped from his fingers and hit the floor. Milk splattered everywhere, but it was a lucky break for Mulder. When he crouched down to pick up the carton, bullets whistled over his head. He hit the floor, face down, waiting for the barrage to end. From his position, Mulder heard footsteps and cries. Then he felt a chill rush over him at the sound of Scully's voice calling his name. "Get down, Scully!" Mulder shouted, raising his head from the floor just in time to see her fall. "NO!" Mulder cried, scuttling over to her. Scully's temple was red with blood, but she was breathing. The bullet had only creased her.

Mulder surged to his feet and gasped at the sight of his beefy bodyguards lying dead on the floor. Sensed a presence and turned just in time to face death. A masked intruder, dressed in black, holding a rifle. Mulder knew he was going to die and he was ready. But in that moment he saw a flurry of motion, and as the assassin fired, a body interposed itself in front of Mulder, acting as a shield.

Eric grimaced as he felt a dozen bullets enter his flesh, but he didn't fall until the last one hit him. By then the assassin was out the window, long gone. Eric wanted to run after him, but he had no control over his body. He was falling into darkness. Into death once more.

"Dammit!" Mulder screeched, moving to kneel beside the young man who had protected him. He found himself staring down into an exotically beautiful face. A young face. Another innocent. It wasn't right. Nor did it make sense. The man was not an agent. He shouldn't have been here. But even as a million questions filled Mulder's mind, what he saw made them disappear.

"Shit!" Eric hissed, as he came back to awareness. Being shot wouldn't kill him, but it sure as hell hurt. He opened his eyes and stared down at his chest, seeing the bullet holes fusing closed. It was then that he realized he was being watched and he lifted his eyes to meet a shocked gaze. The man from his vision. Eric wanted to explain, but he didn't understand what was going on himself. So he jumped to his feet and made to leave out the window.

Mulder moved to block him. "Who are you?" he asked, a smile curving his lips. In all his years of believing in the supernatural, Mulder had never come across an entity such as this young man. He wasn't afraid of what he had just seen. He was intrigued.

Eric heaved a sigh. "I'm nobody," he replied, then he pushed past Mulder and went sailing out the window. He wouldn't go far for he knew that the danger had not passed. But Eric needed time to think. So he jumped on his motorcycle and rode off into the night.

The hospital was different...and yet the same. The same white hallway as Murphy Memorial, the same tiled floor, the same hard chairs, the same bitter coffee held in a thin styrofoam cup. As he stared down at the dark fathomless liquid, Mulder found himself reflecting on how two hospitals half a state apart could look so much the same. Even down to the strong smell of antiseptic mixed with the equally strong smells of urine and blood--hell, even the nurses wore the same peach colored uniforms--

"Agent Mulder."

At the female voice, Mulder raised his head to see a woman standing before him, short touseled brown hair concealed by a blue cap, clad in blue surgical garb under the obligatory white lab coat. Her round glasses caught a wayward glint of light as she shifted position, two charts tucked under one arm, and there were rust brown spots on the front of her shirt, almost concealed by the lab coat.

Slowly Mulder straigthened and the doctor flashed him a perfunctory smile, the weariness in her eyes and stance indicating that she was running as much on adrenaline as he was. "Agent Scully suffered a mild concussion but no other serious injuries. Luckily the trajectory of the bullet was off enough to prevent penetration. We're going to keep her overnight for observation...but she should be ready to go in the morning. She's up in recovery right now...room 312."

Mulder's shoulders sagged a little in relief and he managed a hoarse thanks before the doctor went off, moving down the line of anxiously waiting relatives and friends, to deliver news of a loved one to someone else. In his mind replayed the scene from the safe house, seeing Scully fall, the crimson on her temple, of the choking fear as he'd knelt over her to probe the wound...and the shattering relief to see that the bullet hadn't penetrated her skull. Intellectually he'd known she would be alright...but it helped having a doctor tell him the same.

She would recover...but the four agents that had been guarding the safe house weren't so lucky. Three of them were pronounced dead at the scene...and the fourth had flatlined on the way to the hospital, making it there to be feverishly worked on by the ER staff, till death was pronounced twenty minutes later. Mulder should have been dead too--would have been dead, were it not for the mysterious young man that had appeared to throw himself into the path of the bullets meant for Mulder. A young man that had risen to his feet just seconds later to vanish out the window, seemingly unharmed...

But he had been hit. Mulder had seen it with his own eyes, seen the damage done to the young man's body...and seen through the torn material of his shirt flesh ruptured by the force of the bullets melding together once again. Like a magic trick...

Mulder shook his head as he went to the elevator and hit the "up" button, trying to dispel that image but unable to. Or the question as to why the young man had sacrificed his own life for Mulder's...even if he hadn't died--

"Mulder."

A sigh escaped him at the call of his name and Mulder turned even as the elevator door opened, to see Special Agent Darren Wheeler striding towards him, thin lips drawn in a tight line. From the regulation above-the-ears haircut to the tip of his well-shined shoes he could be the poster image for the Federal Bureau of Investigation's recruitment drive; not a hair out of place, his suit as perfect as if it had just come off the hangar, with creases in his slacks sharp enough to cut. His career in the FBI was as perfect as his image--everything by the book, no reprimands or censures...but nothing spectacular either. The spitting image of what J. Edgar Hoover had in mind when he'd started the FBI...

Everything Mulder was not.

Stepping into the elevator, Mulder tugged at his tie to loosen it as Wheeler followed him into the elevator. Mulder cast the closing doors a considering look, wondering if he'd have enough time to slip through them, and then turned his attention to Wheeler in resignation as the doors slid closed.

"I've got four agents dead, Mulder. Four agents--my men--dying to protect you. I--" Wheeler took a step closer, one finger extended as if to poke Mulder in the chest, and Mulder gave the offending finger a look, raising his eyes slowly to meet those of Wheeler's. Whatever Wheeler saw in Mulder's eyes caused him to lower his hand, placing both hands on his hips as he glared at the other man. "I want to know why."

"So would I," said Mulder dryly, returning Wheeler's belligerent stare with a level one of his own. A week ago and he'd been tucked away into the basement office that housed the X-Files, struggling to recover all the data he'd lost in the fire that had ravaged the office. And then an odd phone call--a wrong number of all things--and a hushed message spoken by a desperate-sounding man had drawn him west, to an apartment empty of furniture that held a dead man in its bathtub.

A dead man...that didn't exist.

A man who'd had his fingerprints surgically removed and carried no I.D.

In the message the man had left he'd spoken of a file that carried proof of a conspiracy... and had planned to give it to the intended recipient of his call, a Scott Warren, reporter for a Baltimore daily. A reporter who had apparently disappeared from the face of the earth...

And within a day of Mulder's arrival, the body count had started. Someone was desperate to silence Mulder, desperate enough to kill innocent civilians and other Federal agents. Someone that had the skills to bypass the security of a safe house. What they thought he knew...Mulder couldn't begin to guess. But with each successive attack he became all the more determined to find out.

"If you're holding back on me, Mulder..." said Wheeler through his teeth, letting his sentence trail off threateningly.

Mulder gave him an insolent up and down, his skepticism showing in his eyes. "You'll what?" he asked derisively...and was saved from Wheeler's reply by the opening of the elevator. He strode rapidly out into the hall and down it, the click of Wheeler's heels fading behind him as the man exited the elevator as well, going to the door marked 312 and pushing it open.

Scully turned her head at the sound of the door opening, wincing a little at the movement, and managed a small smile for Mulder as he came up to her bedside. She sported a bandage on her left temple and red hair was matted a little with blood but other than that she looked okay--he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and found himself reaching out to take her hand and give it a squeeze.

"Hey...how you feeling?"

"Like there's a marching band in my head...and they keep circling and circling..." said Scully with a wan smile, returning the squeeze to his hand, her blue eyes sharp as she studied him in turn. "How about you?"

"All in one piece," said Mulder lightly. Thought about telling Scully of the mysterious young man that had saved his life...and then decided against it. He'd already given her enough of a headache, he reflected ruefully.

"The other agents..." Scully shifted to find a more comfortable position and Mulder reached behind her to settle the pillow propping her up behind her back.

"Dead," said Mulder curtly.

Scully let out a small sigh, closing her eyes briefly. She'd suspected as much--had been surprised that she hadn't suffered a more serious injury. The last she'd remembered was the roar of gunfire and the shattering of glass, a burning pain along her temple and falling... "What happened?" she asked calmly, setting aside her own discomfort to focus on the situation before them.

"They're still trying to figure it out. Seems like our assassin hit the agents guarding the outside of the house first...and then went in," replied Mulder.

Even though the motion pulled at the stitches on her forehead and sent a jab of pain through her head, Scully found herself frowning. "So who stopped him?" Mulder looked away and she reached out to grasp at his sleeve. "Mulder...what aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing important." He took her hand from his sleeve and laid it down over her stomach, giving it a little pat as he drew back, flashing her an insincere smile. "You rest up--I'll be here in the morning to spring you. We'll have someone on your door." And with a cheery wave he left the hospital room, ignoring her call.

Wheeler stood outside, flanked by two athletic, square-jawed specimens clad in somber black, arms folded over his chest. Jerking a thumb back at the door to Scully's room, Mulder said, "Watch her." And started down the hall.

"Where the hell do you think you're going? Mulder!" Wheeler's strident voice followed him to the elevator and as he punched the "down" button, Mulder turned to Wheeler, the other man coming up short at his expression.

"To find out what the hell's going on around here," said Mulder flatly and stepped into the elevator to take it down once more to the lobby.

In the hours since the ambulance had brought its grim cargo to the hospital's door, Eric had sat in the parking lot, drawn here for reasons he didn't know. And so he'd remained in the parking lot, in a place where he could watch the main entrance and not draw any unwanted notice. Didn't dare to go inside...because in a place like that, the memory of pain and suffering the walls--the very floors--held would be overwhelming, too much psychic input to deal with.

And he had never liked hospitals. Still didn't...even if he no longer had anything to fear from them...

Two of the people in that house would survive; Eric had become versed enough in death to know that the other four wouldn't. Four lives lost...but for what? That he'd managed to save one of them he could accept...but the others didn't have to die. If he'd only known sooner...he might have been able to reach them in time...

A harsh caw brought his head up to see the swoop of black wings that heralded the arrival of the crow. It settled on the hood of a nearby car, its beak lazily preening at its feathers, and Eric directed his words at the bird. "Why didn't you come to me sooner?" It lifted its head to regard him with shiny black eyes, eyes that held the secrets to Death and what lay beyond...and kept it to itself. His guide in his quest...

The crow moved on the hood of the car, ruffling its feathers as its sharp gaze focused elsewhere, and through its eyes Eric caught a glimpse of the man he had saved just hours earlier, coming out of the hospital, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. Watched as the man hailed a cab and stepped inside, the cab moving off.

Kickstarting his motorcycle, Eric revved the enging and set off in pursuit, the crow taking to the air to provide him with an aerial view of the cab's journey. For whatever reason the crow had brought him to this man, it had to be important...

Eric was surprised to see where the man he was following ended up. A Blues bar. The Blue Note, to be exact. Eric sighed as he parked his motorcycle in the alley then headed inside himself. Was glad he was dressed in black for he should be able to blend in with the crowd.

Entering through the side door, Eric let his eyes adjust to the dim light his musician's ears listening intently to the music being played. The band was good, and the female singer had a smokey angel's voice just perfect for the blues. A smile tugged Eric's lips as he headed for the bar and ordered a drink. He could drink even though he didn't require food or liquid, and he had been in enough bars during his short career with Hangman's Joke to know that a drink was a must if he didn't want to draw attention, or get thrown out.

Heading for a shadowy corner, it didn't take Eric long to spot the man he was following. He was sitting at a side table, two glasses in front of him. Shot glasses. One was empty. Eric faded back into the shadows, but kept the man in view. Then he let the ambiance of the place flow over him. Remembering his own glory days of being on stage. Remembering and never forgetting. For it was while on stage that he had first met Shelly. But Eric reminded himself that now was the present, and for the moment he must let go of the past.

Mulder was very well aware of having been followed by the young man who had saved his life. Some instinct had alerted him to the fact and after what had happened with Scully and the agents at the safe house, Mulder's senses and instincts felt super alert. Almost painfully so. He was glad that the young man was there, for after getting what he had come for at the club, Mulder could then find out who the kid was. But first things first.

Scott Warren, the missing reporter, had been a regular at the Blue Note. That was the one thing Mulder had learned from the police, the one tidbit of information that had interested him before he had become a target. Now that he was here at the Blue Note, it was to learn that Warren had played saxophone with the house band. The same band that was playing now. They had a new guy on sax. Mulder guessed he was good. Didn't really care. He had come there to try and learn what he could about Warren.

After tipping the waitress a twenty to give him a name of someone to talk to about Scott Warren, Mulder leaned back and downed his whiskey. He would have to wait for the band to take a break so he could talk to the lead singer. She and Scott had been involved. Her name was Constance Lowry. Mulder hoped she would have some answers for him. While he waited, he tried not to look in the dark corner across the bar, but he could feel the eyes of the young man watching him.

Eric kept an eye on the man he had saved, yet he enjoyed the music as he waited. He fiddled with his beer, taking only a sip before setting it aside to order another, which he also ignored. Thirty minutes passed before the band took a break. Eric watched as the lead singer made her way across the room to the table where the man sat. In that moment Eric wished for supernatural hearing. But he couldn't risk moving closer and revealing himself, so he stayed put and waited.

Constance frowned at the man in the suit. Sheila, the waitress, had told her about him and she stood next to his chair, eyes glowing with suspicion. "What do you want?" Constance queried. Ever since Scott's disappearance, she had been living in fear. Always watching her back and unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Mulder stood up and offered Constance Lowry a chair. "My name is Agent Mulder, Fox Mulder. I'm with the FBI," he stated, hoping to make her more at ease.

"You want to know about Scott!" Constance hissed, making to turn away. She didn't want to talk about him for fear she would disappear as well. Strong fingers gripped her wrist, pulling her back around.

"I won't hurt you," Mulder promised, pushing Constance into a chair then sitting down himself. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. "I want to help."

Constance laughed, a sound that ached in her dry throat. "Scott is gone...probably dead," she whispered. "For all I know I could be next."

Mulder tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but he failed miserably. She was right to be afraid. He knew that better than anyone. "Do you know what Scott was involved with before he disappeared?" Mulder queried, his fingers still locked around Constance's wrist. He could tell she was ready to bolt and he needed to talk to her. To find something out that would help him to stay alive.

"Scott never talked to me about his work," Constance confessed, yanking her wrist free of Mulder's grasp yet staying seated. She combed a lock of white-blond hair behind one ear and shrugged. "We weren't in love," she drawled, pulling a cigarette and lighter out of the bodice of her gown and lighting up. "We were in...lust. It was a purely psychical relationship."

"But...you were both musicians," Mulder countered, trying to make sense of it all. "You had that in common."

Constance took a drag on her cigarette then exhaled the smoke on a sigh. "So what?" she countered, cynicism glowing in her dark eyes. "We both liked music and we both liked to fuck. What's your point?"

Mulder realized he would learn nothing from her so he shook his head. "Sorry I bothered you," he stated, withdrawing a twenty from his pocket and offering to her. "Thanks for you time."

"Thanks for nothing!" Constance hissed, but she snatched the twenty from Mulder's hand before walking away.

"Dammit!" Mulder muttered to himself as he downed the rest of his whiskey. Then he rose from his seat and headed for the bathroom. He needed to empty his bladder and wash his face. Maybe a few simple acts would help him think more clearly.

Eric watched the blonde leave the man's table, then the man himself wander off. The band was still on break so he left the shadows and wandered over to the stage. Reaching out, Eric let his fingertips brush the saxophone that rested in a stand on the floor and he caught his breath as images flooded his head. It was Scott Warren's saxophone, his life imprint was still on it. And what Eric felt was terror. The man had been afraid for his life. He had gotten a call last week that had made him a nervous wreck. A call at the bar. And it was later that night that Scott had disappeared without a trace.

"Hey man....what's up?" a voice asked, close to Eric's ear.

It was the saxophone player who had taken over Scott's place. Eric turned to face him, blinking away the images. "Nothing," Eric replied, forcing a smile. "Just admiring the instrument. You're a hell of a player," he complimented.

The sax man ate it up. "Thanks!" he gushed. "I'm just biding my time waiting for big things to happen," he babbled. "You a musician?"

"Guitar player," Eric confessed, then he glanced over at the hallway. No sign of the man in the suit. "Gotta go meet a friend," Eric stated, gliding away from the muscian. He reached the table where th man and the woman had sat and the first thing Eric noticed was the woman's lighter. He picked it up and gasped. Images of her and Scott flashed in Eric's head. Of their lovemaking, violent and wild. Then Scott falling asleep and Constance making a phone call. She was smiling. Eric shivered for he sensed and evil about her. Cold evil. He dropped the lighter as if it had burned him.

The man's glass was still there as well and Eric reached for it next. The image that came to him was of the man and a redhaired woman. They were partners and friends. More than that deep down. Soulmates who would never be lovers. There were flashes of other images as well, but before Eric could focus on them a hand touched his shoulder. He whirled to see the man smiling at him.

"Mulder....Agent Mulder." The introduction was made with an outstretched hand.

"Eric," he countered, not shaking the hand. He didn't think he could face what he would see.

Mulder's smile faded. "Thank you for saving my life," he whispered.

Eric nodded. "You're welcome." He shifted on his feet, feeling the need to be ready to bolt.

"I think we need to talk," Mulder drawled, blocking the young man's escape.

"Yeah," Eric replied after a long moment of silent contemplation. It was time for them both to get some answers. "Let's talk," he declared, then gestured for Mulder to lead the way.

Three blocks from the Blue Note was a Denny's and it was to there Mulder directed Eric, riding behind the young man on his motorcycle. The logical side of his brain told him he was insane to be putting his life so easily into a stranger's hand...but logic was rarely relevant in his work. And it wasn't logical that the young man could heal before his eyes gunshot wounds that were mortal...

They took a booth near the back, away from the rest of the customers, and Mulder ordered coffee and a slice of apple pie a la mode to placate the waitress. Settling down in the booth across from the young man, Mulder studied him intently, seeing an exotically handsome young man but fairly normal for all that. "What are you?" It wasn't what he'd meant to ask but the question had lain dormant in the back of his mind, bursting out.

"I am...a sorrow that wouldn't die. I am anger and pain and grief." Slowly Eric lifted his gaze to Mulder's, his own dark with the memories of pain and death. "I am vengeance."

Mulder digested this in silence, running a finger along the rim of his coffee cup. Wanted to ask all sorts of questions, to know where the young man had come from, how he was able to...do what he did--

Eric raised a hand to forestall him. "What I am...isn't important. What is important...is that you're in danger. And I've been...sent to help you."

Mulder grimaced and tugged a hand through his hair. "Well, I could certainly use it." Two attempts on his life and he still had no clue what the hell was going on... "So I can consider you my guardian angel, huh?" In response Eric merely gave him a feral grin and Mulder sighed. "Okay...this is crazy...but I think you saving my life shows I owe you at least a little trust."

"The woman you were talking to...she's involved in this somehow. There's a man that played with the band--"

"Scott Warren," interjected Mulder.

Eric nodded, leaning forward a little, eyes cutting from left to right. "He was...scared of something...of someone. Something that he knew...and he wasn't supposed to know." He closed his eyes, struggling to bring back the impressions touching the saxophone had given him. "A phone call...and then he was...gone."

"Dead?" asked Mulder.

Slowly Eric shook his head. "I don't know...there wasn't anything to indicate he was dead." Mulder held his tongue, smothering the impulse to ask how he knew that, and waited for the young man to continue. "The woman--she knew this guy. And from what I was able to pick up...I think she's involved. I can...touch things...and see--feel--things..."

"Must be lots of fun at parties," remarked Mulder dryly, rubbing his chin. "Okay--not a helluva lot to go on there...but it's a start." Taking a quick sip of his coffee, he tossed a five dollar bill down on the table, leaving his piece of pie as he got up out of the booth, Eric following him out into the parking lot.

"You need to go back to the hospital. You're worried about her..." said Eric as they stepped out into the cool night.

Mulder cast him a considering look, wondering what else this Eric had been able to "pick up" but deciding to let it go. "The hospital seems the safest place right now." Didn't like the idea of hanging around there and exposing Scully to more danger...but he didn't know where else to go. And it seemed better to be somewhere with a lot of people...rather than holing up in a hotel room.

"Come on...I'll give you a ride," said Eric as he swung a leg over his motorcycle and Mulder climbed up behind him for the ride back to the hospital. Eric pulled up before the main entrance and cut the engine as Mulder dismounted, turning to face him.

"So how do I get in touch with you?" asked Mulder hesitantly.

A harsh caw cut the silence between them and a crow dropped from the sky to alight on the handlebars of Eric's motorcycle. Eric looked from the bird and then to Mulder, a grin curving his lips. "You don't. If you need me...I'll find you." And with a squeal of tires he rode off into the night, leaving Mulder to gaze after him till he had disappeared from sight. Only then did he go into the hospital.

"He's still alive."

The young man stood in a circle of bright white light, body rigid and head bowed under the spotlight. If he lifted his eyes, he could see vague shadows--little more than shapes--beyond the circle of light and perhaps even a figure, if he looked closely enough. But with the fear of his latest failure choking him, he kept his eyes submissively lowered, hoping--praying--that this show of obeisance would placate them.

"How is that possible?" asked the same voice, a faint stream of smoke issuing from parted lips as a shadowy figure paced a circle around the very boundary of the light. "You've had two tries at him...and yet he's still alive."

"There were...extenuating circumstances," said the young man, managing to sound calm even though he was quaking inside. Wet his lips and dared to raise his head, eyes shifting around the circle to focus on the figure that came to a halt. "The first time--a civilian got in the way."

"But the second time, Tomlin. The second time...you managed to take out four Federal agents...but not the very agent we wanted dead." The figure's tone was mild as he spoke the rebuke but it was deceptive.

"Someone intervened," said Tomlin desperately. "I would have killed him--"

"Would have," repeated someone else beyond the circle of light, voice harsh with scorn.

"Failure is not an option," said another, a woman's voice with a clipped British accent. "We do not accept or condone failure. You know that, Tomlin."

Tomlin raised his hands pleadingly. "But it wasn't my--" A shot rang out, striking him in the head, and he crumpled to the floor, body twitching as blood spread out in a slow circle underneath his head. From the darkness came a figure, high heels clicking on the metal floor as she walked forward, and Constance Lowry came into the light, lowering the gun she held, a plume of smoke curling about the muzzle of her gun.

"We have another problem," she announced. "Mulder is asking questions about Scott Warren."

A murmur swept through the circle of men and women as Constance gave Tomlin's body a contemptuous kick, raising her head and waiting for silence before she spoke. "I think that killing him will no longer be sufficient. We need to find out what he knows before we terminate him...and who he might have given any information to."

She swept her gaze around the circle and as a grudging approval was given, she nodded in curt acknowledgement and turned on her heel to depart the room.

Eric sat on the steps leading up to the broken window, guitar cradled in his arms, watching the flicker of lights on the city below. Remembered how he and Shelly had sat here on rainy days, Shelly curled up against him, watching the patter of rain on the glass...remembered how she had insisted on decorating the window for Halloween and then Christmas, though he'd told her that no one would see it up this far. Odd how you remembered all the little things that had seemed so trivial...

Fingers brushed through his hair and he turned in surprise to see the figure of Shelly behind him, clad in a glowing white gown. She ran her fingers down his cheek and said softly, "Be careful, Eric. Someone suspects your existence...and they will do whatever they can to bind you to them." A gentle kiss pressed to his forehead and he closed his eyes at the soft warmth of her lips, quivering with the memories that touch roused in him; when he opened his eyes again, it was to find her gone...

Eric never slept, or so he thought. But there were times when he experience moments of unconsciousness. Sarah told him he did it with his eyes open sometimes. Albrecht, the police detective who had worked on Eric and Shelly's case when they were first murdered, told him he did the same thing. Sometimes he did it after being shot, especially if he were not in Crow form when it happened. It happened now.

Within the black velvet darkness a light appeared. It burned softly then grew brighter till it was like a blinding silver flame. Eric realized he was lying in a heap, was aware of his body and that he had no control over it. So he went along for the ride since he had no choice, and he discovered that the light was warm. That it's glow radiated a heat that touched him as the light passed over him. This was something that Eric had never experienced before and it frightened him.

Death held no fear for Eric anymore, but the light was something different. It was alive somehow. As it washed over him it felt like a touch, an intimate caress that made him shiver. He wanted to move away from it but his body was paralyzed. ::::What are you?:::: Eric shouted in his mind. His own voice echoed about him but there was not reply. The light seemed to dim for a moment, however, then it brightened further till Eric was forced to close his eyes. It was then that he felt the warmth of the glow become a heat that should have burned him. But it cradled him instead, and then it penetrated his skin to burn in his blood.

It was then he heard the laughter and felt the touch of a mind within his own. A soul weaving fine threads into his soul. A violation...his mind and body cried out. For the touch was as intimate as a lover's caress, yet what touched him was not Shelly. In that moment Eric fought to come awake. To end what had to be a hideous dream. He called out to Shelly as his source of strength and almost wept when she answered him.

::::I'm here, Eric Don't be afraid::::

"I won't be afraid," Eric replied, unaware that he had spoken out loud. Aware only of the touch of a hand on his face and he reacted, gripping the hand in his until there was a cry of pain.

"Eric! It's me...Albrecht!"

Realizing that he could now move and that the light had faded into darkness, Eric opened his eyes to see Albrecht's dark looming over him. The detective was grimacing and Eric realized he was crushing the man's fingers. "Sorry," Eric apologized, releasing his grip immediately.

Albrecht rubbed his throbbing hand and grimaced. "No problem," he drawled, sarcasm oozing from every pore. He sat down on the floor next to Eric and studied the strange young man who had somehow become his friend. "Want to tell what the hell just happened?"

"You tell me," Eric countered, his eyes glittering with suspicion. "What are you doing here, Albrecht?"

"I was in the neighborhood so I stopped by to see how you were before heading out for breakfast," the detective answered. His hand was still throbbing but the pain had lessened. "I knocked but no one answered and I was about to leave when I heard you screaming."

Eric was stunned by this news. "I was screaming?" he challenged, feeling suddenly as if he had been kicked in the gut by a mule. He didn't remember screaming.

Albrecht nodded, concern suddenly drawing his attractive features taut. "I thought someone was killing you, man," he confessed, then he offered an embarrassed grin. "Then I remembered you can't be killed. But I came in to check on you and you were thrashing about on the floor like you were in agony. I tried to wake you...."

"You touched my face," Eric interjected.

"Yeah...then you nearly broke my hand," Albrecht replied, with a grin. He didn't hold a grudge, most of the time.

Eric took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Fear was washing over him again and he remembered what Shelly had told him. About someone suspecting his existance and wanting to bind him to them. He knew now that it was a dark force, something evil. Something connected to the light that had ravished him. "No..." he whispered, becoming lost in thought and tuning Albrecht out.

But the detective was totally focused on Eric. He was stunned to see the young man shaking, stared into the dark eyes and saw that they were glassing and unfocused. Reached out to touch Eric, to draw him back from whatever hell he had just drifted in to, but Eric flinched from his touch. Albrecht backed off as Eric skittered over into a corner and crouched there, arms hugging his knees and rocking himself. Albrecht knew it was impossible, yet he got the sudden impression that Eric had been violated somehow. He was reacting like a rape victim would. Male or female. "Eric..." he said softly, moving towards the younger man slowly, not wanting to frighten him further. Since accepting that Eric Draven had come back to the dead and was something of an avenging angel now, it was hard to know what was normal for the young man. Eric had confessed to not sleeping or eating, although he could eat if he chose to. He just had no need of it. But what about the other psychical things?

Bullets could slow Eric down but not stop him. Nothing could keep him down for long. Or kill him....as far as Albrecht knew. And rape seemed unlikely. Eric had supernatural strength, especially in Crow form. Yet it was obvious that he was currently suffering from some kind of trauma.

Eric was unaware of Albrecht's concern for him, and he would have been surprised at the other man's thoughts. Yet, truth be told, what he had suffered moments ago had been a rape of sorts. A rape of his mind, body and soul, but Eric was not ready to accept that yet. Nor did he want to face the fact that someone was out there, someone unknown who was more powerful than he was. An evil soul that had targeted Eric. Shelly had been right.

The Crow came to the window then and cawed, breaking Eric's reverie. He gasped as he accepted the images sent to him, of Mulder leaving the hospital and being followed. Of the black van that represented danger. Eric surged to his feet and ran for the door. A moment later he was gone.

"ERIC!" Albrecht shouted, running after him. But by the time he reached the street the young man was gone in a roar of exhaust. Leaving Albrecht standing on the pavement in the early dawn.

At 5:27 in the morning there weren't that many doctors around, so it had taken Mulder about half an hour to round up a doctor to sign Scully's release orders. He'd spent the night in an uncomfortable chair in her room and by morning he was tired and irritable, his back aching from the awkward position he'd slept in. And when Scully had awoken to announce that she was ready to leave, he'd been more than happy to go off and find a doctor, as eager to be out of the hospital as she was.

There had been no activity during the night, not surprising given that the Bureau had placed agents in the hospital and "encouraged" the hospital administrator to double their late-night security team. With visiting hours cut off at 8:00 PM, it had been easy to control the amount of traffic on the third floor and restrict access.

Tucking Scully into the passenger side of the rental car, Mulder rounded the car to go to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel, adjusting the rearview mirror and watching as a pair of dark-suited men got into a car. Agents set to watch him and make certain that he headed back to the local Bureau office, as he was supposed to.

"Anything wrong?" asked Scully, wincing as she turned her head a little to look at Mulder with surprisingly sharp eyes.

"Just checking on our little entourage," responded Mulder lightly as he started the car and backed out of the parking place. Cast Scully a sideways glance, noting her pallor and the lines of pain around her mouth. Considered asking her if it was wise to leave the hospital so soon but knew what her answer would be; she would give him that patented Scully look, one eyebrow arched and blue eyes steely, mouth set in a firm line. "Sooo...where to, lady?"

"The Bureau office," said Scully firmly, giving him a no-nonsense look as she settled back against the seat.

"I thought we could check out the Sun--see when the last time Scott Warren was to work...what he was working on. There should be someone at the paper's offices--it's after six," said Mulder, glancing at his watch as he came to the driveway leading out of the parking lot. Signalling for a right, he checked the road and then glanced at Scully, seeing her stern look. "What? It's a legitimate lead."

"Mulder..." Scully let out a sigh and brushed hair from her eyes, fingers skimming across the white bandage that adorned her forehead. "There have been two attempts on your life. The potential assassin doesn't seem too terribly concerned about who gets in the way. Not only do you endanger your life by remaining outside of protective custody, you endanger the lives of others."

Mulder's jaw tightened and he stared straight ahead, fingers closing hard on the steering wheel. "Protective custody didn't work out that great either, Scully."

"Those deaths are not your fault...but you have to take into account the possibility that you are risking other lives in addition to your own. The wisest course of action at this time is for the both of us to go underground until this is worked out," said Scully firmly. "There are a great many of capable agents that can carry out this investigation."

Mulder shook his head stubbornly. "This is happening because of me, Scully. Something that someone thinks I know. So we sit back and let the Bureau take over--then what happens, Scully? This killer or killers--they fade into the woodwork. Eventually the Bureau decides that there's no longer a threat and the case is shelved. And I walk out into the hallway one morning to pick up my paper and bam!" He slapped his hand against the steering wheel and Scully jumped at the loud sound. "I'm dead. That sound like a wise course of action, Scully?"

Scully sighed again and gave a small shake of her head, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window. He was too damned stubborn for his own good... "You're not going to ditch me, Mulder. I'm not going to let you face this alone. We go this together...or I call Special Agent Wheeler and tell him I think you needed to be placed in a lock-up for your own protection."

Mulder shot her a look. "You wouldn't--" And bit off his words, knowing from the expression she gave him that she would indeed. "Okay," he said grudgingly. "So are we going to the Sun or not--"

"Mulder!" said Scully sharply, reaching out to brace herself on the dashboard as a car darted in front of them.

Muttering a curse, Mulder slammed on the brakes and felt his heart surge in his throat as the other car loomed impossibly large before them, expecting at another moment to feel the jarring impact, but at the last moment the car cleared theirs, accelerating to leave them sitting in the road. Mulder drew a shaky hand through his hair, breathing deeply to calm his racing heart, and looked sideways at Scully. "You okay--" From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of black and a van came to a halt beside their car, dark clad figures spilling out to surround the car, weapons drawn.

One masked figure slapped Mulder's window and pointed at the lock with one hand, the other aiming a gun squarely at him, giving him the choice of coming out...or dying in the car. Looking sideways at Scully, Mulder saw another figure at her door and Scully met his gaze, tight-lipped with a flicker of fear in her eyes. Slowly she unlocked the door and it was hauled open, one figure reaching in to grasp her arm and pull her out of the car. Popping the lock on his door, Mulder opened it and was dragged out as well to be shoved down onto the hood of the car as he was quickly and efficiently searched, his gun yanked free from its position at his belt.

Across the hood he could see Scully receiving similar treatment and tried to give her an encouraging look but a hand grasped the back of his coat and hauled him up to spin him around. Before him stood a tall, heavy-set man, eyes the color of dirty ice and completely empty of emotion, his hands empty of weapons as he stood before Mulder.

"Agent Mulder. We have a few questions we wish to ask you."

"Well, if you give me a minute to check my appointment book, I'll see if I can clear some time for you--" Mulder patted his pockets and felt inside his coat, his brow furrowing as his search failed to turn up his appointment book. Lifting his hands helplessly, he said, "Must have left it in my other coat. Hey, if you give me a name and number I can get back to--"

A curt nod from the man and one of his compatriots stepped to drive his fist into Mulder's stomach. He folded over with an explosive exhale, coughing as he struggled to drag air back into his lungs, and heard as if from a distance Scully call his name. With an effort, he struggled up to a standing position, leaning against the car, and saw one of the men with a gun to Scully's head.

"Get in the van...or we splatter her brains on the windshield," said the man with the pale eyes conversationally.

"Mulder, no." That from Scully, glaring at him as he took a step away from the car, her eyes flitting quickly around the circle of six figures. Scully with the heart and courage of a lion, determined to go down fighting with him...something he couldn't bear to keep on his conscience.

"It's...okay, Scully," he managed to say, forcing a sickly smile as he took another step to the van. His heart thudded in his chest at the sight of the black van, knowing that going in there meant his death.

"Mulder--"

He ignored her anguished call, stepping past the leader and closer to the van, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, and as he came into an arm's length of the van, there came a shout. He turned in surprise in time to see a dark figure burst into the midst of the others, a whirlwind of energy that took down one man with a kick to the head, dropping to its knees as another fired on him and sweeping the man's legs out from under him. Did a rolling somersault to bring himself to the feet of the apparent leader and grasped the man's wrist to give his arm a sharp twist, a sickening crack and the man's howl of pain indicating that he had broken his arm. Hitting him backhanded, the dark figure sent him sprawling and turned to Mulder...

To reveal himself to be Eric.

"Down!" said Eric and reached out to place his hand on the top of Mulder's head, pushing him down and at the same time swinging his legs out and around to connect with his attacker's chin. Whirled to place himself between Mulder and the other two...and staggered back at the impact of the bullets, his body jerking with each sledge-hammer blow. Thrown back against the van's door, he slid down it to lie in a crumpled heap on the ground, seemingly...dead.

Kicking one man in the back of the knee, Scully yanked his gun free and fired on the second, sending him sprawling to the ground. Turned her gun on another as he stumbled to his feet and sent him down as well, racing around the car to reach Mulder and haul him up.

"Eric--"

"In the car, Mulder!" shouted Scully, shoving him at the car, and dropped to her knees beside Eric, reaching out to press two fingers to the side of his throat...and finding no pulse. She drew back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned away...not seeing Eric's body give a jerk, gasping convulsively as flaccid lungs drew in air, returning to life with a jolt. Felt a tug on her trouser leg and jerked free, aiming her gun at what she thought to be an enemy...only to stare in shock at the young man that had been...dead.

"Car..." he wheezed, extending his arm to her.

Swallowing hard, Scully grasped his arm to drag him up, shoving him at the car. His strength returning, he reached out to open the door and half-climbed, half-fell inside, Scully shoving him over to clamber in behind him. Hitting the back of the seat, she shouted to Mulder, "Go! Go!"

Gunning the engine, Mulder shifted into reverse and with a squeal of tires sent the car backwards, spinning the wheel and shifting into forward, gears grinding in protest. And took off down the road, not even slowing as he made the first turn.

An hour later, after a wild ride of twists and turns through the city streets, they arrived at their destination, directed there by Eric. They followed Eric up the stairs, both unusually silent, and through the front door of what had once been his apartment, Eric shutting the door behind them.

"You should be safe here...for a little while, at least..." he said softly.

Nodding, Mulder sank down onto the steps near the window, rubbing his sore stomach, and Scully looked from Mulder to Eric and then back, her eyebrows drawing down in a frown. "Okay...what the hell is going on here, Mulder? Where do you know him from? And how--how--" She shook her head in disbelief, remembering seeing the bullets strike the mysterious young man, saw him fall--had touched him, had known that he was dead...and yet here he was...

"A minute to catch my breath, okay, Scully? Then you get the whole story..." said Mulder wearily. "Believe it or not..."

Scully listened to Mulder's explanation in stunned disbelief, partially believing his story only because she had seen Eric in action and the young man had allowed her to examine him.

After changing clothes, Eric had returned to listen to Mulder and Scully exchange theories. He felt surprisingly tired. Drained. Sitting down on the steps he heaved a sigh and buried his face in his hands. A part of him wondered what his guests would think if they had seen him in Crow makeup. So far, Eric had protected them without changing. He wasn't sure why. Not that he had any control over the Crow. He didn't. And that puzzled him now as well. In similar situations in the past, Eric had always changed. Should have changed when he had rescued Mulder and Scully this last time. He was stronger and quicker, more indestructible than ever in Crow form. But the transformation had not been made. Why?

"Eric?"

"Yes?" He glanced up to see Mulder standing over him, the other man's face wearing a worried look.

Mulder bit his lip as he studied the young man, uncertain of how to proceed. Of how to ask him to protect Scully when they were little more than strangers. And Eric was strange, to say the least. "I need your help," Mulder began.

Eric let a smile curve his lips. "I know. I told you I would help you," he reminded the other man.

"I remember," Mulder acknowledged. "I still don't understand why, though." It was a feeble attempt to elicit an explanation.

"I have my reasons!" Eric hissed, his smile fading. He rose gracefully to his feet, ignoring a sudden twinge of pain in his back and legs. He shouldn't be feeling pain and a flutter of panic occurred. What if he were becoming more human again? What if he would be separated from Shelly and stuck in this world. Back in his old life...without her? The thought terrified Eric. Without Shelly, he had no purpose.

Mulder gripped Eric's arm, feeling the bicep bulge beneath his fingers as he held the young man back. "I need you to protect Scully," Mulder blurted out.

Suddenly Eric realized what Mulder was asking and why. The other man intended to continue his investigation on his own. Risking certain death and not caring, so long as his partner was safe. But Eric could not allow that. Neither of them could die. It was important somehow, for Mulder and Scully were connected. Two souls united, if not two hearts. "No!" he snapped out, yanking free of Mulder's grasp.

"No?" Mulder echoed, in disbelief. "I thought you said you were going to help us?" he shouted, feeling angry now. Eric owed him nothing, yet Mulder felt betrayed suddenly.

"I will help you, and protect you," Eric whispered, his dark eyes glittering like black ice. "Both of you," he emphasized. "You're going to stay here, Mulder. If you leave you will die." It was a simple statement of fact and they both knew it.

Mulder sighed, then shook his head. "If I just sit here I'll never find out who wants me dead. This will never end, Eric."

Reaching out, Eric touched Mulder's shoulder then let his hand drop. He frowned as he heard a voice in his head, laughing. Shook it away then focused on the man before him, yet Eric couldn't shake away the chill that permeated his body. Evil had touched him once more. "I'll make it end," Eric promised, heading for the door. "I'll find out what you need to know...about Scott Warren. And Constance Lowry," Eric added as an afterthought. He knew that she was part of the threat and so would start there.

"Let me go with you!" Mulder pleaded, following Eric to the door. "You can protect me."

"And who would protect Scully while we're both gone?" Eric countered, glancing over at the pretty red-head who scowled at him. He knew that she had an independent spirit. Like Shelly. Eric admired Scully's strength and courage, but he also recognized that she and Mulder needed to stay together. They were each other's greatest strength. "Stay put for now," Eric beseeched Mulder. "I have to take care of something and I have to do it alone. I'll be back," he promised, pushing Mulder back inside the room.

Mulder sighed and accepted defeat. He knew Eric was right. He should stay with Scully. "Hey...bring back some food would ya?" A search of the place had revealed an empty fridge that wasn't even plugged in and bare cupboards.

Eric waved at Mulder. "I will," he replied, then he was gone.

Sarah smiled as she opened the door to reveal Eric. "What's up?" she asked, hoping he had come to over her some adventure. Sarah's mother was at work and Sarah was bored. So bored that she had even done her homework.

Eric held out a twenty dollar bill. "Get some groceries and take them to my place," he requested.

"You're eating now?" Sarah countered in surprise, accepting the money and stuffing it in her pocket. She knew that the twenty was precious to Eric for he barely made enough to pay rent on his old apartment.

"No.... But I have guests who do," Eric replied. He reached out and covered Sarah's mouth before she could ask more questions. "I don't have time to explain now," he told her. "Do as I ask and answer any questions they might have about me. Tell them I trust you."

Sarah shoved Eric's hand away but caught his sleeve as he turned away. "So....what are their names?" she queried, hopefully.

Eric sighed, feeling stupid for having forgotten to tell her. "Mulder and Scully," he stated, then he pulled free of her grip and glided away.

"Kewl," Sarah whispered, as she reached for her coat then headed out herself. She had the feeling she would no longer be bored.

Albrecht was not surprised to find Eric on his doorstep. It was one of his rare days off and he was home, trying to goof off but having a hard time at it. Albrecht was used to being busy. To working. That was his life. His purpose. And, in between, he fit in moments with Cordelia. But she was gone for the week, visiting a friend out of state. So Albrecht was actually glad to see Eric. Glad, and concerned. His friend did not look well. Not that Albrecht knew how a, technically, dead man was supposed to look. "Let me guess," Albrecht drawled as he gestured for Eric to enter his home. "You were in the neighborhood and decided to drop in?"

Eric was in no mood for humor. "I need your help," he stated bluntly, then he gasped as pain knifed through him and his knees buckled.

"Whoa!" Albrecht hissed, as he caught Eric. He suddenly realized he was supporting a dead weight and lifted the younger man in his arms to carry him to the livingroom. Albrecht place Eric on the couch then studied him. Something was terribly wrong. For one thing he was hot. Fever hot, and Albrecht somehow doubted that was normal for a dead man. Even one who had come back to life. "Eric," he breathed. "What's going on here, man?" He slapped Eric's face and watched the eyelids flutter open. "I'm calling an ambulance," Albrecht decided, when he saw how dilated and glassy the young man's eyes were.

"No!" Eric whispered, weakly gripping Albrecht's arm. "They can't...help me," he stated, wincing at another wave of pain. Eric knew what was making him ill. It could only be one thing. Magic. A powerful, spiritual, force of some kind. The one who had touched him before, who had violated him, was back. Stronger than ever. "I'll be...all right..." Eric gasped, as the wave of pain eased.

Albrecht shook his head, not believing Eric for one minute. "You need help, my friend," he stated firmly.

Eric attempted a weak smile. "Who could have me?" he countered, attempting to sit up but falling back when the pain returned full force. He rode out the wave then concentrated on regulating his breathing sufficiently so that he could speak. "This is...something I don't...understand," Eric gasped. "And...we both know...there is...no doctor...who can understand what I am."

"True enough," Albrecht conceded, reluctantly. "But you're in bad shape, Eric. What do you want me to do?"

"I need your help, a background check on someone," Eric replied. He felt dizzy and weak, but fought off the sensations. Mulder and Scully needed him to be strong. But the force that was attacking him was far stronger. Eric heard the laughter in his head again.

Albrecht was confused and let it show. "A background check on who?" he prompted. "And why?"

Eric felt the vibration of the force as it tried to enter his mind again. Could feel the light burning inside him and felt violated once more. He began to shake and could not speak.

"Shit!" Albrecht muttered, reaching for a blanket. He covered Eric with it then pulled the young man into his arms, not knowing what else to do. He was relieved when the shaking stopped after a few minutes, but he could feel how heavily Eric lay against him. The vibrant and preternaturally strong young man was as helpless as a baby now. "Eric..." Albrecht whispered, as he stroked sweat dampened hair from the pale face.

"Constance...Lowry," Eric breathed. But that was all he could manage before darkness claimed him, only to be swallowed by the light.

"Eric..." Albrecht stared down into pale slack features and freed a hand to touch the young man on the cheek, muttering a curse as he felt the heat of his skin. Gave him a shake and the young man's body lolled limply in his arms with the bonelessness of the utter...dead.

"Shit." Gently he laid Eric down on the couch, pulling the blanket up over him, and stood staring down at the limp form for a long moment, hands on his hips. If he'd been anyone else, Albrecht would have had packed away in an ambulance right now...but what Eric had said was true. Doctors couldn't help him--what the hell could he do?

"Shit," he muttered again and went to the phone. Least he could do was run the check Eric had asked him to do...and after that...all he could do was just watch him. Dialing downtown, he asked for Don Parker's extension and watched Eric as he waited for the man to pick up.

"Parker."

"Yeah, Parker, I need you to do me a favor, run a background check for me."

On the other end Parker laughed. "Man, Albrecht, you're supposed to be off today! You know what they say about all work and no play--"

"Yeah, yeah," said Albrecht impatiently. "Do the check, wise guy, okay?"

"You're certifiable, man. If I was you...I'd be kicking back with a six-pack...not hounding my fellow officers that actually have to work." Another chuckled from Parker and a rustle of paper. "Okay, give me the name."

"Constance Lowry," said Albrecht, picking up the phone to carry it with him a little closer to the couch, watching as Eric twitched on the couch.

"Lowry..." repeated Parker. "Now what am I looking for?"

"Anything. Run the name through the DMV, through our database, through the national database. And hit up that contact at the CIA you're always bragging about. If she's even got a ticket for jaywalking, I wanna know about it."

"You'll owe me a big one for this," warned Parker. "Okay, want me to call you back or what?"

"Fax me anything you come up with. Got my fax number?"

"Oh, yeah, right next to the number for my priest," said Parker dryly. "I'll run the name through--I should get something back to you in about an hour or so."

"I'll be here. Thanks, man." Hanging up the phone, Albrecht replaced it on the table and walked slowly over to where Eric lay on the couch, stomach knotting with anxiety as he watched the young man twist on the couch, hands lifting to hold out before him--palms outward--as if he were seeking to ward something off. Wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, wake him out of whatever dream the young man might be happening...but remembered how Eric had reacted last time. Had almost broken Albrecht's hand for just touching...and he had no idea how Eric would react to a more psychical shaking.

At his open window, the curtains fluttered and the beating of wings drew Albrecht's attention, to see a black crow settle on the window sill. Albrecht glared at the crow and snapped, "Well...aren't you going to help him?" Felt stupid for talking to a bird...but his worry for Eric overrode his skepticism. For answer, the bird merely started to preen its feathers with its beak, seemingly unconcerned.

Growling a curse, Albrecht went to grab a chair and pulled it up close to the couch so that he could keep an eye on Eric, rubbing his chin restlessly.

The light roiled over him, consuming him like a hungry flame, penetrating skin and muscle, slipping deep into the most intimate and secret parts of himself, wrapping itself around him. Bright and blinding, burning even through clenched eyelids, and Eric lifted his hands in a vain attempt to push it away only to jerk as it struck deep into him. Struggled to prevent it from reaching into his mind but his resistance was slowly inexorably eroded, the light proving insidious, worming its way through the smallest cracks in his mental armor. Tearing great wide rents out of those small crevices, so that the light could spill into him.

::Shelly...:: He tried to call out to his love but he had no voice, no control over his body. Pain wracked him, pain of the flesh and spirit, as it closed around him, and a voice spoke in his mind, soft and seductive.

::Surrender to me.:: it whispered in his mind, a gentle caress across him, offering a cool balm against the fire. ::Give me yourself...and there will be no more pain.::

Whimpering he shook his head, unable to speak a denial, and his body arched as the flame burned higher, the heat driving all thoughts and concerns from his mind, transfixing him. From the depths of him came a wordless cry of agony and he convulsed against the crushing pain...

::Eric!:: A shining light appeared in the darkness, a glowing arm reaching for him, and he flinched back from it, moaning in distress. It came on, touching him, and with that contact the flame receded, yowling. Eric opened eyes to see Shelly before him, her hands gently running over him, the light retreating before the soothing touch of her hands, till it was gone.

In the darkness a figure appeared, the silvery flame given form, snarling its anger, throbbing a sullen red before it vanished. Eric reached weakly for Shelly but his hands passed through hers, her form slowly fading. ::Beware, Eric...:: she called even as she vanished.

"Don't...go..." he whispered thickly.

"Eric?"

The anxious sound of Albrecht's voice penetrated his mind and Eric opened eyes gritty with exhaustion to look up at Albrecht hovering over him. Felt Albrecht take his hand and allowed his eyes to close, too drained from his spiritual battle to keep his eyes open. "What the hell is going on?" demanded Albrecht, the gruff anger in his voice failing to hide his concern.

"Don't...know." Even with the healing touch of Shelly's hands, Eric still felt the residue of the violation of mind and soul and turned away from Albrecht, curling in on himself, trembling. Rubbed hands over his arms as if he could scrub the touch of it from himself, eradicate the memory of it penetrating him.

"Eric..." He cringed at the touch of Albrecht's hand on his shoulders, muscles tightening under Albrecht's hand, and to his relief Albrecht drew back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You gonna be okay?" But from Eric there was no answer as he curled tighter in on himself and Albrecht rose from his crouch, frustrated that there was nothing he could do. And even more frustrated because he had no idea of what was happening here. What did a dead man have to fear?

And realized with a chilly stab of fear that he didn't want to know.

"Well?"

At the single harsh word she lifted her head, hands smoothing back hair the same inky black of a raven's wing, the sleeves of her crimson velvet gown falling back to bare slim forearms. Smiled her mysterious smile, deriving pleasure from the irritation it provoked in the man with his dark expensive silk suits, the smoke from his cigar forming a halo around his head, and moved slowly around her altar, a delicate hand extending to touch the blood-slickened feathers of the still form of a crow there. Not the crow she wished to have...but it had served its purpose well, its blood enabling her a toehold on the spirit that she wished to bind. And with that toehold she had come very close...

Her smile faded at the thought of how close she had come...only to be cast out. The young man had been nearly hers, his resistance severely weakened, knowing not how to fight her--but the one he was bound to had known. She slid hands over her forearms as if chilled, remembering the purifying power that had cast her out and how it had burned her, as her power had burned the young man. In time she would find a way to block their bond...

"He is strong," she said aloud to the dark-suited man. "I told you this would be no easy thing. It will take time..."

Dragging on his cigar, the man exhaled a cloud of smoke and tapped the cigar, sending a drift of ash to the floor. "But you will be able to deliver...right?" There was a note of menace in his voice, eyes flat and merciless as that of a snake. With that look he could make strong men tremble...but she had a harsher master than he...and this man--with all his posturing--did not frighten her.

"I will require a...stronger sacrifice," she said silkily. "Bring me something young and innocent...and I may rouse enough power to bind this Crow to you."

Nodding curtly the man left her and she went to the altar, extending a hand to once more touch the dead crow. With a single sibilant syllable, the crow burst into flame, soon crumbling into ash that drifted away from the altar on the wings of a light breeze.

Eric had fallen asleep. The realization of that fact occurred only once he felt himself awaken to consciousness the way he had done so in the past. Before his death. Eric swallowed and felt another sensation he thought to be long gone. Thirst. Things that living souls experienced, not dead souls like himself. Fear washed over Eric and he wondered if he were changing back into being human again. Weak and vulnerable. If he were losing his path back to Shelly. "No..." Eric whispered, as he forced aching muscles to lift him from the couch. Took two steps before he collapsed to his knees.

Albrecht had dozed off in a nearby chair and he heard the thump of a body falling. "Eric!" he hissed, leaping out of his chair when he saw that the young man lay on the floor. Had to lift him again and carry him back to the couch. "How you feel?" Albrecht queried, pressing his palm to Eric's forehead. It was cooler than before, but still too warm.

"Thirsty," Eric replied, knowing that it was not the answer Albrecht was seeking, but he was searching for answers himself. "Could...Could I have...some water?" Eric requested.

"Sure...be right back," Albrecht answered, before dashing off to the kitchen. He brought back a tumbler of the cool liquid and supported the young man as Eric drank it down. Taking back the empty glass, Albrecht studied his guest. "Um...I thought you didn't need food or water...or sleep?" he challenged.

Eric closed his eyes and turned his head away. The fear was back for the water had eased his thirst. Further proof that he was changing. A part of Eric felt that he should be happy, excited even. But all he felt was terror. If he lived again, he would lose Shelly for certain. What scared him the most was the fact that Eric was certain that the spirit that was trying to claim him was causing the change. And that it was somehow connected to Mulder and the assassins that had targeted the FBI agent. "What did you find out about Constance Lowry?" Eric countered, avoiding Albrecht's question. He wasn't ready to face the reality of it.

Albrecht let Eric off the hook, for now. "I found out something very interesting," he allowed. "Constance Lowry died six years ago, my friend. And I've got paperwork and pictures to prove it."

"Show me!" Eric hissed, making another attempt to rise from the couch as the implication of Albrecht's words sunk in.

"Whoa...stay put and I will," Albrecht countered, pressing a firm hand against Eric's chest. "I don't need you collapsing on me again," he warned.

Eric nodded, leaning back against the pillows. He didn't have the strength to rise anyway, but there was a tingling in his blood now that led him to believe that he was healing. That Shelly's touch would give him back what the other had tried to steal. He would just have to be patient. "I'll stay put," Eric promised, but his eyes glittered as he watched Albrecht retrieve a file folder.

Holding out the folder, Albrecht studied Eric's face. He thought that the younger man looked a bit less pale and he hoped that was a good sign. "This is everything I've got," Albrecht announced. "You owe me, Eric."

"Anything you want," Eric promised, as he took the file and opened it. A quick scan of its contents led him to believe that there was only one truth. Constance Lowry was like himself. A dead soul come back to life. Since his return, Eric had learned that there were others, but he had wanted to believe that they were all connected to hope and peace. To restoring the balance between life and death. But he had met a man a few months back who was evil. Now there was Constance, who had an interesting history.

"She was a fun girl in her day," Albrecht drawled as he sat down in his chair again. Then he recounted the highlights from Constance Lowry's file. "She killed three people before she died in prison. Racked up her first body at age seventeen. She was a cold bitch."

Eric nodded. "She's smart too, and more dangerous than ever. She's alive again, Albrecht." Eric made his announcement and waited for the truth to hit the other man.

Albrecht rubbed his hands over his face then sighed. "So...there are more like you?" he stated.

"Yes...but they're not back for the same reason as me," Eric replied. He made another attempt to shift on the couch and managed to sit up on the edge without too much difficulty. A moment later he was standing.

"Maybe you should rest some more," Albrecht suggested, rising to his feet as well in case Eric should collapse again.

Forcing a smile, Eric shook his head. "I have to go," he stated, closing the file and tucking it under his arm before heading for the door. Only to find his way blocked. "Don't ask me for an explanation right now," Eric beseeched his friend. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

Albrecht heaved a sigh of frustration. "All right...I won't ask," he conceeded. "But I do have a request."

"Name it," Eric prompted, knowing that he owed Albrecht that much.

"Use the cell phone I gave you and call me later," the detective replied. "I want to know you're okay, Eric." Albrecht shook his head and laughed. "I guess even dead men can have a bad day."

Eric found himself smiling back. "I'll call," he promised. "Thanks." With that he headed for the door, blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows of the night.

"I gotta go," Sarah announced to Mulder and Scully. She had brought them groceries as Eric had requested and had ended up staying with the duo for over three hours. "My mom is working late," Sarah explained. "But if I don't beat her home I'll be grounded for sure." The thought would have upset most kids, but Sarah found herself smiling. It felt good having a mom who now cared enough to notice when she was late, and loved her enough to punish her for being bad. "See you guys later," Sarah stated, waving goodbye to Scully, then she saluted Mulder and headed on her way.

Scully was smiling, but concerned. "It's late, Mulder. Sarah shouldn't be out at night by herself."

Mulder chuckled. "She's a tough little girl," he stated, his admiration shining through in the tone of his voice. "I bet she can take care of herself. She reminds me of you, Scully," Mulder added, then he yelped as an apple struck him in the gut. Glaring at Scully he muttered, "What? That was supposed to be a compliment."

"Oops," Scully countered, tossing a second apple in the air and grinning. "My mistake." But the smile soon faded as she headed for the broken window and peered out into the night. A shiver danced up Scully's spine. Something told her that danger lurked below...watching them all. And waiting.

Sarah was whistling as she slipped into the side alley. It was a shortcut to home and she wasn't the least bit afraid. But she would have been had she seen what lurked in the darkness. Too late she sensed a presence. Strong hands grabbed her and held her, silencing her screams as a needle point pricked her skin. A heartbeat later she fell into darkness.

Eric was three blocks from home when the vision hit him. Sarah floating in darkness. Pain hit Eric then, making the motorcyle weave from lane to lane before he was able to gain control back. And with the pain came the echo of dark laughter. "No!" Eric shouted, as he revved the engine and urged the bike to greater speeds.

::::You're too late:::: mocked the voice.

But Eric kept going.

Solange could feel Eric's anger. The Crow was a formidable opponent indeed. But she was stronger than he was, made so by her knowledge of the spirit forces. They were hers to command. And now she had the child. The innocent whose blood would bind Eric Draven to her forever.

The vision led Eric to the waterfront and a warehouse with a FOR LEASE sign hanging in one window, its windows covered with a thick layer of grime to prevent the casual passerby from a glimpse inside. Dismounting from his motorcycle, he strode to a side door and paused before it, deciding his course of action. Given that he was no doubt expected, he thought that subtlety wasn't needed here...and so he kicked in the door.

The warehouse was dark and empty, threaded here and there with the thin gossamer strands of webs, and Eric made his way across the floor, his footsteps echoing through the vast room, letting his instinct guide him. He could feel Sarah here, her fear an almost tangible force, and it stoked his rage, that someone would use her to get to him. The darkness here was not merely the absence of light--it was the residue of evil acts that had been committed here, a miasma that clung to the walls and hung in the air.

At last he came to a small hallway and followed it to a door that hung ajar. With his foot he pushed it open and candles fluttered with the light breath of air that issued through the door, their flickering flame illuminating the scarlet-robed figure that stood before an altar. The figure turned at his entrance, revealing itself to be that of a young woman with long ebony hair, full red lips curved in a smile full of satisfaction.

"Hello, Eric," she purred, shifting position so that he could see the bound Sarah laid out on the altar. Sarah's head turned towards him, her eyes pleading with him as she made gutteral sounds through the thick cloth serving as a gag, and she pulled vainly at tied wrists and feet, making whimpering sounds of frustration.

"Sarah..." whispered Eric in anguish, taking a step forward, and the woman reached out to stroke Sarah's hair, fingers knotting in the golden strands as Sarah tried to twist away from her.

"Such a lovely child...so...innocent. Think of what I can do to her, Eric--how I can twist her and mold her, use her--" The woman smiled, slow and dark, and Eric's hands clenched into fists as he strode forward, coming up to the altar, the woman fading back before him. As he reached the altar, he saw beyond it a table and on it a bowl...and a knife set next to it. A knife whose blade was slick with something dark and wet...

"Blood of the innocent...to bind you." And with a triumphant smile, the woman spoke in a harsh voice, her hands gesturing at Eric. Light issued from her hands to wrap him in its fiery embrace and he fell to his knees, arms pressed to his sides as the light constricted around him, driving the breath from him. Struggling against the grip of the light, he fell to his side, muscles jerking spasmodically with his resistance, and with an effort he rolled to his stomach, straining to bring his hands under him and push up, the muscles and tendons standing out as he managed to raise himself up to his feet under him.

Sarah... was his one driving thought, enabling him to resist the crushing force of the woman's spell. Though muscles sang with pain and his vision dimmed to a red haze from the pain that blazed through him, he staggered to the altar and reached out to rip away the ropes that bound Sarah. The woman snarled in rage and spat words, the light flaring to drive deep into him...and send him sprawling again onto his side.

Sarah rolled off the altar and dropped to her knees beside Eric, tears on her cheeks, the remnants of the rope hanging off her wrists like odd little bracelets. Though every instinct in her screamed for her to run, she couldn't leave here...not without Eric...even though she was quaking with fear. The witch hadn't hurt her, not that bad...but with a child's instinct, she had known that the woman would do much worse to her if she could.

"Eric--" Sarah tugged ineffectually at his arm, casting a glare at the woman that was no less angry for the tears that still stained her cheeks. "What did you do to him?"

"Captured him," said the woman, eyes glowing with malevolence.

"Eric, c'mon--" Again Sarah tried to pull him up but Eric lifted a trembling hand to push her away, panting with the effort of resisting.

"Go--" He managed to say between breaths, a groan escaping him, and gave her a harder push. "Go!"

With an anguished cry, Sarah got to her feet and whispered, "I'll be back with help." Giving the woman another glare, Sarah ran for the door and disappeared from sight.

Solange ignored the fleeing child, concentrating completely on the figure that lay sprawled at the foot of her altar. Watched as his resistance faded with his strength, until there was nothing to keep her from seizing control...

Given that there wasn't anything to cook on, dinner for Scully and Mulder consisted of sandwiches, eaten on the steps leading up to the broken window. They were quiet as they ate, each caught up in their own thoughts, the silence between them a comfortable one...

Broken by the sudden entrance of Sarah, bursting into the apartment and sending both agents to their feet, Mulder fumbling for his gun and moving to shield Scully...only to relax at seeing Sarah. It was to Scully that Sarah went, breathing hard, wild-eyed with her panic and fear, and Scully knelt before her, gripping the thin shoulders in her hands to steady Sarah.

"What's wrong?" she asked calmly.

Sarah drew in a deep breath, trembling in Scully's grip, tears shining in her eyes. "Eric--there's this woman...she's got him...she's holding him--we have to help him--" Her eyes went from Scully to Mulder's, pleading with them.

"Let's go," said Mulder grimly, moving to go past them...but Sarah caught his coat sleeve, shaking her head emphatically.

"Gotta get help first--there's a cop--he knows about Eric--"

"Take us to him," said Mulder, laying a reasurring hand on Sarah's shoulder.

Scrubbing at her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat, Sarah nodded and said, "Follow me..." And rushed back out of the door, Mulder and Scully following on her heels.

Sarah told her story, her eyes flitting from face to face. She saw acceptance of her tale in Mulder's eyes, disbelief warring with acceptance in Albrecht's dark gaze, but Scully only shook her head. Sarah didn't blame her, but that didn't change the truth. "This...Solange...I think she's a Voodoo priestess," Sarah continued, locking eyes with Mulder as she spoke.

He believed her, for he had seen Voodoo at work in the past. "I don't understand what Eric is, but Voodoo is power magic. He won't be able to fight it alone."

"Wait a minute here," Albrecht interjected. He moved to stand before Sarah and his expression was stern. "How do you know about Voodoo?" Albrecht demanded.

"From school," Sarah replied, with a shrug.

It was Scully's turn to interject. "They teach you Voodoo in School?" she stated, disbelief glinting in her blue eyes.

Sarah shook her head and smirked. "I got it off the internet. I've been doing some web surfing for Eric, to help him understand what he's become."

"What he's become is a young man in grave danger," Mulder replied, inching his way to the door. They were in Albrecht's house and now that they had the details of Sarah's story, Mulder was anxious to be in action. He sensed that there might be a connection to what was happening to him. He just couldn't figure out what that might be.

"In a minute," Albrecht countered, blocking Mulder's way. He didn't want to believe Sarah's story, but found himself doing so. After the things he had seen Eric do, and the sickness the young man had suffered right here in this house only a few hours ago, Albrecht knew he had to believe. And he knew that Eric was in grave danger. But there was more to this story that hadn't been told. "Before we go anywhere, you're going to tell me your story, Agent Mulder," Albrecht stated, emphatically.

Sarah wanted to kick something in frustration, but settled for glaring at Albrecht. "He can tell you on the way!" she hissed, hands on hips and defiance surrounding her like an aura. Sarah cared about nothing but rescuing Eric. He was the only one that mattered now. "We've got to get back to the warehouse before they're gone!"

Albrecht sighed, then nodded. "You're right," he conceded, reaching for his jacket. He didn't have the heart to tell Sarah what he was thinking. That Eric and the priestess Solange would be long gone by the time they got there. But there was always hope. Albrecht led the way out and found himself praying for a miracle as they piled in his car and sped off into the night.

"Mine...pretty one," Solange purred as she danced around the bed that Eric lay upon. He wrists were bound to the headboard with thin twine. Nothing stronger was needed, for the rope was smeared with Sarah's blood. Blood of the innocent child. That would hold Eric better than chains could.

"Mine, daughter," drawled a deep voice as a sudden shadow seemed to cloak the room in darkness.

Solange whirled from the bed then fell to her knees before the man who entered. Her father. The man she loved and hated...and feared. "Papalaja," Solange whispered, as she prostrated herself before him. "Forgive me...he is yours."

Papalaja smiled down at his only child. He liked her on her knees and obedient to him. Perhaps he would allow her to indulge in her lust for the Crow. As a reward for serving him so well. "You have done well, daughter," Papalaja whispered.

"Thank you," Solange replied, tears welling up in her eyes. Her father was the most powerful of all the Voodoo priests and his praise was rare, but precious. She raised her head and saw him nod, so Solange rose gracefully to her feet.

"Come my dear," Papalaja beseeched her. "We must go now and prepare for the ritual." With that he raised one hand and seemed to fade away into smoke and shadows.

Gregory stood before his master and smiled to see that the other was pleased. "Solange has done as you had hoped," Gregory announced. "The Crow is bound by her power."

Bastian smiled from the shadows. "You've done well, Gregory," he conceded. And so the man had, for a human. But then mortals were so easily fooled. Even Solange, for all her powers had no clue to the truth. She believed that Gregory was merely the liason for the governments who had formed the alliance of the immortal assassasins. She had no idea who Gregory's true master was. That he, Bastian, was the Prince of Darkness. Solange's father, Papalaja was powerful magic, but he did not control the darkness. Bastian did. And now he wanted to control the light. The light being Eric Draven. He was not like the other immortals. And it was for that reason that Bastian had waited so patiently for a thousand years.

Being an ancient one, referred to nowadays as a vampire, was something that Bastian thrived on. He was not made, but born. He was all powerful, yet defeated by one entity. The light. But Eric was the light within the darkness, and binding with him would give Bastian all he had ever dreamed of. Power over night and day. He would rule the world and the humans would be his servants as well as his food, and the other immortals would kneel at his feet and beg to serve him as well. "You will be well paid for your services, Gregory," Bastian drawled, as he stepped out of the shadows. He smiled as he watched Gregory take an involuntary step back at the sight of him. Bastian knew he was a bit overwhelming. More immortal than human. Stronger and almost glowing with a dark light, his power obvious in his size and in the red burn of his eyes.

Gregory forced himself to breath again and nodded. "Thank you, Bastian," he whispered, wondering just what his reward would be.

"This is for you," Bastian drawled, pointing to a black leather brief case that sat on a side table. He gestured for Gregory to open it.

"My god!" Gregory gasped when he saw the contents. Stack upon stack of hundred dollar bills. He was rich."

Bastian could feel Gregory's rush of greed and it pleased him. The man would remain loyal to him unto death. "Your work is done here, Gregory," Bastian announced. "Leave town...go far away. If I need you again...I'll find you."

Gregory closed the case and grabbed the handle, practically running for the door. "As you wish, Bastian!" he called out over his shoulder, then he was gone.

"As I wish," Bastian echoed, then he laughed out loud. Tonight was the beginning of forever.

Eric stirred on the bed, consciousness returning to him slowly. But he moaned as each breath sent agony stabbing through him. Tried to sit up but his muscles lacked the strength. When he opened his eyes it was to discover that he was in a bedroom, painted in white, and that his wrists were bound. Eric wanted to weep for he didn't even have the strength to attempt to free himself.

::::They fear you, my love:::: whispered a soft voice. ::::Let that fear...and my love for you be your strength::::

"Shelly....?" Eric breathed, eyes straining in the candle glow of the room to see his beloved. He could barely feel her and his body ached with the need to be touched by her.

::::I'm here...always with you, Eric:::: she whispered. ::::Never give up the fight, my love. I will be waiting:::: With that Shelly faded away, drawn back into the void where she now existed in limbo. That place between life and death.

Eric did weep now for he had never fell so alone in all his life. There was nothing for him now but pain and he wanted nothing more than dark oblivion. What he did not expect was another presence, this one dark and heavy, like a weight pressing down upon him. Fingers tangled in Eric's hair and he opened his eyes to see a pale face smiling down at him. "Who...are you?" Eric demanded, as a cold chill washed over him.

Bastian smiled at the young man, admiring his exotic beauty as well as Eric's courage. "I am the one who can lead you to where you want to go," Bastian breathed. His words were meant to be obtuse.

"To Shelly?" Eric challenged, feeling hope arise in him once more.

"If that is what you wish," Bastian allowed, even as he freed Eric from the bed. Then he lifted the young man into his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. "You must come with me now, Eric."

It wasn't as if he had a choice, Eric realized, for he was as weak as a babe. But he felt oddly safe with this...creature. And he knew should he remain here, Solange would take his soul. Then he would have no way back to Shelly. "Help me..." Eric pleaded, as more tears rolled down his face.

Bastian was pleased. He bent his head and pressed a kiss to Eric's forehead, watching the young man slip into a dark sleep. "I will help us both," Bastian whispered, as he glided out onto the balcony. Then he launched himself into the air and flew off into the night. Eric cradled to his chest like a precious gift.

Constance glared at the man with the cigarette. "You want Mulder dead, do it yourself!" she hissed at him. "He one of yours anyway."

Cancerman smiled obliquely. "You just don't get it, do you Constance," he drawled. "It was no accident that Mulder got the call meant for Scott Warren. Someone, within our ranks, wants to reveal us. To disband us. Is that what you want? To be revealed to the world and branded a freak?"

"What I want is some satisfaction," Constance countered, her eyes glittering. "I want some fun."

"Find Mulder and kill him," Cancerman replied. "That should be a challenge for you."

Constance rolled her eyes but headed for the door. "Sure thing," she drawled. "A woman's work is never done."

As they came up to the warehouse, Albrecht insisted that Sarah remain in the car, threatening to handcuff her to the steering wheel if she wouldn't obey, and she had grudgingly agreed. With guns drawn, the three of them had entered the warehouse to quickly sweep it, finding in one office what looked to be an altar and traces of blood... but no sign of Eric.

"Damn!" cursed Albrecht, hitting his thigh with his gun, and rubbed his chin as he regarded the altar, seeing where Sarah had been bound to it and the blood they had drawn from her. With an angry sweep of his arm, he set the bowl streaked still with blood flying to clatter across the floor.

"Gone," said Mulder unnecessarily, heaving a sigh. "What now?" He asked the question as much of himself as the others.

"I know a lab tech that I can get to come down here and take a look...but I'm guessing they wouldn't have left anything to incriminate themselves," said Albrecht with a sour twist to his mouth, holstering his gun. The condition Eric was in, he shouldn't have let him go--never mind that he couldn't have known what Eric was walking into. But all the same he was a damned stubborn young man...and seemingly even more so in death.

"So we try and track them down--whoever they are," said Scully dryly.

Albrecht shook his head, lifting a hand to stop Mulder when he started to move out of the room. "No--first we do question-and-answer period. My question is how two Feds managed to get mixed up in this...whatever is going on around here. Whatever you got... I expect you to share."

Mulder looked to Scully but she merely gave him a level look of her own and he turned back to Albrecht. "We're here on a case--"

"If you were here on a legit case, you'd be going through the channels. Try again."

Letting loose another sigh, Mulder ran a hand through his hair and ran through the whole story, from the message left on his machine to the attempts on his life and Eric's intervention. Going to into as much detail as he could without making the telling of it too long and involved.

When he was done, Albrecht gave a small laugh. "Man, when I step into it, I do not do it half-way. So you're why Eric had me running Constance Lowry's name."

"What'd you find out?" asked Mulder curiously.

"That's she as stone cold dead as Eric...and apparently just as mobile." At Scully's skeptical look, Albrecht lifted his shoulders. "Hey, I got the papers back at my place to prove it. Mug shots, death certificate, even the coroner's photos. Died in prison--tried to play tough with the wrong inmate. Before that...she liked to kill people. Didn't rack up a real high body count...but she was...inventive in what she did to them."

"Dead..." repeated Scully with a shake of her head, folding her arms over her breasts.

"Hey, before I met up with Eric, I wouldn't have believed it myself. But like they say... seeing is believing...and I've seen enough shit since then to be a real convert," said Albrecht levelly, turning back to Mulder. "We gotta find what the connection is to this voodoo priestess Solange--and who's behind this."

"Maybe she raises them somehow," mused Mulder. "And as to who--well, what other purpose is there for raising up dead killers? Think about what a government--or governments--could do with a group of assassins that are virtually immortal," he added grimly.

Scully shook her head, lifting a hand to silence him. "Let's focus on the facts here...and leave the supposition for later. We have two names to work with--we have what we can get of Constance Lowry, even a place where she has been known to frequent. The other one we need to check is this Solange."

Mulder nodded, rubbing his hands together. "I know someone who can give me info on the local pagan scene. If this Solange is operating around here, most likely she has a record of some kind, given what she's into."

"I can check that," said Albrecht agreeably. "But I don't think we should split up. I think you're still in danger, Agent Mulder. Right now they will be looking to silence you quick before you can learn anything more."

"Agreed," said Scully firmly, ignoring the glare that Mulder gave her. "Safety in numbers, Mulder."

"Fine--let's just get going, okay?" Though he wouldn't say so to Scully, this place gave him the chills. Didn't consider himself to be especially sensitive to magic...but a dark aura seemed to cling to this room...as if there had been here things far more cruel than a simple blood-letting.

And as he followed Albrecht and Scully out of the room, he felt relief...but a short-lived one. It was easy for him to accept Eric as someone come back from the grave...but the thought of a score or more of them out there in the world, dealing death...it made him shiver. Having them after him...was even more a sobering thought.

He lay on something silken and soft, his cheek turned into a smooth, hard surface, and Eric opened his eyes, blinking as he looked around him...only to feel his heart freeze at seeing he lay in a coffin. Used to have nightmares about this a long time ago, of waking up to find himself trapped in a coffin, buried alive beneath the earth, of clawing at the wooden surface of the coffin till his fingernails were torn and bloody--

Moaning in distress, he heaved himself out of the coffin to sprawl on a stone floor, dust wafting up to send the grit of dirt into his mouth. He spat to clear it, scrubbing at his mouth to rid it of that taste, the taste of his nightmares, and as movement was glimpsed from the corner of his eye he scrambled back till he came up against the coffin.

"Forgive me...but I had nowhere else to take you on such short notice," said a rich soothing voice from the darkness, moving slowly forward so that it was shrouded in the flickering golden light issuing from the candles spread around the room. Crypt, Eric realized with a shudder...

The figure came into view, that of the man that had taken him from Solange. But man he wasn't...or hadn't been in a long time. Darkness permeated him, hung around him like a dismal, sullen cloud, his eyes a throbbing red. Eric shivered, thinking he had only seen one other man that rivaled this one for the darkness in his soul--and that man had come very close to destroying him. If it weren't for India's intervention...Mace might have succeeded.

"Yes, I am of the dark," said the figure softly, a touch of sadness to his voice. "Born of the dark and to the dark...through no choice of my own. I can see the light--touch it, taste it--but I have never known it..." A sigh sent his shoulders to slumping and the man moved to kneel before Eric, a smile curving his lips. "I am Bastian. And you...are my savior. The one that will lead me from the darkness I have dwelt in all my life...and to the light."

For answer, Eric could only stare at the creature before him in disbelief. Knowing that as impossible as it sounded, this was a vampire...

Mulder's connection into the local pagan scene led them to a woman named Patrice. She looked to be ancient, if her white hair and wrinkles were to be believed, and the shimmer in her pale amber eyes. Her skin had faded to a tawny-gold yet she was somehow beautiful and young in her actions. Fluid grace that seemed to flow about the livingroom of her small house as she talked to her uninvited guests and played with her cats.

His patience was wearing thin, yet Mulder felt a strange connection to the old woman, still...his main concern was Eric. "What will you tell us about Solange?" he prompted, knowing that it was the proper way to word the question.

Patrice laughed, a soft musical sound, then she picked up a black cat and settled herself in a rocking chair. The cat on her lap and her gnarled hands stroking it's glossy fur. "She be darkness that one..." Patrice drawled. "Solange be the daughter of darkness."

"She's powerful?" Albrecht guessed, getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was beginning to wish he had made Sarah wait in the car but the kid had threatened to go play in the streets if she couldn't come in. And the neighborhood they were in was no playground.

"Solange is de child of Papalaja," Patrice continued. "He be Voodoo man. Black magic. No one can touch him...but he can reach out and touch you. Wrap his fingers around your soul. Taught his daughter how. She can slip her way inside you and rape you."

Albrecht remembered the two episodes Eric had suffered and how he had likened them to rape. A cold chill rippled down his spine. "The father is more powerful than the daughter, I take it?" he commented.

Patrice sighed, then locked eyes with Albrecht. She would tell him the truth because he was of her people. The others she would help because the one believed, as did the child. And it amused Patrice to make the unbeliever squirm. Pretty redhead was the other half of the believer's soul. "Papalaja is de most powerful, mon. No o'ter like him. 'Ceptin...maybe...de soul of darkness himself." Patrice let her native accent hang heavy in the air. Bringing home to the others who she really was.

"And who would that be?" It was Sarah who ventured to ask the question. She was on the edge of her seat, face shining with excitement. Being here was better than watching a horror movie.

"Dat be de one most would call...Vampire," Patrice drawled.

Scully let a sigh escape her. She wasn't buying any of this. Rising to her feet she declared, "We're wasting our time here."

Patrice pinned her with a glance. "Who you to be saying dat when a dead man saved your life, missy?" she challenged. "De Crow done saved your soul. You no be returnin' the favor?"

"You know about Eric?" Albrecht countered, feeling stunned.

"I know what I know," Patrice replied, a smug smile curving her lips as she rocked in her chair. "Dat boy...he got the power in him. De light dat all of us be searching fo. He da one the darkness want. He de one dat can cross over to de o'ter side and reach paradise. But not his time. Not yet. He got tings to do heah. But de darkness don' wanna let him." Patrice locked eyes with Mulder now. "You understand what I say?" she queried. "You save him or de darkness win."

Mulder nodded. He was confused about many things, but somehow he did understand what Patrice was telling them. And he believed. He had seen it in Eric. Had felt it even. The young man had to be rescued from whatever forces wanted to claim him, or they would all be lost. "Where can we find Papalaja and his daughter?" Mulder beseeched.

Patrice sighed. "De find you, mon. It be de only way."

"Thank you," Mulder said, rising to his feet to bend over Patrice's chair and press a kiss to her parched cheek. He then looked over at the others and gestured towards the door. "Time to go."

"Yeah," Albrecht conceded, even though he felt they had wasted their time. They knew more about the danger that Eric was in, but were no closer to finding him. Still, he dragged Sarah out the door leaving Mulder and Scully to follow.

Back in the car it was Sarah who broke the silence. "Hey, Albrecht...you got a computer at home?" she asked him.

He turned his head to look at her. "Why?" Albrecht countered, suspicion coloring his tone. He knew better than to trust Sarah, no matter how innocent she appeared.

"We can do some research," Sarah stated, a bit smugly, exchanging glances with Mulder whom she realized understood what she was thinking. It was cool to have an adult who believed in the unbelievable. Eric was like that, but out of neccessity. Because he was part of the unbelievable. Mulder, on the other hand, simply believed.

"Research?" Albrecht echoed.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. We can check into Vampires and stuff. You know...research. It might give us a clue as to where to look for Eric."

Scully heaved another sigh, this one of resignation. "We should look up Voodoo culture as well. See if Papalaja has a webpage or something." Her words were facetious, but the idea was sound.

"I have two computers," Albrecht conceded. "One's a laptop." As he spoke he started the car and headed back for home. It wasn't much of a lead, but it was the only chance they had to save Eric. What they didn't know was that they were being watched.

From out of the shadows stepped Constance, a smile on her face as she watched the car fade into the night.

Eric stared down at the powerful being who knelt at his feet. He was feeling stunned, as if his world had been tipped upside down. "What are you?" he asked, needing to hear the truth in words.

Bastian smiled and rose to his feet, one hand reaching out to touch Eric's face. He could feel the hum of power in this one. So young yet so strong. "I am what you believe me to be," Bastian whispered.

"Vampire?" Eric breathed, taking an involuntary step back from the cold flesh that touched him, but the long fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him close.

"I am not to be feared by you," Bastian purred. "I don't want to hurt you, Eric. How can I? You are immortal....just as I am."

Eric caught his breath then hissed, "Not like you!"

Bastian sighed, releasing his grip on Eric's hair, allowing him his space. "No...not like you," he allowed. "But that is what I want. To be like you. To know the light...to feel it warm my blood and my soul. I don't want to be the darkness anymore, Eric. To feed on humanity. I want...to be free."

"Free?" Eric echoed, shaking his head. "Meaning what? Dead? To cross over to oblivion?"

"No...free to live in the light," Bastian replied. "As you do. You will never die, Eric," the vampire explained. "You've done that already and come back."

Eric felt panic wash over him. "I have to die!" he shouted, his dark eyes blazing. "I have to be with Shelly!"

Bastian took a step forward, one hand reaching out to touch Eric's face again, to soothe him. "I can lead you back to her, Eric," Bastian whispered. "But you must lead me into the light. You must save my soul in order to be free. Do you understand?"

"I..." Eric wanted to shout yes, but he was so confused. His head ached and he wanted only to sleep. Yet he was no longer human. He should not be feeling any of this. "What has happened to me?" he countered, stepping back once again only to discover himself pinned againt the coffin he had risen from.

"It's hard to explain," Bastian replied. "But I can teach you, Eric. If you want to learn."

Eric wanted to weep, but he nodded. "Teach me," he beseeched.

Bastian smiled, not revealing his teeth. "Close your eyes," he whispered as he moved to stand behind Eric. One hand tangled in the dark hair, pulling it away from the strong throat. He could feel Eric obey and was pleased. "Believe in me," Bastian continued, as his lips curled back and his fangs were revealed. He lowered his head.

"Believe..." Eric whispered, then he cried out as pain rocked through him. He felt Bastian bite into his flesh, felt the warm flow of his blood. Felt himself fall into darkness....

"NO!" The cry was ripped from Papalaja's soul. He could feel the darkness suckling at the light. It could not be allowed. "He does not belong to YOU!" Papalaja roared as he waved his hands in the air then began to chant.

Bastian drank of Eric as a man dying of thirst would. But suddenly he felt the presence and knew that the other had come. Felt Eric's body jerk then heard the young man's cry of pain. Bastian let Eric fall to the ground and he backed away, knowing that the other now possessed him. But it was too late, for the first kiss was his. The first taste of sweet blood stained his lips. "He will be mine," Bastian whispered, watching as Eric rose to his feet. But it was the eyes of Papalaja that stared back at him.

"We shall see," whispered Papalaja. Then he left the body and misted back home. The war had just begun.

With Papalaja's departure, Eric's body collapsed once more and Bastian waited a moment--to be certain that the voodoo priest had indeed left the young man's body--before kneeling to take the limp form in his arms. Gently he stroked hair as black as a crow's wing from the young man's throat, his eyes drawn irresistably to the thin stream of blood that threaded its way down the curve of his throat. Though he wanted to set his mouth to it, to clean it away with his tongue, he resisted the impulse, using his fingers to wipe away the sweet blood.

Eric stirred at the touch, eyelids fluttering open, and lifted a trembling hand as if he woud push Bastian away...but it fell limply to his side. He swallowed hard, struggling to draw himself up to a sitting position but lacking the strength. "What...happened?" he whispered.

"The evil one tried to claim you," said Bastian, tenderly tucking dark hair behind Eric's ear, gazing down into confused dark eyes. Oh, this was too easy, he thought with an inner chuckle but did not allow that amusement to show. "I prevented him."

"Evil...one?" repeated Eric dazedly. Remembered being held by Bastian, the other man's mouth on his throat and then...pain. More than he should have felt. And then a darkness stealing over him, swallowing him, smothering his will...

"The father of the priestess that tried to bind you. His name is Papalaja...and he is the true power behind Solange. He would bind you to himself, use you and twist you, till no light exists yet in you." He brushed his knuckles against Eric's cheek, drawing the young man's eyes to him. "If he should take you...then Shelly will be barred to you...for all eternity."

Shelly--the thought of their reunion was all that gave him the strength to continue. Without her love and guidance, he would never survive... "How...how can I fight him?" he asked, struggling to control the trembling that went through him. Remembered the power that had seized him before...and how little his resistance had mattered to it.

"Let me help you," said Bastian persuasively, stroking the young man's hair. "As you help me regain my soul, so will I help you regain your own heart's desire. To be reunited with your beloved Shelly."

"Shelly..." He reached inside himself, seeking that small inner part of his heart and soul where a whisper of her dwelt...but there was nothing. He shuddered with the chill it sent through him, the lack of her presence, and said aloud, "Show me how to fight him. I don't want to be his slave...anyone's slave."

"Later. For now...rest," said Bastian, pressing a gentle kiss to Eric's forehead, his long fingers stroking the young man's cheek. "Sleep." And watched with satisfaction as Eric's eyes drifted closed, the young man's form relaxing in his arms. With Eric's capitulation it would make it all that much easier...

On the way back to his place, Albrecht took the time to call Sarah's mother Darla and let her know that Sarah was with him, that he was bringing her home right away. Overriding Sarah's protests and chiding her that her mother was worried about her, Albrecht left Sarah off at home and took the two Federal agents with him to his house.

As they settled in, Scully called in to the local bureau office to assure them that she and Mulder were well. From her end of the conversation, whoever she was talking to was quite adamant about knowing where they were but given the events of the last few days, she had agreed with Mulder's suggestion that they keep their exact location unknown.

While Scully was occupied with her cell phone, Mulder was already at work on Albrecht's computer, doing a search for web pages that might be linked to the local voodoo movement. Albrecht stood behind him, watching the computer screen over his shoulder, and shook his head as he saw the number of local pages devoted to it.

"Would expect to see this in maybe Florida and New Orleans...but not here," said Albrecht with a sigh. "So...you gonna really be able to find this Papalaja on the net?" he asked Mulder skeptically.

"If he's as powerful as Patrice says, then he's going to have a big following," said Mulder reasonably. "I don't expect to find a map that leads us to his place...but we should be able to find someone that might be able to give us a way to him."

"Patrice said that they'd find us," Albrecht reminded Mulder.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Mulder turned his head to give Albrecht a look. "Do you really want to wait for them to find us first?"

"No," said Albrecht fervently.

"My sentiments exactly. So...we try for the local voodoo element...and then the vampire wannabees."

Albrecht made a sour face. "Yeah...and I can check the morgue for any bodies drained of blood...or have a tendency to get up and walk out on their own. The department already thinks I'm whacked...no problem with image there," he added dryly. Placing hands on his hips, he turned to regard Scully as she ended her phone call and rubbed his chin. "Okay...so how does pizza sound? Should still be a place that delivers open--"

A knock on the door drew his head around and he walked slowly to the door, hand automatically drawing his gun from his shoulder holster. Glancing back over his shoulder, he watched Mulder and Scully move to flank him, both with guns drawn, and he moved slowly to the door. "Yeah?" he said, starting to move to look through the peep- hole.

And a hole was blown through the door, right where the peephole was, sending splinters of wood flying, one grazing Albrecht on the cheek. He staggered back as the door was kicked open, getting one quick glimpse of a dark clad figure before he threw himself to the floor, just as another shotgun blast cut through the air. Rolling, Albrecht brought his gun up and put a bullet through the intruder's leg, scrambling to his feet as the figure struggled to regain its balance...only to go down under two bullets to the chest from Mulder, sprawling on its back.

Carefully Albrecht approached the figure, extending an arm to grasp the ski mask that concealed its features and dragging it off to find himself staring down at Constance Lowry. He cast a quick look back at Scully and Mulder, asking, "Are you okay--"

His legs were swept out from under and he landed hard on his back, the air leaving him in an explosive grunt, the "dead" young woman straddling him to stare down at him with a manic light in her eyes. "Time to die..." she crooned.

"NO!" Mulder shouted, moving forward to confront the Constance. "I'm the one you want. Kill me and get it over with. But leave Scully and Albrecht out of it."

Constance laughed, a sound of pure evil. "Gee, Mulder," she drawled. "That kinda takes all the fun out of it...dontcha think?"

Scully moved to Mulder's side, where she belonged. Her eyes were glacial as she locked glares with the other woman. Scientist or no, Scully could feel that Constance was not quiet human. She was something else. Something Scully didn't want to consider. "If you kill Mulder and the rest of us...then what?" Scully demanded. "You still don't get what you want...do you?"

"And what would that be?" Constance countered, still straddling Albrecht, whom was smart enough not to move. "What do you think I want, red?" she challenged.

"Eric Draven," Scully replied, without blinking an eye. She could feel Mulder's start of surprise and the heat of his gaze as he turned to look at her. "You want him as part of your team. Right?"

Constance narrowed her gaze and felt a shred of admiration for the petite agent. She was shrewd and knew how to play the game. "You don't have Eric to offer," Constance stated, glancing around. Not that she needed to do so, for she would have felt him had he been there. It wasn't a gift that they all shared, but something special of her own. Her kind were unique, but that didn't mean they were friendly towards each other. "So why should I waste my time, Red?" Constance prompted. "What do you have to give me?"

Scully shrugged. "Our help," she replied, her look implying that the answer was obvious. "There are forces at work here that none of us understand. But I can guess that your group wants Eric to join the ranks. Together, pooling our knowledge, we just might find him."

"And you'd simply hand him over to me...right?" Constance drawled, amusement flashing like cold-fire in her eyes. "Nice try, sweetie."

"The deal would be finders keepers," Scully countered.

Mulder felt the need to interject here, for by the look on Scully's face, she was serious. That did not bode well for Eric. "We don't have the right to bargain with his life!" Mulder hissed.

Scully turned on him. "Shut up, Mulder. I'm bargaining for our lives right now. Eric is already dead...or so you tell me. I don't care to join him. So I'm willing to deal and you'd better be too."

"I'm with Scully," Albrecht announced from his position on the floor. He could see that Mulder was surprised by what would seem like a betrayal of Eric, but Albrecht knew that Scully was right. This was the only chance they had to survive long enough to find Draven. So Albrecht was willing to play along. If Mulder was too dense to catch on, so be it.

"Sounds like fun," Constance replied, moving away from Albrecht and pocketing her gun. "Just remember something. You can't kill me, but I sure as hell can kill you."

Rising to his feet, Albrecht offered a sickly smile. "Believe me...I remember," he drawled. "So...tell us what you know about a voodoo priest named Papalaja and the local vampire scene."

Constance noticed the computer in the corner and sat down. Her fingers flew over the keyboard and she grinned as she stated, "Let me connect you to my world."

"Can't wait," Mulder muttered beneath his breath, as a cold chill swept over him. A part of him was beginning to wonder if death might not be such a bad thing.

Eric dreamed. It had been so long since he had dreamed of Shelly. She was beautiful, dressed in white, her hair flowing down her back in soft waves. She was standing on the bridge where they had first been reunited after death, smiling at him. One hand reaching out to him. And Eric reached out for her, whispering her name. "Shelly..."

But in that moment she began to fade away. "Goodbye, Eric..." Shelly whispered. "Goodbye...."

"NO!" Eric screamed and came flying off the bed, only to collapse when his knees gave out. He fell to the floor in a heap and bowed his head, weeping. He was so tired of feeling weak. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Something was wrong with him.

"I can help you," Bastian whispered in Eric's mind. He was close by and his vampire powers allowed him to see the young man's dream. To hear his thoughts. "Trust me, Eric. Believe in me...and I can lead you back to Shelly."

Eric swiped at his eyes with his shirt-sleeve, only then realizing that he was no longer dressed in his own clothes. The black shirt he was wearing was made of silk, the pants were of soft leather, the black boots supple suede. He tried to rise and managed to stand, but swayed on legs that trembled. "What's wrong with me?" Eric called out, hoping that the question would draw Bastian to him.

The dark Prince appeared like a shadow stepping out into the light. "Papalaja is draining you," Bastian replied. "Can you feel the tingle in your blood, Eric?"

"Yes," Eric whispered. for he could indeed. It wasn't painful, but was irritating, like and itch he couldn't scratch. "How do I stop him?" Eric pleaded, for he now believed that if the Voodoo Priest claimed his soul, he would be lost to Shelly forever.

"Another kiss..." Bastian breathed. "Another ta