Mother Russia
by
Sydnie MacElroy
The pounding rhythm of heavy bass echoed through the chill air of the December night, rattling windows and threatening to loose an avalanche from the overhangs of fresh snow that decorated the buildings along Yorkshire Street. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, a horn honked, a siren wailed. Closer, a bell rang as a sidewalk Santa Claus beckoned to passers-by for a pittance to help the needy.
Store windows, decorated for the approaching holiday, announced 'Eleven more shopping days before Christmas!' Tiny colored lights competed here and there with the glow of the street lamps. Swags of evergreen garland hung from doorways and signposts, unobserved or unappreciated by the drunks and indigents who slept beneath them. Winter in the city.
In the street, white turned to gray as passing cars sprayed the virgin snow with exhaust and leaking oil. The sidewalks, glazed with ice, felt soothingly familiar to the two young men as they made their way to a destination neither could name. They wandered aimlessly, searching, seeking, wanting only adventure, two youths accustomed to the quiet lanes of the suburbs on a quest for excitement on the busy thoroughfares of down town Amhurst, Pennsylvania.
"So, we're here. Now what," one of them asked.
The other pondered the question and shrugged. "Dunno. Just take it in, man."
"Take what in? It's too fucking cold to do anything." He watched his breath condense in a cloud before him, tried to blow a smoke ring without the smoke and grimaced at his failure. "Let's just go."
"No way! We don't gotta be in before midnight, and I ain't going home before curfew. Shit, you're pathetic, man." They rounded the corner of Yorkshire and Tenth. "Hey, there's The Cradle!" He pointed to a flashing neon sign above the bar that was the source of the music.
"So?"
"So, I heard from Brent who got it from his father that your girlfriend's gonna be there tonight."
The reluctant explorer glared at his friend. He did not take kindly to being teased. "So the hell what, man? Over twenty-one only. No way we're getting in."
"Yeah, but she's gotta come out eventually."
On the overflowing dance floor, in the midst of the frenetic dancers, one couple stood apart stood apart from the crowd, moving together with the practiced ease that came from long years of spending every waking moment in each other's company and in each other's arms, anticipating each other's moves the way only lovers can. He spun her around and pulled her in close, stroking her hair, marveling once again at the color of it, like a bonfire glowing in the night. Her gray eyes mirrored the wonderment in his own. After all this time, the scent of her was still intoxicating, the feel of her body near to his own, the very fact that she was his, still had an aphrodisiac effect.
"Dominika." He growled her name in her ear as he guided her ever closer, urging her to feel his desire for her and to respond in kind.
Gazing into the ebony eyes of this man who was her partner, her lover and her husband, she felt the same school girl giddiness she felt the first time and every time. Such passion she had known with no other. One man had come close, but only when she imagined that he was her beloved Gavrel. She entwined her fingers in the soft curls at the back of his neck and bit playfully at his lower lip. "Time to go," she whispered softly in the tongue of their native Mother Russia.
A moan of anticipation and momentary regret escaped his lips as he released her. Taking her by the hand, he led her through the sea of dancers. Confident and content to follow his lead, she saw nothing but him, the ease of motion, the masculine grace, the powerful muscles under the heavy fabric of his clothing. Was it possible, she wondered, to love too much, too deeply. But she already knew the answer. Yes, and it was wonderful.
Clear of the dance floor, he guided her to their corner table, oblivious to their fellow patrons calling their names. Dominika tried to respond to each of them with a smile and a wave, the price of celebrity, but inside, a wave of frustration - or was it anger? - washed over her. Everyone wanted a piece of her time, and that was all right, but this was their time and the interference was not welcome.
At last alone in their corner, Gavrel helped her on with her coat and searched the crowd for the waitress, who was nowhere in sight. Dominika slid into his arms and nibbled on his earlobe. "Leave the money on the table," she moaned. "I don't want to wait."
Shivering from the heat of her breath, he could manage only a nod as he reached for his wallet. "Damn!"
Dominika laughed. "You left it in the car? Again," she teased. Her smile was met with a sheepish grin.
"Do you think they would notice if we slipped out and came back tomorrow to settle the bill?"
"I think they would." Her hands lingered for a moment on his chest as she extracted herself from his embrace. "My turn to go and get it. I won't be long."
He caught her hand as she turned to go and pulled her close for one more kiss. "You better not be."
The boys stood in a doorway across the street, near the little red Mercedes with the miniature skates hanging from the rearview mirror and the license plate that read ICEQUN. It had to be hers.
"What are you going to say when you meet her?"
"Nothing. This wasn't my idea. Remember?" The snow was falling again. He just wanted to go home.
"Ah, come on! You know you want her."
"One time I said she was hot. So's your mother, that doesn't mean I want to..."
"Hey!" The boy pointed at the door of The Cradle as Dominika emerged onto the street. "You're right. She's hot!"
"Fine, we've seen her. Can we go now?"
Dominika started across the street, unaware of their presence.
"Chicken shit. Ask her for an autograph."
"Like hell, man."
"Then I will."
His companion would have blushed if his cheeks were not already bright red from the cold. "Come on, man, don't," he pleaded, but it was too late. He could do nothing but follow.
She was at her car now, unlocking the door.
"Dominika!"
She spun around, startled by the sound of her name, angered by the intrusion. "What," she barked at the blonde haired boy standing in front of her, a little too close. He was just a child, she thought. She shouldn't take out her frustration on him.
"Can I get an autograph?"
She sighed. "Not right now."
"Please?" He took a step closer. Warning signals flashed.
"No."
"Come on. Just one autograph."
"No," she commanded, a bit too loud, much too forceful.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The face of a child in peaceful repose, a slight smile on his face. He might have been sleeping soundly in his own bed, warm beneath the woolen blankets, but he was not. He lay dead in the street, swathed in a blanket of snow.
"What am I looking for?"
"Anything out of the ordinary," Dana Scully said, laughing to herself as she recalled the countless times she had been on the receiving end of this exchange.
Mulder settled back in his chair and studied the image on the screen, a feeling of intense discomfort welling in the pit of his stomach. Okay, so he felt a little territorial about the projector, but in this instance he would just have to accept things as they were. It was his fault he got in late, his fault he missed the meeting with Skinner, and this was his penance. "Most people who die with a smile on their faces go in their sleep or in the act?"
"Well, there's that." She handed him a file folder and turned on the lights. "Take a look at this."
Inside the folder was an autopsy report. Mulder scanned it quickly, his interest piqued. "Cause of death undetermined. Mechanism of death undetermined. Manner of death natural causes. There's a note in the margin I can't make out."
Scully leaned over him to take a look. "Gork," she said.
"Gork?"
"It's a highly specialized medical term. I'm not surprised you've never heard it."
"What does it mean?"
"God only really knows." She grabbed the folder from his hands and adjusted her glasses. "Nathan Draves, age seventeen. High school hockey player, straight A student, all around good kid," she said, referring to the notes in the back of the file. "Toxicology revealed no drugs or alcohol in his system. There were several scars on the body, but no fresh marks of any kind. All internal organs appeared to be well formed and healthy. How much do you know about the dying process?"
She was enjoying this a little too much, Mulder thought. "The events leading to death generally follow a predictable pattern occurring over a course of time, anywhere from a few seconds to several hours. Pupils become fixed and dilated, respiration ceases and finally the heart stops."
"Followed shortly by cessation of electrical activity in the brain. Except in cases of instantaneous death."
"Such as in an explosion."
"Or an impact where total decimation of the body occurs. Or, in this case."
Mulder stared at her for several seconds, trying to digest what she was saying. He glanced back at the image on the screen, ghostly now in the fluorescent light. "How is that possible?"
"That, my friend, is what we are going to find out. Over the last eight years, seven similar cases have been documented. This most recent one in Amhurst, Pennsylvania, one in Los Angeles, and one in Florida. The others occurred overseas, in France, Denmark and two in St. Petersburg, Russia. All of the victims had some kind of connection to the same woman, a Russian ice dancer by the name of..." She checked the file again and stumbled a few times over the name. "Dominika Krestyanova," she said, at last content that she had gotten the name right.
Mulder corrected her pronunciation.
"You've heard of her? I didn't know you were a fan of the sport." When she looked up at him, his face was deathly pale, his eyes focused on some point in the distance.
"I'm not," he mumbled and stood up from his chair. "When do we leave?"
"A couple of hours. I've got to go home and throw some things together. Mulder, are you all right?"
He checked his watch as he headed for the door. "I'll pick you up at noon," he said, closing the door behind him as he disappeared into the corridor.
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Scully was worried. Mulder hadn't said a word on their drive from Washington. He kept his eyes on the road and his hands frozen to the steering wheel. And if three hours of trying to carry on a conversation with a stone statue wasn't enough to cause her alarm, as he parked the car at Hazen Arena, she noticed that he was shivering even though it was warm in the car and he was wearing his heavy overcoat. She laid a hand on his forehead, then checked his pulse.
"I'm fine," Mulder snarled as he extracted himself from her touch and leapt out of the car.
By the time Scully managed to unfasten her seat belt and get out of the car, Mulder was already half way across the lot and she had to run to catch up with him. "You're not fine. You're running a fever and your pulse is twice what it should be."
"I'm fine," he repeated as they reached the door. He burst into the building like a storm trooper and let the door swing closed behind him, nearly knocking his partner to the ground.
Scully caught the door handle to keep herself from falling and took a moment to try to gather her thoughts. Mulder might be sick, but there was something else going on, too. Whatever it was, he seemed determined to keep it to himself. "What the hell," she asked herself.
Inside the building, the only indication of Mulder was a door swinging shut on the other side of the lobby. Scully followed and found him standing just inside the arena, his eyes riveted to the couple on the ice.
Mulder sensed rather than saw Scully as she came and stood beside him. He didn't want her here right now. There were some things he just didn't want her to know. And yet, having her there was just what he needed, a calming influence and a supportive friend. He reached out and grasped her arm just below the elbow.
"Mulder?"
Several yards away, Dominika and Gavrel glided across the frozen surface, their movements constituting one fluid motion as they kept time to the music blaring from a cassette player perched on the edge of the rink, translating the notes and the words into a physical expression of passion and grace.
'Well, you're so close to me,
But I feel so alone.
The more I touch you,
Ooh, the more I want.
Don't know what to do
About me loving you,
But I pray to God
That you feel it, too.'
The moved close together, then pushed themselves apart, teasing, seducing, questioning, each step, movement of the hands and facial expression in perfect synchronization. She danced and played in circles around him as they crossed the ice, ducking out of reach as he tried to capture her, slipping behind him, wrapping her arms around him. He lifted her, spun her around and she was in his arms, the sequence of movements so quick, so smooth, it was impossible to tell how it happened.
"They're pretty good," Scully commented. Mulder's only response was to tighten his grip on her arm. "Ow! Mulder!
He turned to look at her for the first time since he walked out of the office that morning, bewilderment on his face. Slowly, he loosened his grasp on her and let his arm fall to his side. "Sorry, Scully."
"What is going on, Mulder?"
He smiled unconvincingly. "It's a long story. Remind me and I'll tell you sometime."
"Hmm."
"Come on. We've got work to do." With a light touch on her shoulder, he guided her closer to the edge of the rink.
As the music reached a crescendo, Dominika leapt into the air and Gavrel caught her inches from the ice, a little too late, and they both went sprawling across the ice. The music came to an abrupt halt as another man ventured out onto the rink and stood over Dominika.
"What the hell was that," he asked in Russian.
Helpless under the angry gaze of their coach, Dominika made no move to get up until Gavrel offered her his hand and helped her to her feet. "Are you hurt," he asked examining her hands which had borne the brunt of the impact.
"I'm sorry," she said to the coach as she shook her head in response to Gavrel's question. "I guess I'm still a little upset."
"No excuse. You looked like a clumsy cow out there."
Gavrel stepped between them. "You can't talk to her that way."
"Or what?"
"Both of you, please," Dominika begged. "Gavrel, he is only trying to help us. Vanko, we'll do it again, and I'll get it right this time." She turned away from both of them and spotted the newcomers standing at the entrance to the rink. Her eyes locked instantly with Mulder's. "I need a break," she said firmly and moved away from them, slowly approaching Mulder and Scully. "Fox," she said in way of greeting when she reached the edge of the ice.
"Nika."
Scully fought to keep her face from betraying her surprise.
Dominika fumbled a bit as she snapped her skate guards in place. "How have you been?"
"How do you think?" The temperature of the air dropped from chilly to frigid.
"Driven, determined, still searching for the truth. Just as you've always been. Perhaps a little wiser, a little more wary."
The hardness of Mulder's expression softened just a bit, but his voice remained cold. "You always knew what to say."
"And you could never take a compliment."
"Is that what that was?"
"You *know* I always respected those qualities in you."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Feeling a little uncomfortable, very much an intruder, Scully started to back away, but found her progress stopped by Mulder's hand on her back. "You've changed your hair," he said to Dominika.
"Yes. You would remember me as a brunette." She eyed Scully with a friendly smile. "Perhaps I should have made this change sooner."
"It wouldn't have made any difference. If I remember correctly, you were calling all the shots."
She shrugged. "If that's how you choose to see it..." She let the sentence trail off as Gavrel appeared beside her. "Fox Mulder, this is my husband, Gavrel Dyakonov. And," she said looking to Scully.
"Dana Scully." Somehow, a handshake didn't seem appropriate, so she just smiled. It didn't matter, since Gavrel didn't seem to notice that she was there.
"So, you're Fox," he said. Scully noted the tension welling in Mulder under the other man's intense scrutiny. Finally, Gavrel held out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. Dominika has told me a lot about you."
Mulder accepted the handshake, but wasn't sure how to respond, so he shot a questioning glance at the woman.
"Business or pleasure, Fox," Dominika asked.
"Hmm?"
"Why are you here?"
Scully glanced at each of them in the silence that followed. Mulder was obviously too shaken to conduct business as usual, so she took a step forward and control of the situation. "We need to ask you a few questions about what happened last Saturday night."
The color drained from Dominika's face, but she maintained her composure, bolstered by Gavrel's arm around her waist. "Of course," she said. "Anything you need to know. But I wasn't aware that this was a federal matter."
"Normally, it wouldn't be." Her glance in Mulder's direction held a dual purpose - to let Dominika think that their intervention was his idea because of the history they apparently shared, and to communicate to Mulder that she seemed to know an awful lot for someone who hadn't been in the country all that long. "But under the circumstances..."
Dominika nodded. "Why don't we sit down," she said, indicating a row of folding chairs against the wall.
Once seated and having arranged the chairs in a rudimentary circle, it was time to get to the point of the visit. "Why don't you tell us what happened," Scully asked.
"I'm afraid I can't be of much help. We were at a club called The Cradle, I went to the car, and a young man approached me."
"Nathan Draves."
"Yes, I learned later that was his name."
"You didn't know him?"
"No. His team, the Panthers. They practice at this rink, but if I'd ever seen him, I didn't recognize him."
"There was another boy with him. Jeremy Nichols."
"Yes. They were teammates. I didn't know him, either."
"Draves approached you. What happened then?"
"He asked for an autograph." Dominika shook her head sadly. "I just wanted to go home, you know. I don't know why I said no. What would it have taken, a few seconds? He had come up behind me, startled me. I wasn't feeling very cooperative. And then... I don't know what happened. He was standing there, and then he just collapsed. What happened to him? What caused this," she asked. She seemed genuinely perplexed and concerned. Gavrel held her hand in both of his, watching her with mounting agitation in response to her own.
"That's one of the things we're trying to determine. What did Nichols do after Draves collapsed?"
"He just stood there for a moment, as I did, not knowing what was happening or what to do. He said something to his friend. Asked if he was all right or something. Of course, there was no response."
"And what did you do?"
"I... It all happened so fast. I think I asked what's wrong. The boy, Jeremy, he said I think he's dead."
"Who called the ambulance?"
"I don't know."
"Why is this important," Gavrel asked in broken English.
"A young man died under curious circumstances."
"Yes, but Dominika knows nothing of this."
Dominika said something to him in Russian, then turned back to Scully. "He's overprotective at times." She glanced at Mulder. "I seem to attract that type."
"Did you notice anything unusual before or after Draves collapsed," Mulder asked.
Dominika studied his face for a moment. "Bright lights or little gray men? No."
Scully bristled, ready to jump to Mulder's defense. Obviously, this woman had hurt him and obviously, he had never really gotten over her. She had to see that, so how dare she make fun of him. But that's not what was happening.
"*Anything* out of the ordinary."
"No, Fox. Nothing."
"This isn't the first time something like this has happened, is it?"
Nervously fingering the hem of her sweater, Dominika could not meet his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"A reporter in Miami. Galen Ford. He was working on a feature article about the two of you."
"He was considering writing one."
"He was found dead in his apartment, just hours before the interview was to take place. All of his notes were missing."
"I know. His death was ruled a suicide."
"Was it?"
Dominika looked at him defiantly. Scully looked at him in total surprise. None of that information had been in the file.
"How should I know," Dominika asked.
"Dominika! Can I see you for a minute?" Everyone turned in the direction of a man standing in an open doorway.
"You'll have to excuse me," she said and stood to leave. "You will be at the ice show tomorrow night, won't you, Fox?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
She left the group, rushing off to meet with the stranger.
"Who is that," Scully asked Gavrel.
"Thomas Hazen. Owner of rink."
The three of them silently watched the exchange between Dominika and Hazen. They were too far away to be heard, but the woman appeared to be angry while Hazen stood nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets. "Go to hell." Dominika's words echoed through the arena as she raised a hand and slapped him. Hazen's laughter followed her as she stormed out the door.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Black clouds loomed overhead threatening to release a blizzard as Mulder drove out of the city. It was too quiet in the car, and he found himself wishing he had agreed to wait with Scully at the coroner's office. But she had made it clear that she wanted to talk, and for the moment, that was something he wanted to avoid. They might not always agree, they might not respect each other's opinions all the time, but they always had respect for each other, and that was more important to him than he cared to admit. Maybe because so few people regarded him that way. Maybe because at the moment he didn't have much respect for himself. Dominika had robbed him of that once before and if she did it again, he could live with that. But he would be damned if he would allow the truth about their past to negate the respect Scully had for him. He just had to figure out how much he could tell her without being forced into a corner, without having to tell her everything.
Of course, if Dominika was involved in the deaths of Nathan Draves and the others, it might have to come out anyway. It was too much of a coincidence to disregard, but in this case, he couldn't come up with a theory to explain it. Or maybe he didn't want to. However, Scully was determined. This was a medical mystery, her specialty, and she would not give up until it had been solved to her satisfaction. And for that matter, neither would he. As much as he would have liked to forget about it, he couldn't.
He found the Nichols house at the end of a dead end street, a white A-frame house surrounded by other white A-frame houses. Jeremy was sitting on the porch, chopping at a pile of snow with the handle of a broken hockey stick and staring at nothing in particular. The police report stated his age as sixteen, but huddled inside an oversized parka and stocking cap, he probably could have bought a child's ticket to the movies without arousing anyone's suspicion.
Mulder parked the car in the driveway and started up the walk. "Are you Jeremy Nichols," he asked.
"Uh huh." Jeremy didn't look away from whatever he was staring at.
"Fox Mulder. FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
The kid glanced as Mulder flashed his ID, shrugged and returned his attention to nothing.
"You were with Nathan Draves when he died, weren't you?"
Jeremy dropped the hockey stick and looked up at him. "Yeah."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"He died." He shrugged again. "He just..." He pulled off the stocking cap, scratched his head and replaced the hat. "He just died, man. Okay?"
"Can you be more specific? What were you doing in that part of town?"
"Hanging."
"Hanging?"
"Yeah. You know, looking for something to do."
"Yes, I'm familiar with the term. Did you find anything to do?"
"No."
"You said in your statement that you were waiting to see Dominika Krestyanova."
"So?"
"Why?"
Shrug. "Nate's idea."
"How did you know where to find her?"
"I didn't. Well, everyone knows she hangs out at The Cradle."
"The Cradle?"
"Night club. You know, The Cradle will rock. She likes to dance."
"I know," Mulder lamented before he could catch himself. "What did you do when she came out of the club?"
"Nate decided to get an autograph."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to see her at the ice rink?"
"Like I said, man, it was Nate's idea. Besides, we don't really see her around there. Different practice times and all."
"What happened next?"
Shrug. "He asked for an autograph."
"And?"
"She said no. Kinda lost it, I guess, yelled at him. Nasty temper."
"I know. And then?"
"I told you. He died." Jeremy picked up the hockey stick and started jabbing it into the snow drift. "I just wanted to go home, you know. It was cold, I was... He wouldn't listen."
"Did anything else happen?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
Shrug.
"Anyone else in the area?"
Shrug.
"Did you see anything? Maybe something you didn't mention to the police?"
"I don't know."
It wasn't much of a reaction, but it was better than a shrug. "You don't know if you saw something or you don't know what you saw?"
"I don't know if I saw what I thought I saw." He shook his head as if that thought was just a little too deep for him. "It was snowing, it was cold, I was tired. It was probably my imagination."
"Tell me."
"The air moved." That was all he had to say, but Mulder waited for him to continue. Finally, he gave an exasperated sigh. "There was nothing there, but something moved."
"What did it look like?"
"Hello? Are you listening? I said there was nothing there."
"But something moved."
"Score one for the G-man."
"Where did it come from?"
Shrug.
"Where did it go?"
Shrug. "It just moved. It was there but it wasn't."
The phone rang as soon as Mulder was back in the car.
"I hope you had better luck than I did," Scully said.
"Maybe. I'll fill you in later."
"Over dinner, I hope."
"Better than dinner."
"Mulder, at the moment, nothing could be better than dinner. Remember, you refused to stop for lunch."
"Sorry about that."
"So how are you going to make it up to me?"
"I hope you brought your dancing shoes, Scully."
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