From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: VILLAINS

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

CLASSIFICATION: VIGNETTE

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: A series of vignettes told from the viewpoint of various "X-Files"
non-conspiracy villains.

ARCHIVING: It's yours, babe.

SPOILERS: Maybe. See "Author's Note."

FEEDBACK: Deliver it to ottercrk@sover.net

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story has a few purposes for existing.

One reason is that I wanted to announce my presence to anybody who might
have wondered where I was. It's been awhile since I posted anything. So, if
you care, I'm still here and I'm still writing.

A second reason is a bit of promotion. I have a new long story coming out.
It's going to be looked over by a Beta Reader first, but it should be out
before the end of August. It's called "Goin' Down South" and I had a lot of
fun writing it. (A lot more fun than writing "Strangers and Pilgrims,"
actually.)

The third reason is that "Villains" is another story that just "fell out." I
haven't identified any of the characters who are talking. It should be
fairly easy to name each person if you've seen the episodes they appeared
in. I don't believe that there are major spoilers for anybody who hasn't
seen the specific episode. Mentions of the plot are vague at best. Still, if
you haven't seen every episode of "The X-Files," then you might want to skip
this story just to be sure. Then again, if you are on this mailing list,
chances are you HAVE seen every episode of "The X-Files."

Well, I'm done talking. Let's see what other people have to say...

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There comes a certain point where you just don't care anymore. The last bits
of morality that have been resting in your soul are finally wiped away.
People no longer are people in your eyes, but just piles of flesh that walk
and talk. This happens when you measure yourself against the world and find
out that you're just a speck living on a slightly larger speck. You learn
that your life will only have meaning until you declare a private war
against everyone else.

About freaking time.

When I first found out that I could do this special thing, I'm afraid that I
used it for the most banal purposes. I used it to get laid. I'm telling you,
within one year, I could have topped Wilt Chamberlain. I would go into a
bar, slide up to some woman and whisper a few words into her ear. I would
watch her disdain change to lust and then it was time to make the bedsprings
squeak. Free love, however, turned out to be incredibly overrated. Once
you've heard one woman's orgasmic squeal, you've heard them all.

That left me bored and frustrated for awhile. Then, one day, I spotted this
young couple walking down the street with hands together and big silly grins
on their faces. Out of sheer malice, I did my voodoo on them. The next thing
you know, I was the one with the big silly grin as they screamed at each
other in public.

I did a few more stunts like this and I discovered that people express their
darker emotions in different ways. Everybody approaches sexual pleasure and
happiness in the same insipid manner, but there are variations in the way
they show anger, sadness, pain.

And fear. Fear is the best. Fear is the most interesting.

Shock is almost as good.

I have left the old grey life behind me. I am now a warrior as powerful as
lightning and as intangible as smoke. I strike from the very shadows of your
mind. Those who know me are helpless before my might. I fear nothing, not
even my own death.

One problem, though.

A warrior who has no equal is incomplete. I must find someone who will meet
me on the battlefield in a final conflict that only one will leave. I want
to find a victory or a defeat that will make my glory shine throughout the
world.

Everyone will understand, then. Everyone will finally see my greatness.

Look on my works, ye mighty, and shit in your pants.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's a horrible thing when you're the only one who knows you're sane.

You try to explain it to others. You do your best to let them know that the
threat is real. They only laugh in your face or look away in embarrassment
or stick you with their needles. In the end, you are only left with your
sanity and your knowledge that it will happen again.

You're not safe anywhere. They'll find you and the pain will start all over
again. You will beg for mercy just like you've done a hundred times before.
They will pay you no more attention than they did the first time. You will
only feel the heat and the knife.

You have had enough. A man can only be pushed so far. You are not just
scared. You are tired. You are tired of the sleepless nights and of always
looking up at the skies. You will now do whatever it takes to stop them from
coming, even if it means putting another person through the same agony you
have known.

God help anyone who gets in your way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I can hear the song that my heart sings, but I only understand the melody. I
don't understand the words. The mood and tone of the song is apparent and I
act accordingly, even though that can only mean horror.

Is there any meaning that the lyrics of this song can impart? Or are they
mere nonsense---the glib poetry of a mind that has been taken over by its
own obsessions? If I were to meet the man who composed this song, what could
I ask of him? What could he say to me?

Perhaps, there is nothing that he can say. It wouldn't be surprising. I
suspect that he is only a repulsive little man who hides his base desires
under a grandiose ambition. If that is truly so, then it is time to let him
know that I will no longer be his tool. He will hide behind me no more. I
will step aside and let the light shame him.

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We make plans. We think up jokes. We dream the same dreams. We flowed from
the same river. We were born of madness and we will let madness guide us. We
will now play with you.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My mother told me, "Don't let anybody tell you that you're a monster. You
are a person made in God's image. You have as much a right to life as anyone
else."

I'm not too sure that she was right. However, I'm way past the point of
ignoring her advice. Of course, I don't know if how much of what I do is
because of personal choice or...just because of this need that writhes under
my skin. Occasionally, I wonder if I could have turned this need to
everybody's advantage. I live off a sickness that strips life away bit by
painful bit. Perhaps there could have been a way that I could have taken the
sickness from people so that we could both live. I could be a walking cure
instead of a predator.

I don't know.

It just makes me sad.

Life still wants to go on, though. It's hungry and so am I.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Good-bye, dummy.

God, I hate you.

I hate your stinking breath and I hate your whimpering and I hate the way
you take everybody's shit even from that pissant dwarf.

So, I'm leaving you.

And, maybe, maybe...this time I won't come back.

Oh, man, this always hurts.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Gotta find somebody soon.

Ouch, ouch.

Getting cold already.

Getting hungry.

And lonely.

Oh, I'm so lonely.

I'm starting to cry.

I can't believe that I'm starting to...

Wait a minute.

Yeah, yeah, I see him.

This could be the one.

I rush up to him and I open my mouth wide.

Will you be my friend?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The smell of a woman is intoxicating, overwhelming, sensual, poetic. It runs
across your face with gentle fingers. You could live on it like food.
Coolness settles upon me when it's present. I feel worthless when it's not
touching me. After nightfall, I search for it. I will not be able to face
the sun if I don't return home without the smell of woman clinging to me.

Death is a woman. I love her and that means I hate her sometimes. The gifts
that I buy for her are usually greeted with indifference. Yet I know that
she has a secret smile for me. How can she not feel affection for the man
who washes her feet with such care? How can she not be kind to the man who
risks capture and punishment for her? How can she not appreciate the gifts
that I buy with my soul, my fear, my anger?

I admit that I get impatient with her. I try so hard to gain her love. Maybe
this new gift will break through her indifference. Maybe tenderness can be
bought with a lock of red hair.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Okay, okay, OKAY, I do bad things, I admit it, I do very bad things. Can we
move on? Can we get beyond how evil I am and just focus on the main issue,
people? Can we do that, PLEASE? I mean, I've always known so don't waste my
time with your crap. I knew from the minute that I saw me doing
this...this...this...this stuff, these THINGS...I knew that it was pretty
screwed-up. I mean, that's an understatement, it's downright...okay, okay,
now I'm getting lost from the main question, too. You're distracting me, you
know that? Let's get back to center of everything and that is...that
is...well, okay...I guess it's just a matter of why. Yeah, that's it. Why,
why, why? WHY? I see myself doing bad things (BAD things) and then I do
them. Why? Is it too much to want to know why? A little bit of motivation,
people? That's all I'm asking for here. I'm waiting. Come on. Tell me right
now or I'll kill you. I'll come over there...and...well...um...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

We are closer than you would like to think.

We both understand the world. We're not just aware of the world's "dark
side"---we also know about its pettiness, its dullness, its horrible lack of
imagination. The banality of this planet is heavy on the soul. We both know
that there is only one way out of it.

Magic.

Of course, there's a difference between us. You go out looking for magic. I
create it. You try to label magic and put it into neat, little
pseudo-scientific categories. So, this becomes "reincarnation." And this
becomes a "psychic disturbance." And that is now an "alien abduction." I
disdain that kind of glib terminology. I just confront the magic head on and
accept it as it is.

You must appreciate the irony. I suspect that you are always arguing with
your partner about her attempts to take the most bizarre events and try to
place them within the context of current scientific thinking. Knowing you,
you would regard that as too limiting. Yet, you have created your own
limits. Your own categorizing pushes away great opportunities. You still
bring logic to places where logic must be discarded.

A British writer understood that a long time ago. The rules of magic can
never be understood. It speaks in the language of nonsense. Little girls
speak the language of nonsense and that's why they're all magicians. I have
learned from them. We commune in the secret places where we exchange favors.
They teach me. I use their own art to give them peace.

You are close to understanding this. So very close. You think that I'm just
playing games. Well, of course, I am. A game is the best lesson you can
have. I am trying to teach you what I have been taught. I don't know how we
have been put into this perfect position, but that's magic for you. It helps
those who believe in it.

I want to believe.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

We are closer than you would like to think.

Neither one of us ever expected to be in this position. We both thought that
we had a good grasp on the ways of the world. You thought that you could go
out and tame chaos with science and the law. I thought that you had to
surrender to chaos, even do it joyfully.

Now here we are. The world has cracked open and we're seeing what we never
expected to see. For me, it's damnation. For you, it's a fantastic means of
reclaiming a lost chance.

I have accepted this reality. You haven't. Not yet, anyway.

I'm begging you to accept it. I know what you are feeling. You would be
revolted at the idea that I could have understanding of your soul, but I
know what a lost chance is. The difference is that I threw everything
away---meaning for my life, the comfort of others, salvation, all of it. You
lost that final reconciliation with an important person. If I can return
that to you, let me.

Yes, I have a price. Everything has a price. I have to pay for my sins. You
have to pay for your hope.

What's the price? I want to hold back my damnation. I want my death to be
something other than a final moment in poisoned air.

If I can't have that...

I want somebody to care. I want somebody to look at me and wonder if I could
have been worthy of life. I want that person to believe that salvation could
even touch me.

We all have our private hopes.

I want to believe in mine.

And I know you want to believe, too.

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