Title: A Simple Kiss, Chapter 9: Unlikely Escape Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Rated: this part--- PG-13. (2 or 3 bad words, I think) ~x~ Summary, disclaimer, category, keywords, and all that fun stuff listed in parts 1 and… umm… Well, they’re definitely in part 1, if not a few others… ~x~ Author’s note: Alright guys, this is what I am calling the “bear with me” chapter. Why? Well, because from here on in, things are going to get even stranger for our favorite duo. Also, the core of this story---MSR (interaction between Mulder and Scully, and the “kiss” itself) may not resurface for another chapter or so. My apologies, but I have to focus on … other… things…(you’ll see what I’m talking about in due time…) But, at any rate, I think (I hope) that you’ll like what I’ve done. So please, I beg of you, “bear with me.” (See why it’s called the “bear with me” chapter? <grin> ) ~x~ If you haven’t read parts 1-8, you are going to, most likely, end up scratching your head, saying “WHAT?” So, my advice? Read parts 1-8 first. It will make your hair shinier. It will make your teeth whiter, it… Well, ok, NO. It won’t do any of those things, but at least you’ll know what’s going on… <grin> And NOW, on with the show… A SIMPLE KISS: CHAPTER 9: UNLIKELY ESCAPE By Jaime Lyn ~X~X~X~X~~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~ ___________________________________ Close to 5:16 am, Agent Katherine Simmons’ old Motel room ____________________________________ When I was five years old, my brother once told me a completely inane ghost story. It was half-baked, un creative, completely predictable, but (especially after sneaking a peak at an old horror movie I wasn't supposed to have watched) it was typically...well, for lack of a better word---spooky. After all, I was only 5, and my brother, as I had been raised to believe, knew more than I. So if Bill said that he had seen the spirit of our dead neighbor, old man Watley, who was I to criticize?...I mean, this is considering that I was half his size, half his age, and... impressionable. Five years old and extremely impressionable. And I remember that he told me... "Dana-shrimp, don't be dumb. Of COURSE it was him. I saw him... And, not only that..." He paused for effect, flashlight pressed against his chin, my five year old eyes opened wide with fear. I stoicly tried not to show it, stubborn, even then, but I did not speak as he continued, "He told me that he was coming to get YOU... He said, DAY-NA... DAY-NA... Over and over...." And I think I must have screamed then. Or maybe I only ran upstairs. It's so long ago now, that it's hard for me to recall such details... But God, how I won't ever forget that idiotic story. I won't ever forget how the sound of his voice, the look on his face, even the angle of the flashlight made my little heart pound in intense fear. It was stupid, so stupid but... It had all the fixings, (so to speak,) of a typical "monster of the week" movie. You know, one of those miserably long, stupid things that you would only see while watching “Twilight Zone” re-runs, or “Night Of The Living Dead?” And considering that I was only a little girl... it... Well, alright. I admit it. I'm 34 years old now, and, as a mature adult, I can admit that it had scared the crap out of me. THEN. So much so, that I slept with the light on for about a week. (With big plushy dolls and Gi-Joes---stolen from Charlie’s room----to protect me.) Not that I BELIEVED my brother, mind you, but it was the POSSIBILITY of that ghost lurking underneath my bed that propelled many a nightmare for weeks. But looking back on that now, I think I would laugh if not for the absurdity of the situation in which I currently find myself in. Jesus Christ.... I know that if Mulder were here, he would look at me with that annoying grin and nod his head, before gracing me with the inevitable, "I told you so" comeback. (With childish pride, OF COURSE. Mulder is rarely tactful) And actually, on that note, I can only imagine what would be if I told Mulder that story from my childhood. The one about Bill’s ghost. About me being scared shitless over a stupid made-up ghost. Lord knows he'd have a field day with THAT one too. So, needless to say, my partner can be a bit of an annoying nutcase at times... An irresponsible, stubborn, AND inconsiderate nutcase.... Have I mentioned that yet? No? Hmmm... That's ok. He'll most certainly realize it when I kill him. Maim him... murder him. Why? Well, mainly, for running off again and leaving me here... Trapped in a burning building, nonetheless... Not that this is the first time he's done such a thing, mind you. Because I've been ditched for worse, believe me. Aliens, monsters, mutants... You name it, I've been stood up for it. --- If that isn't just the most absurd thing you've ever heard. And... ok, ok, so I know that I may be acting just a TAD unfairly but... Let's just say that reason and logic seems to have escaped me, for the moment. _______________________ Nearing 5: 18 am Outside the motel… ________________________ A high rustling shakes and rumbles the discreet quiet within the wood. A small, lighlty cracked voice stands out among the foliage... "Ah, pretty little robin... what a bright red stomach you have..." Bright laughter then, and the sounds of leaves rustling against a startling silence. The soft clicks of crickets chirping permeates the silent night air, and from atop a weeping willow, dancing in the wind, a bird caws its song of home and flight. “Red feathers, so pretty for a petite little bird…” From a small, tucked away place inside that gently weeping willow, an older, scorned, woman sits, eyes closed in concentration. Her thin, rice paper fingers reach up and touch one of the tree's many leaves, bringing it close to caress her wrinkled cheeks; skin lined with anger and old age. "So bright, so red. How beautiful, the color red..." She laughs again, and the breeze whispers through the limp branches. This has always been her favorite spot. High among the branches....To think. To sit. To plan... She opens her eyes and stares hard at the Robyn, who abruptly halts its lingering song in slight fear. She can feel it in the creature's soul... The pain...the weariness...It knows her, and it's afraid... Her slate gray eyes glint in the welcoming recognition. Crinkled fingers, shaking yet steady at the same time, brush away an errant strand of white wispy hair.She eyes the thinning strand and bites the inside of her mouth with a steady determination: Last time she may have lost, but this time, she knows better. She knows what she has to do... And she will NOT fail again... No... this time, failure is impossible... <My, how your ignorance sets this up so perfectly, Katherine...> she muses, indifferently. <Go ahead... try to save her... I'm counting on it...> She grins, maniacally, but there is no one around to see. <You may have some power in you, pretty little Dana Scully,> she thinks, <But *I* am stronger. I WILL prevail...> Her hair falls, limply to her sunken shoulders. She recalls a time, once, long ago, when it was long, thick and beautiful. But not anymore... No, not anymore. She eyes it again, bilowing slightly in the tender breeze whispering in her ear. She smiles. "Yes," she says, pleased with her brilliant plan, smiling off into the night air. "I always did want to be a red head..." Another hollowed out laugh; like the dead. Not a happy sound to be captured on such a peaceful evening. For she is not amused, nor is she blissful. Rather, she is determined; with that of an unmatched vengeance. Her lashes blink shut, blocking out the tree, the breeze, and the Robyn, with its bright, bright red stomach... And in her mind, just the way she so often practiced, she pictures them both. One trapped, the other searching, but both there and within her grasp. The corners of her thinned, lined lips turn up. And she utters, "ring....ring...Agent Mulder..." ______________________ Close to 5: 18am Somewhere between the General Store and the Motel ______________________ Mulder's feet haphazardly crash through the dense foliage, breath coming in ragged pants, knees searing from walking carelessly through dense underbrush. From behind him, another set of breathing emerges, loud and startling through the eerie quiet of the moonless night. He pauses for a moment, bends at the waist---though he'd never admit to anyone that he's tired---and catches his breath. His hands catch his knees, cupping them, and when he looks up, he spies another man making his way through the large weeds and grassy null. "Hurry up, Damn it!" Mulder manages, annoyed that he has to slow down his pace. His voice is low and ragged, though he tries to cover by coughing slightly. <Need to get to her,> he thinks, over and over... <Scully.... Scully...> "How about you slow down," his companion counters, sucking up oxygen in gulps large enough to give him stomach cramps. All he can think is that he is way too goddamned old for this crap. Mulder pulls himself up, stretching his neck, straightening his back, staring at the man next to him as if he's grown a second head. "First," Mulder starts, "you tell me that my partner is in danger---that whatever her name is---" "Edina----" "Right." Tersely, Mulder looks back at the man, shaking his head, and keeps going, hurtling tree branches out of his way angrily. "Anyway---" Mulder looks back again, making sure that the man is listening. "You tell me that I have to get to Scully----this Edina wants her dead---because she wants to get to me. You tell me that this woman is going to use telekinesis to kill her---you tell me just about every detail of my intimate encounter tonight with Scully, from beginning to end, get me all worked up, and then you tell me to SLOW DOWN?!" The older man trudges wearily behind, painfully aware of every bump and hitch in the dirt path--every branch that Mulder swings behind him. All around, crickets whine a siren call, birds scatter from one willow to the next, and the grass cuts at his ankles like tiny razors slicing away. "I told you the truth to help you," the man says, honestly, "AND to help me. I told you that I saw in my mind what happened between you two tonight----that I understood what had happened--but I didn't, and I still don't know..." he stops to catch his breath, and Mulder pauses in mid step, annoyed that he has to halt in order for the man to keep up. "I don't know how. And I don't know why either---why everyone gets all worked up---why such weird shit happens every 20 years. But it DOES happen, and because I know this, I thought I'd try to help you. To make you see... to help you with those dreams…” He shakes his head, resolutely. “But that doesn't guarantee that I'm right about her being in danger. I don't KNOW EVERYTHING, Agent Mulder..." The man pauses to sigh. "And besides, if something HAD happened----like the fire I think Edina's planning---- then the fire trucks would have HAD to have come by here. The fire-station is only around the corner. We would have seen them." Mulder pauses, as if considering this, and stares at the other man, exhausted. The trek has already taken its toll on Mulder--giving him cramps and a dry tongue----especially considering that he'd already been running once this evening. Fleetingly, his mind manages to register that he isn't as young as he used to be---not that he's old, of course... But, right now, he's still trying to keep his focus on Scully---on getting to Scully.---and it's not an easy task when he's bone dead tired, he knows.... Besides, SOMETHING is urging him--as strange as crazy as it sounds---something is keeping him going. He doesn't entirely trust Harrison, but something is still nagging him, forcing him to repeat in his mind, a mantra of "Scully..." Over and over... "Scully...Scully...." "You have to calm down Agent Mulder," Harrison says, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "If you don't, you are going to do something stupid. YOU are going to put her in danger. And for Agent Scully's sake---even if, for now, everything really IS ok, you DON'T want to fuck this up." Mulder is silent, regarding the man for a moment, and then turns back around. "Move faster," Mulder orders, impatiently. Harrison shakes his head. "Look,"Harrison refutes, "I don't know how old you think I am, but--" RIIIINNNNNNNGGGG!! Both men stop to stare at each other, confused. Harrison's eyes glance around apprehensively. His brain's common sense area tells him that, as far as he knows, there is no way a squirrel or a cricket is carrying a cell phone, so... So where the hell was that--- They both look down at the pocket of Mulder's sweat jacket. "Christ," Mulder mumbles, stopping again, and reaches into his pocket with slight irritation. <Five bucks says that its Kersch, calling to say 'Aprils fools.'> he thinks, and then looks around, as if he expects the dark skinned, dour Assistant Director to pop out of the bushes. Muttering to himself, as Harrison looks on, he jabs the "talk " button. "Mulder," he barks, and stares at a nearby faltering oak. First, he is met by silence… and then by breathing… And then, finally, the voice on the other end sounds. And it is soft and faint, staticky to an extent, but Mulder knows it anywhere. "Mulder?... It's um, It's me..." Mulder's heart drops into his throat, his eyes widen in relief, and Harrison creeps up close, staring at Mulder suspiciously. No, the older man decides. For whatever reason, he doesn't like that look at all.... Harrison watches Mulder closely. "What’s going on, Agent Mulder?" he demands. "Who's there?" Mulder waves an annoyed, errant arm in the man's direction, and brings his left hand up to cup his ear. Suddenly, the quiet woods have now become unbearably loud---or maybe that's just the ringing in his ears... "Scully," he breathes, relieved sounding. "Where are you?" He doesn't know why he asks this, but he asks it anyways--maybe to reassure himself that the motel is perfectly safe---and not on fire. "I'm in my room," she answers, as if it’s obvious, and Mulder closes his eyes in relief. "Where are YOU?" she queries. Harrison and Mulder stare at each other, Mulder's eyes darting around the woods, taking in the high grown grass and shrubbery. The hunched over trees with limbs swaying with the breeze. <Thank god,> Mulder thinks, gratefully. <Oh thank god, Scully...> Mulder shifts weight from right foot to left, bends his back. His brain starts to kick into overdrive… He pushes away the thought that he swears he can hear crickets on the other end of the phone---even though he's pretty damned sure Scully doesn't keep a ready supply of crickets in her room... ___________________________________ "Push! For gods-sakes DANA, PUSH!" Please let the record show that I am now being yelled at by a dead woman… When did my life become an X File?? I give my unlikely companion a grimmace, and then follow through on her orders-- -shoving at the wooden door to the room with all my might. We’ve been locked up in here for only minutes, but I can still smell acrid smoke from the hallway teasing my nostrils. In all honesty, it scares the shit out of me, (thinking about whatever fire is brewing outside this door) not to mention the fact that I also have Mulder to worry about on top of it. Christ, and just where the FUCK did he go?? Always running off, doing god knows what with god knows whom… The man needs a goddamn dog collar tied to him sometimes, I think… My goodness, if ever there was a man with less than impeccable timing, it was Mulder... Oh please god, if you’re up there, let me live through this…. My ingrained instincts as not only a doctor, but also a human being, tell me that we won’t have much time once this door grows hot. And thus far, I’ve tried everything. The handle, picking the lock, looking for a gun to shoot the deadbolt off, (mine is, of course, GONE) but nothing has worked. So now, as futile as it sounds, PUSHING seems to be the only option left. And while I’m on the subject of the situation at hand, I have, consequently, come to a conclusion. (Based on rational thought and careful weighing of evidence, of course.) I have decided that the only plausible explanation for it must be temporary insanity. Not that I haven't thought about it before---temporary insanity, that is----but I'm pretty positive about it now. I mean, ok…come on! If I thought about it hard enough, I could probably find about a billion laws of physics that are being breached here... a hundred completely implausible... Well, I won't get into it. Specifics, that is. But anyways, like I said, it has to be insanity---insanity as a direct result of freaking out when approached with the possibility of kissing Mulder. Madness, associated with wanting Mulder. Complete and uttely encompassing madness from wanting Mulder and kissing him to prove it… But wait a god damn second here... Why does every single fucking thing in my life have to go back to Mulder? It's almost as if I don't have a mind of my own, as if my every thought is of him, and... It's sick. That's what it is. Sick. REALLY sick. I am NOT, after all, a grafted part of Mulder's brain. I am not his appendage, I am... Kidding myself... "Dana, push harder! It'll open, it WILL!" The woman who has identified herself as the very dead "Katherine Simmons," closes her eyes and pushes with all of her strength. The glow around her, a phenomenon that I can only describe as one of Missy's "auras" starts to wane. I can see some of the smoke, floating upwards, seeping through her barely visible light aqua form, leaking out of the pastel colored glow. I close my eyes and shove the unmoving door----hard. My mind's eye plays Billy's story over and over again... "He said he was coming for you. He said, DAY-NA.... DAY-NA..." I try to will the decades old voice to stop, but it repeats, over and over...until my head starts to pound, and my eyes start to sting and hurt. It takes me only a moment though, to realize that it's not Bill's voice that's making my eyes sting. Further examination of the room shows me that smoke is billowing out from under the wooden door... God, my eyes hurt... I squeeze them shut even harder, and call out, "I want to know, damn it..." Katherine groans and shoves harder. "Why?" she demands. "Why do you need to know??" Turning my back to the doorway, I try a different tactic----pushing with my back, my spine, even though as a doctor, I know I could hurt myself. However, right now, I just don't care. Self preservation is numbing out all my other higher brain functions, and I know that if I don't get this door open, 10 to 1, the odds tell me that I'll pretty surely die. Open, goddamn it. OPEN!! "I think that I have every right to know what would posses me to unwillingly put myself in danger," I tell her, shoving, pushing, squeezing my aquamarine eyes shut. Katherine tries to ignore me, I can feel it, but I am NOT going to let her get away that easily. "Tell me," I order, in my lowest, most menacing tone. She turns to me. "Now," I emphasize, trying to push back a low, bubbling cough... "Alright," she says finally, resigned. "What do you want to know?" _________________________ The weeping willow limbs start to bend slightly with the burden of carrying the old woman, and she knows it. Gingerly, she starts to sway---back and forth--- rocking with the current of the slow north wind rustling through the leaves. <Well, that was fun...> she thinks, and smiles. <But soon, I'll be able to do SO much more than that...> Another cricket clicks its tiny legs together, echoing through the leaves. <And he won't ever know...> "Everything's fine Mulder," Edina chirps lightly, grabbing a tree branch to keep from laughing herself off the edge of the bark. Her antiquated hands tremble slightly, as they always do around this hour, when arthritis rears its ugly head. "I just... wanted to..." she starts laughing again, and again, grips the trunk with two bony arms, swathed in an old white sweatshirt. "Make sure you were alright..." She is maniacally hysterical now, and takes another moment to calm herself. <Easy now,> she thinks, vaguely. <Take it easy...> Slowly, ever so slowly, her breathing ebbs and equalizes. Her laughter dies out, and the night air is once again full and untainted. <Time for my makeover> she muses, smiling, and her eyes close. Concentration is imperative, she realizes... a must. The smile disappears. Sweat gathers on her brow. Another wind---more forceful this time, rips through the gentle branches of the willow. "It's my turn to be beautiful again," she mumbles lowly. "It's time to play.... Come out come out...DAY-NA..." _____________________________ "So that was Scully, huh?" Harrison asks dully, stretching his tired limbs, and Mulder nods, following in suit. "She ah, she says she's fine," Mulder replies, cracking his knuckes. "She said that she just tried to call my room, and got worried when I wasn't there." Mulder shrugs, and brushes an errant leaf off his shoulder. "Guess she's checking up on me." Harrison nods, but the expression on his face makes it clear that he is not at all convinced. There's just something that is bothering him... Something that's not right...But Harrison gives it a mental shrug. He's just too tired to be this paranoid... More crickets chirp from all around----inside the bushes, the trees, the tall grass, and the tiny knotholes in their path. "Well, then. Everything is ok after all, I take it?" Harrison enquires, and the two men resume their journey---pace slowed; Mulder yanking leaves off of trees and crushing them listlessly in his palm, Harrison bringing up the rear, pacing his breathing. "Yeah," Mulder replies distractedly, troubled sounding, "Guess so..." He stares numbly into space as he walks. The crickets seem to chirp even louder, piercing his eardrums, as if trying to tell him something... ___________________________ Katherine and I stare at each other warningly; showdown at the motel corral. "For starters," I manage, my voice almost a groan under strain, " I want to know why in the hell I would start a fire in my own damned motel room. It's impossible. I don't sleepwalk, and I----" "How many times do I have to tell you??" Katherine responds, bitterly. "It wasn't like you had a choice in the matter. SHE made you do it!" Oh for the love of god. This is ridiculous. Why is it that in all my experiences with Mulder, I can never get a straight answer out of anyone?? "Who is 'SHE?'" I demand, still struggling against the door. "Who is SHE, what's going on here, and what have you done with Mulder??" Katherine sighs. "SHE is the owner of this motel, SHE is the one who made you sleepwalk, and SHE killed me exactly 20 years ago." I stop for a moment and simply look at her, still in disbelief, but not knowing what more to do with myself at this point. It's either listen to her, I realize, or die. And though neither of those options is appealing at the moment, it would appear as if I don't have much choice in the matter. I narrow my eyes, partly out of defense, and partly from the accumulating smoke. "Why?" She frowns. "Why what?" I fold my arms, momentarily disregarding the smoke, remembering that, in all likely-hood, there is still the possibility that I am only dreaming. Please god, let me only be dreaming this... "Why would she... what was her name? Carson?" Katherine nods. "Why would she want to kill me?" My arms start to wave for emphasis, my brain starting to pound, "Or for that matter, why would--did--- she want to kill you? What does she want? I don't understand! And Mulder's dreams, my dreams, how, I mean..." Arms still waving, my voice trails off.... Katherine takes a breath, playing with the corners of her nightgown----it’s silky white with tiny pastel flowers--- un-nervingly similar to mine… "She wants you dead because you have something that she wants," Katherine informs me, both of us facing off next to the rapidly heating doorway. "You have Agent Mulder, and she wants that power." I roll my eyes. Please. Power? I have *power* over Mulder? That's absurd. What exactly is this? The Salem witch trials? "You still haven't answered the question," I point out, trying to keep my voice straight and even. I'm so terrified of believing, and yet what other choice do I have? Mulder would definitely laugh at this... Mulder... oh god, Mulder... "And what have you done with Mulder?" I demand for the second time, my tone carrying a deadly edge. Ghost or no---if I find out this woman's done anything with my partner, anything at all, I will kill her myself. I don't care. I am simply beyond caring at this point. "I haven't done anything with you partner," the woman insists. "I'm trying to help." I narrow my eyes at that. At the phrase: trying to help. Help, help... Yeah right, I think bitterly. Yeah sure. Everyone's trying to help us. If we had any more "help," from any more "well meaning people," I don't think we'd know what to do with it. Every person who shoots at us, plays mind games, and tries to harm him. Or me. it's all in the name of good-natured "help." They're all just doing it for our common good. For our benefit. My ass. "Help?" I spit bitterly. "How? How have you helped us? By playing with our heads? By scaring the shit out of me? Is that what you call help?" Katherine folds her arms across her chest, clearly annoyed. "Are you always this damned paranoid?" she enquires, and I let out a low laugh. "No," I retort, sick of playing games. "Usually I'm MORE paranoid, so consider yourself lucky. Now answer my questions." Katherine bites her lip, and I watch as she averts her eyes. I start to think of ways I can "jog" her memory, numerous self defense moves flying across my mind. Should I give her a minute to think, or just hurt her? Ironically, my memory reminds me that I've often had such thoughts about Mulder. (Although I've never killed him, at least...not yet...) But my lungs, unfortunately, interrupt my train of thought. I furrow my brows, almost as if confused, and try to breathe, gulping large doses of tainted oxygen. Suddenly, a raspy cough, rising from within the depths of an aching chest, sputters forth from my mouth. Katherine's aqua eyes widen, noticing my trouble breathing, and she resumes pushing the door---harder now, and with renewed strength. I start to cough harder, more painfully, and for the first time in about two minutes, we remember the smoke invading the room like a secretly hooded invader. Oh god, I need to get out of here, I think. My lungs hurt. My breathing is obstructed... This can’t be a dream... Shit... "Alright, alright," Katherine finally gives in, staring at me with a stunted aura. I'm starting to think that her moods have something to do with how bright it shines, and for how long. Of course though, the idea that I'm even entertaining this notion--that I'm considering it-- is insanity, within itself. See what I mean? I'm going crazy.... Christ, I hate this. Why is it I feel like I'm five, all over again? "The dreams were my doing," Katherine admits wearily, and I watch her, shoving my hands over my mouth to try and control my broken breathing. My eyes narrow again, watering from the smoke, and I crouch low to the ground, desperately trying to remember exactly what it was they taught you in elementary and middle school. Smoke rises, stay low to the ground. That's right... "What do you mean?" I demand, angrily, another coughing fit overtaking me. "Your partner's dreams," she explains, hurriedly, "He DID tell you about them, didn't he?" I nod. She continues, "I made him see those, I planted them there. I called his--- what do you call it? His cellular phone---earlier tonight--when you were both here. I pretended to be you---but only to warn him--to warn you both---not to harm you. I wasn't responsible for anything else. The visions I know you had, your problems with him, or anything else you might have experienced. I didn't do that---I swear to you. It's just this place, this time. It's not me. It's not even HER." My vision starts to blur, and I find that I'm finding it hard to think... straight. Oh god, Mulder... Mulder, help. Some sick part of my brain starts to dream up ridiculous scenarios----Mulder riding in on a white horse. Mulder breaking the door down and declaring his love for me. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder... Not that I NEED rescuing---not from MULDER anyhow. I CAN take care of myself, but… Well, ok, it would be NICE… “Come on Dana,” she says again, gesturing towards the door. “Push!” I nod and shove back another coughing fit. I know that if I die, my biggest regret will NOT have been that I never told him. After all, I have a family. I have things, other things besides telling my partner that I love him, and those must take presidence. I have my brothers, Charlie and Bill, who I am sure worry more about me than they should. I have my mother, my incredibly strong mother, who has been through more shit in one lifetime, because of me, than most people have been through in two or three. And then, of course, there are others: there is my friend Ellen---her son---my godson. My nephews, my nieces...people that I'm not prepared to leave yet. And this is compounded with the fact that I have thoughts of guilt for everyday of grief my family experiences, for every time my mother worries whenever I'm in danger. And every time I've ever had a gun pointed at my head, I've always regreted "doing this to her." Making her worry. Making her cry. So yes, I especially think about my mother, a lot, actually. My mother, who does not deserve to lose another daughter. My brothers, who don't deserve to lose another sister. The father that I lost----the father I feel I will have let down, if, at any point in my career, I die in vain. But even still... Even still, Mulder is there. There always, before I am about to meet an end… A regret of many, but not my largest… Although certainly, it’s my longest and most complicated. And always, it's the one that is my last; the one I think before losing conciousness, or before miraculously escaping fate. And it is always the same thought too: that I never let Mulder know that I love him. That I never told him that he was my universe. That I lived with it everyday, and I never told him. I think it every time I'm in danger---every time that he is, or every time there's a chance that one of us could meet an untimely end. Every single time, the same errant, fleeting thought: "If I live through this, I'm going to tell him." But of course, I never do. I never tell him. Oh Mulder, why haven't I told you? Oh god, I'm thinking it again... I must be dying.... AM I dying? Somehow, I manage to squint at Katherine, who is looking back at me with an air of sadness. “Finish,” I order, coughing again, not able to help it. “Finish… your…”Another cough, “Explanation…” She nods, frowning. "Ok…” her throat is cleared while mine fills with smoke. I stare at her beseachingly. HURRY and explain, I think horrified. Before I die… "This town," she begins, "It… well, it experiences a strange phenomenon every twenty years or so. It's like a... a rift in… I don't know... the space time continuim or whatever the modern technological term for it is. It's an occurance that only happens at a certain time though. Tonight—this night--- and into the daytime. It builds through the week before until it... it just explodes.... And it's exploding right now." I cough again, but somehow manage, "Explode? What do you mean, explode?" Oh god, my head hurts... "I mean..." She frowns and searches for the right words. "I mean..." she pauses again. I try to keep her in focus... Oh, my eyes, my head... "Have you ever..." she waves an errant hand, "ever watched TV and had bad reception? Like, you can see the picture of one channel, and the sound from another?" I frown, words and thoughts jumbling. I shake my head, confused, and I'm finding that I'm having a hard time making the connection. Everything is starting to cloud over and fog, and my mind feetingly lets me know that something is very wrong. Something is going on here, and it's something that has nothing to do with fire or smoke. It feels almost as if someone's throwing a blanket over my thought processes. Like someone's purposely trying to keep me from understanding... But no. That's impossible... Isn't it?? "Well, that's what happens here," she continues, and I fight to keep her words from disentegrating into nothingness. "Every 20 years. It's like two channels merging together. My reality---from years ago, and yours from now. My phone call warning to your partner probably tipped it off----started the process. I didn't mean to do it but... Well, I think that it inadvertently caused you to access another time--MINE, specifically. Kind of like you channel surfed." The room is getting hotter now, and I have to squint to see. I hurt all over, and I'm still not grasping this. I just, I can't... God, what is wrong with me?? Why can't I think? I try to open my mouth, but all I can manage is a weak, "Channel surfing?" She nods. "Yes," she tells me, leaning harder against the door. Her voice cracks under the strain. "And during this time, a part of the brain is awakened in most of this town's occupants. I think I read about it in a medical journal...God... god... nodule, was it? Anyway, I don't know why. I mean, I've read about cosmic "g spots," rips in continuims, but this... all I can tell you is that it's intense... People--they get mad, and a thought can kill. They want something to happen, and by sheer force of will..." I blink. God nodule... God nodule... Oh lord, I know that one! Where have I heard that before?? Think, Dana. For the love of god, think!! I look at her and shake my head, coughing uncontrollably, slumping, bending, trying to edge away from the smoke. "But most of the time," she goes on, her voice quickening, "people don't even realize that they have this ability---that they're doing it. Weird things happen---people die mysteriously, and nobody ever realizes what's really going on. Except for Edina, the motel manager. She DID realize. Somehow, she figured it out. She mastered it. Kept the ability for herself…" Wearily, I look up at Katherine from my slowly slumping position on the floor. I feel like I can't even think. I can't move. My eyes feel as if they're being rubbed with sandpaper, and my throat, like someone's poured acid down my esophagus. Feebily, I try to access the textbook in my head; the one with knowledge of Gibson Praise, the God Nodule, Robert "pusher " Modell, and every other X file we've ever had that included mind control; rips in the space time continuim. Telekinesis, aligned planets----Jesus, I know this stuff!! I've categorized it in my brain! Why can't I just access the proper information?? Fleetingly, a memory of a town called Comity, and a detective named "White," flash through my mind. I see Mulder again. And from whatever portion of my brain that encases memories of his voice, I hear the words, "don't stop breathing on my account, Scully," inside of my skull. His words are so clear and so jovial, so nonchalant, that in a moment of eroding madness, I smile. Mulder...Oh please, I think. Please let me live through this so that I can tell him... Somehow, I manage, "So what you're saying is..." I stop to cough, but when I try to finish my sentence, I find that I can't remember what it was that I was going to say. "What you're... saying... is..." Katherine moves closer, and I feel a sort of breeze around me, like the wind kissing my cheeks. My limbs feel so heavy now, and I can't seem to find enough air to power my need to get up and fight. "I'm saying that some sort of freak of nature causes dormant parts of the brain to wake up. It causes heightened emotional awareness, realities to converge, weird shit, just... weird, weird, shit..." I nod dumbly, and try to protest, but I can't remember how. And then suddenly, as if a light switch is going off in her brain, she utters a name I only faintly recognize. "Edina..." I blink and try to keep my eyes open, but the room is fogging around me. What is she talking about, again? Oh god, why can't I remember? She bunches up her fists and looks down at me, crying, “no! Oh god, NO! Don't you try to confuse her!” "No Dana!" She repeats, hovering over me. "Stay awake, do you hear me? Stay awake! You have to get out of here!" Half conscious, coughing and sputtering up smoke, I manage, "how... how does... motel manager...figure... in… why would I----" Vaguely, I can feel my body being lifted off the floor. It's almost like waves from an exotic beach hitting my legs and soothing over my feet. Sweet breezes start to ebb at the heat, and sleep seems so tempting... So tempting.. I feel like I'm floating, like I'm dying. But no---I can't die... not yet... There's still my mother; my brother; Mulder.... There's something I need to tell him... Again and again, my brain repeats, "he's going to get you DAY-NA... DAY-NA... DAY-NA..." How old am I again? Where am I ? I remember Billy teasing me, goading me in the musky basement of our San Diego navy barracks house. I remember a blue dress that I hated, and pigtails that never stayed in for long. I remember backing up against the wall, Billy with a flashlight... "No such thing as ghosts, stupid Billy!" My body is floating though... floating. Why am I floating? From around a corner, or maybe right in front of me, I hear, "Edina wants you dead because she wants your partner. She's strongest on this day---because of the rift. She uses mind tricks, dreamscapes, she's trying to trick you now, Dana. Don't give in... Don't give in." I am still floating, but my ears hurt, and my eyes hurt, and I don't know where else to go. I'm still floating... Still, still, still, floating... flying...up into a corner, a trunk... an old, dirty trunk. The trunk we used to keep the Christmas decorations in. I feel like I'm trapped in a dirty box with waves crashing up against my feet, and taunts attacking my ears. But oh, where are the waves coming from? Where are the voices? I hear them…And there's smoke... smoke all around, in my lungs, in my blood, and Billy is laughing in my face, laughing, laughing... "He's gonna get you DAY-NA... DAY-NA..." No no no no.... And where is Mulder? Mulder should be here. Mulder would never let me die. Oh god, am I going to die? A voice I don't recognize hisses in my ear, <yes, yes you are...> I cover my face with my hands, trying to block out the voice. A chill shudders through my entire being, racing up and down my spine, at the words: <Yes, you are going to die...> I shake my head and manage a strangled, "No!" <Yes,> repeats the strange voice. <But don't worry, my dear. I promise no one will ever notice that you're gone...> I clench my fists, shaking, terrified beyond comprehension, and of what, I don't even know. From far away, I can vaguely hear, "No! Edina! I won't let you..." Now I am fighting, weakly. I am fighting for my sanity, for my piece of mind, and I am fighting for Mulder. I am struggling against the smoke, and the blurriness, and the laughing, taunting voices attacking my head. They won't go away...won't go away... Oh god, I'm going insane... I'm going insane... From far down, deep inside, Billy tugs at my pigtails, shoves me back down into the box. The walls are dark, so dark, and Mulder is gone. Why I can't find him, I don't know. He never told me that he left; that he was going somewhere. Did Mulder ditch me again? And why did he leave me here with Billy? "DAY-NA... DAY-NA..." All at once, I am coughing again, and a sudden sharp coldness begins to settle itself around my feet. "NO!" I cry, and it crawls up my spine, up my back, trickles over my arms, and down my neck. It's the wind, laughing at me, taunting me. And it doesn't even matter to me how absurd that sounds, because with a certainty I didn't know I possessed, I know that's what it is. The wind, cold, cold, cold.... Mulder, help me please... "I'm sorry to have to do this Dana," I hear from behind, or maybe even in front. I can't see. It sounds like Katherine though---in a warm and soothing voice... "But it's the only way," she says again, "the only way..." My eyes roll up into my head... "I don't know any other way..." My head slumps to the side... "I promise to bring you back..." And then everything is gone. Everything but hysterical laughter I don't recognize, and Mulder's face, kissing my brow, evaporating from me as I escape into an abyss of darkness... ________________________________ TO BE CONTINUED... look for part 10 soon; coming to a theatre near you...