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Title: All Dreams of the Soul: Exodus 2/4

Author: Tiger Lilly

E-Mail address: Tigerlillyme@yahoo.com

Rating: R

Category: XA

Keyword: Scully Angst. X-file. UST

Spoilers: 5th season

Summary: Scully's back to work, but her strange 
dreams continue to effect her. Continuation of All 
Dreams of the Soul: Genesis. 

          

Disclaimer: Once again with feeling. The 
characters of Mulder and Scully belong to the 
surfer dude and 1013 productions. I am making 
no money from the reading of this ditty, so it 
would be a waste of time for surfer dude to sue. 
However, Dr. Lipton, nurse Sarah, and Agent 
Beaubrun are mine, and they better not show up 
in any television episodes!

          

Warning: This story is rated R for language and 
adult situations. This isn't as violent as the first 
installment, but it is still pretty gory. If you have a 
problem with blood or vomit, turn back now! 

          

Author's note: This is the second of four 
installments. If you haven't read All Dreams of the 
Soul: Genesis, then Exodus is not going to make 
much sense to you. My suggestion—go back and 
read it.

          

Please send me your feedback at 
Tigerlillyme@yahoo.com. Be gentle on me. It my 
first time out. Okay to archive anywhere. Just 
please send me an e-mail so I'll know.

          

     

Exodus

     

     Dana was throwing up in Mulder's trash can. 
She was on her hands and knees, on the floor, 
losing her lunch and breakfast and maybe even 
some dinner from the night before...in Mulder's 
trash can. 

     With every heave she felt the soreness still left 
in her ribs. Her mind was trying to figure out what 
had come over her. Had she pushed herself too 
much? It had only been a little over three weeks 
since she left the hospital, but work had actually 
helped get her mind off...things.

     One moment she had been standing there 
beside his desk, listening to him go on and on 
about some mysterious voodoo-related 
disappearances in Florida. She was thumbing 
through the case file he had tossed down in front 
of her. The next moment, she was overcome by 
such intense waves of nausea that she thought 
her knees would buckle. She looked down at the 
trash can and knew she was going to vomit. And 
she fell over and started to do just that.

     She was done now. She was just kneeling 
there over the trash can and catching her breath. 
That had hurt her still healing ribs too much.

     "Geez, Scully. If you don't want to go to 
Florida, you just had to say so."

     She realized he had knelt down behind her 
and had an arm around her shoulders for 
support. 

     "I didn't know I felt so strongly about it." She 
said it between deep breaths, trying to sound like 
she was okay.

     She leaned back on her knees and felt Mulder 
behind her, still supporting her. She had her eyes 
closed, still trying to find a normal rhythm for her 
breathing.

     She heard Mulder's free hand open a desk 
drawer above him and rummaged through it, 
feeling for something. He waved a fast-food 
restaurant napkin in front of her.

     "Here."

     Dana reached out, took it, and wiped her 
mouth with it. It smelled like greasy cheese steak. 
She thought she might be sick again.

     They both sat there on the floor for a minute, 
saying nothing. The sound of Dana's breathing 
echoed in the basement. She waited until she felt 
sure she could stand up before even trying.

     She stood and smoothed out her suit, moving 
away from Mulder while she did it. Mulder stood 
and began kicking the foul-smelling trash can out 
the door of the office, looking down at it from the 
corner of his eye, his nose crumpled a little. "Boy, 
the cleaning crew's going to love this," he said. 

     "Sorry, Mulder."

     "Don't worry about it. I didn't need that trash 
can anyway."

     Dana looked around at the office. It was true. 
He was constantly working in clutter. She didn't 
think he ever actually threw anything away. His 
desk was full of files, old expense reports, 8x10 
glossies from cases she'd long forgotten about, 
articles from various questionable publications, 
the latest Magic Bullet. The whole office was one 
big pile. 

     Somewhere in his piles she knew her new 
case file was buried. Her third X-file. At least this 
time he hadn't made a smart-ass comment about 
how she was still the record-holder. 

     Usually by now, she would have gone 
searching for her new file. But the whole incident, 
the attack, the dreams...she wasn't really up to 
dealing with it. When she had first come home 
from the hospital, it had taken all her mental 
energy just to sleep in her bed. And lately, she 
was so tired. She was wearing herself out just 
trying to return to normal. Luckily, the dreams 
hadn't returned.

     Almost immediately after her statement was 
completed, it had become a nonspoken 
understanding between them that unless it was 
necessary to the investigation, Dana didn't want 
to talk about her attack. She had given him all the 
information he needed. And she was confident 
Mulder was just uncomfortable enough with the 
subject that he wouldn't push her for more. And 
for the most part, he had taken care of the case 
without consulting her. 

     She knew that while she was on leave, he had 
worked on her case full-time. Now he was 
working on it after hours, after she left in the 
evenings. Sometimes it was good that Mulder 
didn't have a life.

     Mulder had returned to his desk and was 
guiding Dana down by her shoulder into his 
chair. This isn't helping to convince him that I can 
still take care of myself, she thought, but let 
herself sink into his chair anyway.

     "Maybe you should go home." He had knelt 
down in front of her to talk to her face to face. 
Once again, she felt like he was a little too close.

     "No, Mulder. We have a case."

     "I'll just call the Miami field office and let them 
know we won't be investigating after all."

     "Mulder, that's..."

     "It doesn't really interest me." She rolled her 
eyes almost instinctively. She wasn't buying it. 
"Go with it, Scully. Besides, you know if I thought 
there was really something here, I wouldn't give it 
up. I can be relentless when I want to be." He 
smiled.

     "That's an understatement." She raised an 
eyebrow and studied his face. Maybe he really 
wasn't interested. She had to admit, she really 
didn't feel like spending a week in Florida 
chasing zombies. "Okay." But just to make sure 
he understood that she wasn't turning into some 
delicate flower, she quickly added, "But I'll be 
ready to go if you change your mind." 

     She walked across the room to gather her coat 
and stuff a few files into her briefcase. Catching 
up on a little work would give her something to 
concentrate on besides the way she felt, both 
physically and mentally. She turned and opened 
the office door.

     "See you tomorrow, Scully." 

     He was already on the phone to Miami. She 
just waved and walked out the door.

     

     

     She woke up from a deep sleep to hear the 
phone ringing. Wearily, she reached out a hand 
to pull the receiver to her ear without moving from 
the pillow. 

     "Hello." Her voice sounded as tired as she felt.

     "It wasn't Krycek."

     That was it. No hello. No hi, Scully, how you 
doing? Sorry I woke you up. Only Mulder's voice 
speaking that one sentence, sounding very 
distressed.

     When she had told him in the hospital that she 
was sure Alex Krycek was her attacker, her rapist, 
he had practically exploded. All Mulder's hate for 
Krycek had tumbled out in about ten seconds. He 
had jumped up from the chair beside her bed, 
yelling, "I should have killed that fucking bastard 
when I had a chance," and threw her water 
pitcher across the room before she had an 
opportunity to stop him.

     His hate of Krycek and guilt for not protecting 
her from him had driven him in this investigation, 
she was sure of it. And now he sounded lost.

     "What do you mean, it wasn't him?" she finally 
managed to say, pulling herself up in bed. Her 
heart was pounding in her ears. "I saw him very 
clearly, Mulder. I know it was him." By now, she 
had reached over to flip on the light. Jesus, it was 
only 9:45. What time had she fallen asleep?

     No answer. Okay, she was going to have to 
ask, regardless of how the answer might affect 
her.

     "Mulder, you have to tell me what you know."

     After a long pause, he finally spoke. 

     "I've been going over your statement. The way 
your attacker pinned you down and...uh...did 
what he did. That would have taken two hands 
and two arms."

     It took Dana a second to piece together exactly 
what that meant. "Oh my God, he has a prosthetic 
arm."

     "I know, Scully, but there's more...Are you sure 
you want to hear this?"

     She took a deep breath. "Yes." If only she felt 
as positive about it as that sounded.

     "The physical evidence collected at the scene 
and from...uh...you. It doesn't match Krycek's 
records in the federal database or CODIS."

     Physical evidence? Since when was Fox 
Mulder concerned about physical evidence? And 
Krycek was a one-armed man. Fate had to be 
playing some kind of sick joke on her. The only 
thing missing was a reference to Tommy Lee 
Jones.

     "What do you mean doesn't match?" Was 
science actually betraying her? How could it 
when she had always been its ally? Besides she 
was punishing herself, and she knew it. But she 
had to know the facts. 

     "The prints, blood type, DNA...everything," 
Mulder said. "None of it matches Krycek."

     She wanted to scream at him. Tell him that he 
was wrong. That every shred of evidence 
gathered was wrong. Krycek's face haunted her 
all day and all night. Every time she closed her 
eyes, she could see his face above her, just 
inches away from her. She could hear his voice 
in her ears—"I said, we're not done!"

     Oh, God, Dana thought. I think I'm going to be 
sick again.

     "Scully...Scully...are you there?"

     She realized her thoughts had interrupted her 
conversation with him. Her horrible, god damn, 
thoughts.

     "Yes."

     "Did you hear me? I need more information 
about these dreams you were having. I'm on my 
way over."

     Her heart jumped up to her throat. "No, Mulder. 
I'm...okay. I just want to go back to sleep." It 
wasn't a lie. She did want to just go back to 
sleep. She just didn't know if she could. "Good-
bye Mulder."

     "Dana...."

     "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I have a doctor's 
appointment, so I'll be in late." And she hung up 
on him.

     She laid back down in the bed without turning 
off the lamp and curled up around her pillow. 
Fuck, Dana thought, even the facts weren't real. 
Had she been so traumatized by her attack that 
she had somehow imagined Alex Krycek was the 
one attacking her? After everything that had 
happen to her... the abduction, Missy, the cancer, 
Emily...was she finally losing her mind?

     Dana hugged the pillow and tried to find 
something calming to think about. She found 
herself reciting over and over in her mind the Hail 
Marys and Our Father she had learned so long 
ago in Catechism. Finally, she drifted off to sleep.

     

     

     "So, Dana. I understand you've refused to let 
Sarah draw your blood for a pregnancy test? Do 
you want to let me in on the reason?" Dr. Lipton 
stood there waiting for her answer.

     "I don't think it's necessary." 

     Dr. Lipton carried her chart across the small 
exam room and sat down at the desk attached to 
the wall. She flipped through page after page of 
records, obviously from the latest hospital stay. 
She stopped to read the information Dana had 
just given to the nurse.

     "You told Sarah you couldn't remember the 
date of your last menstrual period. Do you have 
an approximate idea?"

     What did it matter? Dana thought. It was 
something she had actually kept track of at one 
time. But the cytotoxic drugs she received during 
chemotherapy had pushed her body into 
menopause. And although hormone therapy had 
made her periods return, she didn't really see 
any point in keeping track of them. 

     "I shouldn't have to tell you, Dana, that one in 
three women made infertile by chemo eventually 
become fertile again once the treatments end."

     Yes, it was true, but she had never tried to go 
off the hormones to see if her body had indeed 
recovered. Since Mulder had told her the truth, 
she didn't see any real point of it. In fact, the only 
time she made any note of her body's futile 
attempts at pretending she wasn't barren was 
when she was in the field. Getting stuck in the 
middle of nowhere totally unprepared was not 
her idea of a good time. Besides, Mulder wasn't 
exactly the type to go buy tampons for her.

     "I don't know. A month ago. Maybe more."

     Dana racked her brain trying to remember. It 
had been before her attack. Had it also been 
before the dreams started? She wasn't sure.

     "Dana," Dr. Lipton was speaking slowly and 
softly to her. "I know you realize as a physician 
that a pregnancy test is a routine procedure in 
cases like yours. And since you haven't had a 
menstrual period since the attack, that makes it 
even more important."

     How had they gotten on this subject? Dana 
thought. Enough already. Let's end this once and 
for all. Lay it all on the line. Besides, she realized 
looking at her watch, she really needed to get to 
work. She looked Dr. Lipton right in the eye.

     "Dr. Lipton, I understand your concern. But I 
have discovered since my chemo that I am 
absolutely unable to ovulate. There isn't even the 
remotest possibility that I'm pregnant."

     Dr. Lipton looked confused and began looking 
through her records again. She didn't even raise 
her head from them to ask the next question, but 
simply asked it while she was writing down the 
new information Dana had given her.

     "Since this obviously occurred since your last 
visit here, can I have the name of the doctor who 
diagnosed your infertility?"

     Oh great. What was she going to say now? 
Well, you see Dr. Lipton, this wasn't exactly 
diagnosed by a doctor. My partner, who doesn't 
know a hell of alot about the female reproductive 
system, told me that all my ova were removed. 
Not a doctor. Not even an exam. Just complete 
trust that he was telling me the truth. Oh, and 
don't forget the fact my ova where removed by 
the evil forces in the government, who also 
kidnapped me, put an implant in my neck, and 
gave me cancer. 

     The rantings of an insane woman.

     She was sure Dr. Lipton would call security to 
haul her off if she told her the truth. But she was 
waiting for her to answer.

     "No."

     "No?" Dr. Lipton looked up surprised.

     "No," Dana repeated firmly. "If you don't mind, I 
would like to just proceed with the exam. I'm late 
for work." She laid back on the examination table, 
thus ending the conversation.

     Dr. Lipton visibly swallowed her angry. "Well, 
since it has been over a year since you were 
here, I'd like to do a full exam and PAP smear." 
She opened the door to summon the nurse 
without even waiting for Dana's consent.

     Why did I agree to this? She pulled the flimsy 
paper gown together in front where it was 
beginning to gap open. She had actually 
intended to skip this horror and use a mirror to 
examine herself and make sure the sutures had 
healed properly. But her mother had insisted. 
And she was just too tired to argue. 

     Dr. Lipton was now standing beside the table, 
while Sarah, the same nurse Dana had locked 
horns with only 10 minutes before, was setting up 
all the various medical instruments and tools of 
torture. Dana found herself studying the clock on 
the wall while Dr. Lipton began her check-up in 
complete silence. And tried not to wince while 
she examined her breasts.

     "Any tenderness?"

     "No," she lied. But how the hell could she tell, 
when she was still healing from 5 broken ribs? 
Every inch of her bruised body ached when she 
moved the wrong way. 

     Dr. Lipton proceeded to move down the table 
and guided Dana's feet into the stirrups. Sarah 
snapped a latex glove over the doctor's right 
hand.

     Dana braced herself for the examination and 
closed her eyes. Okay, it's true, she thought. 
Doctors do make the worst patients. And she 
began to list everything she needed to 
accomplish at work, assuming she ever got there.

     "Hmmm." Dr. Lipton's concerned voice caught 
Dana's attention and caused her to open her 
eyes. She was using her ungloved left hand to 
push down on Dana's abdomen. "Hmmm," she 
repeated. She moved away from the table and 
said, "You can sit up now." And the exam was 
over. 

     Dr. Lipton turned her back to her and flung the 
used glove into the red medical waste container. 
She quietly walked back over to the desk and 
began looking over Dana's latest medical 
information again. Dana struggled to an upright 
position, feeling horribly slimy and anxiously 
awaiting the opportunity to get dressed.

     "Well, you have healed nicely," Dr. Lipton 
began with her head still buried in Dana's chart. 
"I see here that your cancer is still in remission. 
When was your last check-up with your 
oncologist?"

     What exactly was she getting at? Dana 
thought. "Two months ago." MRIs, blood work, 
everything had been normal. 

     "Hmmm." 

     Dana was starting to get more than a little 
apprehensive with the latest line of questioning. 
What exactly did the doctor suspect? After a long 
wait, Dana finally had her answer.

     "I think I may have found the cause of your 
missed menstrual period. Your uterus seems to 
be unusually large. I suspect you may have a 
mass growing inside of it. Possibly a fibroid tumor 
or..."

     "Or a malignancy." Dana finished the sentence 
for her. She unconsciously reached a hand 
behind her neck and began to feel the scar 
above her implant. The implant that was suppose 
to keep anything like this from happening. The 
implant that Mulder had brought her to save her 
life. 

     Dr. Lipton must have seen the distress on her 
face because she quickly continued. "Dana, we 
can't jump to any conclusions. I'm going to send 
you downstairs for an ultrasound. After that, we'll 
have a better idea of what we're dealing with. Go 
ahead and get dressed. Sarah will call 
downstairs and set everything up for you." 

     Dr. Lipton turned to leave, but turned back 
around once she had reached the door. "Oh, and 
Dana. You may want to call your work and tell 
them that you're probably not going to make it in 
today." With that, she shut the door behind her.

     

     

     She hadn't called Mulder. Or Skinner. Or her 
mother. She had just come home after the 
ultrasound, took her phone off the hook, and laid 
down on the sofa, pulling her white throw over 
her and wrapping it tightly around her shoulders.

     She had laid there the rest of the afternoon, 
watching the shadows on the wall as the sun set. 
She had occasionally dosed off, sleeping a 
restless, dreamless sleep. But mostly she had 
stared at the armchair across the room. She 
thought about her father's appearance in that 
armchair after his death. She had come to accept 
that vision as real. But what the ultrasound had 
revealed...was it a vision? A miracle? A figment of 
her imagination? She felt so confused, almost 
hoping that maybe once again Ahab would 
appear in that same chair, giving her the answers 
she sought. 

     When is it going to end? she thought as she 
absentmindedly thumbed the gold cross hanging 
from her neck. When exactly had it been decided 
that Dana Scully was no longer a human being, 
but the lab rat for the cosmos? Was it something 
they had conceived from the start, or had each 
piece slowly fallen into place as they 
contemplated ways to make her life a living hell? 
Were they now testing her loyalty to Mulder once 
again? Or just seeing how much she could take? 
Or was this something more?

     Any first year med student would have 
recognized what the ultrasound had revealed. 
The technician didn't even have to say anything. 
Obviously the look on Dana's face told her that 
Dana knew exactly what she was looking at. And 
the rest of the test had been conducted in total 
silence, with only the quiet rhythm of the fetus' 
rapid heartbeat filling the room.

     Dana had immediately thought of Emily. 
Sweet, little Emily. Her sad, blue eyes looking up 
at her face as she laid dying in her hospital bed. 
Her green blood oozing through her veins.

     Stop it. STOP IT. It was an hallucination. An 
horrible, extremely cruel hallucination. After all, 
the technician didn't actually say a word. And she 
hadn't returned to Dr. Lipton's office after the 
ultrasound to discuss the results. She had left in 
such a rush of emotions. One minute, she was 
sure she had another tumor. The next...what? A 
miracle? A miraculous conception? That had only 
happened once before, and even the Virgin Mary 
had ova to work with. 

     Now it was dusk. By now, she expected 
Mulder would be leaving the basement and 
heading home, wondering where she was. 

     Mulder. Oh, god, what was she going to tell 
Mulder? More importantly, how was she going to 
tell Mulder something that she couldn't believe 
herself even after she had seen it with her own 
two eyes? She had watched in wide-eyed horror 
as the technician measured the length of her 
uterus' intruder as well as her uterus' size. The 
screen displayed the same calculation over and 
over: 9 weeks gestational age. The relief she felt 
knowing conception had taken place before the 
rape disappeared when she calculated that it 
would have taken place approximately when the 
dreams started. 

     The dreams. 

     Now she probably was going to have to tell 
Mulder about the dreams. All the dreams and 
what they had been about. She couldn't decide 
how he would react to them. Or even if she 
should tell him at all. 

     And if she told him about her...hallucination, 
what would he say? After all, he never believed 
any of the miracles she felt sure she had 
witnessed. Would he rather believe she was 
once again invaded by cancer? She didn't know.

     At that moment, there was a knock at her door. 
She didn't move. She knew who it was. Maybe if 
she was very quiet...

     "Scully, open up. It's me."

     Dana closed her eyes and listened to her 
ragged breathing. She wasn't ready to face him. 
She hadn't rehearsed what she was going to tell 
him yet. Or even decided if she would tell him 
anything. She still needed to straighten it out in 
her own mind.

     "Scully, I know you're home."

     Damn, Dana thought. There goes hoping he'd 
just leave. Oh, well, it was worth one last futile 
attempt. "Go away, Mulder." 

     She wasn't surprised to hear his key turning in 
the lock. She was surprised he had actually 
knocked in the first place.

     She heard him come in and lock the door 
behind him. She could imagine him pausing, 
looking around the apartment for her.

     "Scully, why are you sitting in the dark?"

     "I must have fallen asleep," she lied. She said 
it quietly, without bothering to move. She wished 
she could just sink into the sofa and disappear. 
However, it was already too late for that. He had 
rounded the corner of the sofa in a few long 
strides and was already kneeling on the floor in 
front of her, staring right into her face. 

     "Why didn't you come in today?"

     "Mulder, I..."

     "I was worried. I called your mother. She said 
you had a doctor's appointment this morning. Are 
you okay?" He seemed a little uncomfortable with 
the subject. Dana guessed her mother had also 
told him what kind of doctor's appointment she 
had.

     "Yes, Mulder. I told you about my appointment 
last night."

     "Oh." There was a long pause before he said, 
"Everything okay?" He had said it with a smile, 
trying to sound casual, to break the somber mood 
in the apartment. But when she didn't answer, he 
became visibly anxious.

     "Scully...everything is okay... isn't it?"

     "Mulder...I..." What, what? A tumor? Alien 
baby? Elvis' return from the dead? Complete 
psychosis? She ran both the rational and 
irrational options over in her mind, trying to 
decided which to start with. She impulsively 
decided to go with her old stand-by, as meek as it 
was. "...I'm fine."

     He just sat there, looking at her skeptically. 
The silence in the apartment was deafening. After 
what seemed like several minutes, but was 
probably only a few seconds, she decided she 
was going to need to continue, if only to come up 
with a better explanation of her absence.

     "There was initially some concern that I might 
have an uterine tumor."

     He visibly gulped in a breath. "Scully, how..."

     She cut him off. "But, tests revealed that it was 
nothing more than a benign mass." Okay, that 
was a lie. She knew it. This was definitely 
something more than that. Maybe she should 
have had the damn thing biopsied. As soon as 
she thought it, she winced. Biopsied was a polite 
word for what she was thinking.

     He was still looking at her. She realized she 
was still laying on the sofa with the throw 
wrapped around her shoulders. I guess I don't 
look like a women who has just avoided another 
death sentence, she thought. She pushed herself 
up into a sitting position.

     "Look, it's been a very emotional day. If you 
don't mind..."

     "There's another reason I came over here. 
They found a body in Florida that matches the 
description of one of the missing women. Skinner 
assigned us the case this morning. I was on my 
way to the airport."

     She looked at him startled.

     "I tried to call," he said, "but I couldn't get 
through. I thought maybe you had taken the 
phone off the hook."

     "Oh, yeah. I was trying to sleep." Feeble, she 
thought. Really feeble.

     After staring at her for several more eternal 
seconds, he started to rise. 

     "Look, I've booked us on a flight in an hour. 
You don't have to..."

     "No, I'm ready to go. I packed yesterday. I'll 
just get my..."

     "You really don't..."

     "No, Mulder. I do." And she was off the sofa 
and heading towards her bedroom before he 
could say another word. Delicate flower, my ass, 
Dana thought as she grabbed her suitcase. 

     Besides, nothing like a case to get her mind off 
her own...problems. She needed time and 
something to put her back up against. This might 
be just the thing.

     

     

     She leaned her head back against the seat 
and closed her eyes. DC to Miami. Two and a 
half hours. Plenty of time to...

     The sensation of a manila folder landing in her 
lap broke her train of thought. She opened her 
eyes and looked down. The case file. It had 
grown considerable since yesterday.

     "I thought we could use this opportunity to 
discuss some of the more interesting aspects of 
this case," Mulder said from the seat beside her. 

     "Sure. Fine. Whatever." she sighed. Forget 
about relaxing. Or thinking. She was in Mulder's 
world again.

     "Look, Scully, you can blow this off if you want. 
But we need to go over some background 
information. I want you up on the facts when we 
get to Miami."

     "Facts, Mulder? Or speculations?"

     "Facts, Scully. Besides," he said as a little 
smirk crossed his face, "you missed my slide 
show this morning. This won't be nearly as 
impressive, but I still think you'll find this 
information essential to understanding the 
nuances of this case."

     She spent the next 2 hours listening to Mulder 
talk about some of the more bizarre aspects of 
voodoo. From his fixation on zombification, secret 
societies, and black magic, she wondered if he 
knew that voodoo was a syncretic religion 
created from the merging of Catholicism with 
West African tribal deities. She thought she had 
reminded him of that when they were at the 
Haitian resettlement camp, but as always, he 
chose to ignore the more mundane aspects. His 
next chosen topic confirmed her suspicions.

     "It's possible that the latest disappearances 
have to do with a spirit know as tonton macoute."

     Her raised eyebrow was all the urging he 
needed to go on. "It loosely translates to mean... 
the bogeyman."

     "The bogeyman?" She had to bite her lip hard 
on the inside to keep from laughing. And she 
knew he could tell that she was trying not to 
laugh. "You mean to tell me you are dragging me 
all the way to Miami to hunt for the bogeyman?" 
She said it incredulously, but she knew that he 
had led her on wilder hunts before.

     "I didn't drag you, Scully. You insisted."

     Oh, yeah. She had temporarily forgotten. She 
let a couple of beats skip before she started 
again.

     "Mulder... the bogeyman?"

     "Look, I know it's not very original, Scully. But 
it's a spirit that repeatedly is blamed for all kinds 
of vile acts by black magic practitioners. It 
supposedly invades worshipers, causing them to 
commit acts ranging from cannibalism to human 
sacrifices."

     "And you think we may be looking at some sort 
of human sacrifice."

     "Either that or zombification. These women 
could be missing because of a spell placed on 
them by a black magician, called a bokors."

     "Oh, come on, Mulder, you know that 
zombification is the results of brain damage 
caused by ingesting a variety of toxic substances. 
Remember the tetrodotoxin we found in that 
soldier in North Carolina? Subjects either 
knowingly or unknowingly swallow a powerful 
combination of intoxicating drugs that slow the 
body's functions to the point of comatose. When a 
powerful antidote is administered to the 
apparently dead victim, he or she appears to be 
raised from the dead. Brain damaged and very 
controllable. But still very much alive."

     He looked surprised, but pleased that she had 
done some of her homework. And ready to give 
her his standard speech again about opening 
herself up to extreme possibilities. She cut him off 
before he had a chance.

     "I promise to keep my mouth shut for an 
acceptable amount of time when we get to Miami. 
Just let me review the file before we discuss any 
more of your...uh..facts." If only he knew how 
extreme some of the possibilities she was 
considering in her own life were.

     He didn't say another word until they were 
safely on the ground in Miami.

     

     

     Miami was humid. Incredibly humid, Dana 
thought as she turned up the air conditioner in 
her motel room. Plus the whole city reeked of 
sulfur. And she hated it.

     She had been up for over 36 hours. From the 
moment the plane touched down at Miami 
International, she had chased Mulder from the 
Miami field office, to the location where the local 
authorities had recovered what had positively 
been identified as one of the missing women, to 
the Dade County morgue. From there, he had left 
her alone to conduct her autopsy, running off to 
interview various voodoo priests and priestesses 
who claimed to have information about the case. 
And she had welcomed the solitude.

     The autopsy. Not since med school had her 
stomach literally threaten to heave with every 
move she made. She wanted to blame it on lack 
of sleep, and the fact that she hadn't eaten since 
breakfast the day before. Woofing down some 
vending machine peanut butter and cheese 
crackers had helped. To a point. But other than 
the expected signs of decay, and the fact that the 
body was covered in a crystallized white 
substance, nothing was unusually gruesome 
about this particular death. Certainly nothing to 
cause her to continually pause to get her gag 
reflex under control. 

     Nothing like a few symptoms to really make an 
hysterical pregnancy convincing, she told herself. 

     The woman had been missing for close to 7 
months, but Dana estimated that death occurred 
no more than 72 hours earlier. The woman was 
in her early thirties, a recent immigrant from Haiti, 
and the white crystals covering her body 
contrasted eerily to her dark skin. Dana had 
scrapped the white substance into a specimen 
vile and sent it to the lab for analysis. 

     She had died from severe trauma to the head, 
probably caused by being hit with a rock or other 
blunt instrument. In fact, nothing had been 
remarkable about this woman's death at all. 
Except for when it had occurred. 

     The woman had given birth within minutes of 
her death. 

     That had been the discovery that sent her 
standing over the sink, eyes closed, arms bracing 
her for the inevitable release that surely would 
come with such an intense wave of nausea. But it 
didn't happen, and slowly she had regained the 
composure to return to the task at hand. The case 
file had made no mention of the woman being 
pregnant at the time of her disappearance. But 
the evidence was undeniable that she had 
delivered at full-term.

     Now it was late afternoon, and she was finally 
at the motel and determined to rest before she 
completed her autopsy report. Let Mulder chase 
away the bogeyman, she thought. She'd had 
enough for one day.

     Dana laid down on top of motel bedspread, 
not even bothering to undress. God, she was 
exhausted. And in a matter of minutes, she was 
deep asleep. 

     

     She was laying on the motel bed, still in her 
clothes. Around her, an army of tow-headed 
children in sailor suits vaporously filled the room. 

       I'm dreaming, Dana thought. Sort of a von 
Trappe family meets children of the corn kind of 
dream, but nevertheless, a pretty intense dream. 

     She turned to look at the face of the child 
standing closest to her. A boy of about six, 
bearing a striking resemblance to Emily. She 
held out her hand, and the boy took it while 
stepping in closer to the bed. 

     Sadly she studied his face, knowing that it was 
her own face she was looking into. He returned 
her gaze, actually leaning forward until their 
noses were only inches apart.

     And in the sticky slowness that could only 
accompany a dream, the realization came to her 
that something was unexpectedly wrong with the 
face she was looking into. Instead of the intense 
blue pools that Emily had, the eyes that she 
expected, she gasped at the face before her. 

     Hazel eyes.

     

     Thump. Thump. Thump.

     "Scully! Open up!"

     Dana rubbed her eyes and stumbled in the 
darkness towards the door. She vaguely knew 
she had been having a bad dream, but Mulder's 
knocking on the door had startled her awake, and 
she had lost the dream immediately.

     She opened the motel door, and Mulder 
pushed his way into the room. He was drenched 
from head to toe, apparently trying to use the 
Miami Herald as a shield against the torrential 
downpour that had begun since she fell asleep.

     "Jesus, Mulder. Don't you ever carry an 
umbrella?"

     "Nope. Don't you ever turn on some lights?"

     Mulder flipped on the motel lamp beside the 
television. The sudden light made her squint and 
shield her eyes with one hand. She knew Mulder 
knew that she was sleeping and he had woke her 
up. It just didn't matter to him. He was about to 
burst with whatever he needed to tell her, and he 
was almost visible shaking with the effort to 
contain himself until her eyes adjusted to the light 
and she was able to turn her full attention to him.

     "Let me guess. You found the bogeyman."

     "Yeah, and he's a nice guy with two kids and a 
SUV, just a little misunderstood." Mulder waited a 
beat. Sometimes she could almost hear the drum 
rift he was playing in his head after he delivered 
his standard dry one-liners. As usual, he was 
smiling vainly at his own wit. "Seriously, Scully, 
let me guess what the substance on the victim's 
skin was."

     "Okay, Mulder. I'll humor you. What was it?"

     "Salt."

     She walked over to her PowerBook and 
picked up the lab reports she had careless 
thrown on the table in her fatigue. She hadn't 
even looked at the results of the substance 
analysis earlier. Now she scanned the page 
quickly for it.

     Sodium chloride. Table salt. He was right. He 
didn't even have to ask. He had already read her 
face to know he was right and was off and 
running on his explanation.

     "Voodoo followers believe salt to have a wide 
variety of powerful properties. One of which is the 
ability to turn the walking dead into simply the 
dead."

     "De-zombification?" Her skeptical questioned 
didn't even give him pause.

     "Well, not exactly. It doesn't return their souls. It 
just allows them to return to their graves."

     She nodded. She wasn't sure where Mulder 
was going with this, especially when it was 
obvious to anyone who had viewed the body that 
the woman had died of a blow to the head. The 
bashed-in skull was a dead giveaway.

     "There's a problem though."

     Only one, Mulder? She hadn't said it aloud, 
but she wished she had.

     "In order to work, the salt is suppose to be 
eaten."

     Okay, that was a problem. This woman... 
zombie...victim had not ingested any of the 
sodium chloride on her skin. Nor had she inhaled 
any. It was fairly obvious that the substance had 
been applied shortly following her death. And 
she told him so and also used the opportunity to 
poke a little fun at his theory. "Maybe our victim 
was on a low-sodium diet?"

     Mulder just glared at her. He apparently didn't 
think she was funny. She continued anyway.

     "There's also another pretty significant finding 
that doesn't substantiate your zombie theory." 
Zombie theory. Only she and Mulder would be 
having a conversation, again, about another case 
that contained a seriously considered zombie 
theory. 

     "The woman had recently given birth," Mulder 
confidently broke in. She could see the 
scoreboard in his eyes: Agent Mulder 2, Agent 
Scully 0. 

     "How'd you..."

     "They found the baby 10 minutes ago about a 
half-mile from where the woman was found." 
Mulder paused for effect. "Also covered in salt."

     Dana turned without saying another word and 
wearily walked to the closet and grabbed her 
overcoat and umbrella. It was definitely going to 
be a bumpy night, chasing zombies and the 
bogeyman with the FBI boy wonder. She 
sarcastically wondered what wonderful deed she 
had done to deserve a partner like Mulder. 

     

     

     Autopsy number two had definitely marked a 
new low point in the case for Dana. This time, 
besides constantly battling nausea...Besides 
reminding her of the last time she had examined 
a newborn during that horrible case in Home, 
Pennsylvania...Besides the grotesque fact that 
the baby's death occurred so close to its birth that 
the umbilical cord and placenta were still 
attached...Besides the frustration she felt 
because she couldn't determine a cause of 
death...Besides being dead on her feet and 
famished from not having a meal in two 
days...Besides the emotional implications of the 
death of a life that was just beginning...Besides 
the fact that she was slowly coming out of her 
shock from the doctor's office...Besides having 
the realization in the middle of the autopsy that 
she might carry a life inside of her closely 
resembling the one she was 
examining....Besides all that, Mulder spent the 
entire autopsy standing less than two feet behind 
her, scrutinizing her every move.

     She had never been so glad to change out of 
her scrubs. Mulder was waiting in the hall for her, 
popping sunflower seeds. 

     "So, Scully. You hungry?"

     Unbelievable, she thought. Un-fucking-
believable.

     

     

     It was another one of Mulder's brilliant ideas. 
When he found out that the next Saturday was a 
traditional Vodun ritual day, he had located an 
agent from the Miami field office that could take 
them to a ritual site and explain the ceremony. 
Agent Beaubrun explained to them that his 
parents had come to Miami from Haiti before he 
was born. And although he had been exposed to 
Voodoo growing up in Miami, he had never 
actually practiced it, much to Mulder's 
disappointment . He seemed willing enough to 
accompany them, though, even if it was his day 
off. 

     Now she knew that Mulder's constant 
questions were throwing the Miami agent a little 
off guard. Beaubrun kept glancing back at her, 
where she had leaned back against the low wall 
in the back of the shed, her arms crossed. Mulder 
and Beaubrun were standing at a respectable 
distance from the ritual, a fact that was probably 
driving Mulder crazy. Dana had purposely chose 
to stand even farther back, where she could 
remain a skeptical observer, and check her watch 
frequently, without offending any of the believers 
which filled the covered area in front of her. 
Besides, she needed to get away from Mulder, 
even if it was only by a few feet. He was driving 
her crazy, not only because of his insistence to 
continue investigating the voodoo link to the 
case, but also because almost everything he had 
done since their arrival in Miami had grated at 
her already raw nerves. 

     She still wasn't sure what Mulder's real 
objective in all of this was. Other than the fact that 
all of the missing women had been Mambos, or 
voodoo priestesses, and all had arrived in the 
Miami area from Haiti in the last two years, there 
still was no hard evidence to relate the 
disappearances and deaths to voodoo. And after 
his zombie theory, which she had made fun of, he 
hadn't discussed any of the other possibilities 
that she knew where floating around in that head 
of his. On the bright said, she thought, at least he 
hasn't tried the old alien abduction theory again. 

      Honestly, she was as baffled by their first set 
of recovered victims as he was. The salt, the 
timing of the death, the baby that died of no 
apparent cause, none of it made any sense. But 
unlike Mulder, she wasn't jumping to any 
conclusions yet. And she felt rather sure that they 
weren't going to find any answers here.

     She couldn't hear what Beaubrun was 
explaining to Mulder, but she could see the 
Vodun priest in the middle of the shed pouring 
flour on the ground in a design around a rainbow 
painted center post. A fire blazed nearby, even 
though it was at least 90 degrees. The priest 
finished his design and blew a hand full of flour in 
each direction. Almost immediately, the crowd of 
believers erupted in something Dana vaguely 
recognized as prayer. 

     She listened carefully to the strange French 
dialect and realized what they were saying. The 
Our Father. But as soon as she recognized it, it 
was over. And a section of the crowd dressed in 
ceremonial African costumes began a strange, 
hypnotic chant. 

     The priest began violently striking the floured-
covered ground with a staff topped by a large 
rattle. The priest's face contorted in rage, and he 
shouted unrecognizable words at the crowd. 
Dana found herself instinctively flinching with 
each earthen thud of the staff.

     Chanting men and women came forward and 
placed what appeared to be offering jars on the 
concrete footing of the center post. A man lead a 
terrified white sheep into the floured area and 
tied it to the post, where it bleated and tugged 
against its short restraint to no avail. Nearby her, 
a group of women who she thought were only 
watching the ritual began to wail and chant as 
well, causing the sheep to attempt a futile bolt to 
the other side of the post. 

     Throughout the crowd, celebrants were yelling 
and falling forward, staggering towards the center 
of the shed. Slowly a group of seven men and 
women became the focus of the ritual, each 
struggling and flailing their arms against some 
unforeseen attacker. Their bodies shook, 
muscles flexed and spasmed, as if they no longer 
had control. Each of the seven was accompanied 
by a lucid celebrant, who guarded them from the 
crowd and removed their shoes. The chanting of 
the crowd became accented by the terrified 
screams and yells of the seven and the ever 
increasing cries of the sheep. The panicked 
animal was visibly shaking, its legs wobbling 
unsteadily. Dana's own knees threatened to 
buckle, and she leaned back hard against the 
wall for support. She watched the sheep in rapt 
horror as it darted first in one direction and then 
the other, looking for an escape.

     At that moment, Mulder turned his head 
around and looked at her. He had the biggest, 
goofiest smile on his face she had ever seen.

     The priest continued striking the ground with 
his staff, and although the sound was drowned 
out by the intonations of the crowd, Dana's 
heartbeat reverberated through her body in sync 
with each strike.

     Suddenly, the seven stopped struggling all at 
once. Each began to dance wildly, yelling in 
strange gibberish. They began taunting the 
crowd, yelling and pushing nearby observers. 
One of the men turned and walked through the 
blazing fire without flinching.

     The bleating of the sheep had reached a point 
that if it didn't stop soon, Dana thought she would 
scream. At that moment, the priest picked up a 
sword and in one swoop cut the throat of the 
sheep still tied to the center post, its last cry 
ending in a gurgle as it slumped to the ground. 
Dana winced and turned away from the scene. 
Slowly she began to sink down the wall to the 
ground, hoping that maybe Mulder would get the 
message that she had seen enough and he 
needed to get her out of there.

     She looked up just in time to see the priest fill 
a gourd full of the sheep's blood and begin to 
drink. The blood dripped down the sides of his 
mouth and stained the front of his ceremonial 
robe and shirt. Other followers quickly gathered 
around to partake in the macabre libation, 
devouring it as greedily as he did. Dana's hand 
flew to her mouth, and her eyes clamped tight, 
trying to shut out the image that she was sure 
was going to make her stomach empty its merger 
contents once again. 

     When she opened her eyes, she expected to 
see Mulder standing over her. Instead she slowly 
became aware of a perceptible change in the 
crowd. Where celebrants and observers had 
stood in front of her before, now she had a very 
clear view of the center post and the dancing 
seven, which were now slumped to the ground. 
The still chanting crowd had parted in front of her, 
although their tone had changed from manic to 
reverent. Dana became increasingly 
uncomfortable as she realized every eye was 
now focused on her. Had she done something to 
offend them? Had her sitting on the ground 
caused all this attention? 

     She barely had time to consider the question 
before becoming transfixed. The priest was 
staring her down with hypnotic force. She locked 
on his eyes as he neared closer and closer to 
her. She barely noticed the chanters closing in 
behind him, also inching their way toward her.

     The priest stopped directly in front of her, still 
capturing her with his gaze. Dana was fascinated 
by his eyes, yet terrified by his presence. Blood 
seemed to be everywhere, pulsing through her 
body, pounding in her ears, spread across the 
priest's robes, smeared on his face and dripping 
from the gourd he still held in his hands. She 
forced herself to pull away from the priest's gaze. 
The chanters were deafening, and between the 
chorus and the crowd which had filled in behind 
them, she was completely trapped. Only the 
space of a small half circle separated her from 
the excited mass. All she saw were unfamiliar 
sweat-glisten faces, blood-smeared mouths, and 
intent eyes. She scanned the crowd for Mulder.

     Where the hell was Mulder? 

     She wanted to scream. To cover her ears from 
the chants. To jump up and run. She felt tethered 
like the sheep. But the FBI agent in her told her to 
ignore her urges. To sit and wait. If they were 
going to attack her, which she wasn't sure they 
were, then she was already completely 
outnumbered. And reaching for her gun tucked 
between her jeans and the back of her shirt 
would definitely start a riot. She pushed the 
scream down in her throat. But she noticed that 
she was outwardly betraying the calm demeanor 
she was trying to project. She was shaking from 
head to toe, her lungs forcing air through her 
constricting throat.

     Suddenly, the priest thrust his staff into the air, 
immediately silencing the crowd. He began 
yelling something in French, but still his gaze did 
not leave Dana's face. The crowd seemed to 
respond to his proclamation. Several were 
nodding their heads. She could even hear a few 
sobs from somewhere. But mostly there was 
silence, contrasting completely to only seconds 
before. Her ears were filled by her ragged 
breathing and her heart pounding in her ears.

     Alot of good all that college German is doing 
me, Dana thought. I should have stayed next to 
Mulder and his interpreter.

     The priest took another step toward her and 
bent down. Dana forced herself to remain steady. 
His dark hand reached out and touched her face. 
She could feel the still warm blood on his hand 
smear her cheek. For a moment, their eyes 
locked again and she saw...compassion? 

     "Erzulie!" he yelled, straightening up and 
turning towards the crowd. The blood-curling 
scream made Dana jump. In response, the crowd 
began its deafening chant with renewed frenzy.

     The priest took the bloody gourd, still in his 
hand, and poured its contents on the ground in 
front of Dana. The warm blood splattered up on 
her. She could feel it hitting her bare arms and 
face.

     Then the drums began. They seemed to beat a 
violent, menacing rhythm. The crowd around her 
began clapping.

     That's it, she thought. Enough of the dramatics. 
If she didn't get out of here now, she was 
definitely going to shoot someone. Dana jumped 
to her feet and began looking for a way out of the 
crowd. But the sea of dark faces around her 
seemed to be endless in every direction. 

     Damn it, I'll fight my way out if I have to, she 
thought, preparing herself for a battle.

     At that moment, a hand grabbed her arm. Her 
first instinct was to pull away, but it had a firm 
grasp on her forearm and was pulling her. She 
turned ready to belt whoever it was and was 
surprised to find Mulder.

     "Scully, come on!"

     He had yelled it as loud as he could, but she 
couldn't hear him above the drums, chanting, and 
clapping. Instead, she read his lips and the fear 
in his eyes. He pulled her in front of him and 
attempted to push both of them through the 
crowd. All Dana could see was a sea of dark 
hands reaching out to touch her as she passed. 
Each touch startled her, and she jumped away 
from the sensations. Mulder's chest was right up 
against her back, and she could feel his heart 
pounding as hard as hers. His left arm was trying 
to shield her from the eager crowd, which was 
quickly turning into a mob. Mulder's pace through 
the crowd was deliberately slow and calm. 

     Dana's panic was becoming monumental and 
threatened to completely take over. She started 
to bolt, but Mulder keep a firm grasp on her arm. 

     "Easy, Scully," he said right next to her ear. It 
sounded like a whisper, but he yelled it so she 
could hear him above the noise.

     The crowd was moving with them. Suddenly 
they opened up, revealing Agent Beaubrun's car 
sitting at the edge of the shed, with him in the 
driver's seat, waiting for them with the engine 
running. Mulder steered her to the car, opened 
the back door, and pushed her inside. He 
followed on her heels. She heard the door locks 
click.

     The crowd was now completely surrounding 
the car. Still clapping, still chanting. Faces 
peered into the back windows and hands banged 
against the car. Beaubrun slowly accelerated and 
the crowd parted, following only to the edge of 
the courtyard. 

     Only then did Mulder's hand finally let go of 
her arm. She didn't realize how tightly he was 
holding on to her, until his hand released, and 
she felt the blood flowing back into her lower arm.

     Mulder let out a deep breath and slumped 
back against the seat. "You okay?"

     "Yeah, I think so." The image of the sacrifice 
popped into her head, and she closed her eyes 
and shivered. 

     Dana instinctively flinched away as something 
brushed her face. She opened her eyes to find 
Mulder offering her a handkerchief. 

     "You, uh, have some blood..."

     Oh, God, the blood! Dana snatched the 
handkerchief and began wiping the sheep's 
blood off her face, arms, and hands. She hoped 
her actions didn't appear as frantic as they felt. 
When she thought she had removed all the blood 
she could, she wadded the stained cloth in a ball 
and dropped it on the floorboard of the car.

     After a long pause, Mulder said, "Scully, you're 
safe. You can stop shaking now."

     She looked down at her hands. They were 
indeed shaking. As was her whole body. She 
took a deep breath with a gulp and found her 
voice. "What the hell was that?" she said softly.

     "Damniest thing I've ever seen," Beaubrun 
replied. "For some reason, they seem to think 
you're Erzulie."

     Dana looked at Mulder, and he looked back at 
her. Nope, he didn't have a clue either. 

     "What's erzulie?" Mulder said.

     "Not what, who," Beaubrun corrected. "She's 
the Vodun loa of love, kind of like the perfect 
female. The closest approximation in Western 
religion would probably be the Virgin Mary."

     With that, Mulder let out a big snicker. Dana 
shot him a look, but his only response was to 
lean over and whisper, "I guess they were a little 
off on that one, huh?"

     Dana chose to ignore him. "Where they'd get 
an idea like that?" The crazy answer that ran 
through her mind was never spoken.

     "I have no idea. I've never seen anything like 
it. And what I can't get is that they weren't even 
invoking Erzulie."

     "Well," Mulder began with a big grin on his 
face, "it wouldn't be the first time someone 
thought you were possessed."

     Great, Mulder was having a good laugh at her 
expense. All she could do was lean into the 
corner of the back seat and sulk. The idea of 
shocking him with what she was coming to 
believe was sounding better and better.

     "No, Agent Mulder, you don't understand." 
Beaubrun was very seriously looking back at 
them in the rear view mirror. "They didn't think 
Agent Scully was possessed by Erzulie. They 
thought she was Erzulie. The actual living 
embodiment of her."

     That shut Mulder up for the rest of the trip back 
to the motel.

     

     

     Ten days on the case from hell, Dana thought. 
Hot, humid hell. And they were no closer to 
solving the case than when they had arrived in 
Miami. 

     She laid on the motel bed surrounded by 
pieces of the case file. The first few frantic days of 
the case had melted into long, slow days of little 
progress and no new leads. She and Mulder had 
spent the last two evenings reviewing every 
piece of evidence, every detail of the autopsy 
reports, every black and white glossy of the 
locations where the bodies where found, every 
statement from possible witnesses and even 
those of some freaks. And still they had nothing. 
Nothing that is except Mulder's zombie and 
bogeyman theories. And even he had 
abandoned them.

     So now she sat on the bed in an oversized t-
shirt and panties staring blankly at the papers 
and photos surrounding her. Normally, she would 
have put on her silk pajamas after her shower, 
but it was just so damn hot. Even with the air 
conditioner on full-blast, the room still wasn't 
sufficiently cool. She felt the t-shirt sticking to her 
skin in all the wrong places. She just wasn't 
comfortable.

     Mulder had said good night over an hour ago 
and retreated frustrated to the adjoining room. 
She could hear him flipping television channels 
through the half-open door between them. 

     She had finally given up on trying to shut the 
door that separated their rooms. Every time she 
tried, Mulder seemed to open it again. The fact 
that he had left it open when he had first left her 
room was odd, but after she got up to close it the 
first time, he had knocked and asked to look for 
his favorite pen. She had let him look, although 
how anyone could become so attached to a Bic 
disposable was beyond her. Once again he left 
the door half-open, and once again she had 
made a special trip across the room to shut it. The 
next time he knocked to ask if she had any ice. 
Then he knocked again to see if she wanted any 
of the ice he had just gotten. Then he checked to 
see if she had a television listing. Then if channel 
33 had as much static on her set as it did on his. 
Each time she had deliberately shut the door. 
The final time he knocked on her door, he 
pointedly opened it to its current position before 
she could make it across the room, mumbled 
something like "never mind" and retreated to his 
bed to began flipping channels yet again. After 
six annoying trips across the room to answer his 
knock, Dana had decided she had had enough 
and just left it open. He hadn't returned since.

     Her room was in semi-darkness, except for the 
light illuminating from the lamp beside the bed 
and the television in front of her. The Curse of the 
Mummy, or some other B-movie like it, was on. 
But she wasn't really paying attention to it either. 
She had lowered the volume almost to mute.

     Dana was taking another inventory in her mind 
of her physical symptoms. She had done it at 
least 4 times a day over the past few days. And 
every day, her diagnosis was the same.

     Amenorrhea for over 2 months. She was pretty 
sure of that, although she still couldn't remember 
exactly when her last menstrual cycle had begun.

     Nausea all day and night. Especially when 
she hadn't eaten recently. Whoever decided to 
call it morning sickness was totally mislead. 
Although it was worse very first thing in the 
morning. This morning she had jumped out of 
bed, awakened by Mulder when a call came in 
that the body of another young women had been 
found. And she was soon paying for her 
enthusiasm by sitting on the bathroom floor in 
front of the toilet, waiting to throw up once again. 
Unfortunately, she hadn't. Instead she had felt 
horribly sick the rest of the morning. Luckily, the 
body turned out not to be one of their missing 
women.

     Frequent urination. Oh, yeah. Mulder was 
getting a little peeved about that one. Especially 
the last couple of days, when they had been 
together pretty much constantly. It was becoming 
pretty obvious that her frequent trips to the 
bathroom were getting on his nerves. He had 
even made a comment about her cutting back on 
liquids.

     Tender, swollen breast. Definitely. Not that her 
ribs weren't still bothering her a little, but she was 
distinctly aware of both breasts feeling very 
uncomfortable. And her bras were getting more 
than a little snug. In fact, if they didn't get back to 
DC soon, she might have to go shopping. Boy, 
Mulder was going to love that one.

     Darkening of areola. Maybe a little. That one 
she couldn't be sure about.

     Food cravings. Not that craving chocolate was 
that unusually for her. Although the three candy 
bars she had downed in front of Mulder two 
nights ago had even left his mouth gaping. But 
tonight's dinner of Cuban black beans and 
chicken, that was something she wouldn't have 
wanted everyday. But she had to have something 
spicy, and Mulder had been happy to comply. 
And he marveled at her zeal in eating it.

     Enlarging uterus and abdomen. Dr. Lipton had 
told her that her uterus was enlarged, and she 
had no reason to question her diagnosis. And 
now, she could press down on her abdomen and 
feel its hardness inside of her. Already her 
usually flat abdomen bulged out ever so slightly 
over the hard area when she laid on her back. It 
would only be a matter of time. 

     Even without the ultrasound's results, which 
she wasn't totally ready to believe, she would be 
coming to the same diagnosis. In fact, if any other 
female under the age of fifty had come to her with 
her symptoms, it would have been her first 
conclusion. 

     But she wasn't any other female. 

     Dana laid in the semi-dark room replaying in 
her mind Mulder's explanation of how her ova 
were taken. And tried to imagine under what 
circumstances he could have been wrong. 

     She replayed the dreams, one at a time in 
chronological order. Even the last, most painful 
one. And tried to figure out exactly what could 
have happened to cause the physical 
manifestations of the final dream. She believed 
she was attacked and raped, the evidence 
proved that, although now she wasn't sure by 
who. But she was sure that her pregnancy, if it 
was real, wasn't a result of her rape. The timing 
wasn't right. 

     Wasn't it possible that the other dreams also 
had elements of consciousness to them? Wasn't 
it possible that someone had come in the night 
and impregnated her? Or at least made love to 
her? It wasn't like she had resisted her phantom 
lover. 

     With all these thoughts running through her 
mind, Dana's eyes became heavy and she feel 
asleep.

     

     She slowly became aware of lying in a sterile 
examination room, bathed in white light. But this 
was different than the other nightmares she had 
about this place. This was not a memory. This 
was something new.

     Squinting away from the light, she could see a 
tray of sterile instruments on gauze. And a hand 
gloved in latex reaching for and removing a 
syringe from the tray.

     Her eyes followed the hand down her body, to 
a person hidden by her draped legs, which she 
suddenly realized were strapped to stirrups. She 
became aware of the pressure of the speculum.

     She felt the prick of the syringe as it came in 
contact with her cervix, causing her body to 
quiver. She began to struggle, only to discover 
she was also strapped to the table. The hand 
once again reached for an instrument off the 
table, this time picking up a curette.

     Terror rose in her throat with the sudden 
realization of what was happening. No! she 
thought. This is not what she wanted! She had 
wanted a child for so long that she would never 
willingly let go. She wanted to scream, to jump off 
the table, and run far away from this horrible 
place. But she couldn't move or make a sound. 
Only lay there and listen to her pounding heart.

     Her eyes followed the hand once again to the 
instruments. But this time, instead of the gleam of 
stainless, she realized it had picked up a small 
box.

     A box of Morley's.

     

     Dana sat straight up in bed, gasping for air. 
The lamp was still on beside the bed. The 
television was still glaring quietly, although the 
movie had given way to an infomercial for a food 
dehydrator.

     It had been nothing more than a nightmare, 
but it had hit very close to home. And sitting up 
suddenly had done nothing for her stomach.

     She felt herself gagging even as she leaped 
out of bed and ran for the toilet with one hand 
covering her mouth. She barely made it, and as 
she threw up, she thought about how she was 
never going to eat Cuban black beans again. The 
sound of her heaving filled the small bathroom 
and echoed off the tiles.

     Finally, it was over, and she wearily reached 
up to flush the toilet. She was just about to lay her 
head down on the edge of the seat when a 
familiar voice startled her.

     "Do you what to tell me just what in the hell is 
going on?"

     She looked up to see Mulder, in his boxers 
and a new gray Georgetown t-shirt. She absently 
wondered what had happened to his old one. He 
was leaning against the door frame, his hair was 
sticking up, his arms were crossed, and he 
looked concerned. And pissed.

     "How long have you been standing there?"

     "Long enough to watch you puke up most of 
the dinner I bought you. What's up with you, 
Scully?"

     "I'm sick, Mulder. Get a clue." She went ahead 
and laid her head down on the edge of the toilet 
seat anyway. It felt wonderfully cool. She closed 
her eyes and tried to steady her still nauseated 
stomach.

     She heard the water running and could sense 
Mulder moving around next to her. The sensation 
of cool, wet cloth on the back of her neck startled 
her again.

     "Here." 

     She pulled the wet washcloth around to her 
face and opened her eyes. Mulder was lowering 
himself onto the bathroom floor to sit cross-
legged next to her. He still looked pissed.

     "Scully, you never just get sick. You eat fried 
chicken while looking at corpses. You casually 
examine things that send other agents running 
from the room retching. You have a stomach of 
steel."

     "Even I get sick, Mulder. I am human, you 
know." With that, she hastily rose to a standing 
position and pushed past him and out of the 
room.

     Dana sat down on the bed with her head in 
her hands. Please, Mulder, she thought, don't 
push the issue.

     But of course, he came striding into the room 
after her saying, "No, Scully. I think there's more. 
In the last two weeks, I've personally witnessed 
you tossing your cookies twice..."

     "Tossing my cookies, Mulder?" She looked up 
at him from her hands incredulously. Had he 
really said tossing your cookies?

     But he ignored her interruption. "...and I've 
seen you turn alabaster more times than I can 
count." He was now right in front of her, and he 
took her hands and lowered them from her face. 
"So, what the hell is going on?"

     She looked up and met his eyes, but only for a 
moment. And she took a deep breath.

     "I don't know."

     Mulder dropped her hands and walked over to 
the dresser and leaned against it. She could feel 
his eyes burning a hole in the back of her head. 

     "Do you normally keep things from me, Agent 
Scully?"

     She turned to look at him. She wasn't exactly 
sure what he was implying, but he was definitely 
in his interrogation mode. "No, I don't." She met 
his eyes again and this time held the stare.

     "And you consider yourself pretty open about 
your personal life?"

     "What personal life, Mulder? I really don't have 
one anymore." It was true, but she hadn't meant it 
to sound as bitter as it came out.

     "And you would confide in me if you were 
having any problems with any...uh...substances?" 

     It only took her a second for Mulder's question 
to hit her in the face. And she was up and yelling. 
"What the hell are you saying? That I have a drug 
problem? Where the hell did you get a idea like 
that?"

     "Maybe because you're doing a shitty job on 
this case," Mulder yelled back at her. "Maybe 
because you've been doing a shitty job on 
everything for a couple of months now. You're a 
fucking thousand miles away, Scully. And now 
you're puking or about to all the time and running 
to the bathroom every time I turn around. What 
the hell am I suppose to believe?"

     "Maybe that I'm sick, Mulder. That I have an 
ulcer or gastroenteritis. Wouldn't that be easier to 
believe?" She paused and looked at Mulder 
hard. Was that how he really felt? That she had 
been doing a shitty job? His face was totally void 
of expression, but she could read the rage in his 
eyes. "Besides, when was I suppose to be doing 
these illicit substances? You're never more than 
2 feet away from me. I can't even turn around 
without running into you." 

     "I don't know what to believe anymore, Scully," 
he said bitingly. "You've been doing alot of things 
out of character lately."

     What did that mean? Weren't they just 
discussing about why she was sick? And her job 
performance? And now she wasn't sure what 
they were talking about. She sat down hard on 
the bed.

     "What are you implying?"

     Mulder casually leaned back against the 
dresser and stared her down. "I know, Scully."

     "Know what?" This game was getting old.

     "About your nocturnal activities."

     Obviously, the puzzled look on her face told 
Mulder he needed to continue.

     "You're...uh...male friend."

     "What male friend?" She put her head in her 
hand. Now she was getting a headache.

     "The one you've been entertaining in your 
bedroom."

     "What?!" Dana looked at him, shocked. She 
didn't know exactly what he knew. Or if somehow 
he had crawled inside her head and read her 
dreams. But he definitely knew some version of 
the truth. 

     As if to answer her thoughts, he continued. 
"Your sheets, Dr. Scully. The lab found physical 
evidence of sperm from two different individuals."

     "Mulder, I was raped!" She was on her feet 
again, pacing.

     Mulder angrily grabbed her arm and stopped 
her. "By one man. Or do you wish to revise your 
statement?"

     For a moment, they just stared at each other. 
So, Mulder thought she had been with another 
man. And he was jealous. It was written all over 
him. Dana smugly felt the balance of power shift 
to her favor. And a suddenly realization seemed 
like the way to go.

     "And neither sample matched Krycek?" she 
said without breaking their stare.

     "No." Mulder let go of her arm.

     "And they didn't find any match?"

     Mulder dropped his eyes from her. "The 
tests...one of the samples...was obviously 
contaminated at the crime scene. It's possible I 
may have..."

     "You're the match." She had barely whispered 
it, but he heard her anyway. 

     "Look, Scully. I was upset. I wasn't thinking 
about destroying evidence. I just didn't want you 
to...die." He had actually sounded almost tender 
and remorseful. But then he caught himself. "But 
only one of the samples was contaminated. And 
regardless, it doesn't disguised the fact..."

     "No, I mean, you're the match. You came up in 
the database as the match for one of the 
samples."

     "Yes, but like..." Mulder stopped and looked at 
her puzzled. "Scully, you're not implying what I 
think you're implying?"

     "No, I'm telling you. I know you're the match!" 
She had yelled it, almost relieved.

     "That's impossible."

     "Is it?"

     Mulder's mouth dropped. It was very obvious 
he didn't know what to make of her sudden 
revelation. So Dana continued.

     "I experienced it."

     "Experienced what?"

     "You, Mulder. You and I. I think it happened in 
a dream, thirteen dreams, only they weren't 
dreams. Like my rape, only it wasn't Krycek, and 
it wasn't rape. It was you." God, she wasn't 
making any sense. 

     Mulder paused. Was that shock she saw 
register on his face for a split second? Then he 
abruptly turned away from her. "It couldn't have, 
Scully."

     "Why? Aren't you open to extreme 
possibilities, Agent Mulder?" She meant it to 
sound as sarcastically as she said it.

     He whirled around at her. "No! Yes!" His angry 
was growing. "Look, don't you think that I'd 
remember it?" She had to admit, she didn't have 
a answer for that. And he knew it. "What you're 
telling me, it's crazy."

     "Oh, so now I'm crazy, is that it?"

     "No, Scully. It's just...." She could tell Mulder 
was trying to find the right words. He took a deep 
breath. "Maybe this attack has affected you more 
than you realized. Maybe you should consider 
taking sometime off."

     "Post-traumatic stress, Mulder? And what were 
the dreams before my attack...pre-traumatic 
stress?"

     "No. I don't know. Maybe. Look, Dana. I know it 
didn't happen. You know I'm right. You just need 
to take some time..."

     "Damn it, Mulder, it did happen. And I don't 
need any time. I don't want any time."

     She sat back down on the bed and waited. 
She could tell that he wasn't about to believe her. 
It was more like he was sizing up exactly how 
crazy he thought she was. Finally, he spoke.

     "I want you to go back to DC. Tomorrow."

     She was shocked. "No, I won't...."

     "I'm pulling you off this case, Agent Scully." He 
began walking towards the bedside table.

     "NO!" She jumped up and followed him 
around the bed.

     "Look," Mulder turned towards her, "don't 
make me call Skinner. You know that he will take 
this much more seriously."

     "Take what more seriously?" He wasn't paying 
any attention to her. He had picked up the phone 
and was dialing. "What, Mulder, that I've lost my 
mind?"

     "Maybe." He quickly began to talk into the 
phone. "Yes, I'd like to make a reservation for 
tomorrow morning."

     "Damn it, Mulder. Listen to me!" Her cries were 
in vain. He wasn't listening.

     "Yes, one.... Miami to DC....National."

     "Listen to me!" She had to think of something 
quick. 

     "Dana Katherine Scully....Visa." And he recited 
the number from heart.

     Her next sentence just slipped out, before she 
had time to stop it.

     "Mulder, I'm pregnant."

     He turned and looked at her incredulously, the 
receiver still to his ear. For the first time ever, Fox 
Mulder was actually speechless. The voice on 
the other end brought him back to reality. 
"Ah...yes...I'm still here." He turned and picked up 
the pencil on the table and began writing down 
her flight information on a napkin. "Okay, thanks." 
Mulder put the receiver down, finished writing, 
and turned to walk back to the adjoining door to 
his room. 

     "Your flight information is on the napkin," he 
said without looking at her. "Wake me up, and I'll 
drive you to the airport."

     "Mulder, did you hear me?"

     "Yes." He turned to look at her from the 
doorway to his room. "And we both know that's 
not possible." He turned and went into his room 
and began to shut the door, then stopped leaving 
it partially open. "Get some rest, Scully."

     She just stood in the middle of her motel room, 
feeling angry and confused.

     

     

     Dana reread the e-mail on her PowerBook to 
check once again for typos. She had to be extra 
careful. It had been a long, sleepless night after 
Mulder had left her. And her fatigue always 
seemed to cause her to be especially prone to 
dumb mistakes. 


To: AD Walter Skinner 

From: Dana Scully 

Re: leave of absence

CC: Fox Mulder 

     

Due to recent personal developments, I find it 
impossible at this time to concentrated fully on my 
work as a FBI special agent. It is because of this 
that I am requesting a leave of absence, effective 
immediately. I have surrendered my badge and 
firearm to my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. 

     

I know you will understand, sir, when I tell you 
that I am unable to put a time constraint on my 
return to duty. I hope that you will respect my 
request for privacy regarding this matter and 
allow me to resolve it on my own.

     

Sincerely,

Dana K. Scully

     

     Dana hit the send button, logged out, 
unhooked the computer from the airphone in the 
back of the seat's headrest, and ended her call. 
She then shut the computer down, closed its top, 
and leaned back. 

     The previous evening's argument had taken a 
great toll on her. She wasn't sure how she 
expected Mulder to react, but she never expected 
him to accuse her of being mentally ill. After he 
left her, she had spent the rest of the night 
packing her things in a rage and formulating a 
plan. She wasn't about to leave without letting 
him know that he was wrong. 

     Shortly before dawn, she had left the motel 
and traveled to an all-night pharmacy. There she 
had made her purchases, returned to the motel, 
and put her plan in motion. She left in her rental 
car without waking Mulder.

     She looked at her watch. In an hour or so, 
Agent Beaubrun would be knocking on Mulder's 
motel door with the manila envelope she had left 
with him. Beaubrun had very nicely agreed to 
delivery the contents to Mulder without asking 
about the specifics of her sudden departure. He 
had only seemed genuinely disappointed that 
she was leaving and surprised that she couldn't 
give Mulder the envelope herself.

     She had thought about including a note in the 
envelope, but decided that her rage would only 
make things between them worse. Instead, she 
had simply enclosed its contents and decided to 
let Mulder come to his own conclusions.

     She imagined his face as he opened the 
envelope, knowing that it was her handwriting on 
the outside—Special Agent Fox Mulder the only 
thing she had written. By now, he would have 
realized that she had left for the airport without 
waking him. She wasn't going to give him the 
satisfaction of a good-bye or even a chance to 
apologize for his anger the night before. Plus, 
she seriously doubted he thought an apology 
was in order. 

     She smiled smugly as she tried to image him 
emptying the contents of the envelope, probably 
onto the bed. What was he thinking as each 
piece dropped out of it, and he processed the 
implications of what he was looking at? She 
pictured his face as he looked down on them.

     Her badge, her gun, and the pink stick with the 
unmistakable plus sign on one end.

     She wondered how long it would take him to 
admit he was wrong.

     

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