Title: I’ll Be Seeing You(3/3)
Author: Fox’s Gal

July 14, 1998
7:18 PM
The past three days had been waking nightmares. Every day Scully checked the
mail dreading the arrival of the first letter. Today was no different. She
returned home after another meeting with Charlie. With everything going on, she
found that being with the young boy soothed her. She had treated him to lunch
and brought him a new change of clothes. He had been thrilled, of course. He had
been even more thrilled when she informed him that she knew of a way he could
have a family. An honest to God, real family. She had made an appointment with a
social worker for him. Charlie would have a last name before the week was out.
After taking Charlie to lunch, she returned to the Hoover building. She had
found the remains of the bullet and was awaiting results from ballistics. There
was nothing for her yet though. She stopped in to see Karen and found out that
Sydney was in Boston on an out of town case. She left when the discussion turned
to Scully's health. It was nice to have a good friend who actually gave a shit
about her, but Dana was in no mood to hear about how she should be taking care
of herself. She couldn't eat and hadn't been sleeping more than 3 hours a night
lately.
She walked up to her mailbox and unlocked it. There was a single letter in the
box. Scully felt all the air rush out of her lungs. She stood there a moment,
afraid to touch it. She knew what it was, and she could guess what it contained.
Her body and mind on auto-pilot, she took the letter out of the box. Slowly, she
closed the small door to the mailbox and made her way to her apartment. It took
several tries to get her key in the lock but finally, she was able to open the
door. The steps it took to get to the couch seemed to be too many for her to
handle. She sat on the couch and carefully opened the envelope. The letter was
two pages long; the text, typewritten probably done on a word processor. Scully
felt herself begin to shake as she read.
July 12, 1998
Dear Agent Scully,
I know someone who has an amazing tolerance for pain. As you can imagine, I was
amazed and overjoyed at this discovery. He kept up a stoic front for days,
throwing back witty remarks at my threats and refusing to eat any of the food I
gave him, knowing it was drugged. That was a week ago.
Now he is too weak to talk and too tired to resist crying out as I...play...with
him. He still is stubborn enough to lash out at me on occasion, even when he can
hardly move from the pain or is about to pass out. Remarkable man.
He was, however, pathetically easy to acquire. You would think that a man as
paranoid as he would be more cautious while running. What was he doing jogging
at three in the morning anyway? Wasn't even paying attention to his
surroundings, just running along and staring into space. I simply stepped out of
the alley and shot him. I had a silencer of course, it wouldn't do to wake up
any potential witnesses now would it? Hit him right where I aimed I am pleased
to say. Went clean through his calf muscle, shattering the bone.
He actually stumbled forward a few steps before he collapsed, his leg crumpling
underneath him. I walked up to him and introduced myself as the man that you
both had been seeking for the previous eight days. You know, he didn't seem
surprised at all. Maybe he wanted this to happen, maybe he had gotten so far
into my head, he wanted to be with me. I must say, that profile he wrote on me
was eerily accurate, spooky you might say. Oh, sorry about the mess I made in
his apartment, I had to search it for anything that might incriminate me, you
understand.
I'm rambling. Back to the night this all started. There he was, lying on the
pavement, bleeding all over the place, and acting like I was the one in trouble.
He started reading me my rights. Such tenacity. It took a few good kicks to the
head to shut him up. His head must be as hard as granite. You should have made
sure he ate better though, he was astonishingly lightweight for a man of his
height. I slung him over my shoulder and tossed him into my waiting van. Not a
soul in sight the entire time.
Brought him to my private little 'Shop of Horrors' and gave him the most
comfortable room available. Stone floors and shackles included free of charge.
You know what the first word out of his mouth was when he woke up? Your name.
How sweet. I watched him for a while through the camera I installed a while ago,
modern technology is wonderful don't you agree? He searched for an escape route,
a weak spot in the chains that held him to the floor, a weapon to use against
me. Even tried to get up, somehow he must have forgotten about his useless leg.
Must have hurt like hell when he put weight on it because he let out the most
agonizing sound I have had the pleasure to hear. I decided that was my cue to
bandage the wound up. Couldn't have him die too fast.
It really is amazing what a little iodine and bandages will do. He passed out
when I was done 'cleaning' him up. Lasted longer then I thought he would. We
spent the next few days having 'sessions', as I like to call them. They consist
of me inflicting as much nonlethal pain on him as possible. Quite fun really,
you should try it some time. And there are so many different ways to cause pain.
I intend to try them all before I am through.
She couldn't breathe. All the air had left her lungs and she couldn't fill them
up again. The letter had fallen from her hands and landed on the floor. She
wanted—needed to get up. She didn't trust her legs as she pushed herself off of
the couch. Scully wasn't registering anything except that she was cold. She
hugged her arms to herself and rocked back and forth. Her worst fears had been
confirmed. Of all of the things she had found, this confirmed her fears the
most. She closed her eyes and dared the tears to come. Behind her lids her mind
conjured up an image of Mulder. He probably had a terrible concussion and an
uncontrollable infection in his leg. Oh God, his leg. The bone was shattered…and
it wasn't getting set, nor was it going to get better. A dull throbbing came
from the vicinity of her temples. Scully opened her eyes and found herself
blinded by tears. It was then when she snapped.
"MOTHERFUCKER!!!!! GODDAMN SONOFABITCH!!!! YOU FUCKING SICK PIECE OF SHIT!!!"
The rage she was experiencing was beyond any she had experienced before. The
adrenaline was rushing through her veins, causing her to shake even more. She
whirled around, wanting to throw things, wanting to destroy everything. "FUCKING
BASTARD!!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"
Without realizing what she was doing, she felt the weight of a lamp in her
hands. She hefted it across the room and watched at it shattered against a wall.
Pain spread through her body. Crippling, debilitating pain that made her double
over. She sat back on her haunches and tried to calm herself down. At that
point, Karen's words echoed somewhere in the back of her mind that had, until
this point, remained sane. I wouldn't be surprised if he had somehow watched
Elizabeth Morris as she read the letters. She stood up. He was watching her. He
was watching her and enjoying her pain. She pulled her gun out of her holster
and held it out in front of her. "Where the fuck are you, you sick bastard?
WHERE ARE YOU!?!" She went through her entire apartment and searched for an
intruder.
She did not notice the silent figure watching her from his vantagepoint outside.
She sat up all night, her gun on the coffee table in front of her. She kept her
ears trained for any noise that didn't belong. All the time she was sitting
there, she had to concentrate on the simple effort to breathe. Her teeth
chattered, the noise reverberating through Scully's body. She looked at the
clock on the VCR. It was 3 in the morning. She hugged her arms to herself and
tried to warm herself up. Try as she might, the shivering wouldn't stop. Better
judgement screamed against it, but she wasn't listening to her better judgement
when she pulled the bottle of whiskey out of its hiding place in a bottom
cabinet. She swallowed the drink, willing herself to warm up. As the alcohol
deadened her nerves, she began to feel warm again. This warmth accompanied a
fuzziness she couldn't think through. As she imagined familiar arms around her,
she lay down on the couch and wept. Soon after, she passed out drunk on the
couch.
"Scully. Wake up there sleepyhead. Come on Scully, wake up."
From deep in her alcohol-induced fog, Dana became aware of someone shaking her
awake. She forced her heavy lidded eyes open. Her mouth felt sticky and dry and
she had to swallow before she could manage any words. Her eyes were focusing,
adjusting to the light around her. She rubbed at her face and attempted to
collect herself. Hands helped her to sit up.
"You never could hold your liquor."
The familiarity of the voice startled her. Instantly alert, she looked next to
her. Mulder was sitting next to her, right there on the couch.
"Mulder!" She gasped. "You're here…but…"
He leaned toward her, his thumb wiped away the tears she hadn't realized she'd
been shedding. He looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed together. "Look what he's
doing to you. God Scully…I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around her and hugged
her close to him.
"Mulder…Mulder, he's going to kill you."
"No he won't. I won't let him."
"Mulder…"
"Go ahead, ask me why. Ask me why I won't let him."
"Why won't you let him kill you?" Tears choked her words.
"Because I'm not going to die without your permission. We're going to get
through this Scully. I promise you that. We've faced bigger things than this."
"But..."
"Say it Dana. Say 'you're not going to die, Mulder.'"
"You're not going to die, Mulder." The words she had no idea she had spoken out
loud woke her from her slumber. She looked around for Mulder and the contents of
the letter came rushing back to her. "That's one hell of a defense mechanism."
July 21, 1998
Scully's Apartment
It had only been a week ago that Scully got the first letter. In that week, she
had taken more steps toward finding the killer who had Mulder. She made a copy
of the first letter and gave the original to Diana. She had spoken briefly with
the agent and was disturbed to hear how they were conducting their
investigation.
"Right now, we're looking into the reasons why this individual would be
targeting male law enforcement officers. We're thinking maybe he might have a
vendetta against them and we're checking out as to whether the victims might
have something to do with one criminal in particular." Agent Fowley had
explained this to Dana calmly and coolly, ignoring the obvious fact that Scully
was falling apart. Scully had started to get the feeling like Diana was talking
to a 3-year-old.
Scully had listened to the progress (such as it was) that Diana's team was
making. She had sat there in Skinner's office, listening to her give a status
report. It was getting harder and harder for her to listen to her though and at
one point, she excused herself from the meeting. She blindly went up the stairs
to Karen's office. Luckily, the agent was at her desk working on some paperwork
when Scully had walked in.
She had told her about the progress of the case. She had told her about all of
her dreams. She had told her that she was desperately afraid that Diana's team
wasn't on the right track and that she couldn't say anything about it because
she wasn't supposed to be involved.
"Dana," Karen had said, "I think you, me, and Sydney need to do a little
undercover work."
That's when they three had started to go golfing. Karen and Sydney theorized
that if Mulder's profile was accurate, and it probably was, this guy probably
did work for various golf courses in the area. They excluded the two that bodies
had already been found at. Scully already knew how to play golf. She and Sydney
taught Karen, who was a exceedingly fast learner. They were keeping their eyes
out for anyone even slightly matching the description in the profile. The
"eerily accurate" profile that Mulder had drafted.
While it was supposed to be therapeutic as well as informative, the experience
was hurting Scully on a very deep level. She and Mulder had just got back into
town after a particularly trying case. It had affected Scully more than any
other she had ever worked on and she found herself getting restless, needing to
do something to get out of her head for awhile. Somehow, she had talked Mulder
into playing golf with her. They went to a course not far from her home called
"Fox Run." Scully had chosen it because she got a kick out of the name. Mulder
had hated it for that same reason. They played and she won and they went out for
beers afterward. The next day, they were assigned this case.
That day, Scully, Karen and Sydney played at Fox Run. They hadn't seen anyone.
Scully returned home, feeling defeated.
Then she checked her mail.
Again, she got the simple white envelope. Her name and address printed carefully
on the front. Common sense screamed from the back of her head to just hand the
letter over to Diana. That same voice told her that she was playing into his
hands.
She couldn't listen.
Once she got into the safety of her apartment, she sat down, opened the
envelope, and began to read.
July 19, 1998
Dear Agent Scully,
I know someone and he cries for you. He lies awake at night and dreams of you,
some good, others quite horrific, judging by his desperate pleas echoing in the
darkness. Doesn't sleep much, that man, mostly he just lies there and talks to
you, telling you his deepest, darkest secrets and wishes, as though you can hear
him. Crazy bastard.
I pity him sometimes. Like when he was lying in a pool of his own blood and
vomit, after a rather long session, he called your name and started thrashing
about, trying to get up, despite the broken bones. Had to hold him down until it
passed. Damn, the man is strong when he's insane.
That's how I figured out how to get to him. Through you. The very mention of
your name sends him into a rage, threatening to kill me if I lay a hand on you.
He tells me to leave you out of this, that you had nothing to do with it. How
chivalrous. As if he could stop me. But don't worry your pretty little head, I
have no intention of having you join our party. Sending you these notes is
probably more painful than any physical injury.
Speaking of which, would you like a list of his injuries? A vivid description of
every scratch and bruise he has acquired over the past two weeks? I thought so.
I'm sure your medical mind will create images in glorious Technicolor. I hope
you're sitting down, this may take awhile.
You know about the bullet wound to his calf, as I have already mentioned, but
now it is magnificently infected, gangrene setting in a few days ago. Good thing
he won't be needing his legs again. Ever. I'm afraid that when I kicked him in
the head I gave him a concussion, which seems only to have worsened over time.
The man can't turn his head without almost vomiting, his balance completely off
kilter. He has second degree burns covering his left arm and shoulder, a few
more on his right. He is terrified of fire, did you know? Of course you do, how
silly of me. His fear was invigorating, filling me with indescribable ecstasy.
His back looks more like ground beef than anything else, I got a bit carried
away with the coat hanger. His chest is decorated by several artistic cuts,
carefully drawn with a razor blade over a span of two days. A work of art if I
do say so myself. And though I readily admit I am no doctor, I think his right
collarbone is broken. At least the grinding sound it makes when he moves makes
it seem broken to me.
Other than being dehydrated and suffering from malnutrition, added to the list
above, he is perfectly fine.
His injuries clear in her mind, Scully felt her emotions check out. I'm going to
kill you, you sick, crazy, fucking son of a bitch. For the first time in nearly
a month, she felt nothing. Nothing but pure white anger, seething through her,
seeping to the very marrow of her bones. She knew, for a fact, that she was
going to kill this sorry excuse for a human being. She would kill him for
everything he had done to her and everything he had done to Mulder.
"Mulder…" She said softly, her fingers trailing up to the ring on her necklace
for what was probably the millionth time that day. She showered and changed into
Mulder's T-shirt and boxers and sat on the couch with all of the notes she had
collaborated. It was time to do some heavy thinking. There was something she
wasn't picking up on. She didn't know quite what it was, but there was
something. There was something about this guy. He sounded so familiar with her.
It was as if he knew her, or had at least met her at some point.
She was tending to disagree with Agent Fowley. There was no way this guy was
carrying out a vendetta against the male officers. His hatred was too focused on
her as well as the other women he had sent letters to. He was indeed a very
intelligent individual for realizing that what he was putting her through was
more traumatic than what he was putting Mulder through. She contemplated for a
moment how Mulder would be reacting if it were Scully who was missing. Since it
had happened before, she was pretty sure it would be safe to say he too would be
at the end of his rope by now.
There was something about this that was bothering her, but in her considerably
weakened state, Scully's mind wasn't performing at its top level. She sat there,
on the floor, her back against the couch. She sat there working, reading through
the file and writing whatever came into her head until 5:00 in the morning when
her head tilted back against the couch and she dozed off.
A beautiful, bright day. She had just gotten back into town after racing all
over the state of Louisiana looking for what Mulder had been calling a "psychic
rapist." Eleven young women from various parts of the state had woken up from a
good night's sleep only to find that they had been raped. Scully had insisted
that this man had used ruphinol, commonly known as "rufies" on them. It was a
powerful drug often used in cases of date rape. Mulder, stubborn as ever, had
refused to accept this. 'The victims were unrelated', he had said. 'There were
no signs of a break in', he had said. 'None of the women recognized the man', he
had pointed out. Bad lead after bad lead had finally brought them to the truth.
He had been right.
Damn him.
A day off after the case, their report filed and their expense report sent off,
both of them had found that neither wanted to be alone. The case had been a
little too disturbing. She had found him at her front door, bored. She'd
suggested they do something other than eat pizza or rent movies.
"Like what?"
"Ever play golf?"
"Nope."
"You're gonna learn."
She had found a course, "Fox Run," and they went. She had played before, long
ago, with her sister. Teaching him was a different story. She had found her
patience wearing thin. She wouldn't have traded it for anything. She had stood
there on the vibrant green coaching Mulder on his swing.
"No…follow through. Like this."
His brow furrowed in concentration, the end result being a quite comic look. She
had burst out laughing.
He had looked at her, his eyebrow raised. "Do you know what golf stands for?"
"Excuse me?" The laughter was beginning to abate.
"It's an acronym. Do you know what it stands for?"
"I'm afraid to ask."
"Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden."
"Well it's probably because they didn't want them to know how badly they were
playing." She had laughed, not hearing his witty comeback. Then, a funny
feeling.
They were being watched.
Mulder, still trying to hit the small white ball on the tee, was oblivious. She
looked around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Lots of golf carts. Caddies
dragging clubs around. Groundskeepers were weedwhacking along the far borders of
the course. Situation was normal. She had been unable to shake the feeling
though.
Much later, they were walking back to the clubhouse. He had been complaining for
the last half-hour about how badly she had been beating him. Finally, their 18
holes were done and she had been victorious. They stood there, returning their
rented clubs.. Mulder, since he had lost, had ended up paying for the rental of
the clubs as well as the 18 holes. A man was there…looking at her. She had felt
herself begin to blush, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. They walked toward the
door, his hand on her back. The man was waiting outside putting his equipment
into his vehicle.
He nodded at Mulder. "Your wife plays a pretty good game."
"Oh, we're not married." He had said…almost wistfully? "She's my partner."
"Oh, you're police?"
"No, FBI." She had told him curtly.
He had only nodded.
They were nearly at her car when something clicked. Scully tried to get her mind
out of its dreamlike fuzz. She turned around and looked at the man. He was
watching her. She tried to force her feet to go back to him, but to no avail.
She was rooted to the spot. She looked over her shoulder at him. That's when she
heard the ugly voice echo through her head,
"Listen, you little bitch. I can slice you and dice you any way I please. And he
can't do anything about it. At least this way, you can eulogize him."
6:30 AM
July 22, 1998
Scully forced herself to wake up. She blinked at the sunlight that was beginning
to fill the room. Something about her dream shook her. She had been golfing with
Mulder at Fox Run. And she had seen him. She couldn't explain it, just like she
couldn't explain a lot of what had been going on, but somehow she just knew.
Whoa there, wait a minute Scully. What? What, exactly, are you thinking? Are you
thinking you can actually consider this conclusive evidence regarding Mulder's
disappearance? Because, if that's what you're thinking then allow me to be the
first to welcome you to the land of the insane. You sound just like Mulder, for
God's sake! That's about as nuts as thinking you are actually communicating with
him via dreams.
Astral projection, the Mulder voice that had been quiet as of late, spoke up.
I don't care what you call it, it's nuts! You can't communicate that way. You
just can't.
Yeah, and you thought those women were drugged. The Mulder voice became more
insistent.
So, what are you going to do? Go to Skinner and tell him to be on the lookout
for a man because YOU DREAMED HIM? You'll be lucky if he doesn't have you
committed.
But what if you're right?
Well, Skinner's not going to buy it; that's for damn sure. I'm not even sure if
I buy it.
So don't tell Skinner. You've come this far on your own.
But I have to tell him something. He's getting suspicious. He knows I'm up to
something that I'm not letting him in on.
So tell him to stake out golf courses. Or why don't you get lists of contractors
from all of the golf courses and see if any names come up more than once. You
know, Scully. It doesn't matter if anyone believes you. Don't be afraid to look
like an idiot. I'm not.
"Okay girlfriend, you have officially snapped. You're conducting conversations
in your head between you, yourself and Mulder. Okay…now you need a tiny dose of
reality." She stood up and headed for the shower.
AD Skinner's office
7:45 AM
"Exactly what was it you needed to see me about?"
She felt bad for him. He was trying so hard. He was lost somewhere in that gray
area between keeping a safe distance and getting too close. He had known Mulder
far too long not to be affected by this though. Scully strained to keep her
voice neutral. "Sir, I have been doing some heavy thinking and I think it would
be a good idea if you had Agent Fowley's team stake out local golf courses."
"May I inquire as to why?"
She spoke slowly, deliberately. "Sir, it is my belief that the killer might work
at one or more local courses. Mostly, because the bodies were dropped in water
hazards. An individual would have to have access to the course as well as a
familiarity with their layouts. It was Agent Mulder's belief that he might even
be a contract worker of some sort. He alluded to it in his profile."
"That's it?" He was trying to keep the edge out of his voice, she could tell.
"Yes Sir."
He nodded. She took that as her cue to leave. Her temper was climbing but she
vowed to keep her cool here. She couldn't crack like she had been lately. She
had to stay strong, be a rock.
"Agent Scully?"
She turned. "Yes Sir?"
"I'll be sure to tell Agent Fowley."
"Thank you, Sir."
It was time to see Sydney and Karen.
Karen Williams Office
8:30 AM
"Okay, consider yourselves privileged to be on the receiving end of my lunacy."
"What's the matter Dana?" Karen was concerned. Dana had rushed into her office
and insisted she call Sydney down as well.
"I…" She found that she didn't know what to say and for the first time, she knew
how Mulder must have felt so often. She had something to say and she just
couldn't be sure how it was going to be taken. "I've been having…dreams. Very
disturbing dreams." She waited for their reactions. Both seemed to be hanging on
her every word.
"Well, it's only natural for you to be experiencing nightmares Dana. It's your
subconscious's way of dealing with trauma." Karen was choosing her words
carefully.
Scully shook her head. "No…no that's not it. It's different. Have you ever had a
feeling? A strong feeling you just can't ignore?"
Both women shrugged, kind of like a "yes and no" answer. Dana plunged ahead.
"I have this feeling. I can't ignore it. I have this feeling like I need to be
somewhere. Now I know this sounds totally crazy and I know you both probably
think I've gone insane but if you'll just listen." Again, she paused. "Before we
got this case, Mulder and I went golfing at Fox Run. I didn't think anything of
it then but there was…someone there." She watched for their reactions.
Neither of them seemed sure of what to say. Sydney found her voice first. "Well,
sure there was someone there. It's a public course. There were lots of people
there."
Karen silenced Sydney with a look. "What I think she's trying to say, Dana, is
that you might be remembering something simply because you want to remember it."
"So, let's go and I'll find out if I'm imagining things or not."
"Dana, I can't. I've got to catch a plane at noon for San Antonio." Karen tried
to tell her friend this as gently as possible.
"Sydney?"
"Give me a tee time and I'm there."
10:00 PM
Dana Scully's Apartment
She was beginning to dread coming home. There was nothing for her to do but sit
around and wait. Wait for a phone call telling her Mulder's body had been found,
wait for yet another sick letter from a psychotic killer, or wait for someone to
show up with a straitjacket for her. She couldn't eat, she could barely sleep
and she was starting to lose her grip. She could feel herself jump at every
noise, so when a knock came from her door, it was no surprise she nearly had a
heart attack. She took her gun out of its holster and eased over to the door.
She felt like a fool once she looked through the peephole. She opened the door.
"Assistant Director Skinner, what brings you to my humble abode?"
"I think we need to talk, Scully."
She put the safety back on and set the gun down on the coffee table as she
settled on to the couch. Skinner took a seat in a nearby armchair.
He looked very uncomfortable and for a moment, Scully was afraid he had come to
tell her that Mulder's body had been found. Finally, he spoke.
"You realize that we're doing all we can to locate Agent Mulder alive."
Scully nodded.
"So…if you had been, hypothetically, conducting your own investigation, you
would share your findings?"
"Sir, what are you getting at?"
"I talked to some people down at Georgetown PD. You were seen there not too long
ago asking about Francine Taylor and Michael Donovan."
"Yes, that's true."
"Why?"
"Because Sir, with all due respect, I was working on this case before Agent
Fowley. I can't just sit by and watch. I can't be a spectator this time. I have
to do something."
"Scully, you had your orders and your orders were to take a leave of absence."
This was too much, even for her to handle. It was time to lay her cards out on
the table.
"You wanted me to take a leave of absence? Did you honestly think that I could
do that? Did you really, for even a minute think that I could just take a seat
and twiddle my thumbs while people stumble around in the dark trying to find a
needle in a haystack? You should know better than that. You really should.
"Right now, I'm trying to get through every day. I'm trying to remember to
breathe. I'm trying to remember how to keep my heart beating. It's getting
harder as the time goes by. As I get letter after letter telling me about what
my partner is going through. I can't just sit back and be passive Walter.
There's no way that's going to happen.
"Yes, I disobeyed your orders. Yes, I've been trying to find Mulder's ki…" She
stopped herself. She had nearly said "killer." She swallowed hard and continued.
"…to find Mulder's kidnapper. I've found nothing though. Nothing conclusive."
She threw her hands up in the air. "All I know is that this individual is very,
very sick and that Mulder is in danger. He is in serious, serious danger. I
don't know where to find him, I don't know where to look. I just have to sit
here and believe that he's still alive. Do you know how hard that is for me?"
Walter Skinner looked at Scully. She was usually so composed, so together. Now
though, she looked as if she were holding on to her existence by a very thin,
fraying thread. Her arms fell limply by her sides and for a moment she looked
like the frail woman she wasn't. He couldn't help but notice that her
stubbornness was fading and her spark, her will, was diminishing. This bastard
was killing her.
"Agent…Dana…please just tell me what you've found so far. I'm only doing this
because I get the feeling that you're probably actually getting somewhere with
this case whereas Agent Fowley's team is doing nothing but running into dead
ends."
She took a moment to center herself. This was one of those times when she had to
give in. She had to tell him. She had to trust him. "I'm convinced that he does
work for area golf courses. Per Mulder's profile, I think, after reading all of
the letters, he probably does have some medical background. I think he's an
intelligent man as well. I don't think he has a violent temper, per se, because
I am of the opinion that he's enjoying himself. This whole thing is a game to
him. However, taking into consideration Francine Taylor's autopsy, I think he's
capable of having a vicious temper when provoked. He claims to realize he's a
monster, so he's in his 'right mind', so to speak, when he does these things. I
also think, after reading the letters he's sent me, that he probably uses his
van for work. Something that blends in, probably a white van. Since I think he
has access to so many different local courses, I am also of the opinion that he
does contract work or works for himself. Either that or he gets fired a lot, but
I think that would have come up right away in the investigation. That's it.
That's all I have. Oh, and one more thing though I think Agent Fowley has
probably already deduced this. The victims weren't dead when they were dumped in
the water hazards."
"How do you know this?" He seemed surprised. She guessed either it was
classified information or they hadn't figured that out yet.
"I spoke with the coroner who performed the autopsies. She informed me that
while Francine Taylor and Michael Donovan definitely died due to the severity of
their injuries, there were signs also that they were probably just barely alive
when they were dumped in the water."
"What about Agent Murphy?"
"Drowned. He definitely drowned. Again, I spoke with Agent Dawson, who performed
the autopsy. She told me that the murderer probably thought that he was already
dead when he disposed of the body."
"There's something else."
For a moment, she felt relieved. "The dates?"
He nodded.
So, they have picked up on that. "After conferring with the coroner, we deduced
that there's no way those men died when the letter claims they died. In all
three cases, the individuals had been dead about 12-15 hours by the time they'd
been found. If the letter was right, that time would be significantly greater.
You see, the way I see it, the letters are dated on Sundays. He would have
mailed them early Monday morning and they would get to the women on a Tuesday.
That's how it's been in my case. It is my theory that he writes the letter
Sunday, mails it Monday morning and disposes of the body Monday night. The body
is found early Tuesday morning and has been dead for approximately 12 hours or
so. I think he puts them in the water hazards to insure that they're found."
"Do you think he's staying true to a pattern?"
"So far, yes."
"Do you think you can predict when he will bring Agent Mulder to a body of
water?"
"If he sticks to his pattern, then possibly the first of the month, perhaps the
second or third. The problem is, by the time I'll get the letter…" The reality
of what she was saying sunk in suddenly and she could say no more.
"It will be too late."
She nodded.
"And that's why you came to my office this morning wanting the team to stake out
various golf courses."
Again, she nodded.
"I'll have Fowley get right on it."
"Thank you."
He stood up to leave, Scully got to her feet to walk him to the door. He was
just about to exit into the hallway when he turned. "We're going to get him back
Dana. If I make one promise, that's it. We're going to get him back."
"God, I hope so." She managed a small, sad smile and closed the door after him.
Scully went to her room and changed out of the sweaty clothes she had worn while
playing golf with Sydney earlier that evening. She took a cool, soothing shower
and put on a clean, white T-shirt and sage green, jersey shorts. She needed to
take the evening to reflect on the day. She found that if she took that time to
settle, her thoughts got clearer and she had an easier time remembering things.
At that moment, she was reflecting on her earlier near-slip.
I can't believe I nearly said that. My God, I nearly said…no. He's not dead. He
is not dead.
Damn right I'm not. What the hell were you thinking anyway? How many times have
I told you that I won't die without your permission? How many times, Scully? How
could you think that I'm dead? Goddammit, I'm alive.
The voice that she had been hearing for nearly a month now had arisen again.
While she was glad to have Mulder as her conscience for now, she was
uncomfortable with how angry her conscience sounded.
I know. I know you're alive. I know that. But you've been gone so long. If
anything, I'm beginning to doubt myself. I'm beginning to doubt as to whether I
am going to be able to find you in time.
You'll find me, Scully. You will. I have faith in you.
She looked at the clock again. She found that she had been doing that a lot
lately. Watching time slip past her. She sighed heavily.
The golf game had been uneventful. Sydney had kept her smiling with her quick
wit and smart-aleck remarks, but neither could ignore the fact that there just
was nothing going on at the course. They were lone players, which was rare
enough, but for there not to be any maintenance people at all…that was downright
spooky.
It was too late. You were there too late in the evening. You need to get there
earlier. Get there nice and early tomorrow. Go to the driving range and
practice. Practice, and keep those baby blues of yours peeled. You're going to
find something tomorrow. I know it.
Scully just realized that she didn't know whether it was her "Mulder-conscience"
that was speaking to her or her own conscience. She began to get the distinct
feeling that she was taking on some of Mulder's traits. Scully wasn't sure
whether that was a good thing or not.
July 28, 1998
2:00 PM
For some reason, this one had caught her off guard. She knew it shouldn't have,
but it did. She had forgotten it was Tuesday. It had been a rough day. Hell, it
had been a rough week. She had had an appointment with Skinner on the previous
day. He had wanted her in on Agent Fowley's briefing. Scully hadn't slept the
night before, but that was getting to be commonplace. She showered and attempted
to dress. The difficulty of that task was severely increased when she found that
nothing fit. Not one skirt, suit, not one pair of chinos, not one single
solitary pair of jeans fit her. Finally, she found a belt she could slip around
her waist to make her pants fit…well, sort of. The suit had hung on her and she
felt like a scarecrow. She had noticed that whenever she got together with Karen
and Sydney, food was often included at some point of the visit. Food just had
not been an option for her. Every time she ate something, she'd be sick and end
up vomiting.
She had gone to the meeting and felt all eyes watching her. The sympathetic look
Agent Fowley had given her did nothing but anger her. The fact that there had
been little success in the investigation did nothing for her mood. While Agent
Fowley had listened to Skinner and included Scully's suggestions, nothing had
come from her ideas. They were staking out golf courses and investigating huge
lists of suspects. The letters had yielded no prints, no clues, no nothing. They
had been printed on a common inkjet printer. Finally, Scully had heard enough.
She got up and walked out of Skinner's office and went straight to her car. She
couldn't go see Syd or Karen. She just couldn't.
She had been to the golf course nearly every day for the past week. Usually she
would go and play a game with either Sydney or Karen but more and more often she
was finding herself needing to be alone. She would go and hit the driving range,
looking closely around her for any clues. Her theory on the white van was
dissipating since every time she went there she saw at least five of them. Some
had logos others did not. She recorded their license numbers and ran them
through the FBI computer. The search brought nothing though. She had also
acquired a list of contractors the course had hired within the past three
months. The list was enormous, consisting of dozens of names and phone numbers.
Some of the numbers were out of service, other numbers led her to answering
machines and voice mailboxes. Again, she had run the phone numbers through the
FBI computer and found nothing. Most belonged to legitimate businesses and the
others brought up nothing. No data found. Scully had taken to talking to her
computer by this point.
"What do you mean, 'no data found'? This is supposed to be the FB frigging I for
chrissakes." She had been more than slightly irritated.
While she was driving home from the briefing, her mother had called her on the
cell phone. Stifling a sigh, she told her mother to meet her at her apartment.
It was obvious to her that she was worrying about her. Scully was willing to do
anything to prove to her mother she was still holding on and being strong. This
was bound to be the performance of a lifetime.
She had wanted to beat her mother to her apartment. She wanted to change into
leggings and a T-shirt. Something that would hide her emaciation. She didn't
have that kind of luck though. Maggie Scully pulled in at about the same time
her daughter did. Dana smiled and waved to her mother as she got out of her car.
She watched as her mother walked to meet her. If she had noticed her daughter's
weight loss, she said nothing of it. She came up to Dana and hugged her
fiercely.
"Why don't we get inside out of this heat?"
Dana only nodded her assent. As they walked into the foyer of the building,
Maggie noticed that the mailman was stuffing the small metal boxes full.
"Dana, why don't you get your mail? You never know, you might have won one
million dollars!" She was trying to ease the painful look that had settled over
her daughter's eyes lately. For a second, the sadness lifted only to return soon
after. Dana shrugged. "Okay."
Now as she stood in her living room, the letter in her hands, Dana Scully felt
things crackle within her. As much as she didn't want to read it, her eyes
scanned the page involuntarily.
7/26/98
Dear Agent Scully,
I know someone and he called your name, either your first or your last, a
million times and still you never came. He ignores me now, whether on purpose or
because of the fever clouding his mind, I don't know. He just curls into a ball
– for such a tall man it is incredible how small he can make himself – and
whimpers quietly as I play with him. Each time my hand or foot comes in contact
with his body, he whispers your name, as though drawing strength from the very
thought of you. How touching.
I'm afraid that the infection in his leg has spread to most of his other wounds
and the resulting fever spiked at 106 degrees. I have never seen a seizure
before but it looked agonizing. It was beautiful. Though it probably didn't help
his broken ribs or collarbone any. Yes, I fractured at least seven ribs, maybe
six, I can't be sure without X-Rays. Well, after his seizure subsided I decided
I had better cool him down or else my fun would be over fairly quickly. Dumping
him into a tub of ice water woke him up like a bat out of hell. He actually made
it out of the tub and on top of me before I could jab him in one of his sore
spots. Definitely a remarkable man.
At night he lays in his cell, shivering miserably and calling out to you,
begging you to come and find him. Rescue him. You would think that he would
realize that you've abandoned him by now. But no. He doesn't resent the fact
that you haven't come, that you cannot end his pain. You could probably kill him
yourself and he would go on loving you just the same.
You heard me. Loves you. The man hasn't said it in so many words, but I can
tell. You think it is impossible for a monster like me to recognize love? Any
fool could see it. You are soul mates, you two, I envy you. Yet, I pity you too.
Without each other, you are only half of a whole, a dismal echo of yourselves,
incomplete. He is your strength and your faith, your believer. You are his
guardian angel, his protector and partner in so many things, but you couldn't
protect him this time, could you?
Her knees gave out just then. It was too much. She saw the floor rush up at her,
but didn't feel it when she hit. She rested her head on her arms, willing her
weak body to pick itself up. Her brain was sending the message to her legs, but
her legs weren't responding. She felt herself get to her feet, only half aware
of the strong hands that guided her.
"Come on Dana. That's my baby girl. One step at a time…there you go…"
Scully was coherent enough to know her mother was guiding her to her bed. Her
mind protested, but her mouth couldn't form the words. No! No, I can't go to
bed. I have to find Mulder. Mulder! MULDER! Mulder, dammit, answer me!
The voice she had been hearing so often lately, had fallen silent.
Maggie Scully eased her daughter out of her ill-fitting suit. Carefully, she
slipped a sleep shirt over her head. She was instantly reminded of when Dana was
a little girl and would fall asleep with her father in front of the television
watching the late, late movie. She blinked away the tears that gathered at
seeing her daughter, who was usually so strong, fall to the floor in an
exhausted heap.
She wanted to know why.
Once Dana was sleeping soundly in her bed, Maggie went into the living room and
picked the letter off of the floor. She found a few others on the coffee table.
Setting them with their counterparts, Maggie Scully set about straightening up
her daughter's apartment. Dana was usually so neat, the current state of
disarray was unusual to Mrs. Scully. She had every intention of reading the
letters, she just didn't want to just yet.
It wasn't until about 2 hours later that she sat down and arranged them all by
date. The other two were photocopies, but were clear and easy to read. She
almost wished they weren't so clear. Sheet after sheet her eyes scanned the
words. She almost didn't believe what was happening. Her Fox, her adopted son,
her daughter's best friend was being submitted to things she couldn't--or didn't
want to--comprehend. The thought of him laying somewhere hurt or dying enraged
her. She covered her mouth with her fist and fought the tears that were
inevitable. This excuse for a man wasn't only tearing Fox's life apart, but
everyone who Fox's life touched as well. For a moment, her thoughts spun to
Teena Mulder. She couldn't imagine what the woman must be going through. If she
even knows. I'd be going crazy…oh thank God it wasn't Dana. She knew it was a
selfish thought and chastised herself for even thinking it, but she had already
lost one daughter. Losing the other would have been too much.
Hold on there Maggie. Fox isn't lost yet. He's still with you. Dana's a smart
girl and I'm sure Walter has all of his best agents combing the city looking for
Fox. He's a strong boy, he'll survive this. You just be strong for Dana because
you know she's having a rough time of it now.
She steeled herself and put the papers, which had grown to be as heavy as lead
weights, back on the coffee table. She looked around and decided that if there
was any time for her to be there for her daughter, this was one of those times.
She knew Dana hadn't been taking care of herself. It was painfully obvious to
her that she had lost a significant amount of weight and probably hadn't slept a
full eight hours since Fox was taken. She would let her daughter sleep while she
did more straightening up around the apartment. She turned the ringer down on
the phone so that she could still hear it whereas it wouldn't wake Dana. Then
she went to work.
She felt warm, safe. Without opening her eyes, she just knew. She was laying
back on something warm and soft, a familiar sound resonated in the background,
Curiosity became too much; she opened her eyes.
Hawaii.
At least, she was pretty sure it was Hawaii. The white sandy beach stretched out
as far as she could tell and the water ahead of her was…magnificent seemed too
weak a word. The dark blue horizon morphed into turquoise water that came to a
white foamy end as it crashed into the shore. The air smelled heavenly,
tropical, the light scent of coconut laced with the salt water. She was so
engrossed, the next thought that came to her mind jarred her.
What the hell am I doing here?
She looked down at herself and saw she was, aptly enough, decked out in a simple
navy blue bikini. She looked around and saw no one, nothing for miles. She got
up off of the thick, plush towel that was spread out on the ground and surveyed
the area. If she didn't know better (and she supposed she didn't) she would
swear that it looked like she was on a deserted island. Well, deserted except
for a…cabana?
Raising her eyebrow, she stepped carefully into the shade of the bungalow. The
change in the light made her blink but eventually she adjusted. There, sitting
with his feet up on a lounge chair drinking a margarita, was her partner clad in
baggy khaki shorts and…was he shirtless? Indeed he was. He looked lean, tanned
and healthy. He also looked a little buzzed.
Exactly how one is supposed to look on vacation, she thought.
Mulder looked at her and smiled. He swallowed and set the glass down on a nearby
table. "Quite a spread, isn't it?"
"Mulder, what are we…"
"Doing here? Well, my guess is your subconscious is giving you a break. A
well-deserved break, I might add. I can't believe you're killing yourself over
this." He relaxed in the chaise as a familiar smirk crossed his features.
"What?! You're kidding me, right? Tell me you're kidding. Mulder…do you know
what I'm going through? I know what you're going through, but do you have any
idea what it's like to lie awake at night thinking about all that you're going
through? To not be able to do a damn thing about it? I can't do anything,
Mulder. I can't do anything and…I can't find you. Mulder, I need to find you."
"Yes Scully, I do know. I know the pain you're feeling when you wonder whether
you'll ever see me alive. I know the emptiness you feel when, for some silly
reason or another, something reminds you of me. I know. You'll find me,
Scully…actually…I think your subconscious wants me to start calling you Dana.
So…You will find me Dana. I know it. I know it deep within the fiber of my being
that you will find me and I'll survive this. Though I still don't know if I've
forgiven you for your little slip earlier." Again, he smirked. "I'm not dead,
Dana. Really, I'm not. Trust me on this one. Now, on to more pleasant tropics…er
topics. This is your dream and you have a stocked bar. What would you like me to
make?"
"What is this? Some warped fantasy of mine where you're my cabana boy?"
He shrugged. "Hey, it's your dream. Whatever."
"Well…I guess…no! No. Mulder, I need to wake up and I need to find you. I can't
sleep any more. I need to find you." She turned and headed toward the door. Just
as she was about to step out of the cabana, she felt hands on her shoulders.
They gently turned her around and embraced her, pulling her into him; the
shelter of his arms within the shelter of this little house.
Tears slid down her face as she tucked her head underneath his chin. She wrapped
her arms around him as they stood there silently. She couldn't get over the
sensations she was having. This dream was far too real to be a dream. She could
feel his sun-warmed flesh against her cheek, she could smell the mixture of salt
and cocoa butter on him, she was aware of him nearly crushing her with his arms.
She pulled away from him and looked up at his face. His cheeks too, were stained
with tears.
"You're going to find me, Scully." He looked down at her and touched the ring
that was still hanging from her necklace. A smile quickly graced his lips.
"You've got a part of me here with you right now."
A thought entered her mind and as quickly as she thought it, she began to feel
him getting closer. She could feel his uneven breathing coming out in short
bursts against her face. His cheeks were flushed, whether it was with alcohol,
sun, or something else; she wasn't sure. His eyes were closing and then it
happened. Their lips met. Finally after time after time of near misses, their
lips finally met in a kiss. She savored the feeling of finally connecting with
him on a physical level. The taste of tangy lime and tequila on his lips made
her close her eyes and pray that this dream never ended.
She heard his voice in her head, yet again. It whispered to her, invitingly.
"This is your dream Scully. All yours. Whatever you want…it's yours. So what do
you want?"
Again, as soon as the thought flashed in her mind the action followed. Mulder
pulled away and took her face in his hands. "I know you'll find me, and I have
faith you'll find me because I love you."
10:00 PM
Mrs. Scully walked hesitantly into her daughter's bedroom. In the dark she could
make out the still lump that was huddled under the covers. She was sleeping on
her side, curled into a tiny ball. She looked so cozy, so comfortable she didn't
want to wake her. She knew, though, that it was time for the girl to eat. She
had fixed some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. These items along with
a glass of iced tea were balanced on the tray in her hands. She set the tray
down and gently shook Dana's shoulder.
"Dana, wake up. Come on Dana, rise and shine. It's time to get up."
Mulder vanished. The cabana vanished. Hawaii vanished. She was in her bed in her
apartment and she had been sleeping for nearly eight hours. She looked up and
heard her mother's voice. Instinctively, she reached over and switched the
bedside light on. Something smelled good. "Mom, what are you still doing here?
It's late."
"I'm aware of the time Dana. I wanted to stay with you. To…to make sure you'd be
all right. I also wanted to make sure you ate something. You're not looking well
Dana. In fact, you look quite ill." She picked up the tray and set it on Dana's
lap.
The mingled smell of grilled cheese and tomato soup did wonders…it actually made
her mouth water. She picked up the sandwich and bit into it greedily. As she
ate, her mother looked at her, smiling.
She was glad to see her eat. Not only that, but she was glad that she was eating
with relish. Maggie had to talk to Dana. She had to talk to her about everything
going on.
"Dana…I…I read your letters."
Scully stopped in mid-chew. She swallowed the last bit of sandwich, which was in
her mouth and nodded slowly. She wasn't sure what to say to that. She hadn't
told her much of what was going on with the investigation and she certainly
hadn't told her about the letters.
"Now, I want you to know that…I understand why you didn't tell me. Now, that
doesn't mean that I'm not…upset that you didn't tell me, it just means that I
know you had your reasons. Now…now Dana…how are you doing?" She didn't know how
to ask her daughter what she really wanted to know. She really wanted to
know…well, everything. She wanted to know how things were going in the search
for her adopted son. She wanted to know how her daughter was taking everything.
She knew Dana was strong, but she tended to take everything on her shoulders,
thinking herself strong enough to handle the load alone. She wanted her to share
that load with her.
"I'm doing…" She didn't know what to say. I'm not doing fine. I can't lie to
her. "I'm getting by. It's hard…harder than anything I've ever done; but
I'm…surviving."
Her mother nodded.
Scully chose that time to take the steaming mug of soup into her hands. She was
feeling chilled at the moment and she took a deep drink of the liquid in order
to warm her insides. Ignoring the scalding that was inevitably going on in her
throat at the moment, she continued to drink the soup. When she set the mug
down, it was half gone. She brought the glass of tea to her lips and took
another big drink.
If there's an iced tea in that bag, it could be love.
The Mulder voice had piped up again at a most inopportune time. The tears rushed
to her eyes and her throat constricted. She forced herself to swallow as she set
down the glass on her nightstand. She could feel her eyes brimming with tears as
she looked at her mother. Scully leaned into the older woman's waiting arms.
The protective shell she had been working so hard to construct shattered into
millions of pieces. She had shut off all emotion since that night when she got
the second letter. Had it only been a week ago? It felt like a year.
"Mom, I just don't know what to do." She whispered. "I know he's still alive. I
know it. I can feel it. But I don't know where or how to find him. I don't know
if I'll be able to save him. I don't know if I'll find him in time. And every
night as I sit out there on that couch trying to find some clue as to his
whereabouts, some mistake that this psychopath has made that will lead me to
him, I sit there and I wonder why not me? Why him and not me? And then I wonder
what I could have done to keep this from happening. If I had only listened to
him that night when he told me to back away from the case then maybe things
would be different. If only I had gone home that night rather than stay at your
house, maybe something would have changed. If I had called him earlier, I could
have kept this from happening. I keep thinking about all the things I could have
done differently that would have kept this from happening. I could have changed
it. I could have saved him before all this. Why didn't I?"
Hearing her daughter say these things twisted Maggie's heart. While she was well
aware that Dana would willingly give her life for Fox, she had a hard time
hearing her say so. She stroked the top of her daughter's head, smoothing the
sleep-tousled hair. "Dana, it's not for us to ask why these things happen and
it's not for us to wonder how we could have changed things. It is only for us to
try and survive the trials we encounter through our lives. We have to go by day
by day and live. I know that in a time like this, just living is probably the
most difficult request you can make of yourself right now. Promise me you'll try
though. Don't let this guilt rule your life. What happened to Fox isn't your
fault and you couldn't have stopped it, short of being his shadow for 24 hours a
day. And even in that case, all you would have done was put yourself in danger
with him."
"But at least if I were with him…we'd be able to get through this together.
Together we can get through so much. But when we're split up like this I feel so
powerless, like I need him to complete me. He makes me whole." She realized as
she said the words, she was echoing a sentiment he had shared with her some time
before. Damn bee. Her mother sat there, looking at her with an expression she
couldn't read. "What? What's the matter, Mom?"
"I always thought so, but now I'm sure. You do."
Scully bit her bottom lip. She knew. She had never vocalized it, but she knew.
Now her mother knew. She took a breath with which to better communicate the
words that were forming in her brain at the moment. "Yes. Yes I do." It was time
to say it. If not to him, then at least to someone. "I love him."
July 31, 1998
9:00 AM
Sydney Dawson's office
"Okay Syd, give. What's the deal? Why are you sitting there with that look on
your face?"
"Do you know what you're looking at? Do you have any idea?"
Scully raised an eyebrow. "I have an idea, but you wouldn't like it."
"You are looking at your new best friend."
Scully wasn't sure how to react to that. She started to feel nauseous. No, don't
tell me I'm assigned to be her partner. Don't tell me Mulder's dead and she's my
new partner. Oh God…now hold on a minute Dana, she looks far too happy to want
to tell you that. Jeez, calm down will ya? Scully gave herself a mental shake.
"Elaborate, please?"
"Guess who AD Skinner wanted in his office first thing this morning?"
"Oh let me guess."
"And guess who is now your own personal covert liaison to this investigation?"
"What?"
"That is correct. C'est moi. I don't know why, but I'm sure he had his reasons
if you catch my drift. He told me he wanted a fresh set of eyes looking at the
forensic data they've collected. However you know as well as I do that there are
plenty of pathologists here. The man had his pick of the litter. Any coincidence
he picked the one who happens to play the links with you?"
Her mouth was dry. "So, what does this mean?"
"This means that…you've got ears everywhere Dana Scully. This means that you can
start to put a degree of trust into this investigative team. This means that if
you have any theories, you'll have someone to come to." Her usually intense
friend had softened. "Dana Katherine, I won't let you down."
She swallowed the lump that was taking up residence in her throat. "So," she
took a deep breath. "any good gossip to share?"
"Well, believe it or not Fowley is handling this quite competently. I'm almost
impressed. However, she's stubborn. She focusing on something and I just don't
think it's the right track. But, she's disagreeing with my little theory—well,
our little theory actually."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, she's compiled a list of potential suspects based on common perps Mulder,
Murphy and Donovan have investigated in the past. A short list as you can
imagine. She totally gung-ho on the theory that this guy's got a hankering for
some revenge. Now, she's trying to cross reference that list with another list
of potential suspects who might have something to do with golf courses." Sydney
shook her head. "I told her what I thought. You know what she said? She said
that she was the profiler here and I had best stick to my slicing and my dicing.
Apparently she doesn't think very highly of the idea that this guy has it in not
for the men, but their female partners. She said it was too 'theatrical',
'unreasonable', 'unlikely', and 'improbable.' So there, you see what I'm working
with." She rolled her eyes. "I've got the case folder here. I'm going to comb
over it tonight. I should think with all that you've found and shared with Karen
and me I would be able to piece something together. This is…it's so like a
puzzle, you know? I mean, we know the pieces all fit together somehow. The trick
is making them fit. I really feel like putting all you've found with all they've
found together, we'll have ourselves a regular Reece's Peanut Butter Cup: two
great tastes that taste great together."
"Good analogy. Well," she sighed, "if you find anything we haven't found
yet…give me a call."
"You know I will."
10:45 AM
It had been an interesting talk with Sydney. It restored her belief that
sometimes even Skinner was on her side. She stopped by Karen's office on her way
out but noticed the office door closed and locked. Probably out of town again.
Scully figured for a moment that Karen and Sydney were probably, like her, on a
first name basis with the girls at the travel agency. She sighed and for a
moment wondered what her life would be like if she had never joined the Bureau.
It wouldn't have been nearly as eventful, was the only thought her mind could
produce at the moment. As she got in the elevator, Skinner had stopped her.
"I just thought you should know that Agent Mulder's apartment is…no longer off
limits. If you feel the need to go there…" He had trailed off, uncomfortable.
She had managed a smile and thanked him for letting her know. It was no longer a
crime scene.
It'll be his apartment again when he's in it safe and sound.
She got into her car. It was a cloudy, stormy day and for some reason, she was
actually feeling good. She wanted to do something. She laid back in the car seat
for a moment and allowed her mind to wander. She contemplated millions of
things. She couldn't go to the golf course to look for the mystery psycho, that
was certain. She didn't want to go back to her apartment. She couldn't sit in
the parking garage all day…
I bet my place could use a good cleaning…
The Mulder-conscience had become a permanent fixture in her mind. She stopped
wondering about it, stopped questioning it. She just heard it and imagined him
saying such a thing, that damn smile teasing his lips. Those damn lips. Her mind
decided to torture her a bit by flashing Mulder upon her inward eye. Fox Mulder,
tanned cabana boy teased her with that damn smile. Fox Mulder, FBI agent,
standing in his hallway with every intention of kissing her. Fox Mulder,
injured, his head in her lap as she sang "Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog" (off key, no
less.)
"Okay, I guess that settles it." She said out loud to no one in particular.
She didn't expect it to be easy, but her hand was absolutely shaking as she
tried to get the key in the lock. It took a few times but she steadied herself
and took it very slowly. The key slid in, she turned it; the lock clicked open.
The noise seemed to echo in the deserted hallway but she turned the knob and
eased the door open quietly.
The sight of the demolished apartment hadn't failed to affect her yet. Her
breath still stopped, her throat tightened and she felt like she was going to be
sick. She closed the door and leaned against it, sinking down to rest on her
heels. She surveyed the scene for what was actually the third time, though it
felt like so much more.
There were boxes deposited in the middle of the living room floor. Upon further
inspection, they were filled with things that the investigative team probably
considered evidence until they dug deeper. The pillows on the couch were still
ripped open; his television had fallen to the floor and was lying on its side.
The computer was thrown to the floor as well and every book, magazine and
newspaper the man might have owned was strewn about the floor.
Not exactly impeccable, but that's not the "I" in "FBI" now, is it?
As she chuckled, she felt herself sinking further into lunacy. "Okay, it looks
like I have my work cut out for me." She went into the kitchen and got several
big garbage bags. She attacked what was obviously trash. The pillows were
unsalvageable; most of the newspapers were ripped to shreds. Carefully, she
chose to pitch things she was sure Mulder would have no use for. Two hours
later, she lugged bag after bag down to the trash. She also threw out the
television. She was sure he'd be devastated, but she had one she could lend him
in the interim.
She returned to the apartment after the final trip to the Dumpster. The place
looked a little better without all the crap littering the floor. She put all of
his important papers as well as any books and magazines that hadn't been
destroyed in a pile. The next order of business was the shelves. Scully worked
tirelessly putting every book, knick-knack and miscellaneous object back on
various shelves. It was a long, tedious process, but she was sure he'd
appreciate it. The longer she worked on it, the more sure she became that she
was going to get Mulder back, in one piece and breathing. By the time she had
put everything back on the shelves, she was whistling.
The third thing she tackled was his clothes. Everything in his closet had been
ripped from the hangers and all of his drawers were pulled out of the dresser.
Methodically, she hung everything back up, occasionally letting her fingers
trail along the material of his suit coats. She noticed for what wasn't the
first time, what a great dresser he was. He had long since ditched the goofy
ties he wore when she first started working with him. He dressed to kill and she
as well as nearly every other female in the building had begun to notice. As she
hung up his heavy black wool trench coat, she got an idea. Looking around as if
to make sure no one was looking, she tried it on.
It was absurdly big for her. The jacket pooled on the ground due to her lack of
height. The sleeves went far past her fingertips. She couldn't help but chuckle,
knowing how utterly ridiculous she looked. Scully returned it to the closet on a
hanger. She then focused her attention on the collection of clothes dumped from
the drawers. She was glad to see that the laundry she had folded the last time
she was there remained untouched. Getting down on her knees, Dana picked up the
drawers that had been taken out of their slots and returned them to their
rightful place. Afterwards, she carefully returned every stitch of clothing that
had remained on the floor as well as what she had folded in the laundry basket.
She looked around to survey her work. She felt she had done a pretty decent job
of tidying up. There were things that she wasn't sure what to do with and she
had stored those things neatly in a box for Mulder to go through when he was
able.
Did you hear that? Did you hear that thought? You said 'when' and not 'if.' I
must say, Dana Scully, you're beginning to sound like you're expecting him.
It was nearly 7:30 by the time she was done. She had fed his fish (though she
suspected that Frohike, Langly or Byers had been feeding them in the meantime),
checked his mail, and cleaned out his refrigerator. When she had cleaned out the
bathroom she made a mental note to pick up some more shower gel for him as well
as a new can of shaving cream and some new razors. The bathroom had been
conspicuously void of those items. Satisfied with the job she had done, she
grabbed her purse and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. She felt
strangely optimistic as she walked out to her car. It felt as though restoring
Mulder's apartment had brought him to her for at least a little bit.
On her way back to the apartment, she stopped at the grocery store and picked up
some milk, raisin bran, antibiotic ointment as well as some razors and shaving
cream. The gel would have to wait. She wouldn't be able to get to the bath store
in the mall anytime soon. As she walked into the apartment, the feeling
continued. Usually this was the loneliest time for her. She would sit and work
until fatigue overcame her. Tonight, though, was different. She took a long
bath, bathing with what was left of Mulder's gel. Again she donned the black
boxers and gray T-shirt and again she fingered the ring on her chain. She knew
the final letter would be coming soon. She knew that it was going to be a race
to find him before it was too late. She knew that the next few days were bound
to be rough. But tonight the voice that had been resonating through her head for
so long seemed to insist that she relax. So insistent was it, she actually found
that she couldn't resist. She headed for her bedroom with the black and white
journal and the packets of photos. Poignant though the entries may be, she knew
there would be no tears of sorrow for Fox Mulder tonight.
She settled in bed, the photos to the right of her and the journal lying in
front of her. Taking an invigorating breath, she picked it up and flipped toward
the end. She had not read it in its entirety and was in the mood to get inside
his head tonight. She was curious as to what the final entry in the journal was
dated. There was no date, but Scully remembered the day vividly.
Scully leaves for a weekend vacation tomorrow morning. This bothers me for some
reason. It's not like we spend every minute of our days off together. In fact,
we rarely see one another on the weekends unless we are working on a case. So
why is this any different? What am I going to do with myself for two whole days?
48 hours. 2880 minutes. 172800 seconds. A whole lot of nanoseconds. Maybe I'll
call her. Yeah, I'll do that. She said to only call if it were an emergency. I'm
sure she wasn't being serious though.

Well, I guess she was serious. I can't believe she hung up on me though. Scully
hung up on me! She never does that. She's not supposed to do that! I was just
trying to be helpful with that decapitation remark. After everything we have
been through together it would be just our luck for her to pull a Jayne
Mansfield. I just want her to come back to me in the same condition she left. Is
that really too much to ask? Apparently she seems to think so.
Scully, Scully, Scully. I thought you were on vacation? I thought you weren't
making or receiving calls? I know what she was thinking when she called. She
heard something in the background and called me on it. I'm sure she thought I
was watching one of those videos that aren't mine. While I concede that the
title is rather suggestive of a certain genre that she seems to think I have a
penchant for, I must state for the record that "Alien Probe" is nothing of the
kind. It's actually a documentary shot during the late '60s documenting a series
of mysterious and unexplained abductions, and the scientific methods that were
used to investigate the case. I will have to share it with her some time. I
think she will get a real kick out of it.
Who exactly am I trying to kid here?
Jeez, what kind of a pervert am I anyway? Not only was I watching a cheap
pornography tape in our office, but also I didn't even bother to hit mute when
the phone rang. What if it had been the Attorney General? Oh, that would have
gone over real well with Janet. "What is it exactly that you do down there in
the basement, Agent Mulder?" "Well, you see Janet, may I call you Janet? The
work I do is stressful. I don't get a lot of respect from my peers. My family is
non-existent. My social life is hanging by bare threads. Every once in a while,
I just like to untuck my shirt, kick back, put my feet up on my desk, and pop a
porno in the old VCR. It helps me unwind. I think you should be grateful I get
off on sex and not by pulling a disgruntled postal worker move on you."
And did Scully really need to do that to me at that moment? I'm talking about
her spiel on witchcraft, of course. As if I weren't horny enough already. Wonder
what she would have done if I had asked her what I really wanted to know instead
of asking her to marry me? "Scully, want to help me solve the mystery of the
horny beast?" She probably would have reached through the phone line, ripped my
balls out and then squished them with her tiny little feet. Ouch. Not much more
to say to that.

You know you are leading a pathetic excuse for a life when the only food item in
your refrigerator is 4-month-old orange juice.
I'm starting to see some things that I never really noticed before. I respect
Scully. I know that she has saved my ass more times than I care to remember. I
know that she is an intelligent human being who is a great asset to the X-files.
I know that she keeps me grounded. She keeps me sane. She makes me whole. She
validates my existence by accepting me. In many ways, she is my wife. (And
Scully, if you ever read this I mean it in a totally figuratively way) I know
all these things. I have known all of these things for a very long time. What I
didn't know, what I am just now starting to understand, is that she has become
such a part of my life that I cannot function without her. Is this what a normal
marriage is like? I have heard stories of wives going away for weekends and
leaving the husbands to hold down the fort. I have also heard of the same wives
returning home to find their husbands buried alive on the recliner under a pile
consisting of dirty laundry, dirty dishes, potato chip crumbs, and the
occasional dog or child. I always just assumed these tales were myths; stories
told by women to scare men into behaving while they were gone. I'm beginning to
wonder. It's a good thing I don't have a recliner…or a dog for that matter.
I can't believe Scully is doing an X-file without me. And she keeps hanging up
on me! When did Dana Scully suddenly turn into…turn into…well, turn into me?
She's just NOT supposed to do that!
Okay, I have watched naked women gyrating and twisting into anatomically
impossible positions for two days now. I have done some work in the office. I
cleaned my refrigerator. I went outside and played a little b-ball with the
guys. I came inside and played a little b-ball by myself. I spackled the hole I
made in the wall whilst playing b-ball by myself. How many more hours until I
see Scully again? I never thought I would look forward to a Monday so much. That
still leaves me a half a day tomorrow before she is due in at work, though. We
don't have any cases to work on anymore. What to do, what to do. I have some
pencils that need sharpening. That should hold me over for a few minutes.
For the first time in nearly a month, Dana Katherine Scully was laughing. Hard.
So many of her suspicions were validated on those final pages. She wiped a tear
from her eye and cradled her stomach, now sore from the giggles. Once they
subsided, she allowed her eyes to linger on his writing. She smiled and ran her
fingers over the ink. She took a deep breath and closed the journal. She was
actually feeling almost good. Her eyes wandered over to the packet of photos on
the bed next to her.
Now, what on earth…?
She pulled out the thick collection of glossy photos and began flipping through
them.
"How did he…?"
At first, she couldn't remember where she was in the pictures. Then, slowly it
came back to her. That stupid seminar she and Mulder were railroaded into going
to. This was after the Mothmen incident and Scully could only wonder why they
weren't so lucky the second time around. She would have rather battled
camouflaged predators with glowing red eyes than eternally perky FBI agents.
These photos were from that seminar. She tried to remember who had a camera
since Mulder most certainly hadn't. She gave up though; figuring Frohike was
somewhere in the crowd doing Mulder's dirty work. Instead, she flipped through
the pictures. Most of them were only of her, though there was one she
particularly liked. They were sitting down and Mulder was resting his arm on the
back of her chair. There was nothing special about it other than the fact that
they two looked so comfortable with each other.
Do we look this comfortable to everyone? Or is it just to me because I miss him
so much?
She missed him with a funny feeling in her heart. She took a deep breath and
expelled a sigh. She had promised her mother she'd at least attempt to take care
of herself. That meant trying to get a little sleep. Restless though she was, it
was time for her to rest. Time to recharge the ol' battery. She settled back
into bed and switched off the light. Before she closed her eyes, she looked at
the clock: 11:02.
11:48 PM
Scully hovered somewhere between slumber and awakening. Distantly, she became
aware of noise. Pounding. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at the clock.
Not even midnight yet and someone was at her door. She got out of bed, not
bothering with her robe, and stepped silently to the door. She looked through
the peephole and immediately opened the door.
"Sydney? What's wrong?"
Her friend was at the door, her face pale except for her cheeks, which were very
bright. Her eyes were wild and her hair was plastered to her head from the storm
raging outside. She sounded breathless, like she had sprinted all the way up to
her apartment. When she spoke, her voice was urgent, her tone not one to argue
with.
"Get dressed and get your gun. We need to go."
She calmed the rising panic with a lift of her eyebrow. "Exactly what the hell
is going on here?"
Sydney pushed past into Scully's apartment. For a moment, the agent's behavior
was reminding her of Mulder. "You need to get dressed and we need to leave now."
She pulled her cell phone out of the inside pocket of her nylon jacket. She
stabbed at the numbers and waited impatiently. "Goddamnit to hell, where the
fuck is she?!" She hung up and looked at Scully. Taking a deep breath, she
steadied herself. "Scully, we were wrong. There was a pattern to those letters
but not what we originally thought. We paid too much attention to Francine
Taylors letters and not to Elizabeth Morris'. Her final letter was dated June
30th. Murphy was found on June 1st which was the same day the letter was
postmarked. He made a little mistake there. But that's the pattern. He's going
for the last day of the month. We need to get moving. Now." She spoke rapidly
and it only took a second for the words to register in Scully's brain.
"Oh my God." She ran to her room and emerged minutes later clad in jeans and a
gray FBI T-shirt, sneakers on her feet, shoving a clip into her Sig Sauer.
"Let's go."
The two women hurried to Scully's car. Once inside, Sydney kept trying to call
Agent Fowley. Scully could tell that she was having no luck given the blue
streak she was swearing. She hung up the cell phone and looked at Scully, who
was driving through the deserted streets like a madwoman.
"You know where we need to go." It was a statement rather than a question.
"Fox Run."
"Dana, tell me you're sure of that."
She looked at her friend in the glow of the dashboard light. "Surer of that than
anything else."
Sydney only nodded.
Within minutes, they were pulling into the parking lot of the golf course.
Scully felt a burning sensation flow through her body when she saw it: the white
van. The same white van from her dream. She didn't know how she knew that since
so many white vans looked alike, she was just sure of it. She pulled up next to
the van, which was void of any life.
"Call an ambulance. Get Skinner and keep trying Fowley. I'm in pursuit." She got
out into the driving rain and ran into the darkness of the course.
She ran hard, for a brief moment she was reminded of chasing after Mulder in
Chaney, Texas. This time though, she was saving Mulder from a killer and not the
other way around. She stopped for a moment atop a hill. She needed a second to
get her bearings. She looked around; wishing the place was lit. Then, a clap of
thunder and a flash of lightning answered her prayers, if only for a moment. She
could see everything almost like in daylight. In those few seconds, she could
see where she was and where she needed to be. The water hazard was about 250
yards from where she was.
Then her heart stopped. She could see him clearly if for only a moment; he had
Mulder thrown over one shoulder. The lightning subsided and she was thrown into
darkness again. Guided only by her memory, Scully bolted in the direction of the
water hazard never pausing to catch her breath. She slowed slightly after going
about 100 yards. She jogged along; straining to see what was ahead of her when
lightning flashed again. She could see how much closer she was now. He had only
just reached the water hazard. Mulder was on the ground in a lifeless heap.
Scully felt recharged with a newfound energy. Heedless of any potential danger
in the situation, she sprinted the rest of the distance, her eyes adjusting to
the darkness. She felt the secure weight of her gun at her side, her hand
reaching for it when she was only 50 yards away. Weapon in hand, she continued
running getting closer and closer. Finally, she was only 20 feet away. She
squinted to see past the rain and darkness in time to see Mulders nearly
lifeless body being tossed into the deep water.
Rage spread through her entire body. You sonofabitch. "FREEZE, FEDERAL
AGENT!!!!"
The man whipped around and saw her. Surprise registered over his features.
Slowly, he smiled. It was an eerie, empty smile that disturbed her deeply. From
the corner of her eye she could see Mulder begin to sink. The smile widened.
"It's him or me. Make your choice."
She could feel her jaw clench and her heart race. "Both." Before she was aware
of it, she had already fired four shots into him. Once she was aware of it, she
fired off another three. It all happened so fast, she was heading into the
water, the gun empty and hot in her holster. She swam out into the water. She
couldn't find him on the surface so she had no choice but to go under. Holding
her breath, she submerged and felt around for his limp body. Her fingers came in
contact with something--his shirt presumably. She grasped at it and grabbed on
to the arm and body that came with it. Finally she felt his solid weight in her
arms and she kicked ferociously for the surface. She knew she wasn't very deep
but it seemed to take ages to reach the surface.
Scully gasped once she broke the surface of the water, filling her lungs up with
fresh air. She struggled awkwardly with her unconscious partner, half dragging
him, half carrying him to the grassy shore. She lay him down on the grass and
checked his neck for a pulse. She didn't dare breathe as she waited for the
tell-tale thump under her fingers. There it was. So faint, hardly even there,
but definitely existent.
"Come on, Mulder…come on…" She urged the pulse to get stronger but it didn't. It
weakened.
Scully pressed her mouth to his, filling his lungs up with air. Then she pumped
determinedly at his chest. She counted along as she pressed. "One…two…three…"
Again she breathed for him. "One…two…three…" She continued the CPR growing more
and more frustrated. "Where the FUCK is that ambulance?!?!" Scully pumped his
chest for seconds that felt like hours. The strain of the month caught up with
her and she felt herself getting very, very mad. "GODDAMMIT MULDER YOU DO NOT
HAVE MY PERMISSION TO DIE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?!?" This time as she went to
press her mouth to his again, he began to cough weakly, finally breathing on his
own.
Relief enveloped her and made her shaky. She sat on the wet grass and gathered
Mulder into her arms. She held his head in her lap, rocking back and forth,
whispering to him.
"I've got you Mulder. I've got you. You're going to live partner. You are. Come
on Mulder, for me…live for me. Come on, just keep on breathing. That's it Fox,
inhale and exhale. That's it." She hadn't heard the ambulance arrive but soon
she was surrounded by paramedics and FBI agents. The men and women went about
their work, carefully strapping Mulder onto a gurney. Before she could blink it
seemed they already had an IV in him and a mask on his face. Someone helped her
to her feet. It was Skinner.
"Why don't you go and get cleaned up, then meet us back at the hospital?"
Scully nodded absently. It had all finally come to an end. The nightmarish month
had drawn to a close, the killer dead on the ground only a few feet away and
Mulder on the way to the hospital. She started walking to her car when she felt
someone next to her.
"Care to give a fellow agent a ride to her car?"
"Not at all."
10:45 AM
Mercy Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
It had been another sleepless night for Dana Scully. Somehow she had made it to
her apartment where Sydney convinced her to at least get a shower. Scully hadn't
seen the logic to that seeing as how she had been soaked to the skin already.
She had, however, relented and took a quick shower. Sydney was gone by the time
she had gotten out and she got dressed swiftly in the silence of the apartment.
She had tugged on a dry pair of jeans and a black polo shirt, slipped her feet
into a pair of black loafers and sped off into the dark morning. When she
arrived at the hospital, Skinner met her to tell her that Mulder would be in
surgery for the rest of the night and well into the morning. He encouraged her
to get some rest.
She waited.
It had been about 1:30 when Mulder got to the hospital. He wasn't out of surgery
until nearly 6:30. She had been waiting when he got out. While she was only too
familiar with hospital regulations, this time it was her turn to use her badge
to gain access somewhere she might otherwise not be allowed. She stayed there by
his bedside watching him take breath after breath, amazed at the miracle that
was Mulder.
There hadn't been good news for her once Mulder got out of surgery though. The
doctor who had operated on him asked to speak with her in the hall. He had
seemed more than just a little perplexed.
"Agent Scully, I understand that you are a medical doctor."
"That's correct."
"Then you understand the delicacy of Agent Mulder's situation."
"Yes."
He nodded. "First and foremost, he's suffering from severe malnutrition. He's
got a concussion that's been left untreated, several fractured ribs, first and
second degree burns over much of his torso, I'm not sure what's been done to his
back but I can only surmise that it was done with something wire like…"
"…A coat hanger." She choked.
He nodded. "Probably something like that. His clavicle is broken, he'll have
significant scarring over much of his chest due to the depth of some of those
cuts, and he had a pretty nasty infection spreading through him as well. We were
able to treat the infection with antibiotics and pretty much everything is
treatable. Don't get me wrong though, he's nowhere near being out of the woods
yet."
"What about his leg?"
He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then took a deep breath. "The bullet
passed through, which in this case was a good thing. However, the tibia and
fibula are both shattered. We'll have to put pins in it. The…unusual thing
though is…any symptoms of gangrene were limited to the surface. I've never seen
anything like it. It's like his body had built up immunity to it. I was afraid
that we would have no choice but to amputate, but upon further inspection…it's
truly a miracle that…that happened. I have no explanation for it. Had he been
treated with anything? Any experimental drugs of any sort?"
Scully shook her head slowly, thinking. "Could a virus have stepped up his
immune system?"
"No virus I've ever seen."
But maybe a retrovirus? "So, his leg will eventually be okay?"
"Yes, it's his head I'm most concerned about right now. Luckily, his skull
wasn't fractured. That boy must have a hard head to withstand what he did.
Anyway, from what I can gather, he probably suffered several small concussions
in succession. I can only judge by the superficial injuries to his head and
guess that there was at least a day between them, maybe more. I don't know what
the damage will be until he wakes up though. It's possible that he might be fine
or he might not remember anything. He'll probably suffer from headaches for a
while, that's a given. Worst case scenario: muscular weakness, temporary
paralysis, difficulty in speech…these symptoms will disappear with healing but
there's always the possibility of permanent effects such as depression,
decreased mental alertness or permanent paralysis. He's very lucky he didn't
hemorrhage and that there were no fractures to the skull or else we'd be looking
at a pretty severe case of meningitis."
"There's nothing to do now but wait?"
"That's about the long and short of it. I just want you to be prepared. He might
not know you when he wakes up."
She knew that. She knew the things that come with brain injuries. She just
hadn't wanted to think about that. She could only nod her head and walk slowly
back to Mulder. She sat in the chair she had pulled up next to his bed. She
could only hold his hand and pray.
She stayed that way for another three hours.
2:00 PM
He moved.
At first she wasn't sure, then he moved again. His fingers twitched and gently
grasped her hand. Scully's head shot up. His breathing had gotten stronger and
his eyebrows began to twitch. Scully watched him closely, her heart pounding in
her ears. She hadn't been aware that she was squeezing his hand so fiercely
until she heard him.
"I might be needing that."
It might have been no more than a whisper, it might have been hoarse and
strained, but it was the most welcome sound to Dana Scully's ears.
July 4
One year later
Fox Mulder rubbed at his eyes, blinking in the semi-darkness. He was restless
and it was time to get up. He sat up and stretched, massaging the stiffness out
of his calf. The scarring had faded, if only slightly. He got off of his couch,
continuing to rub his face in an effort to rid his brain of the last vestiges of
sleep. He moved about his apartment, first showering, then getting dressed, and
then grabbing an onion bagel from the half dozen he had picked up the morning
before. It was 6:00 by the time he was on his way. It was time for him to open
some old wounds.
The past year had been trying for him. He had pins holding his leg together and
he couldn't remember why. He had faint scars all over his body and he couldn't
remember why. He had horrible nightmares about being tortured in the dark, and
he couldn't remember why. He was missing a month from his memories and it was
killing him. He had tried everything from conventional therapy to hypnosis and
still the month of July 1998 remained repressed. He had even tried to talk to
Scully about it, but couldn't get the details he had wanted. She only told him
that the man they had been searching for turned the tables on him and kidnapped
him. She wouldn't or couldn't tell him any more. The scars on his body told him
that she was holding something back.
Scully. Her very name evoked an emotion that was getting harder and harder for
him to pinpoint. He would never have survived the year had it not been for her.
Her constant presence in his life eased his frustrations. She was with him every
day during his stay in the hospital. She brought him into her home and watched
over him while he struggled with the cumbersome plaster cast on his leg, driving
him to and from physical therapy and staying there while he struggled to walk
again. She had been there soothing him when he woke up with terrifying
nightmares, stroking his damp forehead and whispering to him that it had only
been a dream. She stood by him in silent resolve, giving him strength and hope.
She had helped him get back to his old life in his old apartment, helping him
move back even though neither of them wanted him to leave her home. She had gone
there and fed his fish, watered his plants and kept the dust from piling too
high. She had, during the past year, become more of a part of him than she had
been before.
So he was patient. He remained patient for a year. He went through his physical
therapy, ignoring the doctors who said he'd never return to the field. He did
his deskwork, pushing his luck with everyone in the bureau to insure that he'd
be able to get back to the X-Files. He had made a miraculous recovery stunning
everyone from his doctors to Scully herself. Now, it was the weekend before he
returned to the field. He had something he had to do if he were ever to attempt
to get back to his normal life.
He wasn't surprised to find the building empty. Not only was it a Sunday, it was
also 6:30 AM on a Federal Holiday. He'd have the privacy he was craving. He
parked the car and made his way to VCS. After a few minutes of searching, he
found the case file he had been looking for. He brought it down to his desk in
the basement. He was sure he'd need comfortable surroundings for this. He sat
down and opened the file folder. He found letters to Francine Taylor. He
remembered those. He remembered reading them and compiling a profile for her. He
met her and gave her the profile…and she was found dead several days later. He
found letters to Elizabeth Morris regarding Agent Eric Murphy. They were similar
to Francine's letters. A knot began to form in his chest. He rifled through the
rest of the papers until he came to another set of letters. These were addressed
to Dana Scully. Dawning comprehension settled over him as he realized what must
have happened. Hands trembling, he picked up the letters and began to read.
By the time he had finished the third letter, tears were pooling in his eyes and
spilling down his cheeks. Reading the words brought the memories back to him in
such a violent manner he could only compare it to slamming into a brick wall.
Six simple typewritten sheets of paper did what hours of hypnotherapy couldn't.
Recollections flooded his brain with such an intensity, he felt physically ill.
He had nearly died and the only person to hear his deepest secrets was a
bloodthirsty lunatic. His emotions had been as wide open as his wounds and there
had been no one there but his would-be killer. He had a vivid memory of laying
on that cold stone floor after vomiting while trying to stand. He had passed out
on the floor and began to either dream or hallucinate; he couldn't remember
which. He'd had a warm, safe dream about Scully in Hawaii. That had become his
safe place, the place he'd retreat to within himself.
He put the third letter down, perplexed. There should be four here…then he found
it. It was still in the envelope and sealed. No one had read it yet.
Someone was about to.
Slowly, deliberately, he opened the envelope. He held his breath while he read
the typewritten words.
7/31/98
Dear Agent Scully,
I know someone and he died with your name on his lips. His confession of love
for you the last words he uttered. How tragic. If he had told you before any of
this had ever happened, would htings be different now? Perhaps you would both be
safe and sound, happily married with a house, dog and 2.5 kids. Perhaps not.
I'm not sure what finally did him in, whether it was the internal bleeding or
the fever ravaging his body, but it was a very slow and painful process, I
assure you. He moaned and groaned for hours, his arms wrapped around himself as
though that could alleviate the agony, praying that you would come. Finally he
gave up. He rolled onto his back and cried the first tears I have seen since he
arrived here.
He cried for about an hour, until his weakened body couldn't take it any more
and force him to stop. The tears left him gasping for breath and soon he began
coughing up blood, his insides convulsing with each spasm. What little strength
he had remaining fled with his hope. He knew you wouldn't come. So he lay on the
floor, his eyes closed, blood dribbling down from his mouth, and he whispered "I
love you Dana."
Then he died. Died because you couldn't save him.
I know someone and he forgave you.
He wasn't sure what he was feeling after he read the letter. Upon delving
further into the file, he found out that the perp had taken him to a golf course
to dump him in the water hazard like he had done with all the other victims. He
had been close to death by that time and would surely have drowned had Scully
not arrived just in time to shoot the killer (seven times, he noted). She had
then rescued him from the pond and administered CPR to him, saving his life. He
also found out that the guy did contract maintenance work for golf courses all
over the DC and Alexandria area including the one he and Scully had gone to
once. It was this same one they had played at that was to be where he would have
been found. He sat there for nearly an hour and a half reading, absorbing what
had happened to him. A lot of events in only one month. He couldn't say he was
surprised that his brain had wanted to protect him from such a traumatic event.
Finally, he closed the file and swiped at his eyes. That final letter had
proclaimed him dead, but that's not how it had happened. Oh, it was pretty damn
close, he was sure of that. It just hadn't happened in exactly that manner. He
had been so close to death, and several times he had wanted to give in and die.
He had wanted to rid himself of his broken and battered body and immerse himself
in an eternity without pain or suffering. He couldn't. He couldn't make himself
do it. He couldn't leave Scully without at least saying good bye. He had tried
to say his good byes to her in his dreams but instead he had found himself
wanting her to not give up, to find him. The amazing thing was, she had.
"Mulder?"
That voice was the last one he had expected to hear. Her voice, the voice of his
champion, his protector, the reason he was still drawing breath to this day. He
turned to see that the expression on her face matched the tone in her voice:
shocked.
He gestured to the file on the desk, "Doing a little recreational reading." He
tried to smile and hide behind his wit. "I…" He trailed off, unable to finish.
His throat had tightened and he swallowed hard to rid himself of the sensation.
"I couldn't…remember. So I read the file." He took a steadying breath. "I
remember. Scully, I can remember everything."
Scully closed her eyes. She had known that being the way Mulder was, he wasn't
going to settle for her abbreviated synopsis of events. She had suspected that
he would have come here to read the case file. She just hadn't guessed he would
have gotten there before she did. Tears constricted her throat as she tried to
speak. She cleared her throat.
"And…?"
He looked overwhelmed. He got up from his swivel chair and approached her,
wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in to him. "Thank you. Thank
you for not giving up. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for standing by
me through this. Thank you for everything. You're the reason I'm standing here
right now Scully. You realize that, don't you?"
She looked down, focusing on a button on his shirt. She felt moisture fall on to
her cheeks and she buried her face in his shirt. "God Mulder, I don't know what
I would have done if you…" She found that she couldn't say it.
He tilted her face up to look at him. "But I didn't. I didn't die Scully. And
you know why?" His lips had begun to form a half smile through the tears.
"Why?"
"I didn't have your permission."
The sentiment echoed what her Mulder-Conscience had been telling her. She hadn't
told him about that. She hadn't told him much about that time, much less about
her dreams. She was still trying to comprehend as he started to speak again.
"One thing I have to know…I have to know this." He let her go and went to the
desk where he picked up the final letter. "Why was this sealed?"
She looked at the letter and envelope, taking a cleansing breath before she
spoke. "I got that while you were in the hospital. I hadn't checked my mail for
a few days, so I don't know exactly when I got it. I knew what it was though. I
knew what it was and I knew what it said. I didn't have to read it. I didn't
want to read it either so, I gave it to Skinner. I presume that he put it in the
file."
He nodded, absorbing all of this. There was still one thing he needed to know.
"How did you know? You know…that he would have gone to Fox Run?"
"He was there that same day we played, Mulder."
"What?" His eyes widened as a door leading to new possibilities swung open.
"Do you remember us going there and playing?" He nodded. "He was there that
day."
"How did you know that?" He just couldn't grasp the possibility…
"I don't know…I just did."
His only response was a raise of his left eyebrow.
"So, did you find…what you were looking for?" She hadn't wanted him to read the
letters, but she knew in the long run that she couldn't stop a headstrong
Mulder.
"I found what I needed, yes."
They stood there in uncomfortable silence. They both had so much to say, and
nowhere to start.
"You want to know how I got through it."
"Yes."
"You." One word, so simple…
Scully found that she couldn't speak. He looked down at her, green eyes locking
with blue.
"You got me through every day. You were there with me, urging me to live,
helping me see any glimmer of light. You were there with me doubting yourself,
but I had faith in you Scully. I had faith that you could find me because you're
a damn good agent and I had faith in you…" Scully experienced a distinct sense
of déjà vu as she felt his hands come to rest in her hair, cradling her face. "I
had faith in you because…because I love you."
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to absorb the emotions raging within
her. "Oh God Mulder, I love you too…" The choked whisper caught him off guard,
but Mulder continued.
"You were my one thought when I got shot, and when I woke up later. My first
thought when I opened my eyes and the only thought when I closed them to sleep.
I found comfort in the thought of you as I felt my bones break, you brought me
comfort when I couldn't turn my head without vomiting. You were there, Scully. I
could see you, feel you, hear you, smell you…" He trailed off long enough to
wipe the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. "There is one thing I
couldn't do." Without waiting for a response, he lightly touched his lips to
hers. What started out as an innocent, chaste kiss increased in intensity as a
scenario both had contemplated actually played out.
The kiss ended and Mulder found that all he could do at the moment was hold her
tightly to him, afraid if he let go she'd disappear. He tucked her head under
his chin where it seemed to fit so neatly and ran his fingers through her hair.
They stood like that for a few moments, two as one. Then Scully spoke, her voice
thick with emotion.
"We have a cookout to go to you know…Mom's expecting you."
He opened his arms and released her, still holding tightly on to her hand.
"Can't let Mrs. Scully down…come on, let's get some potato salad.
Then…fireworks?"
"Absolutely."
They headed up to the parking garage in companionable silence. They were nearly
to their cars parked side by side in the deserted garage when finally Mulder
spoke up.
"Scully?"
"Yeah?"
"I've got a question."
"Shoot."
"What do you think about Hawaii?"