Title: Ill Be Seeing You(3/3)
Author: Foxs 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
wantedneeded 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
theorywell,
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?"