GHOSTS by Yvonne J Richards

Tue May 27 1997
Subject: GHOSTS by Yvonne J Richards

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DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the
Fox Network. They also belong to Mitch Pileggi, Gillian Anderson and David
Duchovny, without whom, they would have life, but no soul. No copyright
infringement intended. All other characters bear no resemblance to anyone
either living or dead. There is no monetary gain involved. Please feel free
to distribute wherever, just keep me as author.

GHOSTS (1/3)
Yvonne J Richards
Yvonne-Richards@msn.com
Set near the end of Season 4
RATING - R for general bad language
CONTENT WARNING - MULDERANGST
CLASSIFICATION - S and A
29th May 1997
Dedicated to my Mom who would have been 77 today.
THANKS to Gerry Hill and Rhiannon for their support and keeping me on track.

The ghosts of the past come back to haunt a terrified Mulder. Can Scully
convince him that they're not real?

Present Day

Floating.

Gently, gently floating.

Slowly I have ascended. Risen above myself. Relaxed. Heading for the
oblivion of Nirvana. Both receptive, and susceptible, to the external forces
that play upon the mind.

I look down at the form I leave behind. The feeling of euphoria. The
quickening of my pulse. The excitement of this unreality that I find myself
drawn into. Submerging myself into it. Wrapping myself in its' warm
embrace. Its' safety. Comfort. I soar with the joy and abandonment that
only unconsciousness can bring.

Oh that my life could be like this.

Now I begin to settle. My form floats downwards to meet my body in the
quicksand of time. The promise of unfettered release into the warm, safe
corners of my mind is nearing its' reality. Memories of happy times, recalled
and recounted in the time when the mind and body heals. An intense peace
pervades me as I slip into the land between conscious and unconscious.

Time has slowed to the drip of a leaking tap as the vivid, intense imagery of
life and death rush by. Time cascades around me whilst life plummets. Life
and death puddling before me in pools of inky black.

My form returns to my body and slips through it, down and down.
Now on its' declivitious path, slipping and slithering. Sliding over the dark
precipitous void that sleep brings. Spiralling down into the dark vortex.
Tumbling. Falling now as I swoop and plunge into the murky depths below.

Harder and harder I try to scramble up the sides of this unfathomable dark
hole in space and time. Will myself to come back, to surface from the
threatening menace that I know will come with sleep.

Being sucked down and down and down. Nearer and nearer to the dark dungeons
that hold me prisoner. Sleep has become my jailer. Further and further I
fall until …

My eyes snap open.

* * * * * *

Present Day
Fox Mulder's Car

"MULDER!"

My eyes snap open.

"Watch out!"

I'd only lost it for a second but it was enough. The look on my partner's
face was enough to tell me that I'd crossed the reasonable line. There was no
going on now. She would undoubtedly take over. She would need to, she
couldn't stand by and watch this any longer. It had happened too many times
for her to ignore.

I watch the scene outside the car as if in trance. My partner offers comfort
to the woman as she clamps the small child to her breast. The child who has
run out into the road. The child whom I did not see, could not see. How
could I have seen her? I was asleep in Hell.

I hang my head in shame as the Mother gestures towards the car. I don't want
to see what I've almost done. I don't want to be admonished for this. I know
that I should be out there with her, apologising, but for a second I don't
know what is reality and what isn't.

Is any of this real?

My head remains on the steering wheel, my heartbeat registering ten on the
Richter scale, my breathing close to hyperventilating. Why in God's name is
this happening to me?

The car door opens and I reel from the tension, recoil from the almost
physical blow she deals me with her silence. There are no words. What words
can be said?

I almost killed an innocent child.

"Mulder, get out of the car."

I can't move, my body will not respond to my mind's commands.

"Mulder, I said get out of the car."

Still I make no move. She touches me, just a hand around my upper arm and I
want to relinquish myself into her care, unburden myself to her. But to what
end? She has problems enough of her own without me adding to them. A silent
sob echoes deep in my breast and I shudder at the touch of the physical world.
She has crouched down now and is speaking softly to me.

"Mulder, I need you to get out of the car. You can't drive like this. I'm
taking you home."

Shame has silenced my tongue, the inability of speech is rare for me but it
has overcome me in my waking hours. The hours when I should be able to
command myself, control myself.

Instead I slip into Hell.

* * * * * *
Two weeks earlier
Basement Office
FBI Headquarters

"Mulder? Mulder, are you okay?"

My eyes open to see Dana Scully bending over me, a protective hand on my
shoulder. Concern for me etched in the deep blue oceans that have become
turbulent seas of sorrow this last year. She constantly tells me she's fine.
I know better.

"Hey Scully, morning."

"That's just it Mulder."

"What's just what?" I look confused, probably because I am.

"It isn't morning! I only left you five minutes ago, you were fresh as a
daisy and I come back to find you dead to the world."

"Oh you know how it is. Burning the candle at both ends. Party, party,
party." I can see she's not convinced but she knows the almost impenetrable
walls that we've built around each other won't come down that easily. Trouble
is, I want to confide in her. I want to tell her what's wrong. Tell her how
much I need her. Need her scientific reasoning, tell her how much I need to
ground *myself* in science, in the rational. My own 'paranormality' won't
work for me now.

"Okay Mulder. Hot new date I expect?"

I smile, I won't lie to her, but I don't want to explain either. She
continues on with her work and leaves me to mine.

Spiralling down and down.

My eyelids flutter and I feel my head wobble, my shoulders hunch forward, my
lips part slightly, my head drops, drops. No, no, not again. I can't sleep -
I won't sleep.

"Mulder!"

She's beside me again, shaking me.

"Must have been some party." I say, smiling benignly at her.

"I'm going to get some coffee."

"No." My heart races, no coffee, not caffeine. Please God not caffeine.
"Not coffee."

"A bottle of spring water then?"

"Yes." I manage tiredly, my mouth hardly able to form the words.

She returns to me and proffers the water which I dutifully take, gulping long
swigs of it. It's cool and refreshing and feels strange as it courses its'
way through the heat of my flesh. She's noticed the perspiration on my brow.
The back of her hand comes to rest on my forehead, the look of concern is
back.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're not running a fever are you?"

I'm running alright, but not a fever.

"No. I'm just a bit hot. Think I'll take a walk outside."

"What about some lunch?"

"Yeah, fine."

"I'll get us something, you go find a bench."

Grounds of the FBI Building
FBI Headquarters

There it goes again.

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

The constant noises in my head. I hold it between my hands, my elbows resting
on my knees. The noises won't go away. Lights flash before me and then …

Thump.

My elbow slips off my leg and I find myself awake again. For a second I don't
know where I am, fear creeps over me and then I see her walking across the
grass towards me. She is real, the only reality in my life. The only thing
that tethers me to sanity.

"Salad sandwich okay? It was all I could get."

"That's fine."

We eat in companionable silence - for now. It is only a matter of time before
Dana Scully, doctor, pathologist and scientist takes me in hand.

I both dread that day and long for it.

* * * * * *

Fox Mulder's Apartment
That same evening

I'm exhausted.

For weeks now I have hardly slept. My nightmares of Samantha have been
replaced by something that is even beyond my capabilities of explaining.

I feared sleep before, but now I am terrified of it. Sleep can only hold
dread for me. I know I must sleep, but I cannot. As long as I can hold out,
show the world I'm coping.

It will go away.

It must go away.

Because if it doesn't then I shall have to seriously consider my mental state.

Tentatively I lay back on the couch and consider it again. The naps I have
taken to having now are worse than sleep. The terrors come in the naps during
the day or night. They have no boundaries, no etiquette. They creep up on me
and scare the shit out of me.

It wasn't every night that I dreamed of Samantha, it was regularly but not
every night. But this, this is every night, every day. Every moment I live
on a knife edge of falling asleep. Of having them come to me again. All of
my fears, my obsessions, my paranoia, they all come to my 'party' to mock and
to gloat.

I'm scared.

I think that I'm going insane.

I think it is retribution for fucking up everyone's life.

I try to stay awake, try to watch tv, listen to music, read, but the eyelids
drop, and I spiral down into the dark waters of sleep with my stomach churning
and my heart beating to a rhythm of fear that I have never before known.

Thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthumpthumpthump. Breathe Mulder. Breathe. I
can't, I *can't* breathe. Panic assaults me.

My eyes snap open.

Oh my Christ.

I can't move.

I can't move my arms.

My legs.

I can't breathe. There's something on my chest. Christ get it off me. Get
it off me please. I can't breathe. I CAN'T BREATHE. Please.

I plead with this non-existent weight that forces the breath out of my
ribcage. The pressure is almost unbearable. Yet there is no one here.

There is nothing here.

Except the blackness and the fear.

My eyes dart around the room, it begins to fill with colored lights, dancing
haloes coming toward me and then retreating.

Oh shit!

I move my mouth to scream. I cannot move it. Cannot make a sound.

I am trapped in my body.

Entombed.

Dead.

Am I dead? Oh God. I feel a sob catch in my throat. I don't know. I don't
know if I'm dead.

Oh Christ. My breathing quickens. My pulse races. Panic floods over me. I
try to close my eyes, but I can't, they won't move. Nothing moves anymore.

I lie here immobile, terrified.

Oh Christ, I'm *so* scared.

* * * * * *

Next Day
Basement Office
FBI Headquarters

"Hey Scully, howya doin?"

"Morning Mulder. You look better this morning."

"Yeah, took your advice and got an early night."

"Bout time too."

She smiles and carries on with her paperwork. She has begun to look so pale
since the cancer was diagnosed. The fine lines around her eyes more apparent
as each day passes. Each day that may be her last. If only I could find the
truth. That chain-smoking bastard has the answers, I know that, but Skinner
was right. I have to know what he knows but I can't make a deal with a man
who trades in lies. Still, I have to know what he knows.

And yet, here I am teetering on the brink of insanity. What possible use can
I be to her while I'm getting screwed up in my head? I'm of no use to her, to
myself. I'm of no fucking use to anyone anymore.

If I could turn back the hands of time. Oh my God. Listen to me. But if I
could. If I could have saved Samantha, where would I be now? Would I even be
working for the FBI? Would I have met Scully? That would be a sadness to me,
but if I am to 'believe', then we have always been together down through the
aeons of time. Perhaps if I'd never believed in the first place I wouldn't be
here today.

If that bastard hadn't assigned Scully to me she would still have all of her
family, her health. I took the whole goddamn lot away from her. She must
hate me.

Do you hate me Scully?

I hear her say No. But I don't believe.

I can't bear to be around her. It's true, her presence fills me with dread
and guilt and yet I need her presence. I need to know that she is still
alive, that she is indeed *out there* for me. Without her I have nothing.

"Scully?"

She looks up, her face expressionless, a pen poised between her fingers.
There is no answer, just a nod.

"I'm going home."

A small statement, an admission of my guilt, a need to loosen the tethers to
this earthly body that racks me with such guilt. I need to get away from her.
I need to sleep.

Truly sleep.

"Aren't you well Mulder?"

"No I'm fine. I just want to get on with this profile and I can't seem to
concentrate here at the moment."

"Okay, I'll catch you later. Give you a call. Okay?"

"Yes, fine, whatever."

* * * * * *

Mulder's Apartment
Later that day

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

Through the darkness of the night. Into the night and back again. Wrapping
itself around me like the dark cloak of death.

The darkness is pervaded by lights. Sparkling haloes of light that dance
around the room. Tantalising. Tormenting me. The room is lit by an eerie
glow and the thrum, thrum, thrum in my ears continues unabated.

My heartbeat quickens as the pressure on my chest intensifies, my breathing
shallower and shallower.

Someone is beside me, yet I cannot see them. I feel the terror of this unseen
presence. I cannot move. My hands and feet do not respond to my commands.
The very nerve centre that controls my every waking movement fails me now. I
cannot move. My heart begins to pound in my chest. My breathing. I cannot
breathe. I cannot breathe. I scream to myself in terror but I cannot be
heard. No one can hear me.

I can hear.

I can see.

But I cannot be heard and I cannot be seen.

The still, dark, murky waters lap, dip and swell around the edges of my mind.
Brushing tantalisingly close to the shoreline of reality but not quite
reaching it. The fluidity of the imagery, just distant enough to escape my
physical grasp, but its' presence obvious to me, the viewer.

I can see her … but …

I cannot touch her.

I can hear her speak to me … but …

I cannot answer her.

I cannot move.

All I can do is watch.

If this is death, wrap your dark cloak around me and let me slip this mortal
life. For if this is life I have no wish to live it.

* * *
Dana Scully picked up her 'phone and hit Fox Mulder's speed dial button.
Settling herself back on the couch she waited for him to answer her. It rang
out a number of times before she heard his weary voice.

"Mulder."

"You sound tired Mulder."

"What? Oh yeah." He sighed. "I am."

"Do you want me to come over and give you something?" Concern oozed in her
voice.

"Would it out-do my porn videos and telephone sex Scully? 'Cause if it would,
then the answer is an unqualified YESSSS!" He laughed tiredly.

"Just trying to help Mulder."

"I know, thanks. But I'll get by." I hope, he thought. "Thanks for the
concern. Goodnight Scully."

"Night Mulder."

Mulder switched off his 'phone and placed it back under his pillow. For once,
he had decided to use his futon. His attacks of insomnia had become
increasingly prevalent and now instead of catching a few hours sleep a night,
he was lucky if he managed to get that in one week.

Strangely enough he hadn't dreamt quite as much these past few weeks but then
he presumed it was because he wasn't asleep. I mean you can't dream when
you're awake. Can you?

* * * * * *
Dana Scully's Apartment
That same evening

Dana settled herself in for the night on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and
the remote. She didn't feel like sleep either and had decided to utilise the
time constructively, but ended up watching movies and eating popcorn. It was
no good, Mulder would have to go, he was a bad influence on her.

She wondered how he was doing. He hadn't said as much, but she knew that he
was hardly sleeping at all. He was unusually irritable with everyone and his
eyes looked like someone had face painted him up to look like a Panda. One of
these days, he's going to crack. He really is. How he keeps going sometimes
I don't know?

Sighing, she settled herself down to watch the re-run of 'Ghost'. She'd seen
it most times it had been on and she really would need to grab the tissue box.
If only for when she laughed at Whoopi Goldberg. Who are you trying to kid
she thought?

The film, as usual tore at her heartstrings and when the lovers finally parted
at the end the muffled sobs were heard distinctly through the wad of tissues
she had pressed to her mouth. She wanted to call Mulder again. She was
worried about him. Why on earth the film had made her think of Mulder heaven
only knew.

But it had.

Again, she punched his number and waited for him to reply. All she got was
the answer machine.

Continued in Part 2

"A beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void his luminous wings in
vain."
From 'Shelley' by Matthew Arnold

Doesn't that just sum up Mulder's quest beautifully?

Thank you for reading thus far. Any comments to Yvonne_Richards@msn.com

From Yvonne_Richards@msn.com Tue May 27 03:14:37 1997
Subject: 2/3 GHOSTS by Yvonne J Richards
From: "Yvonne Richards" <Yvonne_Richards@msn.com>
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DISCLAIMER IN PART 1

Ghosts 2/3 by
Yvonne J Richards
29th May 1997

Mulder's Apartment
That same evening

"Look at me Mulder."

"Oh but you can. You just don't want to. Do you?"

"You feel too guilty for not helping me. Don't you?"

"Oh I can't do that Mulder. You know that. What would be my purpose in life
then?"

The woman glided out of view. Just to the side of the bed but far enough that
I wasn't able to see her. I can't move my head. Shit. I can't move
anything.

This is like no nightmare I've ever had before. I feel like I'm awake. I am
awake. My eyes are open, but I can't move. Oh Christ. Panic flits through
my stomach.

"She is, isn't she? Always on your case. But that was the intention wasn't
it? From day one that's what we wanted."

Why did he always have to turn up? There was never a move made without the
'puppet master' making an appearance.

"This is Fox Mulder, please leave a message."

"Mulder? Are you okay?" A pause. "Come on, pick up." Another pause. "I
expected you to be awake." Concern now dripped from the voice. "Mulder? -
Mulder! - I'm coming over - NOW."

Tears spring to my eyes and trickle down the sides of my face.

<Scully, oh Scully. In God's name, what's happening to me?>

"You need saving from yourself Mulder."

The smoke from the cigarette assaults my nose and eyes making them smart even
more.

"Oh no Mr Mulder, you definitely need saving from yourself. Is that pretty
little partner of yours going to try to save you?"

"Would that I could Mulder. But you know she's too intimately woven into the
plot now."

What's that pounding I can hear? Christ it's my heart. It feels like it's
about to burst. Fear and panic rolled into one. There's someone close by. I
can't see who it is. Just know someone's there. Oh Christ. Who is it? The
dreams were different, weren't they? Then I could see people, hear them but
couldn't answer. But this, this is someone by me. Shaking me. Let me go.
Don't touch me.

"NO."

"Mulder. It's me Scully."

Deathly afraid I push back up in the bed - away from her.

"No, go away. Leave me alone. Don't touch me."

"Mulder. It's me, it's okay. You've had a bad dream. That's all."

I back up again, getting further and further from her.

"No, this is the nightmare. Leave me alone."

She edges towards me on the bed, I have nowhere left to go as she leans into
me. Slowly she takes my hand in hers and brings it up to her face.

"See, I'm real. You can touch me. Feel me."

I jerk my hand away putting my arms around myself. Hugging my body tight as
if trying to establish to myself that I am in fact real.

Now she's taking hold of my upper arm and stroking it.

"Mulder, it was just a bad dream. You're okay now."

"No." I whimper.

"Mulder it was. I'm here now. Nothing's going to hurt you. I'm here."

Once again the tears trickle down my face as I vaguely remember hearing this
voice before, full of concern for me. Perhaps I could trust? Should trust?
If I can't trust my memories perhaps I should trust this woman? She seems to
care for me. Not like the 'others' who come to me in the night and tease and
torment me. No. This woman cares for me, I can tell that by the look on her
face, the tone of her voice. I can trust her.

Slowly, I sit up in bed and eye the woman sat next to me.

"I *can* trust you can't I?"

"Of course you can Mulder."

Arms reach out for me but the dream has changed and I can't move again. Can't
move towards them. Can't move.

<Scully! Help me! I CAN'T MOVE. Help me for chrissakes. Help me.>

The arms reach out again to embrace me.

It's Scully, it's Scully, she's come to save me.

Oh Christ, NO.

I try to close my eyes, but I can't.

It's not Dana, it's … it's not Dana.

The key turned in his lock and Dana ran to his bedroom hearing his sobs.

He woke abruptly.

"Mulder, it's me Scully. It's okay, you've had a bad dream."

She reaches out to touch me but I flinch away. She'll turn into the old hag
again. I know she will. Oh just leave me alone. I sit and hug my knees,
rocking back and forth. I thought she was my salvation, but she's no
different to the rest, she's come to haunt me as well.

Don't touch me, for chrissakes don't touch me.

"Was it Sam again?"

I shake my head, my breathing is so fast I cannot answer her.

"Mulder, I need for you to calm down. Just sit up and cup your hands over
your mouth. You're hyperventilating. Just take big deep breaths. In, out.
Come on. That's better."

The breathing becomes steadier and more rhythmic and she looks pleased with
me. But I can't keep it up, I'm panting now, my mouth open, my chest visibly
rising and falling, the rasps of my breath increasing in volume as my panic
rises and rises. She's holding onto my upper arms. I don't want her to touch
me, she'll change again. I close my eyes, I don't want to see her change.

I trust you Dana, trust you Dana, trustyouDana, trustyouDana. I chant it like
a prayer, a mantra.

I open my eyes.

Slowly.

She's still there.

Still Dana.

My breathing slows again and I allow myself the luxury of being pulled into
her embrace. I feel her smoothing my hair, cradling my head against the
softness of her breasts. Feel her heart beating, quicker than usual. I
shouldn't be doing this to her. She has enough to cope with. She doesn't
need some fucked up partner who thinks he's mentally insane.

My desire is to remain here, warm and safe in her embrace but I know that I
need to be strong for her. She needs my strength to go on. That's what she
wrote wasn't it? I need to know that you are out there if ever I am see
through this. They were her words, the words I read in her Journal in
Allentown so long ago now. Well, it seems like so long ago now. It's hardly
been anytime at all. My heart feels like it's been years. I know that it's
all my fault, she has cancer because of me. Her sister is dead because of me.
My sister is missing stroke dead because of me.

I feel like I'm the Devil's advocate, some dark catalyst of human nature that
devours the good in life only to leave the evil to reproduce itself in a great
circle of deceit.

I am nothing.

I am nothing until I can prove that I can do something right.

She whispers into my hair, comforts me like a small child that has awoken from
a night terror. This is more than a night terror, this is Hell.

"It's okay Mulder. You're safe now."

"I'm nothing."

"Don't say that Mulder."

"It's the truth. I'm nothing."

The depth of my despair has of late overwhelmed me. Scully's cancer has
pushed me over the precipitous edge between sanity and insanity. My guilt
drowns me in my own conscience and my night terrors are demons of my own
making. Hell bent on destroying me.

I pull away from her, she needs my strength, not this. This miserable shell
of a man I have become. Once, back in Allentown I thought maybe she cared for
me. What a jerk. How could she want me, the man who killed her sister, the
man who gave her cancer, the man who just fucks up everybody's life he comes
into contact with. I pull away.

For her.

I need her more than life itself but I pull away.

She will not let me. She holds me with a ferocity unknown to me. Holds me as
if … as if by holding me she is 'holding' on. I cannot shake her. She will
not be shaken.

I feel her tears on my neck and I am powerless.

I can do nothing for her.

I am nothing.

Next Day
Assistant Director Skinner's Office
FBI Headquarters

"Agent Scully, Mulder." Skinner nodded and indicated for them to sit down.

"Sir, before we begin I wonder if I could request a leave of absence for a few
days?"

"Is there anything I should know Agent Mulder?"

"No Sir. I just feel the need for a break."

Skinner looked from Mulder to Scully and back again, eyes wide with amazement.
Usually Mulder had to be forced to take his annual leave. He never asked for
leave, it was virtually unheard of.

"Well, that's good. Yes, fill in the forms and let me have them back, I'll
approve them straight away."

"Thank you Sir."

"Right, well let's get back to the matter in hand. The profile you were doing
of Ewan Johns, is it ready yet?"

"No Sir, I've been having trouble getting my head round it. That was one of
the reasons I've requested some leave. I thought maybe the atmosphere of the
office wasn't conducive to opening up my mind to all the possibilities."

He saw Scully arch an eyebrow, a small smile settled on her lips.

"Well, I've had some other feedback from the field Agents. If you don't mind
I'd like to go over … found … scene of crime … blood … DNA tests …
inconclusive …"

"Mulder." Scully was shaking his arm as he sat bolt upright.

"Sorry Sir. You were saying."

Skinner shot a worried look at Scully. "I think you'd better fill those
holiday forms in now Agent Mulder, before I place you on enforced leave."

* * * * * *

An hour later
Basement Office
FBI Headquarters

"Mulder, would you care to tell me what this is all about."

"What what is all about Scully?"

"You keeping falling asleep, every few hours you take a nap."

"I told you I've been partying."

"Mulder, you never go to party's. You never sleep at night let alone sleep
during the day."

"I'm fine." That's what you tell me isn't it?

"You're not, you look like hell, you're irritable and what's more, you keep
falling asleep. Are you going to see a Doctor?"

"I can see one."

"Ha ha very funny. I'm serious Mulder. Are you sleeping?"

"As much as I ever do." Get off my case Scully, let me alone.

"This isn't like you Mulder. Usually you can go for days on end without
sleep. Now you're like a cat, curling up at the first opportunity."

"There's no pleasing some people is there? Will that be all Dr Scully? I'll
write you a consultation check at the end of the month."

Sighing, she watched him walk out of their office. She had no idea where he
was going other than to his Apartment.

* * * * * *

A few hours later
Mulder's Apartment

Why do I let her get to me this way? I know she cares but I don't need her
ministrations. I can look after myself. I have to look after myself. Who
else is there to look after me? She needs me to be strong. I have to get
through this by myself.

I have to.

I just wish I could understand this unusual need I have for sleep, I've never
suffered from this before, quite the reverse in fact. Perhaps all the years
are catching up on me. Perhaps.

I'll just sit here and watch tv, I won't sleep. I can't sleep. I'm afraid to
sleep. The ghosts come to get me when I'm asleep, but the trouble is I'm not
asleep. I'm awake. They tread this fine line between wake and sleep where I
don't know what's real anymore. The dreams are as real as the real world.

That scares the shit out of me.

I don't know the difference between reality - yes I do. In the 'real' dreams
I can't move, can't speak. In the other dreams, like in the real world, I can
do both.

Why is it then that the sleeping Hell and waking Hell don't feel that much
different?

Oh No.

I'm on the downward slippery path again. Frantically searching for footholds.
Something. Anything to hold on to. To stop me from falling. I can't fall
into this pit again. This cess pit of fear. Fear as tangible as the physical
world.

I don't float downwards now, I plummet. Heading nearer and nearer my maker -
the Devil. I do his work in the real world and in my 'real' dreams he sends
his demons for me. I cannot atone for anything I have done. This is surely
my penance.

Still I fall.

I send up a prayer. Oh God, help me.

Stop me from falling.

My eyes snap open.

Thrum, thrum, thrum, the pounding in my head. Somebody stop it. I try to
move my head, but the noise becomes shriller and shriller. Stop moving. You
have to stop moving. I'm not moving, but the noise won't stop. Please
someone stop it.

"Fox!"

"It's not nice to swear in front of little girls."

<Samantha. Where did you come from?>

She's standing here. Right by my bed but I can't reach out to touch her. I
don't know if she's real. She is real. It's me I can't move. There is
something wrong with *me*. It is Sam, it must be. I can't take this. I'm
awake and Sam is here with me but I can't move.

She's gone.

<Sam, where are you?>

"I'm here Fox."

<Where? I can't see you. Where?>

"Here Fox. Just look. Turn your head and look."

"Excuses, excuses, excuses. You couldn't move *that* night could you. You
can't move now. You're pathetic Fox. Just like Eddie van Blundht said,
you're a born loser."

He heard his little sister spat the words at him. He wasn't a loser. Scully
had told him he wasn't a loser. He was not a loser.

<I'm not a loser Sam. I love you and I wish I could have saved you. You'll
never know how much I wish that.>

"Oh I think I do. Enough to go mad for? Enough to destroy everyone's life
for? Enough to hurt everyone in your selfish search for the truth?"

<No, no, no.>

Sam's image fades and then looms at me again. I can't close my eyes against
the next image. *She* is Cancerman. *He'd* made her smoke his cigarette,
made her in his image.

Oh my God. No. This is too much to bear.

She looms towards me. Her face distorting the nearer she comes. She blows
smoke over. I can't see.

"Oh but Mr Mulder. You forget your manners and your language, not in front of
the children now."

"Perhaps I've already made her in my image, before. Back in 1964."

"Language Mr Mulder."

The image retreats and Samantha's smiling face shines back at me. A smile of
pure redemption. I could almost believe she was dead, her face looks just
like an angel.

"Pity my brother's an angel of death."

<No, Sam, no.>

"There's no getting away from it, from it, from it, fromitfromitfromitfromit…"

"Oh God."

I clamp my hand to my chest, and let out a ragged breath. Now that I am
awake, I do not truly believe I am awake. I reach for my 'phone.

"Scully are you awake?"

"Yes, well, of course I am."

"Are you real?"

"Mulder?"

Continued in Part 3

"A beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void his luminous wings in
vain."
From 'Shelley' by Matthew Arnold

Doesn't that just sum up Mulder's quest beautifully?

Thank you for reading thus far. Any comments to Yvonne_Richards@msn.com

From Yvonne_Richards@msn.com Tue May 27 03:16:37 1997
Subject: 3/3 GHOSTS by Yvonne J Richards
From: "Yvonne Richards" <Yvonne_Richards@msn.com>
--------

DISCLAIMER IN PART 1

Part 3/3 Ghosts
by Yvonne J Richards
29th May 1997

Next Night
Fox Mulder's Apartment

I sat for a just a moment. Just a moment, that's all. And it happened. Down
and down I went - AGAIN!

"Fox?"

<Dad!>

Another guilt trip. He died in my arms. I couldn't save him. For a time I
hated him. Perhaps I still hate him. Hate him for what he did to Samantha.
Samantha hates me in my 'real' dreams. Everyone hates me. Scully hates me.
I know she does. She just does a better job than most of covering it up.

"You think this is Hell don't you?"

<Yes.>

"You aint seen nothing yet."

Oh my God. Oh no. Get them off me, get the fucking things off me. Oh no,
they're crawling all over me. Insects, get the fucking things off me.
Christ, get them off me.

Sculleeeeee!

Thank God. I'm awake. I think. I can move, I can feel, I can touch. I'm
awake. Thank God.

Breathe Mulder, breathe in and out. Breathe for God's sake man. You're
hyperventilating again - breathe. In, out, in, out. I can hear Scully
talking me down, oh no, it's coming again. Rapid breathing, my chest hurts.
Calm down. You have to calm down. Ring her, ring Scully, ring her.

I'm frightened to try to move, just in case I can't. Oh man, this is so
fucking frightening. Mulder, you're a grown man. Reach for the 'phone and
ring her.

"Scully?"

My voice gives my fear away, she'll know how frightened I am. I don't fucking
care, I need someone, I need to know that I'm real. That I'm safe.

"Mulder? Are you okay? Have you been dreaming again?"

"Yes." My reply is so small she must be hardly able to hear me, but she does.
She tells me she'll be here, soon.

Not soon enough though.

"Mulder. Mulder. Wake up Mulder."

I can feel her touching me. Shaking me but I cannot drag myself back to the
real world. This demonic world that has captured me, will not let me go.
Refuses to let her help me. How can I feel her touch? It's so real. I know
she's here but I can't respond to her.

I can't wake up!

I want to wake up.

But I can't.

I will myself with every last ounce of strength I have to move a finger, just
a finger and then it will all be over.

For now.

Just a finger, please dear God, just a finger.

"Mulder. Wake up. Mulder."

"Scully."

My fear propels me into her arms and I cling to her like a drowning man to a
raft. I am so scared. I can't talk to her I just hold on for dear life. She
will never have seen me like this before. I've never been like this before.
Never been so scared in my entire life.

"Mulder it's okay. It was just a dream."

* * * * * *

Present Day
Fox Mulder's Car

"MULDER!"

My eyes snap open.

"Watch out!"

Is any of this real?

My head remains on the steering wheel, my heartbeat registering ten on the
Richter scale, my breathing close to hyperventilating. Why in God's name is
this happening to me?

The car door opens and I reel from the tension, recoil from the almost
physical blow she deals me with her silence. There are no words. What words
can be said?

I almost killed an innocent child.

"Mulder, get out of the car."

I can't move, my body will not respond to my mind's commands.

"Mulder, I said get out of the car."

"Mulder, I need for you to get out of the car. You can't drive like this.
I'm taking you home."

Shame has silenced my tongue, the inability of speech is rare for me but it
has overcome me in my waking hours. The hours when I should be able to
command myself, control myself.

Instead I slip into Hell.

* * * * * *

Later that day
Dana Scully's Apartment

"Mulder, you know this can't go on don't you?"

Of course I do Scully. What do you take me for? An idiot. But what can I
do?

"Yes."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do?"

I see her impatience with me surfacing.

"Go see a Doctor."

"To what end Scully?"

"He can make a diagnosis, suggest a sleep management programme, medication."

"Whatever I do wont make the slightest difference."

"How so?"

"Until I find Sam my inner demons wont go away. They'll still haunt me in the
middle of the night."

"I thought you said it wasn't Sam."

Damn, she remembered. She'd asked if it was Sam again and I'd shook my head.
Damn. I could have kept her at bay if she thought it was still the nightmares
of Samantha. Damn.

"We all have bad dreams from time to time Scully."

"Not like this Mulder. Not like you've been having."

The look of concern is back on her face. How does she do that? Put all that
concern into her voice, her face, when in her heart she must hate me. How can
she put me before her own health, again and again?

She doesn't, jerk.

You make her.

I go to stand but she looks at me with such ferocity.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Home?"

"We'll go pick up your things and then we come back here."

* * * * * *

Later that evening
Dana Scully's Apartment

"I've made up the spare bed for you."

"You don't have to do this Scully, you know."

"I know Mulder. Perhaps it will help knowing that someone is here with you.
I'll only be in the next room."

"Thanks."

Perhaps, perhaps. There's no perhaps about it. How can it be of any help
someone being close by. It doesn't stop me dreaming. It doesn't stop me
waking up when I'm still asleep, unable to call for help. Terrified.

I settle down into Scully's bed knowing that I don't want to be here. Not
here in bed. I don't want to sleep but I know that I must. I have to get
better to help her. Help Scully.

Help Scully, help Scully, helpscully, helpscully, helpscu…

It's different.

This time it's different. The room is warm, not dark or black, but orangey.
I can smell something, something smokey. I can hear the first crackles of …

Oh No, please dear God, not this, not …

Fire!

It's licking round the sides of the room. Now it's at the foot of the bed. I
can't move. Can't do anything. The heat becomes intense but there's no
smoke. Just the flames. I tell myself this isn't real. But it is. It is so
real that it can't not be real.

Someone is coming through the flames. Walking through the flames towards me.
Flames all around them. They are on fire, yet they are not. The face changes
from Cancerman, then my father, to Sam and then Scully. Finally it settles on
who it wants to be.

It's me.

I can't look. I don't want to look.

I can't close my eyes.

I have to look.

I watch myself screaming in agony as the fire consumes me.

The ghosts of my past are all here, they are in the corners of the room, on
the floor, on the walls. Images of demons that come alive at night, or during
the day, come alive as a thought process but they are *so* real. Each and
every one of them are here.

Sam, Cancerman, Dad, Mom, Scully, anyone who is anyone is invited to this
party. If Fox Mulder fucked up your life, come on down. And they do.

They come down and they brush my face and taunt me. Laugh and mock me. Tell
me I'm a living hell on earth. I don't deserve to live. Hell is where I
belong.

Sam comes to me. Lovely, lovely Sam. She comes to kiss me, I ache for her
embrace, her touch. She reaches me - but her face becomes distorted. Out of
her lovely mouth comes a snake. It hisses and spits at me. I can't ward it
off, can't protect myself.

<SAM, don't go. Don't leave me. I didn't mean for any of this to happen.>

She's gone. I weep. I think. I don't know if I can weep in this state but I
know what I feel and I feel like I'm weeping.

In turn, each and every one of them come to me. Mock me. Assault me. Insult
me. I deserve each and every rebuke. I accept them willingly. As the price
that I pay for my life. For their death.

The room goes dark. There is nothing. No one. No lights, no thrumming in my
head. All I can hear is my heart beating in the silence.

All I can do is watch and wait. I have never felt so powerless in my life.

"Fox."

<Melissa.>

"You know that this isn't your fault don't you?"

"No it isn't. Life has conspired against you. You have only done what was
expected of you. You are an honourable man. I know this to be true."

Her image turns to Scully. My lovely, lovely Scully.

<Dana.>

"Mulder."

She speaks my name so softly, so gently, her eyes shine with such concern for
my welfare.

She's gone.

<Dana, Dana, where have you gone?>

No reply.

<Don't go. Don't leave me. Please.>

"Fox?"

<Melissa. Where's Dana?>

"Dana doesn't belong in this place and neither do you. She trusts you with
her life and therefore I do too. You must leave this place Fox, for her sake,
for yours. You must."

<MELISSA.>

All is still and silent again. And then I hear that now familiar crackle.
The fire is back. The flames leaping up and over the bed. The faces.

The flames.

The faces.

The flames.

The faces.

"Mulder. Mulder."

"DANA."

"It's okay Mulder, it was just a dream."

"No Scully, not just a dream."

I need to talk to someone, that someone has to be her. She won't think I'm
crazy. Will she? She's a Doctor for chrissakes, she'll be able to tell me if
I'm going mad. I have to tell her what's happening to me. I'm too shit
scared to keep it to myself now. I had gotten used to the Samantha nightmares
but this, this is something so fucking frightening.

It takes some time for me to come down, breathe normally again, summon up the
courage to burden her with yet another of my problems. But I have to. I need
to help her but I need her help first. I have to take in order to give.

She listens to me so intently, never interrupts except to ask pertinent
medical questions. Her eyes are filled with so much compassion for me. How
can she feel so much for me when I'm such a bastard? She truly is my Angel of
Mercy.

"Mulder, I think what you're suffering from is Sleep Paralysis. It's all part
and parcel of a disorder called Narcolepsy, the main symptoms of which are
excessive daytime sleepiness and abnormal REM sleep. What happens is that
your REM state is somehow disturbed and you are dreaming while your mind
believes you are awake, but you are actually still asleep."

"But it's so real Scully. How can I be asleep?"

"Normally in REM sleep you are totally paralysed, that's why you can't act out
your dreams. Except for cases such as sleepwalking."

"Is it a new condition?"

"Not really. Since the 1960s it has been known that several of the disabling
symptoms of Narcolepsy, such as sleep paralysis, cataplexy and hypnagogic
hallucinations, are pathological equivalents of REM sleep."

"I can't move Scully. I'm terrified."

"This is something called atonia and happens as a result of an abnormal
episode of REM sleep. The sufferer suddenly finds themself unable to move for
a few minutes. Usually on falling asleep or waking up."

"But the images. They're so real. I can hardly believe they're dreams
Scully."

"During hypnagogic hallucinations, sufferers experience dream-like auditory or
visual hallucinations, while dozing or falling asleep. Because of the atonia,
the inability to move, you would believe you were awake and so the
hallucinations would seem real."

"But why? Why now? After the all the nightmares of Samantha I've never
experienced anything like this. Why should this be happening now?"

"There are several reasons Mulder, the most likely of which though is
heightened stress. It usually starts in adolescence through to about twenty
five, so it is unusual in you. Research has been done and although it
accounts for about the same percent of occurrence as say, Multiple Sclerosis,
it usually goes undiagnosed. There is some evidence to suggest that it could
be linked to the auto immune system and could possibly be genetic. However,
as I said, the most likely cause is heightened stress."

"Is there a cure for it?"

"Not exactly. There are a number of options open to sufferers. A sleep
clinic, sleep management programme and medication."

"I don't want a clinic or medication. I don't want this on my medical
records."

"I appreciate that Mulder and I can work out a sleep management programme for
you and we can get you medication over the counter. Monitor it and see how it
goes."

"Thanks Scully. It's nice to know that I'm not really going mad."

"You're not mad Mulder. You're just stressed, and worried about other things
aren't you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

I don't want to talk about your cancer now Scully, please.

"You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself and you
shouldn't blame yourself for everything. Don't take the weight of the world
on your shoulders Mulder."

"It's hard not to."

"I know."

"Scully. I don't want to go back to that place."

"You don't belong there Mulder. You have to leave that place for your own
sake."

Something echoed distantly in my mind. Hadn't I heard that somewhere before?

Dana Scully's Journal

Over the past few months Mulder has responded well to the sleep programme I
scheduled for him (with the help of a medical colleague). Being able to
obtain over the counter medication has been helpful in keeping confidential
something that Mulder had no desire for Skinner to know.

There are still nights when his 'ghosts' come back to him, but nothing like in
the beginning. That first time when he clung to me on waking, my heart went
out to him. It felt like holding a trembling child in the middle of the
night. I have never seen him so afraid.

Fortunately, he never fell asleep at the wheel again. Perhaps it was my
constant conversation?

He has become more relaxed of late and this signifies that he is beginning to
cope with the disorder. Although, he is right. Until he finds the truth
about Samantha he will constantly be haunted.

My only wish now is that I can continue to convince him that the 'ghosts'
aren't real.

Fox Mulder's Journal

With Scully's help I am beginning to conquer this sleep disorder that has
plagued my life of late.

There are still nights when I am terrified of sleeping but they are becoming
less and less.

It has been good to share this with Scully. Her medical training is
invaluable, but it is her loyalty and steadfast friendship that has seen me
through this.

I only hope to God that she can continue to convince me that these ghosts are
truly in my waking dreams. For if they once escape from their unconscious
Hell, I not only fear for my life but my sanity. That fragile thread, held by
Scully, that keeps me tethered to this world while the next one beckons me.

I cannot look *into* the abyss.

It lives with me. Constantly.

THE END

"A beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void his luminous wings in
vain."
From 'Shelley' by Matthew Arnold

Doesn't that just sum up Mulder's quest beautifully?

Thank you for reading thus far. Any comments to Yvonne_Richards@msn.com