"CODE OF SILENCE"
BY: CAC
(The
Stinker)
*******************************
FORWARD
*******************************
Well, here I go again...I don't even know how to describe this
one. God,
this is fun. This story basically takes over where BOKOR left
off. Maybe
I should write an X-file mini-series....Yeah, that's the ticket.
Yes, I
know, it's a little odd, but then...so am I. Odd people make the
world
interesting, at least that's what I keep telling myself. Have
fun.
PRELUDE
*************************************************
Everybody's got a million questions
Everybody's wants to know the score
What you went through
It's something you
Should be over now
Everybody wants to know the secrets
That you never told a soul before
And it's not that strange
Because it wouldn't change
What happened anyhow
But you swore to yourself a long time ago
There are some things that people never needed to know
This is one that you keep
That you bury so deep
No one can tear it out
And you can't talk about it
Because you're following a code of silence
You're never gonna lose the anger
You just deal with it a different way
And you can't talk about it
And isn't that a kind of madness
To be living by a code of silence
When you've really got a lot to say
You don't want to lose a friendship
There's nothing that you have to hide
And a little dirt
Couldn't hurt no one anyway
And you still have a rage inside you
That you carry with a certain pride
In the only part of a broken heart
That you could ever save
But you've been through it once
You know how it ends
You don't see the point
Of going through it again
And this ain't the place
And this ain't the time
And neither's any other day
I know you well enough to tell you've got your reasons
That's not the kind of code you're inclined to break
Some things unknown are best left alone forever
And if a vow is what it takes
Haven't you paid for your mistakes
After the moment passes
And the impulse disappears
You can still hold back
Because you don't crack very easily
It's a time of a resolution
Because the danger is always near
It's with you now
But that ain't how it was supposed to be
And it's hard to believe after all these years
That it still gives you pain and it still brings tears
And you feel like a fool
Because in spite of your rules
You've got a memory
But you can't talk about it
Because your following a code of silence
You're never gonna lose the anger
You just deal with it a different way
But you can't talk about it
And isn't that a kind of madness
To be living by a code of silence
When you've really got a lot to say
Billy Joel-----
**************************************************************************
***
The crickets and frogs chirped and grunted outside the bedroom
window in a
choral crescendo and Dana realized that although she could sleep
through
the city sounds at home, the country noises were still new enough
to be
disturbing. She sat up in the antique bed and spied Mulder's
silhouette
as he stood standing on the porch outside the window where he had
stood
almost every night since they'd come to his aunt's farm. At first
she
attributed this odd behavior to a bad case of insomnia(to which
he was
prone) due to being in strange surroundings, that is until she
awoke one
night to find him pale and trembling with tears silently rolling
down his
face.
The nightmares had returned----
She had held him that night as she would a child, comforting
and soothing
him until he found the courage to confide in her. The thought of
him
awaking in that condition, alone with no one to care made her
heart ache.
He had been embarrassed and reluctant to discuss the incident
but in the
end she had discovered that he'd had these nightmares off and on
for the
last 22 years---ever since Samantha had disappeared. Strangely
enough,
upon waking, he could never remember exactly what the dreams were
about,
only that he would awaken with a vague sense of terror and dread
that he
couldn't identify or even understand.
She stood up, put on her robe and walked out onto the porch to
stand
beside him. "Another one?' she asked.
He nodded his head in affirmation as she slipped an arm around
his waist
and guided him back into the house. This had to stop----she
couldn't
believe he had endured this in silence for so many years. There
had to be
a way to rid him of this pain and if there was, she would find
it.
Scully barged through the office door under full steam,
letting it smack
Mulder, who was following on her heels. "Ouch!", he
muttered under his
breath as he checked his nose to make sure it was still in one
piece.
"You trying to disfigure me for life?," he asked
lightly.
"No," she replied in an agitated tone. " You
seem to be able to do a great
job of that on your own without any help from me. "
You had to ask, he thought dourly, as he braced himself for a
continuation
of the lecture he'd had to endure in the car.
"I swear, Mulder, sometimes it really amazes me how
someone with your
obvious intelligence could be so *dumb*. You were supposed to
relax and
take it easy. That was the *only* reason Dr. Roberts let you out
of the
hospital early."
He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off with
a wave of
her hand and started back in before he'd had a chance to get a
word out.
"Sure, I thought spending some time at your aunt Carol's
farm would be a
great idea and it was. It was a beautiful, peaceful place and
although
your aunt Carol has a few screws loose, she was a very pleasant
woman. It
would have been a great opportunity for you to relax and recover
and
believe it or not you *needed* that. But did you take it easy?
Noooooo.
The first thing you did was let your equally flaky cousins talk
you into
chasing some furry woodland creature all over creation on
horseback,
sufficiently jarring your insides around enough to rip out your
stitches.
That was a brilliant move, Sherlock. What on earth were you
thinking????
She stopped to take a breath. He saw his chance and jumped in.
"Listen, Dana, I *said* I was sorry...You're right..I
admit it was kind of
stupid...OK, it was *really* stupid and I don't know why I did
it......temporary insanity, brain tumor, I don't know."
She walked over, sat on the corner of his desk and studied him
as though
he were some newly discovered life form. "With what I've
seen of your
family, so far, I think I'd opt for temporary insanity."
He returned her stare with a roguish grin. "And what's
wrong with my
family?"
He returned her stare with a roguish grin. "And what's
wrong with my
family?"
"Come on, Mulder, even you'll have to admit that they're
just a *little
different", especially your aunt."
"OK, I'll bite. What's so strange about aunt Carol?"
A disbelieving smirk appeared on her face. "You've got to
be
kidding...you want a list? Mulder, the woman keeps a *goat* in
the
kitchen and a fish tank full of whiskey in the living room and
you don't
fine that just a little *strange*.
"Should I?," he asked with exaggerated patience.
Like you always say,
"everything has a perfectly logical explanation."
"Well, this I gotta hear."
"Gaston, the goat, kept eating his way through the back
door and it was
cheaper in the long run just to let him in. As for the tank...The
damn
fish kept dying and rather than "condemn the poor
beasties" to a certain
death, she converted the tank to the storage of the family
"hooch". Hell,
ya never know when ya might be needin' refreshments for one of
those
impromptu parties. Sounds logical to me.."
"It would," she said ruefully.
"OK, how about your crazy cousins?" We're talking
about grown men who
sleep with a light in the window to keep the "banshee"
from coming for
them in the night." Now tell me that's not *weird*."
"Hey, they don't do it all the time. Ach ma wee
lass," Mulder sated in
imitation of his aunt's Scottish brogue, "You've not been
understandin'
the superstitious nature of the Highland culture. Ah, come on,
Dana,
they're Scots for crying out loud. Banshees, gnomes, and fairies
are just
as real to them as Jesus Christ is to you and Nessie is alive and
well,
swimmin' in the Loch, thank you very much. Are you trying to tell
me that
you didn't have a good time?"
"No, I didn't say that...I had a wonderful time after you
promised to
behave yourself and not go traipsing all over the countryside. If
you
*ever* do anything that idiotic again, I'll put us both out of
our misery
and kill you myself."
"I'll try and keep that in mind next time I plan to screw
up *really
big,*" he said sardonically.
She leaned over the desk until they were nose to nose.
"You know what
your problem is?", she asked with one eyebrow raised.
He leaned in even closer and whispered seductively, "No, what?"
"You don't relax because you don't know *how*."
"That's *not* true," he stated defensively, "I can relax..."
"OK, Mulder, prove it....I bet you can't sit at this desk
for ten minutes
and do absolutely *Nothing*."
"So, what are you betting?" he asked suspiciously.
"If you win, dinner at my place 7:00. If I win, You take
me out to dinner
because I know you can't cook and I don't want to die of
Ptomaine....and
Mulder, I mean it...absolutely *Nothing*."
"Can I breathe?", he asked sarcastically.
"Of course you can breathe but that's about all."
"Alright, when does this exercise in humility begin?"
She looked at her watch and waited a few seconds. "Now."
He leaned back in his chair, confident that she was wrong and
tried to
decide what he wanted her to cook for him. Three minutes went by
and he
managed it without incident. Five minutes came and he could feel
himself
becoming restless. This was silly, he reasoned, he had work to do
and
here he was catering to her whims with a pointless bet. After
eight
minutes, the phone rang and as he reached to pick it up, she
waggled her
finger at him and shook her head..no. He pulled back his hand and
began
drumming his fingers on the desktop as the phone continued to
ring...two,
three, four times. The fifth ring came and unable to stand it any
longer,
he snatched the phone off the hook. "Mulder," he said
crossly as he
looked up at Scully and then replaced the receiver. "They
hung up."
She snickered lightly, "What time should I expect you?"
"About 7:00," he mumbled dejectedly.
"OK, maybe you're right....maybe I don't relax and maybe
I don't sleep
well either, so do you have any suggestions as to what I should
do about
it, *Dr.* Scully?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
Why did he suddenly have the feeling that he had been
elaborately and
expertly maneuvered into a position in which a positive response
to those
words could be the only outcome?" Mulder, he thought, the
woman knows you
to well.
"So what did you have in mind?," he ventured apprehensively.
She proceeded with her idea cautiously. "Mulder, no one
can be as intense
as you are all the time and not have it eventually show up
physically.
You've got to learn to unwind on a daily basis or you're gonna
burn out.
I attended a lecture several weeks ago given by Dr. Robert Slater
that
dealt with the use of hypnosis to alleviate underlying stress and
anxieties that contribute to several common problems...like
insomnia. I
know you're a believer in hypnosis, so I thought that you might
talk to
him. He's helped a lot of people, government officials, Air force
pilots...people with high stress occupations. I don't know, I may
have
overstepped my boundaries here, but I worry about you."
At first he was a little concerned about the fact that she
thought he
might need "professional" help but upon reviewing his
long history of
sleepless nights and in particular these more recent episodes, he
had to
admit things were getting a little out of hand and perhaps it was
possible
that she could be right. "Well, since you put it that way, I
guess it
wouldn't hurt to talk to him," he said sheepishly. "
When do I see the
man....I assume you already made the appointment?"
"This afternoon, if you're up to it," she replied
with the guilty look of
being "found out."
"You don't waste any time, do you?"
"Not when you're health is concerned," she said in a
more serious tone.
She sighed with relief. She'd played her cards right and he'd
agreed to
see Dr. Slater. Perhaps now they could get to the bottom of
whatever it
was that kept him so stressed out. Of course some of the
intensity was
normal for him and she didn't want to change that, but the
frequent bouts
with insomnia and the reoccurring nightmares were not normal and
that's
what concerned her the most.
Mulder stared at the phone with a smug look of aggravation.
"You know
Dana, that really pisses me off..."
"What?", she asked with sudden concern.
"When people hang up before you can answer the phone."
"Well, I'm sure if it was important, they'll call you back."
"But how will I know who "they" are?", he queried in his "spooky" tone.
She wadded up a piece of note paper and threw it at him.
Mulder noticed the typical "shrink" decor as they
walked into Dr. Slater's
office and he wondered what the hell he was doing here. He told
himself
it was because Dana had talked him into it but in reality he had
to admit
to some curiosity and an underlying desire to end a problem that
had
plagued him for years. He had tried this once before with only
limited
success so he had his doubts as to whether this whole thing would
be a
gigantic waste of time. For some reason, he felt nervous and
somewhat ill
at ease...maybe he really didn't *want* to discover any of his
"hidden"
anxieties and with that thought in mind, he started to turn
around and
beat a hasty retreat to the closest exit, when Scully grabbed the
back of
his jacket and yanked him backward.
"Where ya goin', Sherlock?"
"Nowhere, I guess," he sighed with resign.
As they sat down, a tall, spectacled man with graying hair
strolled into
the room. "Good afternoon, Dr. Scully," he said
cheerfully, as he shook
her hand. He then extended his hand to Mulder with a smile.
"This must
be agent Mulder...I hope I can be of assistance."
"Me too," he replied doubtfully." Of course, I
must be Mulder, he thought
ruefully, I'm the only other person here....this guy is real
MENSA
material. Nothing like having a real mental giant poke around in
your
head...and on top of that, he smiles too damn much. Mulder, get a
grip,
you're just nervous...Dana trusts him and that should be enough
for you.
Why is it then, that he makes you so uneasy?"
"Dr. Scully tells me you have a degree in Psychology from
Oxford, so I
need not explain to you the benefits of hypnosis, however, my
approach may
be slightly different than what you may have been accustom to in
the past.
She also informed me that you have undergone Hypnotic Regression
Therapy
before so it should be fairly simple to induce the necessary
hypnotic
state with minimal effort. Now, it is my understanding that you
have had
problems with insomnia and reoccurring nightmares for many years,
which
have worsened within the past few weeks. It is my contention that
even
though the original cause for this problem may have been based on
a
traumatic childhood incident, the recent increase in the
intensity and
frequency of these nightmares may have been triggered by a more
recent
experience like the one from which you are recovering from now.
So, I
would like to start with that and work my way back to try to
alleviate any
underlying anxieties that may be contributing factors. "
Agent Mulder, if
you would come sit in this chair, I suppose we could get
started."
Mulder got up and hesitantly moved to the recliner and sat down.
He found
himself illogically resenting the fact that Dana had obviously
given this
guy his life history. Intellectually, he told himself that it was
probably necessary, even though emotionally...he didn't have to
like it.
There was something innately disturbing about revealing you soul
and
secrets to a total stranger even if it was his job to listen to
them...but
Dana was here with him and he *did* trust her. He took a deep
breath,
exhaled slowly and closed his eyes; he needed to know the
truth...
Dr. Slater reached over and turned on the tape recorder.
"Mulder, I want
you to relax each set of muscles as I tell you; first flex and
release the
muscles in your feet--good, now the legs, (his voice droned in
monotonous
tone), hands, arms, shoulders, neck....clear your mind....take a
deep
breath, hold it and exhale. Let all the tension flow from your
body with
that breath. You are totally relaxed...You are floating, floating
above
your body--you are free....your conscious and subconscious are
separate
entities now...I want to talk to both....Can you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you," he whispered.
Scully watched the process with obvious fascination.
"This is Dr. Slater, you are totally relaxed now, when I
count to three
at the end of this session you will awaken feeling totally rested
and
calm. You will remember only what you wish to recall...only what
is
comfortable. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I wish to speak to your conscious mind."
"I am here."
"Do you know why you can't sleep?"
"No.....Yes....I think....dreams...too many thoughts, too
much to
do....dreams, I don't want to dream."
"Why don't you want to dream?"
"Dreams come true, dreams hurt....I don't want to hurt.
Don't sleep,
don't dream--don't dream, don't hurt..."
"Can you tell me about the dreams?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I can't remember them."
"You know they hurt but you can't remember them?"
"Yes."
"Did your recent experience with the "Process" cause the dream?"
"No...but the feeling was similar."
"What do you mean?"
" I feel helpless and I can't move....I can't fight back."
"You can't move in your dreams?"
"No, I don't want to answer."
Slater turned to Scully with a puzzled, then frustrated
expression. "He's
a very stubborn man, even in this state..."
"Yes, I know...boy, do I know."
"Dr. Scully, It is very unusual for an individual to put
up this much
resistance to a discussion of *mere* dreams. I have a
hunch." He bent
over Mulder and said forcefully, "I wish to speak to your
subconscious
mind now...Everything is fine and you are very relaxed..am I
speaking with
your subconscious?"
"Yes."
"Are these "dreams" *just* dreams?"
"Yes........No." He was indecisive.
"You know the truth, tell me. Are these
"dreams" a true memory of
reality?"
Mulder became agitated as his breathing quickened and his
facial muscles
contorted, revealing his reluctance to answer the question.
"I don't
know," he squeezed out painfully.
"Yes, you do Agent Mulder..You know the truth----Are
these "dreams" true
memories?"
"Yes," he groaned.
Scully gasped and took a step forward, stopping only when Dr.
Slater
motioned for her to stay back.
"Good, you know that the "dreams" are *real*
memories and you accept them
as true?"
"Yes." His voice shook with emotion.
"Now, listen to me. These memories are past experiences
and can no
longer hurt you. Do you understand?" There was a lengthy
pause....."Do
you understand?"
"Yes."
"I want you to go to the most recent memory and tell me where you are."
"No."
"Mulder, where are you?, " he said with authority.
"I'm on a runway at Ellens AFB...it's dark, except for
the dancing
lights...the lights are coming toward me....My God!!! Holy
shit....I see
it....it's ....it's real!! They've done it, Oh my God, they've
done it."
"What do you see?"
Mulder's face took on an appearance of child-like
wonder.."A UFO...a
wondrous ship. It's hove
"What do you see?"
Mulder's face took on an appearance of child-like
wonder.."A UFO...a
wondrous ship. It's hovering over my head....and there's no
sound........." His facial expression changed abruptly into
one of alarm
as the muscles in his body convulsed with the involuntary spasms
of
remembered physical pain--a struggle which ended in a single
scream..."NO!" Suddenly his breathing diminished and
his eyes rolled back
into his head.
Scully glanced over to Slater with a look that conveyed
obvious concern
and alarm. Slater returned her gaze with a similar one of his
own. He
told her that he had not expected anything like this when she had
contacted him and was unprepared for this turn of events.
Thinking
quickly, he spoke into Mulder's ear. "This is Dr. Slater,
you are in my
office and you are safe. I know you can hear me---You are
watching a
movie...you are in the movie but you are an observer only. Tell
me what
is happening to you in the movie," he demanded.
Mulder blinked his eyes and spoke hoarsely, "I am
strapped to a gurney and
I can't move..they're injecting me with some kind of drug...Oh
God, I hate
needles...NO!....Can't breathe,Oxygen...They 're rolling me right
through
the hangar, nobody even notices, I can see the aircraft...It *is*
real...I'm right, the voices are far away."
"Are you unconscious?"
"No, How can I tell you what I see, if I'm unconscious?"
"Are you still in the hangar?"
"No, I'm on a metal table....there's a bright light,
monitors, a man
with a mask and gloves, staring down at me.....operating room, oh
shit...no. Breathe, they say..the gas stings my lungs and the
drops burn
my eyes like fire..Christ, it hurts..They're putting something
through my
eye...it's in my head...get it out of my head...Fucking
bastards," he
screamed in agony, as writhed in the Dr.'s chair and struggled to
breathe.
Scully rushed toward Dr. Slater, "Bring him out of it,
bring him out of it
NOW," she yelled.
I'm afraid I can't do that, Agent Scully," he said malevolently.
"What?", she asked with dawning suspicion, as she reached for her weapon.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he threatened,
pulling back to reveal
his own weapon aimed at the back of Mulder's head. "Put the
gun down on
the floor and kick it over to me." She reluctantly did as
she was told
and asked, "Who are you and why are you doing this?"
"Let's just say that I know the talented surgeon who
performed the
delicate micro-surgery that relieved Agent Mulder of a piece of
his
memory, or so we thought. It seems that in our haste, we
overlooked one
major factor of extreme importance. There was never any research
done on
the effects of the surgery when performed on individuals
possessing
photographic memory, since those individuals were an extremely
rare
aberration of the general population...they were never tested. My
superiors were concerned that because of his "unique"
abilities, Agent
Mulder would at some point in time remember what was supposedly
erased.
It was my mission to determine if that was a valid possibility
and as we
can both see, our initial attempt at erasure was not
"completely"
successful. It appears that the minds of individuals with his
particular
gift tend to function on a different frequency, so to speak.
Slater, you've proven your point, now bring him out of
it...You can see
he's in obvious physical distress...Slater, for God's
sake...you're a
*doctor*!"
"And I've been "corrupted" by false loyalties,
governments, ideas, and
financial gain. I admit to one last vice of my own...curiosity.
Several
questions keep nagging me, perhaps now I'll be able to clear them
up.
"Why are so many important people interested in the welfare
of a lowly FBI
agent? Why do they continue to spare his life even though his
continued
existence seems detrimental to their objectives? Did you know
agent
Scully, that there's a file on Fox Mulder that spans over two
decades and
that there are sections of that file that are classified and
closed even
to me with my *special* access? Everything in that file dates
back to a
day in 1972 when a young boy's sister mysteriously disappeared
without a
trace. He's been watched and "protected" almost from
the day that file
was opened in 1972. When he trespassed onto Ellen AFB, he should
have
been terminated, but instead received the luxury of a small
memory loss
instead. Why? I have an inquiring mind and I want to know."
"At what price?" she asked, her anxiety clearly
visible. She glanced at
Mulder, who appeared to be a pale, shade of gray. "You're a
doctor...he's
your patient!" She guessed that Slater was going to attempt
another
regression to that fateful night in 72' and she wasn't sure
Mulder, even
in the best of conditions could handle it.
"No, Dr. Scully,.........He's my *assignment*. Now, go
sit down and don't
move or he's going to be a "late" assignment.
Dana sat down on the closest chair that she could find, still
reeling at
the absurdness of her situation and the probability that this man
was
without conscience or sanity. She made a final plea. "Please
don't do
this. Multiple regressions in a single session, causing the
patient to
relive past traumas may be both emotionally and physically
damaging.
"Why should I care about the condition of someone, who I
plan to
terminate? I do feel some regret at having to exterminate you ,
however,
but I'm certain that it will pass."
"Agent Mulder, can you hear me?"
"Yes", he muttered in a barely audible whisper.
"You will retreat deeper into your subconscious....You
are going back in
time, back 5 years, 10 years, 20 years, you are in 1972 ....the
night your
sister disappeared. Where are you?"
"At home."
"I don't have time to ask questions all day, you will
give me the
information that I want ..you will do exactly what I tell you.
There will
be no coddling and you will tell me the truth without exception.
You will
give me the whole story starting in the early evening and you
will respond
to my voice when or if I ask for clarification. Do you
understand.?"
"Yes."
"Begin."
The smell of fried chicken floated through the house and out
onto the
porch where he sat absently strumming his guitar. He kept a
watchful eye
on Samantha as she rode her bike back and forth for the zillionth
time....how much is a zillion anyway, he thought? It was getting
dark
which meant the daily ritual was about to begin, he waited for
his
mother's voice. One...two...three....
"Fox", his mother yelled from the kitchen,
"Where's your sister? It's
getting dark...go find her and tell her it's time to come
in." He never
could understand why she always said the same thing every
day...Sam was
always in the same place, doing the same thing every evening and
he was
always there to make sure she came home. He set the guitar down
carefully, got up and ran down the steps, naturally, she was all
the way
down at the end of the street...as usual. He walked onto the
pavement,
cupped his hands and yelled.
"Sam, mom said to come home."
"Just 5 more minutes," she pleaded.
"Mom says NOW," he repeated.
"OK, I'm coming," she yelled as she continued to ride in circles.
"If you don't come now, I'm gonna have to come after ya,
and you don't
want that do ya?"
She stuck her tongue out at him and giggled.
He ran down the street after her, as he always did, and waited
for her to
turn the bike around and ride past him on the way home. She
dumped the
bike in the yard as he chased her into the house. He grabbed her
around
the waist, threw her on the couch and tickled her until she
begged for
mercy. She in turn, reached down beneath the waistband of his
jeans,
grabbed a handful of his underwear and yanked, then ran into the
kitchen,
singing "Fox is a dog, Fox is a dog and hid behind his mom.
He sighed...
Sometimes she could be a real pest, then he smiled.
After dinner, he treated her to a concert of several songs,
including her
favorite, "Puff the Magic Dragon." Then to get back at
her for the
wedgie, he read her a suitably "spooky" poem about the
little man who
wasn't there which would almost guarantee that she'd sneak into
his room
later that night and sleep in the other bed. Contrary to his
friends
opinions of little sisters in general, he was glad that he had
his. He
adored her and deep down he knew that the feeling was mutual.
He heard her as she snuck into his room that night and he
quietly chuckled
to himself.....He had drifted off into that state of limbo that
lingers
somewhere on the edge of dreams and reality when he became
vaguely aware
of a force pressing down the mattress at the foot of the bed. An
image of
Samantha presented itself in his mind as the mattress pressed
down again
by his knees. Not this time Sam, no way, he thought. He didn't
think the
poem he'd read her was that "scary" and he wasn't about
to let her crawl
into bed and kick him all night like she had several days ago
when the
thunderstorm had made her see monsters in her closet. He began to
roll
over and tell her to go to her room, when he felt a great weight
settle
upon his body, preventing his movement. Panic and fear filled his
mind at
the sudden realization that this could not possibly be Sam...she
didn't
have that kind of strength. A bright light bombarded his window
and
filled the room, temporarily blinding him as he felt himself
being lifted
from his bed. Sam screamed and he lent his voice to hers to call
for
help, but no one heard and no one came..He then realized the
screams that
he had heard were in his head and never vocalized.
"Sam," his mind cried.
He knew she heard him even though there was no sound, for she
called his
name over and over again and he could not help her....he couldn't
even
help himself. He felt their presence in the room and saw their
obscure
shadows surrounding his sister's bed. In desperation, he reached
out with
his mind for an explanation...anything that would lend some kind
of reason
to this improbable madness. He reached out and discovered to his
surprise....a reply...a voice or what he perceived as a voice,
for it was
without emotion or character---more of an immediate and concrete
impression upon his mind that told him not to be afraid...that
they
wouldn't be harmed...that everything would be OK. The light
flared once
more....
"NO!", he screamed, from the Dr.'s chair. "I'm
not there...this is not
real.....I don't want to know this.....I don't want to remember
this....You said I didn't have to remember...I don't want
to..Please....."
Scully leaned forward in her chair, both fascinated and
abhorred and
pleaded with Slater to end the session. "Stop this! Why must
you
continue this torment? He's done nothing to deserve what you're
making
him endure." She scanned the room, looking for anything that
could be
used as a potential weapon and spied a large crystal paperweight
on the
desk that was three feet away. It might as well be three miles
away, she
thought, for should she try to get it, the resulting bullet,
would be
faster, unless she could find some way to distract him.
Slater ignored her outburst and continued on his chosen path
with
relentless determination.
"Agent Mulder, you will remember what I tell you to
remember. I s that
understood?"
"Yes."
"You will continue with your recollection until I tell
you to stop. What
happened after the light? Are you still in the bedroom?
"No, I'm in a room."
He awoke in a semiconscious state and found himself lying on a
cold, metal
table in the middle of a small, featureless room. The tall,
elongated
beings that surrounded him were covered from head to toe with a
white
cotton-like material...except for the slanted eyes....they stared
down at
him without expression and he suddenly became aware of the fact
that he
was....naked. Granted, he was only a kid, but even he knew what
was right
and what wasn't....and this wasn't. He struggled to get up only
to find
himself securely strapped to the table with metal bands,
evidently the
white light wasn't needed here...where ever here was. They
impressed upon
him that if he continued to struggle, he could cause injury to
himself and
that was not what they had intended, and what they were about to
do was
"necessary". He was about to ask what it was they were
about to do when
they clamped his head to the table and began inserting what
appeared to be
metal rods up his nose. He cried out in agony, the sound muffled
by
whatever it was they had simultaneously shoved down his
throat....and the
other pain, he didn't want to think about. He didn't know what a
"genetic
material transfer" was and he didn't want to know...all that
he did know
was that it hurt. After a short time, as they removed the
instruments and
released his head from the table, he found the courage to ask
about his
sister. The thought of her having to endure anything like this
made him
shudder....but they said she wouldn't be harmed...they promised.
At his
request, they moved aside and allowed him to turn his head but
what he saw
was not what he expected. Sam lay motionless, on a table next to
his,
eyes staring at him wide, and lifeless.....We're sorry, they
informed him,
this was unexpected.....she did not have your strength.
No...He lashed out at them through his mind and perhaps his
very soul with
such rage and despair that the intensity of the emotions made
them retreat
several steps.
They had not anticipated that a sibling bond would be so
strong. Using
the white light again, they immobilized him and marveled at the
new
emotion that he had stirred within them...Guilt.
The drops stung his eyes with blinding pain as they inserted
the thin
metal instrument through his left eye and deftly removed a piece
of his
memory that they felt he would be better off without. It seems,
they had
also learned....compassion.
He awoke the next morning with a vague ache between his legs
and a
headache of major proportions. He'd had the weirdest dream...at
least he
thought it was...he couldn't quite remember it. Too bad, Sam
would have
liked it. Sam.....He suddenly had the feeling that something was
wrong.
She wasn't in the bed or in her room. She wasn't even in the
house. Sam
was gone....he felt it , he knew it. He remembered pieces of his
*dream*
but no one would believe him when he told them. He felt
responsible, and
everyone he spoke to, including his parents, seemed to back up
that
feeling..it was his fault...he should have done something...he
wasn't sure
what, but something.....He ran under the oak tree in the back
yard,
curled up in a fetal position and cried where no one could hear.
Dana, stared at the "little boy" curled up in the
recliner, her eyes wet
with tears and wanted to blast every person who could have ever
transferred that kind of blame and guilt onto a twelve year old
boy. She
would have to deal with this new revelation later...if there was
going to
be a later. She noted that Dr. Slater still had the gun in his
hand and
still seemed intent on using it on both of them, however, during
his
preoccupation with Mulder, she had managed to wrap her finger
around the
phone cord from the jack in the wall behind her. The phone sat on
the
desk behind Slater...if she could distract him, maybe it would be
enough
for her to get to her gun lying on the table next to him. Well,
it's a
better idea than throwing a paperweight at him, she thought
ruefully.
Slater bent over Mulder. "What a touching story," he
said with mock
sympathy. "Wonder if I could sell it to Reader's
Digest?"
OK Scully, it's now or never...She yanked the cord and the
phone came
crashing to the floor behind Slater and as he turned to face the
noise,
she jumped up and tackled him from behind, knocking him down.
Grabbing
the gun from the table, she fired....and so did he. Lucky for
her, that
she was a better shot than he was, for his bullet only grazed her
arm,
however, her's found it's mark and Slater lay dead on the floor.
Now, she had some unfinished business to take care of.
"Mulder, this is
not my area of expertise but I'm all you've got and you know I'll
do my
best."
"Mulder, Dr. Slater is unable to finish the session so
I'm going to bring
you out. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Slater's first instructions to you remain true. You
will remember
only what you wish to remember...only what you're comfortable
with. You
will remember the incident at Ellens AFB because I know that not
being
able to bothered you and you'll need to know about it because of
what
happened to Dr. Slater. Of the second regression...you will
remember only
what your conscious mind is capable of accepting. Do you
understand?"
"Yes."
"Mulder, listen to me. What happened to your sister was
not your fault
and you are not to blame.
You were a twelve year old boy and whether or not you remember,
just as
much of a victim as she was. The only people who should feel
guilt and
anxiety are those who would make a child bear the burden of
responsibility
for an event that was totally out of anyone's control. Repeat
after me,
I am not to blame..."
"I am not to blame."
"Good." Boy, the things I could do.....It's a good
thing you can trust
me, she thought to herself, with a mischievous smile.
"OK, Mulder, you're coming forward in time 1982, 1992,
1994...you're back
to the present and you are relaxed and calm........and very
hungry...you
lost the bet, so at least pick a *decent* restaurant. Hear me
Mulder?
Three Stars, at least." Alright, she thought, no one is ever
*completely*
trustworthy, so I've learned to take advantages of my
opportunities..."
"Three Stars," he repeated.
"When I count to three, you'll wake up and feel
completely rested.
One...Two...Three..."
He opened his eyes slowly and blinked. "Well Doc, how did I do?"
"You did just fine. How do you feel?"
He looked puzzled. "Hungry, I mean really "Henry the
Eighth", glutton,
let's swallow it whole, hungry. It's funny....I don't remember
feeling
this hungry the last time I did this." He looked down and
saw the blood on
her arm and was immediately alarmed. "What happened?"
She proceeded to give him a brief summary of what had happened
and how she
ended up killing his doctor and nursing a bullet wound in her
arm. They
waited for the authorities, made their statements and filled out
all the
appropriate reports...in triplicate. It was late. They walked out
of the
building and down the deserted sidewalk to their car.
He looked at the bandage on her arm with concern. "Don't
you think you
should go to the hospital or something?"
"Mulder, I am a doctor, remember? It's just a scratch."
"Scratch, my ass," he mumbled, he knew it came out
wrong when he said it
but it was too late to take it back now. He waited for the
inevitable
reply.
She slipped her arm around his waist and pursing her lips,
whispered,
"where does it itch?"as she dropped her hand noticeably
as they walked.
"Over to the left and up about a half inch," he
whispered back, wryly.
"Can we discuss this later after dinner....I have this wild
craving
for...fried chicken." As they reached the car, the
realization that she'd
almost been killed hit him like a ton of bricks. He bent over her
upturned face, gently placed his hand behind her head and kissed
her
lovingly on the lips. One corner of his mouth rose slightly into
a
half-smile as he recognized one of her familiar moods.....No
chicken
tonight, huh? " She slowly shook her head, no..
FINE
Dana, stared at the "little boy" curled up in the
recliner, her eyes wet
with tears and wanted to blast every person who could have ever
transferred that kind of blame and guilt onto a twelve year old
boy. She
would have to deal with this new revelation later...if there was
going to
be a later. She noted that Dr. Slater still had the gun in his
hand and
still seemed intent on using it on both of them, however, during
his
preoccupation with Mulder, she had managed to wrap her finger
around the
phone cord from the jack in the wall behind her. The phone sat on
the
desk behind Slater...if she could distract him, maybe it would be
enough
for her to get to her gun lying on the table next to him. Well,
it's a
better idea than throwing a paperweight at him, she thought
ruefully.
Slater bent over Mulder. "What a touching story," he
said with mock
sympathy. "Wonder if I could sell it to Reader's
Digest?"
OK Scully, it's now or never...She yanked the cord and the
phone came
crashing to the floor behind Slater and as he turned to face the
noise,
she jumped up and tackled him from behind, knocking him down.
Grabbing
the gun from the table, she fired....and so did he. Lucky for
her, that
she was a better shot than he was, for his bullet only grazed her
arm,
however, her's found it's mark and Slater lay dead on the floor.
Now, she had some unfinished business to take care of.
"Mulder, this is
not my area of expertise but I'm all you've got and you know I'll
do my
best."
"Mulder, Dr. Slater is unable to finish the session so
I'm going to bring
you out. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Slater's first instructions to you remain true. You
will remember
only what you wish to remember...only what you're comfortable
with. You
will remember the incident at Ellens AFB because I know that not
being
able to bothered you and you'll need to know about it because of
what
happened to Dr. Slater. Of the second regression...you will
remember only
what your conscious mind is capable of accepting. Do you
understand?"
"Yes."
"Mulder, listen to me. What happened to your sister was
not your fault
and you are not to blame.
You were a twelve year old boy and whether or not you remember,
just as
much of a victim as she was. The only people who should feel
guilt and
anxiety are those who would make a child bear the burden of
responsibility
for an event that was totally out of anyone's control. Repeat
after me,
I am not to blame..."
"I am not to blame."
"Good." Boy, the things I could do.....It's a good
thing you can trust
me, she thought to herself, with a mischievous smile.
"OK, Mulder, you're coming forward in time 1982, 1992,
1994...you're back
to the present and you are relaxed and calm........and very
hungry...you
lost the bet, so at least pick a *decent* restaurant. Hear me
Mulder?
Three Stars, at least." Alright, she thought, no one is ever
*completely*
trustworthy, so I've learned to take advantages of my
opportunities..."
"Three Stars," he repeated.
"When I count to three, you'll wake up and feel
completely rested.
One...Two...Three..."
He opened his eyes slowly and blinked. "Well Doc, how did I do?"
"You did just fine. How do you feel?"
He looked puzzled. "Hungry, I mean really "Henry the
Eighth", glutton,
let's swallow it whole, hungry. It's funny....I don't remember
feeling
this hungry the last time I did this." He looked down and
saw the blood on
her arm and was immediately alarmed. "What happened?"
She proceeded to give him a brief summary of what had happened
and how she
ended up killing his doctor and nursing a bullet wound in her
arm. They
waited for the authorities, made their statements and filled out
all the
appropriate reports...in triplicate. It was late. They walked out
of the
building and down the deserted sidewalk to their car.
He looked at the bandage on her arm with concern. "Don't
you think you
should go to the hospital or something?"
"Mulder, I am a doctor, remember? It's just a scratch."
"Scratch, my ass," he mumbled, he knew it came out
wrong when he said it
but it was too late to take it back now. He waited for the
inevitable
reply.
She slipped her arm around his waist and pursing her lips,
whispered,
"where does it itch?"as she dropped her hand noticeably
as they walked.
"Over to the left and up about a half inch," he
whispered back, wryly.
"Can we discuss this later after dinner....I have this wild
craving
for...fried chicken." As they reached the car, the
realization that she'd
almost been killed hit him like a ton of bricks. He bent over her
upturned face, gently placed his hand behind her head and kissed
her
lovingly on the lips. One corner of his mouth rose slightly into
a
half-smile as he recognized one of her familiar moods.....No
chicken
tonight, huh? " She slowly shook her head, no..
FINE