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12 RITES OF PASSAGE
#3: "Remembrance"
By Anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com
Caroline Mulder's Home
Greenwich, CT
February 13, 1998
9:38 a.m.
Fox Mulder let go of the wicker breakfast tray with one hand
to tap on the door of his mother's bedroom. "Mom?"
"Come in, Fox." Her voice was muffled, tired.
He steadied the tray against his chest and opened the door.
His mother sat upright in bed, her hair only slightly mussed
and the blankets tucked neatly around her. He smiled,
amazed that a woman who could look so neat and composed
after such a hellish night could have possibly given birth
to someone as perpetually rumpled as he. "I made breakfast
for us." He flipped open the legs of the tray and settled
it over her lap, then perched on the edge of the bed next to
her.
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry for what I said
to you, Fox."
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does." She reached out and closed her hand over
his, squeezing firmly. "Too many things have been said that
can never be unsaid, Fox. Too many hurtful, dreadful
things."
"I know how much all of this has hurt you, Mom."
"I'm not the only one. I've just been ACTING as if I were
the only one affected by what happened to our family all
those years ago. I've been a very selfish woman, Fox."
He shook his head, not wanting to hear her talk this way
about herself. "Dad created this mess, Mom, not you. You
can't blame--"
"He created it, but I perpetuated it, Fox. I let you suffer
through so much--" Tears trickled down her cheeks. "My
God, how you must hate me."
A soft little sob broke through the tightness in his throat.
"No, Mom--"
"It was never your fault, Fox. Not any single piece of it.
I know your father treated you as if you'd failed him, but
that was his evil, not yours."
"I should've protected her--" Pain rose in his chest, burst
behind his eyes, squeezed his throat. He couldn't look at
his mother, shame and misery fighting for control of his
emotions. "I let them take her because I was a scared
little shit who couldn't even get up off the floor--"
"Fox, it wasn't your place to protect her. It was mine. And
your father's. We're the ones who failed her, not you. God
knows you tried." She clutched his hand, tears streaming
down her face, her voice thick with anguish. "You tried so
hard, and you were so broken when it was over, I despaired
of ever getting you back."
He met her gaze then, needing to know the truth he'd avoided
for years now. "I don't remember anything about the days
following Samantha's abduction, Mom. I don't remember
almost a whole month."
She nodded slowly, dabbing her eyes with the snowy linen
napkin from the breakfast tray. "You were in the hospital."
He closed his eyes, chilled but not surprised by the
admission. He'd suspected as much. His conscious memory of
his life after Samantha's abduction began somewhere around
Christmas of 1973, the first Christmas without her. It had
been bleak and painful--his mother cried the entire day; his
father drank his way through a bottle of Scotch and then
went back for more. Mulder had opened his gifts--a sweater, a
basketball, baseball cards and a watch--and realized that he
couldn't remember when the family had set up the Christmas
tree or had gone Christmas shopping or had watched MIRACLE
ON 34TH STREET like they usually did every Christmas season.
It was a blank--and he was glad. He hadn't wanted to
remember.
It also explained why he'd spent almost a year on Thorazine,
his mind numbed by the drug to the point that he'd almost
been kept back in school that year.
"How long?"
"Almost the whole month. Your father talked the doctors
into letting you come home for Christmas, even though you
weren't yet responsive."
He frowned, another shiver sliding over him. "Not yet
responsive?"
"You called your father and me the night she disappeared,
hysterical, screaming. We raced home to find you in the
middle of a hallucination of some sort. Screaming about a
bright light and a voice. Screaming your sister's name over
and over and over--" His mother closed her eyes, pain
etching deep lines in her soft face. "Then, suddenly, you
stopped screaming. You stopped talking. You--shut down."
Catatonia, he thought with clinical detachment. The mind's
last resort against horrors it was too afraid to face.
"And I was catatonic for the whole month?"
She shook her head. "Once or twice you almost came out of
it. But every time the doctors would start to examine you,
you snapped. You became hysterical, violent even--screaming
at them not to touch you, kicking, hitting, scratching--then
you'd shut down again."
He shook his head, trying to picture what she was
describing. He couldn't reconcile her words with his own
memories of himself. He had never been violent, never been
quick-tempered or hysterical.
"What finally happened? How did I come back?"
His mother's eyes softened, grew infinitely sad. "We
brought you home at your father's insistence. You were
still catatonic, but you didn't resist us. We got you
settled in your room, hoping that maybe being among your
belongings might bring you back."
"And did it?"
She smiled slightly. "Christmas morning, I went into your
room and found it empty. I was terrified, until I heard
sounds coming from your sister's room. I went through the
connecting door and found you sitting in the middle of her
bed, holding her rabbit and crying. You told me you'd lost
her and that you were so sorry." She reached out and
caressed his cheek, her hand warm and trembling. "You were
back. You didn't remember anything but the fact that your
sister had disappeared, and we never tried to push you to
remember more."
Her voice tightened. "Your father said it would do no good
for you to remember. That's when I finally realized what he
had done. When I finally understood why he'd asked me which
child I would choose if could save only one."
Mulder lowered his head, sorrow bending him almost double.
God, what he'd put his mother through. No wonder she'd
never wanted to talk about what happened. No wonder she'd
avoided his questions later. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry
I put you through that."
She caught his face in her hands, her touch strong and
insistent. She forced him to look up at her, her thumbs
stroking his cheeks. "I don't ever want to hear an apology
from you again, Fox. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Your
father and I were to blame for everything. Every bit of it,
from beginning to end." She released his face, and looked
down at the tray that sat, forgotten, over her lap. She
dabbed her tears again, her struggle for composure evident
in her face. "I've let the cereal get soggy."
"I'll pour you some more." He made a move to rise, but she
put her hand on his arm.
"I'm not really hungry right now." She let go of his arm
and picked up the tray, moving it off the bed onto the
floor. That done, she looked back at him and patted the
empty space next to her.
Feeling like a kid again, Mulder scooted up to the head
board and sat next to her, his shoulder pressed against
hers. "You used to sit next to me like this and read me
stories in bed," he said, resting his head against hers.
"You always liked THE CAT IN THE HAT."
He chuckled. "No, Mom, YOU liked that one. I wanted to
hear Grimm's Fairytales--all that lovely blood and gore."
"Samantha's favorite was GREEN EGGS AND HAM," his mother
murmured.
"'Would you eat them with a Fox....'" His lower lip trembled
at the memory of her childish voice screaming the line at
the top of her lungs, knowing how to torment him even at
such a young age.
"She loved you so much, Fox."
"I was so awful to her."
"You were her big brother. It was your job."
"I was yelling at her the night--" His vision blurred as
tears filled his eyes again. "That was the last thing she
heard from me. I called her mean names and practically made
her cry."
His mother remained silent, as if she knew there was no way
to respond.
"I loved her, Mom. I never knew how much I loved her until
she wasn't there anymore."
"I know."
"I don't want to let her go, but it's time."
His mother drew a trembling breath. "Why now?"
He looked down at his hands, wondering if he could make her
understand. "Because three weeks ago, my partner took a
bullet for me and almost died in my arms. And I realized
that I'd let my obsession with finding Samantha put barriers
between Scully and me that have no business being there."
He fingered the soft cream colored bedsheets, trying to say
the right thing. "I have to make a choice, Mom. I don't
want to, but I have to. And I choose Scully."
His mother sat quietly for a long moment, her hands folded
and still. Venturing a sideways glance at her, he saw
silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at some
invisible point on the far bedroom wall. He closed his
eyes, his throat aching with tears he was too drained to
shed. "I'm sorry, Mom."
Silence hung between them a few moments longer. Then
finally, his mother took a long, shaky breath and asked,
"Are you in love with your partner?"
It was the last question he'd expected. He licked his dry
lips and wondered how he could explain what he felt for
Scully. "I don't know," he said finally, realizing it was
the only honest answer. "I love her without a doubt, but
I've never allowed myself to be IN love with her. I didn't
dare. I didn't want to risk the relationship we had--and I
couldn't be what she deserved, not when my whole life was
wrapped up in a quest that might never be resolved."
"But now you have to know?"
He nodded, surprised but grateful at the understanding he
heard in her voice. "If I don't do this--if I don't find
out what possibilities there are for Scully and me, I'll
regret it the rest of my life. And I've got enough regrets
for two lifetimes already."
"I like her, you know. She came to me when you were missing
and we thought you were dead. She told me that she had a
strong feeling you were alive, and she made me believe it."
His mother smiled, wiping away her tears with her
fingertips. "She's a lovely young woman, Fox. And I can
see already that she's good for you."
He turned and clutched her hands between his, making her
look at him. "Mom, please believe me when I say that I
don't want to give up on Samantha. And I don't want you to
ever blame Scully, either--she doesn't want me to give up.
She's put her own life on the line time after time to help
me find the truth."
"I know that." She dabbed at her eyes again. "It's just--I
don't want to say goodbye to my baby. I've never really been
able to give up on her. I'm not sure I know how."
He nodded. He'd been thinking a lot about how he could find
some closure about his sister when he'd never had a body to
bury or a gravestone to visit. And last night, after Scully
had called, he'd stayed awake for hours, trying to figure
out the best way to say goodbye. Finally, as exhaustion
began to overcome grief, he'd realized that before he could
release his sister to the past, he had to face the past,
remember it, relive it. "I think I know a way."
She turned, a quizzical look on her face.
He squeezed her hands gently. "We have to go back to
Chilmark."
* * * * *
Feb. 13, 1998
New Haven, CT
1:39 p.m.
The apartment that Sarah Chandler had shared with Anne
Milliken was neat but homey, decorated in a quirky, eclectic
combination of themes and colors. Unobtrusively, Scully
took in as many details as she could manage, wishing Mulder
were along for this--he was the better observer of the two,
with his photographic memory and eye for detail.
"The police act as if Sarah's some kind of nutcase, and
she's not." Anne Milliken's hazel green eyes flashed with a
combination of anger and worry. "She's a PhD candidate, for
heaven's sake! She's worked herself half to death in order
to finish up this phase of her degree so she can tack on one
more thing--she's ambitious and brilliant and imaginative,
but she's NOT crazy!"
"I know that," Scully said gently, putting on her most
soothing expression.
The other woman calmed a bit and ventured a half-smile.
"I'm sorry--it's been a rough week." She raked her fingers
through her short, dark hair and gestured toward the pale
tan camel-back sofa. Scully took a seat, and Anne curled up
in the matching armchair across the coffee table from her.
"Sarah really liked you, you know. I think maybe the MUFON
folks kinda intimidated her--Sarah's not the type to believe
in little green men."
"Gray," Scully murmured.
"Excuse me?"
Scully shook her head. "Sarah wrote that she's not sure
what her recovered memories mean but that what she recalled
DOES seem to fit the pattern of the classic alien abduction
experience."
"But you don't believe in that kind of thing."
"Let's say I have not been persuaded of its validity."
Anne chuckled. "You DO work for the government, don't you!"
Her smile faded. "Your partner's a bit more open-minded,
isn't he?"
Scully frowned. "My partner?" She'd never spoken to Sarah
about Mulder.
"Sarah's friend from MUFON, Penny Northern, sent her an
article she clipped from the NORTHEAST SKYWATCHER NEWS."
Anne shot Scully a wry grin. "I know, I know--but
apparently you and your partner are some sort of celebrities
among the UFO crowd. Wait a second--I'll get it for you."
Anne uncurled from her seat and disappeared into the back of
the apartment.
Scully took the opportunity to look around, taking in the
richly colored, minimalist folk paintings on the wall, the
handwoven Navajo rug that covered most of the hardwood
floor, the white-washed walls that gave the room an almost
rustic appeal, even though the apartment was a typical, boxy
kind of place one could find in any city in the country.
There was a lovely antique display case against one wall;
Scully rose and looked inside. Sprinkled amid the
expectable clutter of porcelain figurines and wood carvings
were a handful of trophies--academic awards belonging mostly
to Sarah Chandler, a couple of soccer all star trophies
belonging to Anne Milliken. A pretty sterling silver cup
proclaiming Sarah Chandler the Valedictorian of her senior
class at Bradley High School in Charleston, South Carolina.
Anne Milliken came into the room, carrying a narrow
scrapbook. She gave a little nod toward the display case.
"Sarah's quite the over-achiever."
"How long have you known her?" Scully returned to the sofa
and sat.
Anne sat down next to her and lay the scrapbook on the low
pinewood coffee tabled in front of them. "Only a year. But
Sarah's one of those people you meet once and feel like
you've known forever." Her eyes filled with tears as she
looked up at Scully. "Tell me the truth, Agent Scully--do
you think that Sarah's still alive?"
Scully nibbled the inside of her jaw for a second, wondering
how to answer. Unbidden, Mulder's words from the day before
returned..."Most of the time, you don't find an abductee
alive after 25 DAYS...."
She looked down at the scrapbook and avoided the question,
knowing that neither she nor Anne really wanted to hear the
truth spoken aloud. "Is this Sarah's?"
Anne nodded. "The psychology researcher who took Sarah
through hypnotic regression therapy suggested that Sarah
keep a journal of everything pertaining to her recovered
memories. Newspaper clippings that caught Sarah's eye, any
thoughts or dreams, things like that." She picked up the
scrapbook and flipped it open to a page near the middle.
"This is the clipping Penny sent Sarah."
Scully took the scrapbook and glanced over the article from
the NORTHEAST SKYWATCHER NEWS. The photograph was grainy
and not terribly flattering to her--although Mulder, the
lucky bastard, looked marvelous as usual. They were
crouching in a field--
Oh, God, she thought with a grimace. Comity, New Hampshire.
She barely held back a shudder, remembering that horrible
nightmare of a weekend. She and Mulder had been at each
other's throats--no wonder she looked like hell and he
looked so great! He'd been thinking of tall, blonde and
busty Detective Angela White, no doubt--while she'd been
thinking of murdering them both and using all her FBI know-
how to get away with it.
"Sarah wondered if you'd be mad that she had this. Like
you'd think she was some kind of crazy stalker."
The thought had crossed Scully's mind, briefly. But a quick
flip through the scrapbook eased her mind--there were
numerous clippings and handscrawled observations that
indicated a woman trying to come to terms with memories and
sensations she couldn't make sense of. "You told Detective
Hanson of the New Haven PD that Sarah had made plans for
lunch the day you disappeared. That was the last time you
saw her?"
Anne nodded. "She got a call early that morning. Her only
class of the day was over by 10:30, and she'd planned to
meet this person for lunch."
"You don't know who she was meeting?"
"She just said that he was someone who'd been involved in
the Harvard study. She said she'd met him briefly up there,
and he'd come across some information about a new memory
recovery technique that was offering good results in
clinical tests." Anne frowned. "I asked her if she thought
it was smart to go meet this guy alone for lunch, but Sarah
just laughed. She said he was an older gentleman--very
proper, very courteous--nothing to worry about."
"Did she tell you his name?"
"No. She never said."
Scully jotted another note. "Did Sarah say where she was
going?"
Anne shook her head. "No. I wish I'd pushed her now...."
"Maybe she mentioned something in the conversation that
could give you a clue. Maybe hinted what area of town she
was headed to?"
Anne chewed her bottom lip, her brow wrinkling. "All I
remember is Sarah saying that the lunch could turn out to be
just the break she was looking for. She really wants to
remember her past--who she is, how she ended up unconscious
on a back street in Charleston. It really bugs her, not
knowing."
Scully could imagine. "Did she mention what she was
planning
to eat for lunch?"
Anne started to shake her head again, the stopped, her mouth
dropping open slightly and her eyes widening. "Wait a
second! I remember, Sarah said that even if she was chasing
a wild goose with this lunch date, at least she'd get a free
falafel out of it."
"So she was going to a Middle Eastern restaurant of some
sort?"
"Not just some Middle Eastern restaurant. She was going to
Garnem's. It's her favorite place to eat--a little Lebanese
place on Pritchard Street next to a used bookstore. She
refuses to eat falafels from anywhere else--'why mess with
perfection?' she always said."
Scully spelled the name aloud to make sure she had it right,
jotting it in her notebook. "Anne, do you have a more up-
to-date picture of Sarah than this one?" She pulled the
faxed photo from the case folder she'd brought along with
her.
Anne looked at the photo. "No--Sarah's not much one for
having her picture taken. She thinks she's got a big nose,
although I tell her on her, it looks great."
"Maybe something older--that looks more like she does now?"
"I'll have to look through some of her things." Anne's
expression indicated how reluctant she was to rifle through
her missing friend's things. Maybe, Scully thought, Anne
felt like she herself had felt the time she finally found
the
courage to help her mother sort though Melissa's things.
If Missy were still alive, she'd hate for Scully and her
mother
to be going through her things, invading her privacy. But
death had a way of making privacy a moot point.
Once Scully had started sorting through her sister's
belongings, she'd felt the full impact of her sister's
death, the irrevocability of it all, expressed in that one
short afternoon of sorting through the detritus of a life
cut short.
"I'm going to see if Sarah ever arrived at Garnem's. I'll
try to use this picture and the updated description of
Sarah. Does this look enough like her that someone could
recognize her?"
Anne looked at it again. "Yeah--just be sure to tell them
her hair's long and darker now. Shoulder-length, maybe
longer."
Scully flipped her notebook shut and pulled out a business
card. "This is my cellular phone number--if you think of
anything, no matter how insignificant you may think it is,
call it in."
Anne fingered the card. "Okay, I'll definitely do that."
She walked Scully to the front door.
Scully turned and held out her hand. "Thank you for all
your help, Ms. Milliken."
Anne shook Scully's hand, venturing a smile. "It's good of
you to come here and try to help Sarah. I think if anyone
can find her and bring her back safely, Agent Scully, it's
you."
Scully hoped that Anne was right. But she was beginning to
have serious doubts.
Her cellular phone burred softly in her pocket as she was
unlocking her car door. Pulling the phone out of her pocket
with one hand, she opened the car door with the other.
"Scully."
"Hi, it's me."
She felt a little niggle of relief at the sound of his
voice. It was almost as if she'd been waiting to hear from
him before she felt like she could really relax. "How're
you doing?"
"Better. Mom and I had a good talk, cleared the air a bit."
"You sound better." Scully tucked the phone between her
chin and shoulder and buckled herself in.
"Talking to you last night helped. Thanks for remembering
to call and let me know you made it to your friend's place
safely. Anyway, there's actually a point to my call."
She cranked the car. "You? With a point?"
He chuckled, the all-too-rare sound sending a warm, electric
sensation pulsing down her spine. "Yes, I have a point. I
wanted to let you know that Mom and I are currently on the
road to the Vineyard."
"The Vineyard." She paused with her hand on the gearshift,
surprised.
"We wanted to take one more look at the place in Chilmark
before we make the decision to put the property on the
market."
And take one more chance to visit the past before letting it
go, Scully thought. She closed her eyes, unexpectedly
overwhelmed by sadness. Even though her innate pragmatism
had never let her fully believe that Samantha was still out
there somewhere, alive and reachable, she'd found herself
willing to suspend that disbelief over the years, maybe
because she knew that finding Samantha alive would make
Mulder happy. And she longed for Mulder to find a way to be
happy.
"How long are you going to be there?" she asked.
"Just for the day. We'll probably head back to Greenwich
tonight. I'll wave out the window as we pass through New
Haven."
She smiled. "I'll wave back."
Silence fell between them for a moment, thick with unspoken
thoughts, yet oddly comfortable.
Mulder finally broke the silence. "Scully?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"Just putting up with me, I guess." His voice softened. "I
know you go way above and beyond the call of duty to do
that, sometimes--a lot more often than I deserve. I just
thought it was about time to say thanks."
Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away, scolding
herself silently for being so susceptible to her partner's
unaccustomed sweet-talk. For heaven's sake, Scully, he just
said "thank you," not "I love you."
But a part of her realized that was EXACTLY what he'd just
said.
* * * * *
Feb. 13, 1998
12:45 p.m.
Chilmark, MA
Fox Mulder walked ahead of his mother into the small bedroom
that had once been his sister's domain, air whooshing from
his lungs in a dizzying rush. How long had it been since
he'd come to this house, seen this place?
The window by the bed was hidden behind faded yellow and
white curtains; Mulder crossed the room and opened the
window, letting the afternoon sunlight pour through the
dusty panes. Outside, the side yard was patchy bare, the
winter cold having killed back the grass. He could still
remember playing in the snow right outside the window,
tossing wet snowballs at Samantha's window and hearing her
muffled shout of little girl indignation.
Behind him, he heard his mother's soft, shuddery sigh.
Without turning away from the window, he murmured, "Dad
never changed anything all this time?"
She didn't answer. He turned and looked at her, realizing
how small and frail she looked, standing in the middle of
that room where her daughter had lived for 8 short years of
life and almost 25 years of memory.
He walked around the room, remembering Samantha here, the
sound of her voice, the way she'd smelled like baby powder
and Ivory soap. He fingered a pale blue ribbon hanging over
the edge of the dresser mirror--blue had been her favorite
color. She'd gone through a stage where she wore nothing
BUT blue--Samantha's blue period, their father had called
it, smiling with slightly befuddled fatherly affection.
His dad had adored Samantha. Doted on her.
To this day, Mulder couldn't understand why, when the time
came to make a choice, his dad had let the bastards take his
sister instead of him.
He opened his mouth to ask his mother if she knew, but the
shattered expression on her face stopped him. He hurried to
her side, worry twisting his gut. "Mom, are you all right?"
She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying
her face against his chest. "I don't know if I can bear
this, Fox."
He stroked her hair gently, soothing her as she began to
shake with sobs. "It's okay."
"I tell myself I have to let go, but--when that woman came
back, saying she was your sister, I let myself believe we
could really find her again. I haven't been able to let it
go."
He thought about the other time, how the woman claiming to
be Samantha had convinced them all--even his father. He
remembered how he'd hesistated, just for a moment, when the
alien bounty hunter had demanded a trade--Samantha for
Scully. He'd been shocked to realize that he was willing to
do anything to save Scully--even risking the life of the
woman he believed to be his sister.
And yet, he'd never meant for it to be a trade, Samantha for
Scully. He'd tried to save them both, unwilling to give up
either of them. But sometimes, making a choice was all that
was left to a man. And having almost lost Scully again, he
knew his time had come.
He had to say goodbye to his sister and move on with his
life.
He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the memories of Samantha
this room evoked, the smells, the sounds, the sights, the
way her soft skin had felt beneath his fingers on the rare
occasions he'd deigned to touch her. From the day she was
born, he'd seen her as a pest, an interloper, the fly in his
porridge. His dad's obvious adoration of Samantha hadn't
helped matters.
How much of this quest has been about guilt? he wondered,
tears pricking his eyes. If I'd treated her better, if I'd
loved her more while she was here, could I have let her go a
long time ago?
He didn't know the answer.
* * * * *
Garnem's Pita Cafe
New Haven, CT
4:49 p.m.
"Sure, I know her. That's Sarah--comes in here pretty
regularly." The slim, attractive Lebanese girl behind the
cashier's desk nodded when Scully showed her the picture of
Sarah Chandler.
Scully glanced at the name badge pinned to the woman's dark
maroon blouse. "Teresa, can you remember seeing her here on
February 6th?"
Teresa frowned. "What day would that have been--Wednesday?"
"Thursday."
"Well, I work Thursdays, so if she was here, probably so.
But that was a week ago--" She looked uncertain.
"She might have been with an older man. A well-mannered
gentleman--" As soon as she said the words, a little niggle
of recognition shot through her. A well-mannered older
gentleman....
"Wait--I think I DO remember that." Teresa's eyes widened
slightly. "I guess because he was a lot older than Sarah--
and he had an accent--British or something."
Excitement battled with dread as Scully searched her mind
for a mental picture of the man she suspected had met Sarah
Chandler for lunch on February 6th. "Was he about 6 feet
tall, iron gray hair, with a long thin face and a thin
nose?"
Teresa nodded. "Yeah--sounds like him. Very polite, had a
habit of arching his eyebrows--reminded me of some old movie
actor or something."
Scully's stomach rolled. "Did Sarah leave with him?"
"I think so--they went out the back way because there's
parking in the alley."
"Did you see Sarah again after that?"
"Not that I remember?"
"How about the man?"
"No--I'm sure about that."
"Did he pay for the meal or did Sarah?"
"He did--gave me a fifty and told me to keep the change."
"Do you by any chance still have the fifty?" It was a long
shot, Scully knew, but it wasn't likely that anyone would
pay in big enough denominations to get a fifty back as
change. Maybe, if the fifty was still in the cash box, she
could see if Agent Pendrell could lift any prints--
"No, we took that to the bank that afternoon." Teresa shook
her head, quashing Scully's hopes. "We don't like to keep
big denominations sitting around like that."
Scully sighed and pulled her business card from her pocket.
"I can be reached on that cell phone number at any time. If
you remember anything, no matter how insignificant it might
seem, call me." She started for the front door, where her
car was parked on the curb, but stopped. She turned back to
the cashier. "How do you get out to the back parking lot?"
Teresa nodded toward a narrow, dimly lit corridor back
toward the kitchen. "That way."
Scully thanked her and headed out the back.
* * * * *
I-95
15 miles east of New Haven, CT
5:28 p.m.
The closure Mulder had hoped for hadn't happened, for
himself or for his mother. She had insisted that they leave
not long after their arrival, as if being in that house was
a physical ache, something she could not bear. She had
fallen silent somewhere around Providence, RI, responding to
his occasional queries with soft, weary monosyllables.
As they neared New Haven, his mother broke the silence.
"I'd like to stop in Momauguin."
He glanced at her. She stared ahead through the windshield
of the car as if the passing scenery were the most
interesting thing she'd ever seen. But he knew she wasn't
seeing any of it. "Okay."
"My cousin Kay has been after me to visit for months. I
think maybe I'll surprise her."
He arched his eyebrows. "Don't you think it might be better
to call ahead and make sure she'd there?"
His mother turned her head to look at him. He, blinked,
surprised by the twinkle in her eyes, so at odds with her
earlier grief. "Kay has less of a life than I do, Fox.
She'll be thrilled for a break in the routine."
He stared. "If you're sure."
"I am. I think it'll be good to listen to someone else's
troubles for a change--and Lord knows Kay has some of
those." His mother laughed softly, the sound spreading over
him like a soft, warm blanket.
He eyed her warily, wondering at her complete 180 degree
turn.
She caught his odd look and her laughter faded to a faint
smile. "I'm tired of being sad, Fox. I'm tired of crying
and wishing my life were different."
He nodded. "I was hoping the visit to Chilmark might help,
but--"
"I don't think we'll ever really have closure, Fox. Not
without a body to bury. I just don't think it's possible.
But I can't go on like this. I'm so tired of grieving. I
just want to smile for a little while. Remember who I used
to be before everything went wrong." She looked at him, a
little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'll bet
you didn't know I once wanted to be a Rockette."
He laughed aloud. "You're kidding."
"I was quite the dancer in my youth. But then I met your
father, and--"
The pain in her voice wrenched his heart. "He wasn't always
the way he was...toward the end...?"
"No, he wasn't." Her voice softened, grew wistful. "He was
a good man when we married, Fox. Idealistic and full of
enthusiasm. He thought he was going to change the whole
world--we were all young and foolish back then. We didn't
know that it's always the world that changes us."
"Did you love him?"
"Yes." The certainty in her voice surprised him, for he
knew how much she'd grown to hate him in the end. "But
then--"
"He changed."
She nodded.
He thought about himself and Scully, about all they had been
through, all the pain and anger and frustration as well as
the love and the trust. Somehow they'd survived, come out
of it all stronger and closer than ever. But coming from a
family that had ripped at the seams when he was only 12
years old, he didn't trust the seas ahead to be calm.
He exited the interstate and headed for Momauguin and his
mother's cousin's place. "It'll be nice to see Kay--I don't
think I've seen her since I graduated from high school."
His mother shook her head. "You're not staying, Fox. I
think you have someone to see in New Haven."
He looked over at her again, his lips curving slightly at
the humor in her expression. "Mom, are you meddling?"
"I most certainly am."
He looked back at the road, laughing softly. "Well, I'd
better see if Scully's gonna want her party crashed--she and
her friend might not want me around while they're catching
up on girl talk."
"I've never seen a hen party that didn't have room for a
cock."
He gaped. "Mom!'
Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd said. "I'm
talking about a rooster, Fox!" she exclaimed, making him
laugh harder. Suddenly they were both howling with
laughter, giving into the heady rush of emotional release.
They subsided finally, his mother settling back against the
passenger seat, her face still creased with a slight smile.
As they turned down the road to Kay Radford's house near
Momauguin Beach, his mother said, "No matter what we decide,
Fox--I'm glad we did this. I'm glad you came here this
weekend."
He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Me, too."
Following his mother's directions, he pulled into the
driveway of his cousin's house and parked behind her
Cadillac Seville. Somehow, he'd remembered the house being
bigger. Of course, everything looks bigger when you're
young, he thought.
"While I tell Kay I'm spending the night, why don't you call
your partner and see if there's room for you in her slumber
party?" his mother suggested as they got out of the car and
started walking up the stone walk to Kay's house.
He glanced at her again and saw that this time, she was well
aware of what she was insinuating. Flashing her a broad
grin of appreciation, he paused at the bottom of the
weathered redwood porch, pulled his cellular phone from his
pocket and dialed Scully's number.
She answered on the third ring. "Scully."
"Hi, it's me."
"Hey." Her voice was a little faint, ambient noise creating
a filter effect."
"Are you outside?"
"Yeah--can you hold a second?"
"Sure."
He heard soft sounds through the phone--the faint tapping of
footsteps on pavement, car engine noises, a car horn beeping
somewhere far away. The, suddenly, he heard a sharp gasp of
pain and a clattering noise.
"Scully?"
The line went dead.
End of 3
Warning: Adult language and situations, warranting a PG-13
rating.
This is a Pre-quel to 12 Degrees of Separation and takes
place within the same universe.
12 RITES OF PASSAGE
#4: "Realization"
By Anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com
New Haven Police Department
February 13, 1998
6:46 p.m.
"Listen to me, you son of a bitch, I'm telling you that a
special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation is
missing and you'd better damned well get off your lazy ass
and find out what the hell happened to her!" Fox Mulder
leaned over the desk of New Haven Police Detective Clyde
Tremaine, shoving his badge in the man's startled face.
Tremaine put up his hands, lowering his voice to a soothing
baritone. "No one else has reported her missing--"
"I'M reporting her missing, damn it!"
"But you weren't even--"
"I was on the phone with her. I heard a sound of pain and
I heard the phone clatter to the ground. Now I know she was
here in New Haven--"
"Have you checked with that friend you said she came here to
visit?"
Mulder glared at the detective. Do I look stupid? he
wondered. "I went by the address Scully gave me, but her
friend didn't answer the door. I have no idea what her name
is, and I have no idea whether she and Scully were together
when I was talking to her--I don't KNOW!" He raked his
fingers through his hair, panic churning in his gut like
piranhas in a frenzy.
Tremaine stood and put his hand on Mulder's shoulder, urging
him toward the chair in front of the desk. "Agent Mulder,
let me run the address you have through the system, see if I
can at least find a name for you."
Mulder sank into the chair and bent forward, breathing
deeply in an effort to calm himself and focus on the task at
hand. He couldn't remember the last time he'd reacted like
this--check that. He could remember quite well. November,
1994, the day he'd gotten the call to come to Northeast
Georgetown Hospital because his missing partner had
returned. The sight of her, lying so pale and still in that
ICU bed, a breathing tube down her throat, her eyes taped
shut--
He'd lost it. He hadn't cared that Scully's mother was
there, her fear for her daughter making her look decades
older than she was. He hadn't cared about the other
patients in the ICU or the doctors and nurses trying to do
their jobs. All he cared about was the fact that after
three long months of hell, the bastards had sent her back to
him at the edge of death, denying him even a single lead to
follow--and he'd exploded in rage and fear and grief.
"Think I have it." Tremaine interrupted his dark memories.
"Benton Crane, 404 C Ponce Street."
Benton?
"Here's his number--want me to try him?"
Mulder nodded, swallowing with difficulty. He pulled out
his notebook and jotted down the number Tremaine dialed.
Tremaine engaged the speakerphone and sat back, waiting
expectantly as the phone rang at the other end. After three
rings, a breathless male voice answered, "Dana?"
Mulder lurched forward, grabbing the telephone receiver and
lifting it to his ear. "Benton Crane?"
"Who's this?"
"My name is Fox Mulder. I'm Dana Scully's partner--"
"Where's Dana?" The man sounded frantic. Mulder's heart
sank.
"That's what I'm trying to find out," he replied. "I was on
the telephone with her earlier and we got cut off, but it
sounded as if she might have been in trouble."
"My God," Benton said, his voice breathless. "Where are
you?"
"I'm here in New Haven, at the police station. Do you have
any idea where she might have been around 5:45 this evening?"
Benton didn't answer right away, and Mulder's stomach coiled
into a tight, angry knot. He surged to his feet. "What do
you know, Crane? Where is she?"
"I...I'm not sure--"
"Tell me where she is!"
"She was looking into the disappearance of a graduate
student at the university. A woman named Sarah Chandler.
Apparently she and Dana had met over the Internet and now
the woman's missing."
Mulder sank back into his chair, stunned. "She was
following a case alone?"
"I told her she was crazy to go in without backup--"
Tremaine frowned at Mulder, obviously not happy about being
left out of the conversation. Mulder sighed and reached for
the button that engaged the speakerphone. "Crane, I'm
putting you on speakerphone so that Detective Tremaine can
hear what you say." He punched the button and put the
receiver back in its cradle. "Did Dana tell you who she was
planning to speak to today?"
"She called around 3:30, saying she was going to canvas
Sarah Chandler's apartment complex, then check out some
restaurant that the girl supposedly went to the day she
disappeared--"
"What restaurant?"
"She didn't say."
Damn it! Mulder bit back a growl. "Did she make contact
with your department, Detective Tremaine?" he asked the
dark-haired policeman.
Tremaine shrugged. "If she did, it was probably somebody
from the day shift."
"Who's assigned to the Sarah Chandler case? I assume she's
been reported missing."
Tremaine nodded. "Yeah--I think it's Dick Hanson. I'll get
him on the horn." He crossed to a nearby desk and picked up
the phone.
"Mulder?" Even distorted by the speakerphone, Benton
Crane's voice was unmistakably wary.
Mulder pressed his lips together in annoyance, unutterably
angry with the man on the other end of the line. "Yeah?"
"You said you got cut off and you thought she might be in
trouble--what did you hear?"
Before Mulder could answer, Tremaine called his name,
gesturing wildly. "I think we've got something, Crane.
I'll call back in a minute." He hung up the phone on
Tremaine's desk and crossed to the other desk.
"Hanson said your partner came in around ten this morning
wanting to look into the Chandler case herself. Dick had
somebody make her a copy of the case file, but he said she
seemed real interested in talking to Chandler's roommate, an
Anne Milliken." Tremaine held out a piece of paper.
"Here's her address."
Mulder took the slip of paper and nodded his thanks.
"Want me to come with you?"
He shook his head, realizing that if he couldn't have Scully
covering his ass, he didn't want anyone else doing it for
her. "I'll check with Ms. Milliken. You go call Crane
again, tell him what's going on--tell him I'll be back in
touch."
Nerves tight as drums, he hurried out to his mother's car
and headed for Anne Milliken's apartment near the Yale
University campus.
* * * * *
Scully was bound, gagged and blindfolded, and the back of
her head hurt like hell. She'd never lost consciousness
after the knock upside the head, so she was fairly sure she
wasn't suffering from a concussion. But the throbbing pain
in her skull wasn't exactly helping her slice through the
confusing whirlwind of events that had filled the last hour
or so of her life.
She was in the back of a van; of that much she was certain.
She was not alone, for she could hear the soft sound of
another person's respiration. Female, she thought,
listening, gauging the pitch of the breathing, smelling the
faintest hint of lavender soap. Someone different from the
one who had grabbed her up off the pavement after the blow
to her head--that had been a man. Before she could so much
as turn her head, a hood had been thrown over her head, her
hands cuffed behind her back, and her captor had lifted her
like a sack of potatoes and tossed her across a bench seat
in the back of the van where she now sat.
A blindfold had quickly replaced the hood, barely giving her
the chance to take in the dark, nondescript interior of the
vehicle. Seconds later, the cuffs had been replaced by
softer but just as restrictive cloth bindings. Then, for
the next half hour or so, her captors had left her alone to
bounce and slide in an effort to keep her balance with
every movement of the van. During those endless minutes,
she'd relived every horror she'd ever been through--Duane
Barry, Donnie Pfaster, the townfolk of Dudley, Arkansas--and
between paralyzing bouts of sheer panic, she'd scolded
herself for going out on her own without back up.
She knew better. Hell, how many times had she given MULDER
that lecture--don't ditch me, Mulder, you know you need me
covering your ass. Two heads are better than one. Two GUNS
are better than one.
She was distracted from her self-scolding by the sound of
movement. She felt the slight heat of another body near
hers--definitely a woman, Scully thought as the scent of
lavender grew stronger. She felt hands at the back of her
head, brushing against the painful lump at the base of her
skull. Seconds later, the gag loosened and fell away; she
pushed the balled up hankerchief out of her mouth and took
the first full breath she'd taken in an hour. "Who the hell
are you and what do you want?"
A soft, feminine chuckle to her right made her turn her head
even though she could see nothing with the blindfold in
place. "You're tougher than you look, Agent Scully." The
voice was higher pitched than she'd expected--a clear, soft
soprano. Delicate and almost ethereal. "I hope your head
isn't hurting too badly."
"Nice of you to care--although you could have saved yourself
the worry if you'd kept your blackjack to yourself."
"We had nothing to do with that, Agent Scully."
Scully arched an eyebrow, then realized her captor couldn't
see the gesture beneath the blindfold. "Then who hit me?"
"We're not sure exactly for whom your assailant was working.
The matter is of no importance, anyway--he's no longer
working for anyone."
A shudder of understanding rippled through Scully. "Who do
YOU work for?"
"That's debatable." The woman made a soft sound that could
have been a chuckle, although Scully detected no humor in the
sound. "But for now, I'm here to give you information."
Scully took a swift breath through her nose, anger quickly
eclipsing fear as she realized that her captors had no
intention of killing her--at least, not yet. "I'm not
interested."
"I think you will be."
"You have me mistaken with my partner. He's the one with
the mysterious double-crossing informants. It's one of his
little foibles--I've been trying to work on breaking him of
the habit of listening to shadows."
"Your partner isn't the one looking into Sarah Chandler's
disappearance."
Scully sighed. "So this was your idea of a subtle warning--
'stay away from the case, Agent Scully, or you won't live
long enough to regret it?'"
"On the contrary. Your assailant was sent to kill you--no
warnings issued. But we find it more useful to keep you
alive."
Scully bit back a surge of rage, knowing that staying in
control was her only hope of dealing with these people and
emerging alive. When she spoke, her voice dripped cool
sarcasm. "I'm touched."
"I don't care what you think of me, Agent Scully. Your kind
regard isn't part of my agenda."
"Then what is? And who the hell are you?"
"Call me Raven."
Scully laughed aloud. "Isn't that a bit melodramatic?"
"It suits me," her captor said simply.
"Nice," Scully murmured, "a carrion eater, preying on the
dead. I've come across too many of your sort in my
business."
Raven ignored the soft taunt and came to the point. "Do you
want to find Sarah Chandler, Agent Scully?"
Scully pressed her lips together tightly, annoyed at the
simple question. She didn't want to be rational and
pragmatic right now. She wanted to be angry as hell, the
yell and scream and claw and hit.
Was this how Mulder felt when Deep Throat jacked him around?
When X had played his dirty little head games? She suddenly
had a clearer understanding of what drove her partner to
meet with shadow puppets in parking garages and dank alleys
and behind bushes and in darkened cars. He surely didn't
like it any more than she did--she KNEW he didn't like it.
He chafed at the secrecy, the enforced subterfuge, just as
she did now.
But he couldn't turn his back on the secrets that lay in the
shadows. And neither could she. "Talk," she rasped.
"At this very moment, Sarah Chandler is being reprogrammed."
"Reprogrammed?"
"Do you think she forgot the first eleven years of her life
on her own?"
"What are you suggesting, she was brainwashed into amnesia?"
"Do you doubt the technology exists?"
"Why would they? What could she possibly remember that
could be worth wiping eleven years of memory?"
"Maybe some of the deepest, darkest secrets the universe
holds." Raven's voice darkened slightly. "Secrets that
were never to be told."
"Cut the crap," Scully spat, irritated by the woman's
deliberate ambiguity. "What does Sarah know? And why is it
imperative that I find her?"
"Because Sarah Chandler is the first domino--find her before
the reprogramming is finished, and you may start a whole chain
reaction that'll bring all the secrets to light."
"What secrets?"
"What happened to you while you were missing. Who the big
players are. What their agenda entails." Raven's next words
were no more than a whisper, breathed in to Scully's ear. "What
happened to Samantha Mulder."
* * * * *
Garnem's Pita Cafe
8:12 p.m.
The slender, dark-haired Lebanese girl behind the cashier's
desk stared up at Mulder in concern. "Missing?"
He nodded. "You said that she asked you questions about
Sarah Chandler's disappearance--" he glanced at her name
tag--"Teresa."
Teresa nodded. "I told her about the man Sarah had eaten
lunch with the day she disappeared."
"What about the man?"
"Just that he was older, and had a British accent."
Mulder barely covered his surprise. "Tall, thin, with a
long face and slightly sagging jowls?"
She nodded, her eyes widening. "Agent Scully asked the same
question. Do you know him?"
Better than I want to, he thought, but not nearly well
enough. "What did Agent Scully do after you told her about
the British gentleman?"
"She asked how to get out to the parking area behind the
restaurant. I guess she wanted to see it because that's the
way Sarah and her friend left that day." Teresa nodded
toward a short, dimly lit corridor not far from the
cashier's desk. "She went out that way and that's the last
I saw of her."
"Do many people go in and out that way?"
Teresa shook her head. "Most of the time, yes, but we're
having it repaved, so it's blocked off right now."
"Has anyone been out back at all this evening?"
She shrugged. "Maybe to the dumpster, but probably not--the
kitchen staff usually waits until a half-hour or so before
closing time to go out there--especially at this time of
year when it's so cold."
Mulder's stomach coiled as he glanced down the darkened
hallway, feeling as if he were staring at the doorway to
hell. What if she was back there, lying hurt--or worse?
He took a deep breath. "Thanks for your help." Steeling
himself, he walked through the passageway to the back door.
* * * * *
Somewhere in New Haven
8:25 p.m.
The bindings on Scully's wrists were beginning to chafe, but
not nearly as much as her captor's irritating game of cat
and mouse. "What could Sarah Chandler know about what
happened to Samantha Mulder?"
Raven shifted, the warmth of her body moving away from
Scully. "It's not important what Sarah Chandler knows.
Your first priority is to find her--with whatever means are
at your disposal. You can deal with the consequences
later."
Scully strained against her bindings, anger surging through
her aching body, giving her renewed strength. "I'm tired of
your little conundrums, Raven." She spat out the name like
something bitter on her tongue. "I don't like games. If
you have information about Sarah Chandler or Samantha Mulder
or what happened to me, then tell me. If you don't, then
either kill me or let me go."
"Don't worry, Dana. I'll let you go soon. I need you to
find Sarah Chandler before they're finished with her--and
you're losing precious time playing twenty questions with
me."
"Then tell me what you know."
"That's just it, Dana. I know very little more than you do.
I don't know exactly who has her, though I have my
suspicions. I don't know where they're keeping her. I
don't know how long they'll keep her or what they'll do to
her if their reprogramming efforts fail."
Scully's stomach lurched. "Do you think they'll kill her?"
"It's always an alternative," Raven replied, her voice
expressionless.
"Then what DO you know?"
"I know that you can no longer keep your partner out of your
investigation. He must be brought into the search for Sarah
Chandler."
"Why, so you can screw with his head like you're trying to
screw with mine?"
"His past is essential to uncovering the secrets you seek--
as is your own."
"My own?"
"Your memories of your time away are still locked in your
head. You may be surprised to find what secrets your own
mind may reveal to you."
Scully closed her eyes behind the blindfold, blinking back
tears of sheer terror. The gaping hole in her memory
frightened her--but not as much as the nebulous horrors she
might find locked away in that part of her mind that had
gone dormant almost four years ago. She'd tried once to
remember and she'd left the counselor's office in a panic,
her heart racing and her palms sweating.
Could she face that again, even for her friend?
Even if it could uncover the truth about what had happened
to Mulder's sister?
* * * * *
Alley behind Garnem's Pita Cafe
8:25 p.m.
Mulder found the cellular phone first. It lay half-hidden
behind a dumpster in the alley behind the restaurant.
He crouched by the small phone, his heart in his throat.
The plastic casing was cracked, probably from hitting the
pavement. He pulled out a pen and prodded the phone,
turning it over. No blood that he could see--he tried to
calm himself with that observation, but the mere presence of
the discarded phone was enough to make his blood run cold.
If it was Scully's--
But maybe it wasn't.
There was one quick way to find out. He pushed the memory
dial button and pressed *1. In the dim streetlight, he
could barely make out the phone number of his own cellular
unit.
He closed his eyes for a second, fighting a wave of nausea.
Then he stood slowly and walked around the dumpster. The
sliding door to the dumpster was shut firmly, but the smell
of rotting food and garbage stung his nostrils. He reached
into his pocket and pulled out the pair of latex gloves he
never left home without. Taking a deep breath, he donned
the gloves and reached for the handle.
The door slid open with a soft, rusty moan. He pulled a
small pen flashlight from his hip pocket and shone it around
the interior of the garbage bin. A handful of plastic bags
full of garbage lined the bottom of the dumpster, but it
didn't take long for Mulder to ascertain that the bin wasn't
hiding his partner's body.
He slammed the door shut and stumbled to the back wall of
the restaurant. Leaning his forehead against the chilly
bricks, he gulped in cold, relatively fresh air, wishing he
could clear his mind as easily as his lungs.
After a moment, he pulled out his own cellular phone and
called the number of the New Haven Police Department. When
Tremaine answered the phone, he didn't bother with preamble.
"It's Mulder. I need a crime scene unit at Garnem's Pita
Cafe." He rattled off the address.
"Is she--?" Tremaine's voice was wary.
Mulder closed his eyes again. "I don't know."
He waited by the dumpster, his stomach churning, not moving
from his spot by the back wall of the restaurant for fear of
further compromising the potential crime scene. Tremaine
arrived within ten minutes, followed by a couple of crime
scene investigators. Tremaine crossed the alley to Mulder's
side. "Whaddya got?"
Mulder waved his hand at the cellular phone by the dumpster.
"It's Scully's."
Tremaine spared him a quick, sympathetic glance before he
gestured for the technicians to come over. He pointed out
hte phone and the techies went to work. Tremaine grabbed
Mulder's arm and pulled him to the side. "If there's
anything to find, these guys will find it, Agent Mulder.
But maybe you'd better go handle your partner's boyfriend--
he's been calling every ten minutes, looking for answers.
He could probably use someone to talk to--and he might be
able to shed more light on what happened. You know it's SOP
to question the significant other--maybe he knows something
he's not telling."
Mulder stared at the detective.
"Is that a problem?" Tremaine asked. "I could send one of
my guys--"
Mulder shook his head quickly. "No. I'll go."
He walked back to his mother's car, his head spinning. He
didn't know what to feel--terror? Anger? Jealousy? Hurt?
He was too numb to feel anything at all. Numb and stunned.
Functioning on auto-pilot, he made the twenty-minute drive
to Benton Crane's Ponce Street apartment in just under
fifteen minutes. He took the stairs two at a time,
concentrating on the way his heartrate increased and his
breath exploded in his lungs. He reached the fourth floor
landing in seconds, jogged to #404 C, and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, and Mulder found himself
face to face with one of the most handsome men he'd ever
seen--something straight out of a movie, he thought, taking
in the man's perfectly chiseled features, light blue eyes
and thick, dark hair. He was as tall as Mulder himself--
maybe an inch taller. He was broad shouldered, narrow-
hipped and the jeans and t-shirt he wore couldn't have
camouflaged an ounce of fat--had there been an ounce of
excess fat on that body, which there wasn't.
Mulder hated him on sight.
"You're Mulder," the man said. He even had a good voice--
low, slightly musical.
"Crane."
Benton Crane's eyes narrowed, raking over Mulder
appraisingly. "What's happened? Do you know anything about
what happened to Dana?"
"We found her cellular phone behind a restaurant where she'd
conducted some interviews concerning Sarah Chandler's
disappearance."
"How do you know it's her phone?"
"My number was programmed on the memory dial."
"God knows why," Crane muttered.
Mulder narrowed his eyes, his shoulders aching with the tension
that was building and coiling in his muscles. "I AM her
partner."
Crane cocked his head. "Yeah, so she says." His tone of
voice left Mulder with no illusions about Crane's opinion of
him.
Mulder gritted his teeth and glared at the man. "Think I could
come in and ask you a few questions, Mr. Crane?"
Crane stepped back slowly and gestured toward the interior
of the apartment. "What do you want to know?
Mulder had a million questions, but he started with the most
important one. "Do you know anything about Scully's
disappearance that you haven't told us?"
Crane met his glare with a hard, cold expression. "If I
knew anything, I'd have told the police."
"But not me."
Crane didn't answer.
Mulder sucked in a deep breath. "Then maybe you can tell me
this, Mr. Crane. Why would my partner come here to
investigate this case without even telling me what she was
doing, much less asking me to back her up?"
Crane shook his head slowly, a wry smile curving his too-
perfect mouth. "You really are more clueless than even I
imagined."
Mulder took a couple of steps toward Crane, closing in,
invading his space. "She never should've gone out there
without back up."
Crane didn't back away even an inch, meeting Mulder's
intense glare without so much as flinching. "I know that.
I told her that, but you know Dana."
"Yes, I do." Mulder's fists clinched at his sides. "I know
her very well."
Crane merely smiled. "Obviously not as well as you think."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Maybe that if you knew Dana so well, you'd know that she
doesn't take kindly to being ditched like a bad date every
time you get the urge to go play chase the alien."
Mulder backed away from Crane, afraid of the blood-red haze
of fury coloring his vision. Had Scully said that to this
man? Had they talked about him behind his back?
His gut twisted, and he had to swallow the lump that rose in
his throat. "Mr. Crane, where were you this afternoon
around 5:45 p.m.?"
For the first time, Crane's composure failed him. His mouth
dropped open and he stared at Mulder. "What are you
implying?"
"It's a simple question, Crane. Where were you at 5:45
p.m.?"
"I had an afternoon class at the university."
"I assume you can confirm that--you have witnesses who can
place you at the university at that time?"
Crane nodded, anger blazing behind his blue eyes.
"And how long were you at the university after that?"
"I left at 6:30--Dana and I were planning to have dinner
together. But she wasn't waiting for me when I got here."
"Scully has a key to your apartment?"
"Yeah--I made a copy for her the last time she came to
visit."
Mulder couldn't allow himself to think about the
implications of that. "Did Scully mention any other leads
she wanted to follow? Besides the restaurant?"
Crane shook his head. "She didn't even mention the
restaurant. She didn't tell me all that much---"
The rattle of keys outside the door stopped Crane in mid-
sentence. He glanced at Mulder. They heard the dead bolt
lock disengage, and Mulder pulled his gun from his hip
holster.
The doorknob turned.
The door swung open.
Mulder lowered the gun, a whoosh of air escaping his lungs.
There, in the open doorway, hair disheveled and a scrape on
her chin, stood Dana Scully.
* * * * *
Scully dragged through the front door of Benton's apartment,
a weary half-grin on her face. "Hi, honey, I'm ho--" She
stopped in mid-sentence as she looked beyond Benton's
worried gaze and met the stormcloud eyes of her partner.
Before she could say another word, Benton enfolded her in
his embrace. She winced as his strong arms crushed her
bruised, scraped up body. "Dana, my God, are you okay?
"I'm fine, Benton."
She heard a soft huffing sound from Mulder's direction, and
she gently extricated herself from Benton's bear hug to get
a better look at her partner. Mulder's teeth were bared in
a grimace of a smile, but his eyes were void of humor. She
sighed.
"What happened to you?" Benton asked.
"Long story." She looked back at Benton, reading the
tension in the lines of his face. "I'll tell you in a
minute." She forced herself to look back at Mulder,
quailing slightly at the fierce anger thinly veiled behind
his stony mask. "Hi."
"What the hell were you thinking?" Mulder asked, his voice
tight and slightly hoarse.
"Explanations can wait, Mulder." Benton put his arm around
Scully, drawing her protectively against him.
Mulder's lips pressed into a thin line. "Mind your own
business, Crane."
"This is my business."
Scully pulled away from Benton. "I can handle this myself,
Benton. But you can do me a favor."
He looked at her, his gaze warm and understanding.
"Anything."
"I could use a nice, hot bath--will you run me one? Please?
I need to talk to Mulder."
Benton's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sure?"
She nodded.
He shot another glare at Mulder and walked down the hall to
the bathroom. Scully waited until she heard water running
before she looked up at Mulder.
"I'm sorry. I guess you're probably up to speed on what's
going on by now."
He nodded slowly, his expression still taut. "You should
have known better than to go off on your own like this. I
expected better judgment from you."
Her jaw dropped, and for a moment she could only stare at
him. Then she found her voice. "You have the gall to talk
to ME about good judgment?"
"Scully--"
"Look, maybe I should have told you about Sarah Chandler,
but the fact is, you had enough to deal with this weekend.
I didn't want to add to your worries."
"Like hearing you MUGGED over the phone didn't add to my
worries? Damn it, Scully, once in a lifetime was enough!"
He pushed his fingers through his hair, spiking the dark
strands. "I sure as hell didn't need to relive that
nightmare!"
She swallowed with difficulty. Duane Barry, she realized.
She'd been leaving a message on Mulder's answering machine
the night Duane Barry--she closed her eyes, wondering why
she hadn't made the connection. "Mulder--"
"And then to get here and find out that you also failed to
tell me about your new boyfriend--"
She pressed her lips together in annoyance. "Mulder, I'm
too tired to get into this now. And it's really none of
your business--"
"The hell it's not! What do you know about this guy?"
"He's an old friend--we've known each other for years."
"You've never told me about him."
"You don't exactly give me a catalog of your associates,
Mulder. There are lots of things and people you don't think
I need to know about."
They glared at each other, tension buzzing between them.
Scully's body ached from her ordeal already; standing here
facing off with her partner wasn't helping a bit. She
looked away. "Now if you'll excuse me--"
He caught her arm as she tried to pass, pulling her hard
against him. The heat of his body spread across her skin
everywhere their bodies touched. "I don't excuse you,
Scully. You owe me more than disdain."
She stared at him, wishing she could deny his words. But it
was true. She DID owe him. He'd saved her life, more that
once--and as recently as three weeks ago. But she also knew
that she wasn't the only one in debt. "What about what you
owe me, Mulder? Like trust?"
He let go of her so suddenly that she almost lost her
balance. "Trust is earned."
She went cold from head to toe. "And I haven't earned your
trust?"
His lower lip trembled open, his hard, steady gaze
faltering. "Scully--"
She was too tired to deal with him anymore. Shutting her
eyes to the sight of him, she lurched toward the hallway.
She'd taken no more than a couple of steps when she bumped
into the library table behind the sofa. The sharp corner
hit her half-healed bullet wound dead on, drawing a muffled
cry of pain from her throat. "Damn it!"
Before she could draw a deep breath, Mulder's was by her
side, sweeping her off her injured leg and into his arms.
Weakened by pain and the dizzying sensation of being cradled
in Mulder's embrace, Scully clung to him, pressing her face
against the hot skin of his throat, breathing in the warm,
masculine smell of him.
He put her down on the sofa, crouching in front of her. He
wore a stricken expression on his face, his eyes dark with
concern. "Are you okay?"
"Just great, Mulder." She winced slightly as his hand moved
over her injured leg.
"You're bleeding." Mulder stared down at the small patch of
red seeping through the dun-colored fabric of her pantsuit
trousers.
"I guess it opened up the wound--it's not too bad."
He looked up at her, his eyes haunted. "It was too damned
soon, Scully." His voice was hoarse and unsteady. "I can't
take it."
She knew he was talking about the shooting. She knew what
he'd gone through, trying to keep her alive with his own
hands, watching her drifting away. She'd experienced the
same thing once in a tiny hospital in Alaska, when all that
stood between Mulder and death were two electro-shock
paddles and her dogged refusal to give up on him.
He reached up and gently brushed back a strand of hair that
had fallen forward into her eyes. He tucked it behind her
ear, his fingers lingering there, tracing the curve of
delicate flesh and cartilage. The power of even that light,
almost imperceptible touch stunned her--she felt utterly
aware of him, from head to toe, even though he touched only
the outer edge of her ear. "Did they hurt you tonight?
Should I take you to a hospital, let someone check you out?"
The tender concern in his voice washed over her, soothing
her. Her earlier anger seemed to dissipate, leaving only a
fierce, sweet ache for him that never seemed to die, no
matter how angry he made her. "I'm fine, Mulder."
His lips curved in the faintest of smiles. Like steel to a
magnet, she moved inexorably closer to him, unable to resist
his pull. His eyes locked with hers, darkening, his lips
parting, expelling a warm breath that danced across her lips
like a kiss.
Benton's voice sliced through the exquisite tension between
them. "Your bath awaits."
Mulder drew back from her and rose.
Scully closed her eyes and drew a long, shaky breath,
pushing herself off the couch. She took a step away from
the couch and almost fell as her injured leg buckled for a
moment. But Mulder grabbed her immediately, steadying her
with a strong arm around her waist. He gave her a look that
brooked no further argument and supported her down the
hallway to the bathroom.
A warm, fragrant cloud of sandalwood scent enveloped them in
the bathroom doorway. Mulder released her and Scully
hobbled into the bathroom, delighting in the wonderful smell
of the bubble bath. She crossed to the large tub and dipped
her fingers into the bubbles, testing the temperature of the
water. It was nice and hot, and she almost shivered in
anticipation of stripping off her soiled clothes and
stepping into the bath.
"Need my help getting into the tub?"
She turned to look at Mulder. He wore a sly grin that she
immediately recognized for what it really was--his tacit
apology for his earlier behavior. She forgave him with her
own gesture, an arch of her eyebrow and a dry retort. "In
your dreams."
His smile widened slightly as he correctly interpreted her
acceptance of his overture. "More often than you know,
Scully." He backed out of the bathroom, closing the door
behind him.
She allowed herself a little smile as she began stripping
off her clothing, knowing that she had probably let him off
way too easily but not really caring. She knew Mulder was a
complicated, contradictory creature--it was part of what
made him the man she loved so dearly. He could be an ass,
but he could also make her feel like the most cherished
woman in the world. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that
of all the women in the world, SHE was the one to whom he'd
opened his guarded heart.
After ascertaining that her reinjured leg had already
stopped bleeding, she sank into the tub and completely
immersed herself from head to toe before rising up and
slicking her wet hair back from her face. The hot soap and
water stung her cuts and scrapes, but the pain faded
quickly, leaving her with a marvelous feeling of luxuriant
well-being.
She lazily scrubbed away the grime of the long, bizarre day.
She tried to mull over everything that had happened to her
since that morning, but her mind kept drawing her back to
Mulder and the effect his slightest touch had on her.
She knew his anger and tension hadn't been completely the
result of professional territorialism. He was jealous of
Benton. Jealous in a very human, male way. She remembered
back to the hazy morning three weeks ago when she'd awakened
to find him at her bedside. The fierce determination she'd
seen in his face had startled her--it was the same
determination that he normally saved for his obsession with
their cases, only this time SHE was the object of his
attention. She had sensed then that he'd come to some sort
of decision about their relationship, but after that one
morning he'd never really approached the subject, and she'd
begun to think she'd imagined things.
But after tonight, she knew that she and Mulder stood at a
crossroads, and it terrified her. She was afraid of the
risks they would face if they took a step toward a deeper
relationship--but she was also very tempted by the potential
rewards.
To be loved utterly, completely by Fox Mulder--she closed
her eyes, shivering despite the heat of the bath. She could
imagine nothing more powerful, more significant in her life.
But there was always the risk that she could be sacrificing
the most satisfying relationship she'd ever had--or could
ever hope to have.
Besides, with everything facing them--the mystery of Sarah's
disappearance, all of Raven's hints about deep, dark secrets
and lies--now was not the time to explore the possibilities
that lay between her and Mulder.
But what if this was the ONLY chance they ever got? What if
they solved all the mysteries in front of them, answered all
the questions, found the truth--only to discover that their
time had passed and what might have been could never be
again? Could she really live with that?
She sank deeper into the tub, the answer eluding her.
* * * * *
Mulder took a deep breath and walked into the living room,
where Crane was pacing in a tight circle. He stopped and
looked up at Mulder, his blue eyes dark with anger.
Mulder held up his hands. "Look, I know--"
"You are such an ass."
Mulder lowered his hands, his fists clenching by his side.
"I don't know why Dana lets you get away with the way you
treat her."
"You don't know anything about Scully and me--"
"Bullshit, Mulder. I know all that I need to know. I know
you ditch her and you dismiss her and you treat her like
shit and expect her to keep tagging along like a good little
partner."
Mulder swallowed convulsively. "Scully told you that?"
"She didn't have to tell me that. I can see what's right in
front of me."
"Scully's a big girl, Crane. If she wanted out, she'd get
out. I know she wouldn't appreciate her boyfriend meddling
in her job."
"You don't know anything about Dana and me, Mulder, so how
can you know what Dana would or wouldn't appreciate?" Crane
slowly closed the buffer zone between them.
The hairs on the back of Mulder's neck rose in response to
his opponent's aggressive stance. "Then enlighten me."
"How long have you known Dana, Mulder--six years?"
"About."
"I've known her twenty-four. So don't try to out do me,
Mulder. You want to compare Dana stories? I've got a
million of them. I gave her her first kiss. I was the one
who held her hand and let her cry on my shoulder when her
puppy came down with Parvo and had to be put to sleep."
Crane took another step closer to Mulder, closing the
distance to less than a foot. "When you blew off her
theories in that stigmata case a couple of years ago, I was
the one she called to talk it through, to work through her
doubts and beliefs because YOU couldn't handle it."
Mulder felt the world shift just a bit beneath his feet, and
he grabbed the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
"Scully told you about that case?"
A slight smile spread over Crane's face. "Dana tells me a
lot of things. Like her fears about that implant she found
in the back of her neck. Of course, she couldn't come to
you about it--you told her not to freak out about it, and
she was too afraid of appearing like a fool in your eyes to
tell you how her fears kept her awake at night until her
test results turned up negative."
Mulder felt a rumble of nausea building in his gut. Scully
had told Crane about her fears because she was too ashamed
to come to him? He looked away, horrified at the thought.
"God forbid, Dana might get in the way of you and a UFO!
You'd run her down so fast, she wouldn't know what hit her.
You take from her constantly. When are you going to be
there for her? Maybe it's time you took a long, hard look
at yourself, Mulder, and figure out why somebody as great as
Dana bothers to put up with your crazy, psychotic ass--"
The rattle of keys outside the door stopped Crane in mid-
sentence. He took a step toward the door, while Mulder
found himself instinctively reaching for his holster.
The door swung open and a small, pretty woman walked into
the apartment, her chin-length, sun-streaked hair bouncing
gently with each energetic step. Her face lit up when her
eyes fell on Crane. "Sweetheart, if I had to sit through
ONE MORE dry tax law lecture, I think I'd have slit my
wrists!" She wrapped her arms around him. "Did you miss
me?" She kissed him hard and long.
Mulder's mouth fell open, at first with indignation at
Crane's blatant infidelity to Scully, then with dawning
realization that he'd made a bigger fool of himself than
he'd originally thought.
The woman gave Crane one more long, thorough kiss, then
looked over at Mulder as if she'd just that moment realized
there was a stranger in her living room.
She cocked her head and gave him a look that reminded
him for all the world of Scully in her most skeptical mode.
"And you are?"
Mulder blinked at the woman in Crane's arms, surprised by
both her sudden arrival and her query. When he didn't
answer right away, her other eyebrow arched. "Well?"
Crane turned to look at Mulder, sliding his arm possessively
around the woman's shoulders. The look on his face left
Mulder with no doubt that Scully's "old friend" had
purposefully led Mulder astray about the nature of the
relationship between them. "Mulder, this is my fiance,
Lorna Youngs. Lorna, that's Fox Mulder."
Lorna smiled, although there was a little gleam in her eyes
that looked less than friendly. "Dana's Mulder?" Her blue
eyes swept over him, head to foot. "Funny, I always got the
impression you were bigger and better looking."
She continued to smile, so he wasn't sure if she was joking
or not. He ventured a half smile of his own. "How kind of
you to say so."
"Doone?"
Mulder turned at the sound of his partner's voice behind
him, and his breath caught in his throat. Scully wore a
pale lavender silk robe that emphasized every dip and curve
of her body, and her hair lay in dark red tangles around her
pale face. Her eyes were bright with happiness and a huge
smile lit up her face as she limped across the room toward
them. Mulder felt a keen twinge of disappointment when she
walked past him to fling herself in the outstretched arms of
Lorna Youngs.
Just once, he thought, I want to make her smile like that.
"Doone, I thought you were in Boston!"
Lorna gave Scully a playful shove. "Look at you, coming to
town to put the moves on my man while I was away! Starbuck,
you ignorant slut!"
Scully chuckled. "Unh-unh, Doone--Huck's all yours. Big
guy like that's too expensive to clothe and feed!"
Lorna tipped Scully's chin up, frowning at the little scrape
she saw there. "What happened to you?"
"Zigged when I should've zagged."
"Knowing Dana, this is probably a long story," Crane said.
"Which we can hear later," Lorna wrapped her arm around
Crane's waist as if she couldn't bear to be separated from
him for a moment. "Since your place is occupado for the
night--what say we go to my apartment and...catch up?" She
looked up at her fiance, an almost predatory gleam in her
eyes.
Crane dragged his eyes away from his fiance long enough to
pin Mulder with a meaningful glare. "I don't know, Lorna--
Mulder here's been acting like a real ass."
Lorna shrugged. "Like that's something new?"
Mulder pressed his lips together in annoyance, feeling like
the butt of a joke. Just how much HAD Scully told these
people about him? He shot his partner a glare, which she
returned with a placid Mona Lisa half-smile, obviously amused
by his discomfort.
Crane looked uncertain. "I don't know--"
"Dana can whip his ass," Lorna murmured, just loud enough to
be certain that Mulder could hear her. She looked over her
shoulder, her deep blue eyes bright with wicked amusement.
"Lovely meeting you...Fox."
"It's been real for me, too." Mulder waggled his fingers at
her.
Lorna chuckled and stood on tiptoes to whisper something in
Crane's ear. His eyes widened slightly, and he grabbed his
keys from the table by the door. "There's food in the
fridge, videos in the cabinet, and you know where the
bathroom is. See you around."
Lorna laughed and opened the door for him. Seconds later,
the door closed behind them, and silence swallowed the
apartment.
Mulder broke the quiet with a long sigh. "Hurricane Lorna,"
he murmured.
"She IS a little larger than life," Scully agreed.
He looked at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and
the tender bruising that was beginning to show around her
mouth, and his earlier irritation melted away. He crossed to
her, touching the corner of her mouth with the tip of his
finger. "Gag?"
Her eyes glowed like sapphires as she looked up at him. She
nodded.
He put one finger beneath her chin and lifted her face so he
could get a better look at the scrape on her chin. "When
you fell the first time?"
"Yes."
Sliding his hands over her shoulders, he gently turned her
around so that her back was to him. He felt a little shiver
run through her, and his body tightened in response. He
forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly as he lifted her
hair and ran his fingertips over the back of her skull,
tracing the lump he found there. "Blackjack?"
"That's my guess."
He closed his eyes, his whole being protesting the treatment
she'd suffered. "Are you sure they didn't hurt you
otherwise, Scully? They didn't--?"
The unspoken question hung between them for a second. Then
Scully turned around quickly, her body close to his. He
opened his eyes to meet her reasuring gaze. "They didn't
touch me that way."
He took a ragged breath. "How did you get away?"
"They let me go."
He arched one eyebrow, surprised.
She stepped away from him, nodding slightly toward the sofa.
He followed and sat next to her, close enough that their
legs and shoulders touched. She shifted, leaning against
him, and instinctively he lifted his arm around her
shoulder, drawing her into a comforting embrace. She rested
her head against his cheek. "I'm pretty sure that two
different groups with two different agendas were involved."
"Two?"
She told him what had happened to her, from the initial blow
to the back of her skull to the bizarre ride in the van with
the mysterious Raven to the moment when the van stopped and
she was left at the side of the road to free herself of her
bindings. To her surprise, she'd found her car parked
nearby--her captors had apparently brought it along with
them to make sure she had a way home after her ordeal.
When she was through, Mulder sat in stunned silence for a
moment, letting all that she'd told him sink in. Then he
said, "Did she give you any indication how Sarah Chandler
might be able to lead us to the truth about Samantha?"
Scully shook her head, her damp hair tickling his chin. "We
don't know that any of it is true, Mulder." She drew away
from him, leaning forward to pick up the file folder that
lay on the coffee table. It was the information she'd
obtained from the New Haven police concerning Sarah
Chandler's disappearance. "I guess you've been through this
file?"
He nodded. "How much do you know about the missing years of
your friend's life?"
"Not much. Sarah herself didn't really remember much, only
bits and pieces--snippets of conversation, fragments of
memories--" Scully flipped open the folder, absently
pushing back a tangle of hair that fell into her face. "She
didn't tell me much--Anne Milliken let me look at a
scrapbook she kept, but even that was more about her
impressions than what she actually remembered--or thought
she remembered."
Mulder shook his head slightly, amazed at Scully's endless
capacity for skepticism, even in the face of overwhelming
evidence. "You think her recovered memories may be nothing
more than confabulation?"
"It's a possibility, Mulder. Research has shown--"
He held up his hand. "I know."
She glanced at him. "I think we're asking the wrong
questions here, anyway."
"And what would the right question be?"
"Why did Sarah Chandler meet with our British friend?"
* * * * *
After almost an hour of going rounds with all the evidence
they had to date, Scully's head was beginning to hurt. She
lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing her fingers against
the burgeoning ache.
Mulder sat back from his hunched position over the file
folder and looked at her, concern in his hazel gray eyes.
"Headache?"
She nodded. "Long day."
"Why don't you go to bed--get some sleep. I'm going to go
over this file one more time--"
"No, I'm okay. I'm too wired to sleep right now. I'll see
if Benton has some aspirin." She went into the kitchen and
searched the cabinets until she found a bottle of
acetaminophen. She downed a couple of tablets with a glass
of water, then crossed to the refrigerator, realizing that
her stomach was growling. "Did you have any supper?" she
called to Mulder.
"No--I was too busy trying to find you."
She took some sliced turkey and a jar of brown mustard and
started making a couple of sandwiches for her and Mulder.
While she was spreading mustard on the bread, Mulder
shuffled into the kitchen. He'd kicked off his shoes and
was down to a plain white t-shirt and jeans--a good look for
him, she thought, watching him surreptitiously while he
poured them a couple of glasses of tea.
"So, you and this guy Crane go way back?" he asked.
"Lorna, too. We're all Navy brats."
He nodded as if that explained everything. She held back a
smile, reading his body language and the vaguely mortified
expression on his face. He was embarrassed by his actions
tonight--as well he should be. He'd assumed things about
her and Benton that he now knew to be utterly false--but not
before he'd made a fool of himself.
But she didn't really have room to judge. She had wrestled
with her own demons concerning Mulder and his catnip
effect on women, and more than once she'd come out looking
like an idiot, too.
The bottom line was, no matter how you tried to define it,
their relationship was intense and exclusive. There was no
room for other women or other men. Unfortunately, the
situation also spawned an incredible amount of sexual
frustration.
She sighed and slapped the second sandwich together with a
little more force than necessary. Mulder's head turned and
he pinned her with a questioning gaze.
She squirmed slightly under his scrutiny. "Lorna, Benton
and I met when I was ten and they were both twelve. We were
in San Diego then, and both Benton and Lorna were new to the
base. I met Benton first--fishing. He was the only one
catching any fish that day. I was SO jealous." She smiled
at the memory. "Benton showed me his secret--it was all in
how you hooked the worm."
Mulder's eyebrows rose slightly. "I could've told you
that."
She shot him a look that made him chuckle. "Benton started
taking me fishing whenever possible. He didn't seem to mind
doing boy things with me like my brothers and the other boys
seemed to. He didn't make fun of me or call me 'Freckles'
or anything that used to give the other brats such joy."
She glanced at Mulder, realizing something for the first
time. One of the reasons she'd grown so attached to Mulder
so quickly was that he, like Benton, had never treated her
as if she didn't have a right to be there by his side. He'd
treated her like an equal partner, even during his bout with
over-protectiveness right after she'd returned to the X-
Files after Duane Barry had abducted her.
"When Lorna's family moved on base, she was subjected to the
same teasing I had gone through--only it was maybe worse for
her, because believe me, red hair and freckles don't have a
THING on looking like Patty Duke!"
Mulder chuckled softly. "She does sort of look like Patty
Duke, doesn't she?"
Scully nodded. "Some of the kids followed her around,
singing that awful song from the Patty Duke Show--you know,
'Cousins...identical cousins...'"
Mulder laughed aloud. "Oh, God, poor Lorna!"
"She never let them get to her, though." Scully smiled,
remembering how her tough-as-nails friend had always found a
way to turn the table on her tormenters. "She made a point
of memorizing the whole theme song, and the next time they
did that, she sang the rest for them until they realized
they'd been trumped and slinked away like the little rats
they were."
"So, she and Crane have been sweethearts since childhood?"
Scully shook her head. "No, they were always just friends,
although I always thought they were made for each other.
They stayed friends even after their families were
transferred away from each other. They kept in touch
through college, through starting their careers--Lorna saw
Benton through a bad bout with depression after his mother
died, and Benton helped Lorna when her fiance jilted her the
day before her wedding. But always just as friends."
"So what happened--one day they woke up and realized they
were in love?" Mulder took the sandwich she handed him and
passed her a glass of tea in return.
She took her sandwich and tea to the kitchen table and sat.
"A year ago, Lorna was involved in a horrible car accident.
She had a massive skull fracture and the doctors weren't
sure she'd live."
"So that was the friend you were so worried about." Mulder
sat across from her and took a bite of his sandwich.
Scully nodded. "She was in a coma for almost a week, and
Benton never left her side. He said he realized then, when
he was so close to losing her, that all those years they had
been looking past each other for the perfect soul mate who
was actually right in front of them. When she came out of
her coma, he didn't waste any more time." She smiled.
"They're getting married in August."
She waited for Mulder to make the expectable smart-alecky
remark. But he just took a sip of tea and looked at her
over the rim of his glass. "Friends make the best lovers,
they say."
She stared back at him, well aware of the implications of
the words he'd just uttered. Tension coiled between them,
hot and sweet. Seconds passed into moments as their eyes
locked, dared, pleaded....
Aching with regret, Scully broke their gaze, looking down at
the half eaten sandwich in front of her. No matter how
delicious the temptation to explore the possibilities of
loving Fox Mulder, she knew that finding Sarah and
uncovering a lifetime of lies and secrets had to come first.
"Maybe we should go over the casefile one more time--there
could be something we missed, some connection to the man
Sarah met at Garnem's."
"I've been thinking about that." Mulder washed down the
last bite of sandwich with his tea and carried his plate to
the sink. He turned on the water and rinsed the plate. "We
know that Mr. Manners is tied in with Cancerman and his
cronies. And they were all involved with my father during
his days at the State Department."
"Mulder, we still don't really know how much of a
connection--"
"I know, Scully." Mulder put the plate in the drain rack
and turned to look at her. "I think that maybe my mother
knows more than she's ever told me. I think you and I
should go see my mother tomorrow."
Scully frowned. "Are you sure you want her involved? She's
been through so much."
"I know, but I think this would be something that would give
her a chance to atone for some of her past mistakes."
Mulder smiled slightly. "Mom and I had a good talk today.
I think she's ready to face the past."
Scully carried her own plate to the sink. Mulder shifted
slightly to let her dump the remains of her dinner down the
garbage disposal and rinse her plate.
He leaned in slightly, his breath disturbing the hair that
curled at her temple. "Are YOU ready to face the past,
Scully?"
She looked up, met his intense gaze.
"You told me that Raven said you have to unlock your
memories of the time you were away. Can you do that? Can
you face it?"
She felt the overwhelming urge to fling herself into his
arms and let him hold her, shield her from her fears and her
doubts. But instead, she lifted her chin a fraction and let
the gentle strength of his gaze bolster her. "I can face
anything if it means we can find the answers we're looking
for, Mulder."
He smiled slightly, cupping her cheek for a moment before he
dropped his hand to his side and stepped away. "Let's take
one more look at the file," he suggested.
She followed him back into the living room.
End of #4.