By Katvictory
Katvictory57@aol.com

Disclosures, ratings, etc. in Part 1
 

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER SIX
<><><><><><><><><>
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
October 14, 2000
On the road to Palenque, Mexico
 

It was a long but enjoyable road trip. I
guess I'm getting used to Jack. He's so
funny, in an off beat, hippie nerd (nerdy
hippie?) sort of way. The man does know the
Maya and the ruins, which is comforting. He
really does have almost twenty-five years
experience trekking these back roads,
learning about the people and places, but
Jack is totally insane. Well, maybe that is a
little extreme. Let's just say "Mohawken"
Jack Hart sees the world with a unique vision
and marches to a decidedly different drummer.
A journey with Jack is an experience not soon
forgotten.

First, there's the fact that if there is a
lull in the conversation, he sings. His voice
is actually not too bad, but then again,
maybe being tone deaf is a blessing. At
least, he sounds okay to me. Only...well,
there is a problem with his volume. We keep
putting Mulder beside him in the passenger
seat. Since my partner's already deaf on that
left side, no further damage can be inflicted
by Jack's eardrum bursting renditions of his
favorite vintage rock classics.

Needless to say, keeping the conversation
going is almost a must. Jack has an
encyclopedic knowledge of meso-america but
his interpretation of the facts is not what
one would call mainstream. We were discussing
our views on what might have led to the
decline of the Mayan Civilization which began
in the tenth century. The most common theory
and certainly the most logical was that
warring factions split the great empire and
it was fragmented, thus, the society withered
and died.

"It's just proof of the age old axiom,
'United we stand'," I stated, my voice rising
to be heard over the Suburban's engine. Our
muffler had taken a beating on the rough,
pothole ridden road and there was not a Midas
in sight.

"I'm not arguing with you, Scully," Mulder
argued, keeping his voice low to make sure we
would have to strain to hear him. "I just
said the root of the problem lay with the
corruption of the Mayans' old belief system.
They fell away from their Gods. They stopped
following the rules, so they were punished.
It's that simple."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation
with you," I yelled, aghast that Mulder was
taking the side, in this never ending
philosophical debate, that what brought about
the ancient civilization's downfall was a
breakdown in the society's moral structure.
Wow, Mulder, pro-religion. Who would have
thought? "We're not talking the Quakers here.
Many of their ancient beliefs were, in
themselves, counter productive to the
culture..."

"I can tell you the one true reason the
Mayans died out," Jack called out, finally
tiring of the controversy. "It all started
with vanity."

"What?" Mulder and I shouted our query in
unison. We both found Jack's statement
puzzling. It was the first time we'd agreed
on anything in hours.

"One of the Mayans' ideals of physical beauty
was crossed eyes. So they'd hang a bead on
their babies' forehead, forcing the kid to
stare at it, so that by the time the kid was
five or six, his eye muscles were trained to
be permanently crossed. Kinda hard to go into
battle and defeat your enemy when you're
seeing double and don't know which one to
kill."

Silence. The only sound was the engine's
rumbling.

I glanced at Mulder.  He was pretending to
sleep. Kami withdrew deeper into the novel
she'd been reading all morning. Was I the
only person with guts enough to point out the
absurdity of his claim? Jack waited, grinning
in anticipation.

"Shut up, Jack," I said with a sigh. The
driver's face fell. Well, I thought,
hunkering down in my seat to nap, at least he
didn't start singing again.

*****

We had wanted to press through, but by the
time the light had almost completely faded,
Jack was tired. We'd all gotten up at the
crack of dawn, though delays had forced our
time of departure to an extremely late 10:30
a.m. The long hours of driving over the
rough, treacherous jungle highways had taken
their toll on our driver.

"We can either stop for the night, or you can
pull over and let Mulder or me take the
wheel, your call," I offered, leaning forward
so he could hear me.

He braked, rather suddenly I thought, and
turned around to face me. "I know he has
those powers, but he can use 'em to drive?"

The near darkness helped me to keep a
straight face, so I was going to continue my
charade, but Mulder took pity on the guide.

"She got you, Jack," he smiled.

At least it broke the ice. Jack's laugh is as
loud as his singing and the mood lightened as
we broke to camp for the night. Jack helped
me to ready the hammocks while Kami and
Mulder sifted through the back of the
Suburban gathering supplies we'd need tonight
and in the morning.

Night comes quickly this close to the
equator. In a blink the day was gone and the
sweltering darkness had swallowed up the last
of the light. It caught me unaware and alone.
I glanced up, straining to catch some sight
of the twinkling stars through the tight
filigree of branches overhead, but nothing
penetrated the thick foliage. Never in my
life have I been surrounded by a night as
black as this, and a scream to light a fire
rose in my throat.

Kami pressed something into my hand. It was a
flashlight and I felt a moment of mute
embarrassment at my mind-numbing panic.

* Just grab a flashlight. Right. Jesus, Dana!
The first night's just starting and already
you're losing it. *

"Since you guys got the hammocks up already,
Mulder and I figured these'd do. The lanterns
are buried under too much stuff. Okay?"

"Sounds great," I choked, catching sight of
Kami's puzzled glance as she heard my tone.
Thankfully, she just left me alone. I didn't
really want to talk about it.

"Scully!?"

I turned and wandered over to Mulder. He was
tossing his gear in his hammock.

"I saved that one for you," he smiled,
nodding to the large, string woven bed that
hung one tree over.

It hit me, as I watched his hand play over
the fabric while he made his bed by touch,
that he now lived in a world of utter
darkness most of the time. I reached out and
clasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. His
brow lifted and he gave a puzzled grin before
offering me a quick kiss.

Since we all were dragging and no one was
hungry, we all retired to our hanging,
sleeping chambers. I hope our camp-outs are
few. I know that hammocks are one of the best
types of bedding, for orthopedic purposes,
but I don't think I'm going to adapt to
sleeping strung up in a tree. I think the
sandman will have a hard time finding me
tonight.

I'm writing this by flashlight. Everyone else
is down and the forest that had seemed so
eerily quiet, after the growl of the Suburban
had stopped, is now teaming with sound - it's
loud, alive...

The piercing screech of what I think is a
howler monkey just almost made me drop my
book. I believe my light is bothering him and
since this is his jungle, I'm obeying his
rules and shutting off the light. Goodnight.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
October 15, 2000
Palenque, Mexico
 

We made it into the town of Palenque a little
after noon. None of us slept too well our
first night in the wilds so we all decided to
rest here at the motel today. We can make the
eleven-mile journey to the site tomorrow,
rested and refreshed.

I know Mulder had a rough night. He stumbled
over to my side about 3:00 a.m. and asked if
I minded sharing my bed. I hung on while he
climbed in and snuggled up close. (What else
can you do in a hammock but snuggle?)  His
long arms and legs wrapped tightly around me
and we tried to get back to sleep.

"What made you decide to join me?" I asked,
finally realizing that what little sleep I'd
gotten was probably all that was going to
come this night. I knew Mulder was just lying
beside me waiting for dawn.

"I had a couple of nightmares," he sighed,
idly brushing his beard over my cheek,
knowing I love the feel of its rough tickle
against my skin.

"Bad?" I murmured softly, patting his hand to
comfort him. He hadn't had a disturbing
dream, at least none that he'd shared, since
we'd started sharing our sleeping quarters.
I'm sure of that.

"Bad enough," he replied and wanting to
change the subject, he began to lightly tease
my neck with the tip of his tongue.

"Maybe we just better lose one of these
hammocks then?" I whispered into the warm
comfort of his shoulder.

Suddenly, I was glad the rain forest is so
dark. It allowed us not to disturb our
traveling companions and the monkeys didn't
seem to mind, either.

*****

Palenque, the modern city, could best be
described as a tourist trap. While not
offensive by any means, it's bland. Its sole
purpose is to collect the travelers' money
through its motel chains and souvenir shops.
Except for the fact every building is
designed in pseudo-Mayan styling you could be
anywhere. It has no regional flavor like the
other towns we've visited. I find it almost
depressing for some reason. It could be my
need for sleep and I return to the motel
alone, hoping to catch up on some rest.

I had just closed the curtains and retired to
the bed, after a quick shower, when I heard a
key in the lock, signaling Mulder's return.
In the dim light I could see that he also
looked like fifty miles of bad road, and
after hitting the bath to clean off the day's
dirt and dust, he fell in bed along side me.
Being shrouded in his long, strong, always
warm arms has become second nature to me now
and it's only minutes before we're both sound
asleep.

I awoke to him screaming in terror. It was
5:00 p.m. by the cheap clock/radio time so
fortunately the neighboring rooms weren't
occupied yet. Mulder didn't even stir when I
sprang frightened from the bed and I switched
on the light in order to attempt to free him
from whatever horrifying netherworld had
trapped him.

He came awake with a start, yelling something
in another language. Spanish? It might have
been Mayan. We had heard it spoken by native
guides at Uxmal. Something like "Na...pita."

Has he immersed himself in the work, in his
visions, so much that he is now dreaming in
Mayan? It worries me.

I brushed his long, sun streaked hair back
from his forehead and watched as reality
slowly crept in, relaxing the hard lines of
tension that had gripped his face.

"Scully?" he murmured questioningly. Hearing
my reply that I was there, his arms wrapped
about my waist and he buried his face in my
lap. I stroked his hair, whispering what I
hoped were words of comfort.

I am worried. Well, okay, let's temper that
and say, I'm concerned. I think he's working
too hard at the ruins. Oh, hell...with his
handicaps, just having to function day to day
is work. Just because he manages to make it
look easy doesn't mean it isn't a struggle.
Tonight's episode with the dreams reminds me
of last fall, right before he stopped taking
his medication. It was so much harder for him
to express himself then, but I think I had
more luck getting him to talk about how
troubled he felt. Now, since he has recovered
so well, his old habits of keeping things
from me have returned.

I have to find a way to draw him out now that
the nightmares have returned. I have to find
a way to get him to slow down, to rest. I
have to do the impossible. I could use a hand
here, God, okay? Please.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
October 16, 2000
Palenque, Mexico
 

I'm so very tired tonight. We all are. I
think we were all worn out by the long,
cross-country journey, very little sleep and
the unseasonably hot weather. Jack says it
should have cooled down a bit by now. It has
been hot and muggy our entire time in the
Yucatan. But I hear they do have a "winter"
season. Or maybe that's just a myth.

I'm a bit crabby on top of tired. I should
try to get out of my mood before Mulder gets
out here, because I do want to try to talk to
him about the nightmares and all. As weary as
I feel, from the way he looked I'd say he
felt 20 times worse. Yes, he's haggard, but
there's a tightness about his face that makes
me wonder if it's time to consider a little
tinkering with his medications. We walk such
a fine line with his body chemistry. I hate
adjusting anything without him being seen by
his own doctor at home. Not much chance of
that.

Maybe I'll call Raposa tomorrow and see if
there's some way we can do it here, though I
shudder at the thought of using the bandaid
station/medical clinic they have in Palenque.
Knowing our travels are just supposed to take
us deeper into the wilds, this might be our
last best chance for that in quite awhile.

Oh, Lord, I think I'll just wait 'til
tomorrow to write more. I'll catch up on our
discoveries at work and tell what I've found
out about Mulder then.
 

 X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

HANDWRITTEN REPORT BY KAMI W. WAGNER
ON EVENTS HAPPENING AT
PALENQUE, CHIAPAS, MEXICO --
OCTOBER 17, 2000
 

It was after lunch. We'd all eaten down by
the "Bath of The Queen", a place where Mulder
confirmed the queens actually did bathe. It's
so much cooler in this part of the site, so
many trees and a small water fall that
empties into the pool that is the "Bath".
Jack wasn't with us at the moment, but he was
somewhere on the site. He'd decided to spend
the day with a friend who operates a charter
flight service out of Merida. (Which turned
out to be fortunate for us).

Scully took off back to the main plaza, down
the path and across this wooden bridge. She
told us she was going to check out the
"Temple of the Cross". Mulder and I continued
down the path a ways until we came to another
temple. Checking it out, we discovered a low
table in the center of the room. I led Mulder
over and he squatted next to it and began to
do his "thing", where he places both palms on
something to read it. I noticed the little
monkey sitting at the back of the room and
offered it some of my left-over sandwich.
These howler monkeys are all over Palenque.
The ones around the site seem to live off
what they can scavenge from tourists. They're
supposed to be harmless as long as you don't
get too close.

The little guy was just sitting there,
hunched, gnawing on the bread I'd tossed him,
when suddenly he straightened like he'd heard
something. He dropped the food and stood
upright, arms stretched over his head. It was
a defensive stance. I've heard they do that
to make themselves appear larger and more
menacing when they feel threatened. But I
couldn't figure out what was making him feel
nervous. Then he started the shrieking,
moving toward me, his lips pulled in a tight
grin that showed his teeth. Taking a step
back, I called for Mulder. He didn't answer.

This is the part I'm not sure of. No, that's
a lie, I know what I 'think' I saw. At first
I was angry that because you have to get
express, written permission to video tape at
Palenque, I didn't have my camera to back me
up. I know the way things turned out, the
tapes would have been destroyed in Guatemala,
but at least Scully and Jack could have seen
some of what happened. But, I didn't and this
is why I never told the whole story to
Scully, Dad, or the doctors...no one.

I turned to Mulder to see why he hadn't
answered me. He was hunched on top of the
table, his back to me, and I swear he was
surrounded by a red light that came up from
the table. His white shirt reflected the warm
glow. It looked like his face was covered
with blood. This is what I saw. I know it
sounds crazy, but I would swear to it if I
knew they wouldn't take me off in a straight
jacket, thinking I was hallucinating

I guess the fact that I turned from it was a
sign to the monkey that it was safe to
attack, because he did. He landed on my back,
near my right shoulder. I think I started
screaming; I heard someone screaming and I
knew it wasn't Mulder so it had to have been
me. Mulder stood up and whirled to face me.
Another thing I would swear to was he was
looking at me when the monkey started biting
me. I'd swear he could see us.

I know I was probably in shock. I was
wrestling with the thing. Its wiry little
fingers were holding fast onto my hair, my
skin, scratching me. Mulder was scowling. He
lifted his left arm and the monkey went
instantly limp. I threw the animal off me,
not caring about the hair I lost from where
its fingers were still tangled. It landed
with a dull thud in the far corner. My legs
finally gave way and I crumpled to the
ground, crying.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up.
It was Mulder. The REAL Mulder. He looked
like he didn't know what had happened, like
he'd just heard me crying and had come over
to see what was wrong. He moved to comfort
me, but I scurried away from him. I couldn't
help it. I was afraid.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
October 21, 2000
Merida, Mexico
 

I didn't even realize, until now, that I'd
tossed this journal in my bag. Kami and I are
back in Merida. On the second day at the site
she was attacked by, of all things, one of
those little howler monkeys. Luckily, Jack
had a friend that flew us back to
civilization to obtain medical treatment. I
was afraid that the animal had been rabid,
but the autopsy proved it wasn't. So she just
got a lot of scratches, a few painful
punctures on her right shoulder and one bad
bite that tore her jaw just below the ear.
I've assured her when we get back to the
states, Dr. Carter, Mulder's plastic surgeon,
will be able to take care of any scar it
might leave.

The poor kid is just now getting over the
shock. She really won't talk about it too
much. I do wonder who killed the monkey,
because some puzzles exist as a result of the
autopsy findings; specifically, the actual
cause of death of the creature. But to tell
the truth, I have too much on my mind right
now to really give a damn how the monkey
died!

Mulder and Jack haven't made it to Merida. We
decided, when Kami and I left Palenque, that
Jack and Mulder would follow us here in the
Suburban. It should have taken two days,
tops. It's now the start of the fourth day,
and there's no sign of them. I never got to
talk to Mulder about adjusting his meds that
night before all this happened. I fell asleep
before he came in. Now, I AM worried. Did
something happen to them on the trip? Did
they wreck? Is Mulder ill?
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes Late
September, 2002
(Exact Date Unknown)
Wellington, Colorado
 

Was it Palenque?

Can a place itself be evil? Is it possible
for a plot of earth to take on the dark
energy of the sins that were committed on its
soil and then contaminate a person who later
walks there, unaware? How many died at the
temple where Kami was attacked? How many
captives of war; innocent children, and Mayan
faithful, offering themselves to the gods,
died on that table? All I remember is their
blood covering me, then Kami crying.

Did all that came after this, come from the
city? Or was it me? Am I cursed?

I'm sick again. A cold. How can I get a cold
when the only person I see is Skinner, and
he's not sick? Leave it to me to find a way.
Shit. Skinner has moved us into this little
out-building. Wagner used to call it his
tinker shop. It's enclosed and will be easier
to keep warm. He found this huge, cast iron
wood stove in here, it keeps it pretty
toasty. So between staying warm, and
Skinner's hovering, I should recover quickly.
I'd better. A long recovery might not be good
for my old friend's health. He is driving me
TOTALLY insane.

I won't be able to add too much to the
narrative of the file from here, until we
make it back to Sky Watch, because of what
happened to me. Some memories have come back;
most, I think, never will.

I really don't want to remember it, I guess.

Was it Palenque? Or was it me?

End Tape
-WSS-

end Part 6/9

TITLE: THE DAMASCUS FILES FILE 1/3 Part 7/9
AUTHOR: Katvictory
FEEDBACK: dev1025@uswest.net
Disclosures, ratings, etc. in Part 1
 

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER SEVEN
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FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
October 25, 2000
Western Belize
 

Mulder and Jack showed up early the morning
of the 22nd. They were fine, nothing wrong.
The reason for their tardiness was simply
taking a wrong turn. This excuse was from a
man who has traveled these roads for a
quarter of a century. I don't think Jack even
expected me to buy it. But I did believe him
when he said he didn't know how they happened
to get on the wrong road. It was the 'simply'
part that I didn't believe. But something HAS
happened to Mulder.

We are now in western Belize. How did we get
here? Well, I remember the trip, I just can't
remember why we all agreed to come.

The minute Mulder and Jack got in, I noticed
something was wrong, but I was angry. After
seeing that they were okay, I lit into Jack,
since he had been driving. Why did they take
so long? Didn't they know we'd be worried?
Didn't they know I do not need shit like
this? Jack seemed dazed when I questioned
him. It was almost like a person coming out
of a deep sleep. He had the answers, but they
were nothing more than rehearsed lines. They
weren't HIS responses. That's the only way I
can describe it. I was stunned.

In frustration, I turned to Mulder to hear
what he had to say about the matter. That was
my first realization that something HAD
happened. Somehow, Mulder was different. My
angry words, the tirade I was going to hit
him with for worrying me, froze in my throat
when he seemed to gaze at me with his
half-sighted eye.

"We stopped by the ruins at Bonampek. There
was something I needed to find out. Sorry we
didn't let you know but we didn't find any
pay phones around." Mulder's tone was calm,
his lips played into a half smile as he
spoke.

I nodded I understood. It all seemed so
reasonable now that he was standing there
explaining it to me. I think somewhere, deep
down inside, a part of me still wanted to
rebel, because I hastily told him, "Mulder,
you don't look good. You're not sleeping. The
dreams are back. We need to get your
medication adjusted."

He nodded and the breath I didn't even know
I'd been holding came out in a sigh of
relief.

"Okay, Scully. We'll all get checked out
because we have a long trip ahead. I think
I've found out where the Mayans built their
original temple. Remember the legend ? 'Where
the Gods Sleep and the Fires of Truth Burn?'
I know where it is now." He spoke calmly,
evenly, most of all, convincingly and I found
all I could do was nod.

 *****

We all got physicals, Jack included, which we
all passed. The doctor in Merida, after
conferring with Raposa by phone, simply upped
Mulder's Xanax. I said nothing to the
fatherly, round-faced physician about how
strangely my partner was acting. I couldn't.
Mulder was there and he didn't want me to. We
all had passports. We didn't need visas,
being US citizens, so after paying the tax
for our vehicle, we left for Belize.

The fresh-faced border guards looked younger
than Kami as they stood, with their rifles
slung over their shoulders, checking our
papers. There was a moment of discussion
about our return plans, and bringing the
Suburban into the country; but after Mulder
explained our purpose, we were waved through
without a second glance.

We stopped for the night at a hotel in Orange
Walk City to rest and replenish our supplies,
then pressed on, rising early to beat the
sun. We were going west to the border Belize
shares with Guatemala. The place where it's
said the Mayan Civilization was born.

He didn't speak of 'Adam' until we left
Orange Walk City, but my stomach sank at
hearing the old delusions from his last
breakdown resurfacing. He talked throughout
the day, telling us of our purpose, of our
plans. We all listened silently as he rambled
on. No questions were asked. Mulder was in
complete control.

 *****

He told us this evening that this is not our
final destination. Tomorrow we press on to
Tikal, in eastern Guatemala. He sleeps now,
suspended in his cloth cocoon, alone. We
haven't shared a bed since he returned from
Bonampek. He seems so changed, I'm not sure
if I know this man.

I can write this now.  Kami, Jack and I can
talk in quiet whispers, because when he
sleeps, we are almost free. He no longer
wakes from his dreams screaming in terror. He
says that's when the gods speak to him,
telling him where to go. Telling him our
future plans. I watch him thrash a bit as I
write this. His face creases into harsh lines
as he grimaces. Apparently, what he hears
from the gods is not all good, but he doesn't
awaken. And he's no longer scared by what he
dreams. The dreams are no longer nightmares
to him. I think that in itself is
frightening.

Jack, Kami and I are scared. When the tight
strings of control loosen while he sleeps, we
talk among ourselves. We try to understand
what has happened. Theories are bandied back
and forth during these rushed, hushed
conversations, but no answers. No answers.
And we never speak of leaving.

He stirred just as I wrote that. I stop
--heart pounding, breath held, my pen
suspended above the paper, but with a mumbled
groan he returns to his conference with the
gods and I slowly relax. Kami and Jack know
they're trapped by Mulder until he doesn't
want them or need them any longer. I know I'm
with Mulder forever.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
October 31, 2000
Near Chunchucil, Guatemala
 

We have set up a camp not far from the ruins
at Tikal. Mulder had Jack build me a sleeping
platform as I fell ill right after our
arrival and I just can't get any rest in the
hammocks. I'm better now, but just so tired
and weak. Mulder and Jack go out daily to
find the temple, but no luck yet. I see I
haven't written in here since we were at
Palenque. When I feel a little better, I'm
going to have to sit down and catch it all up
to date. This is an adventure of a lifetime.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
November 3, 2000 ???
Near Chunchucil, Guatemala
 

We have to leave here. I have to leave.
Mulder is worse. He is unraveling. I don't
know why. I make sure he takes his medication
but, mentally, he slips further away each
day. We're all tired. It's so hot. That might
be part of it. He might be sick. I don't
know. I don't know why we are staying here.
Mulder is the only one who wants to stay. It
seems we all do what Mulder wants now. Why?
Are we afraid of him? I am afraid. There is a
reason, one I am even too frightened to say
aloud.

Is he controlling our minds?

There. It's out. I said it. Lord, I am so
frightened. He is changing. I know he is. Or
am I going crazy, too? Oh, God.  I never
thought I'd say something like that. He's not
crazy, he's ill.

No, I lie. I think he has gone insane and has
taken me with him. I have trouble sleeping. I
can't take the heat. I've been so sick. Did I
write this all before? I try to read what
I've written but it is all a blur. I'm sick.
I can't sleep.

But I slept last night, I think. I must have,
because of the dream.

In the dream I was lying on my sleeping
platform. The mosquito netting was stopping
what little air there was. It all seemed so
real, so vivid. The heat made even my thin
gown cling to my skin. I heard a sound below
my bed. A voice calling to me in the
darkness. I climbed down and HE was there. He
was tall and bronze, his skin glistened in
the moonlight. He reached out a hand and I
took it, following him without question.

We walked deep into the forest, further than
we'd ever gone. There was a clearing. It was
the ruins we'd searched for. It was the
temple. There in the center of the circle was
the golden altar. It was where the ancients
sacrificed their chosen; where they were
offered to their god.

I removed my shift and let it drop to the
ground. I took my place on the altar, feeling
the rough, carved etching beneath my bare
skin. Overhead, I could see the dark canopy
of the night sky; millions of stars dusting
the heavens in a milky spray of light. The
god was here, standing over me now. He'd come
for me. I reached out my arms to him and he
came to me.

His tongue caught the salty droplets that
covered my neck. He tasted the moist flesh of
my breast, slowly caressing each nipple with
the lush warmth of his lips. His teeth pulled
them erect and I softly moaned a psalm of
pleasure.

He slid over me. I felt the heat of his
sweat-moistened flesh. He was so smooth. So
strong. I wrapped my legs around his waist,
hungrily seeking penetration. When he slid
into me I gasped in exaltation. I grabbed
hold from deep inside, grasping his stiff
organ, relishing the sensation. My body began
to tingle with his firm, slow thrust. My
hands sought the hard muscles of his flanks
and I pulled him closer, deeper.

He leaned back and I followed, riding him
when he moved to sit upright with me on his
lap. We rocked together, the rhythm growing
ever faster as our bodies steamed from the
heat. I felt a hand gripping my buttocks, the
long, slender fingers playing my flesh as an
instrument; my body sang in worship.

Sweat ran down my ribs, dripped off my breast
and he bent to collect this offering to him,
tenderly, with his mouth. I clutched him to
me closer, wanting him to initiate that final
tingle, to quell the itch that lay deep
inside. At last, all feeling, every nerve,
came to center on that one tiny, throbbing
button. It burst with a fire so hot my back
arched with the electric heat of the
explosion. I stiffened, lids fluttering, eyes
rolling up in ecstasy. I held on to the
moment, embracing it, calling out his
praises. My inner muscles gave one last
twitch, then relaxed allowing the warm,
wetness of my orgasm to flow. A benediction,
my final offering of thanks. I collapsed
against him and darkness claimed me.

It was all so real, so vivid -- unlike any
dream I've ever had. The angry sun was
overhead when I awoke. No one had bothered
me. They knew I had needed sleep. I sat up.
My thin gown was sodden with sweat.

Then, suddenly came a chill. I saw my feet.
My feet which I had cleaned before I went to
bed. My feet were covered with the leaves and
mud of the rain forest floor.

I'm frightened.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

EXCERPT FROM LETTER
WRITTEN BY JACK HART
April 12, 2001
Cancun, Mexico
 

Hello, all.

Yes, I'm here in the city of fun in the sun,
where I said I'd never set foot again. It's
also the city of la tourista dinero, so you
got me. Old Jack's sold out. I've opened a
company with Morrie Victor. Remember the guy
with the plane? I'm now Mad Jack of the
Victorious Heart Travel Service. I used the
money you guys left me.

I'm not much of a letter writer so I'll try
to get the whole story to you now. My own
mother hasn't heard from me since '89 and I
don't think you want to wait that long for
this report...

...That next morning I found Dana. She looked
like she was in shock. Mulder was nowhere in
sight. I mixed up a little cocktail for her.
She'll probably want to kill me when she
reads this but, well, the locals sell a
little extract. It's a watered down version
of what Mulder took for his vision quest. No
snake venom or Jimsom weed, of course. I
didn't want her tripping, just sleeping. Then
Kami and I waited. Scully was lucid enough to
tell me Mulder had found the temple. We knew
he'd come back to tell us about it. We were
right.

When he wandered into camp that night, it was
like he could see perfectly. I'd never seen
him move like he did that night. I wouldn't
say he moved like a cat, he still favored the
bad leg and all, but Mulder walked right up
to us, knowing we were sitting by the fire. I
swear, his eye still had that blind,
half-focused look, just like it always has;
but from now on he didn't need that eye to
see. He saw with his mind.

No one said a thing. Kami and I just sat
there, staring up at him and he just listened
to us -- 'looked' at us expectantly, I guess
you could say.  Since Kami was too scared, I
figured it was up to me to break the ice.

"So, I guess you found it?"

He grinned that crooked grin, the one I
always remember. It kinda made me shiver,
seeing that Mulder smile coming out of
someone who didn't seem like he was really
Mulder anymore. He nodded and it got quiet
again. I fought it, but I couldn't help it, I
had to ask.

"Well, are the gods still there? Sitting
around the fire? Did they talk with you any
about another sun being born? We know just
the god that can make it happen, don't we?"
 

Mulder cocked his head, he had his face
turned to me, 'studying' me and my skin
crawled. This is really horrible to say but
there's nothing quite as weird as being
stared down by a blind man, and I've seen
some pretty strange things in my time.

"They're still there, Jack. No birthing baby
suns in their plans. Lucky me, huh? They
taught me how to 'see'. They're teaching me
to use my mind the way we're supposed to use
it."

Mulder sounded a little smug when he said
that and you know me, I just can't keep my
mouth shut sometimes, so I just cut loose.

"They gonna teach you how to grow a new
eyeball, Slick?"

I hadn't really seen what he could do at that
point, ya know? If I knew then, what I know
now...well, my mama didn't raise no fool. I
was lucky, because nothing bad happened. It
did get quiet for a minute, and I felt the
old pump skip a few. I knew I'd pissed him
off royally.

Finally, he started to laugh. I'd never heard
Mulder laugh like that. I kinda chuckled
along with him in relief and turned to Kami,
wanting to share the fact I'd gotten away
with mouthing off to him. That's when it hit
me, the kid was scared to death. She knew
what he could do. I didn't know it at the
time but she'd seen a look that could kill.
Seeing her face, all white and her eyes so
wide, brought  me to my senses. I realized it
wasn't too smart to fuck with a god, even if
he did have a good sense of humor.

"Is it everything you hoped for, Mulder? Did
you find all the answers you wanted? Did you
find what you've been looking for?"

His laughter died away while he thought about
what I'd asked. After another long, silent
minute, Mulder smiled again.

"I think so, Jack. Why don't you come with me
and see? Kami can stay with Scully, can't you
Kami?"

Kami kind of cringed when he spoke to her,
but she nodded.

Mulder and I walked into the jungle and were
swallowed up, not ten feet from the camp. I
grabbed Mulder's arm, he was leading the way.
The growth was thick around us and there
wasn't any light at all. I stumbled on. I
couldn't see, so I let myself be led by a
blind man. I knew one thing for certain. This
was not the rain forest Mulder and I had been
searching for days. We were somewhere else.
Valhalla? Mount Olympus? Heaven? Or were we
just in the twilight zone of Mulder's mind?

We walked forever until we finally saw a
light. There was a clearing and it was like
the sky had opened up. Overhead was the moon,
huge and silver blue. The stars were like I
remember as a kid. A milky white sheet,
glittering in the dark, blue-black heaven. We
just don't get stars like that anymore, ya
know?  Too damn many cities have turned off
God's lights.

I looked around and my mouth dropped open. It
was a Mayan city, but not like I'd ever seen.
It was new, like I pictured they looked in
the golden days. There were all kind of
buildings facing the plaza and at the end was
the temple. It rose up, tier upon tier,
higher than the trees. It was carved whole,
from alabaster, and reflected the moonlight
with a soft muted glow. In the center was a
round, golden altar. It really was "Where the
Gods Sleep". Then I looked around and
realized, other than me and Mulder, the place
was empty.

"Where are they, Mulder? Where are your
gods?"

I don't know why I was so angry. Maybe I felt
cheated, maybe I felt lied to, maybe I felt
we'd been played with for too damn long to
just let me see an empty city. Mulder
listened...looked...whatever it was he did,
and he, too, realized we were alone. The
closest thing to a god I saw was standing
right in front of me, with a sad, puzzled
frown on his face. Suddenly Mulder looked
tired and I noticed the lines of strain that
were cut deep into his face. It's hard work
being a god and controlling your world.
Especially when your friends, the other gods,
run out on you. I glanced over to the temple
and noticed the dark vines slithering up the
steps. The jungle was moving in to reclaim
its place even while I watched. I knew if
this god ever slept, if for one moment Mulder
wasn't vigilant, this all would be gone.

I felt sorry for Mulder. He was my friend and
he was so very, very tired. I wasn't sure
that he'd asked for this. Sure, he'd taken
the ball and run with it, but who wouldn't
given the chance? If we're truthful with
ourselves, who wouldn't want the power of the
gods, if only for awhile?

"Let's go, Mulder." I grabbed his arm, ready
to leave this silent, lonely place. "Nobody's
home."

He stood rooted to the spot so I tugged on
his arm. I finally said the only thing that I
knew would move him. "Mulder, you need to see
Scully. I think you scared her last night. I
think she needs you."

Mulder gave a weary nod and took us back.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully,
November 4, 2000
Near Chunchucil, Guatemala
 

I woke up feeling that for the first time in
a long time that my mind was my own. I ponder
this now that he's gone, wondering if he is
weakening or if it's because he has so much
more now to control. It must be the latter,
because even though he was tired tonight, I
could feel his strength. And I think his
power will just keep growing until...what? I
truly don't know. Until he finds what he is
looking for? When will this end? How will
this end?

Mulder was here when I got up. That might
have been what woke me. I know when he's
around. I sense him. Why not? He's been in my
head enough lately, messing around, playing
his god-like games. Did I ever mention in
here, what drove me away from the church when
I was young? The idea that God could be petty
enough to play cruel games with us, His
children. To give us rules, then not follow
them Himself. To torture us with pop quizzes,
testing our faith. Hey, Abraham...prove how
much you love me and sacrifice your son. Oh,
you will? Then, never mind.

Now, that's not the God I discovered when I
grew up. My God has a sense of humor, but He
doesn't cruelly tease us. He doesn't play so
fast and loose with the ones He loves. I
climbed down the ladder, intent on letting
Mulder know that if he planned on being a god
around me, he needed some quick lessons on
how to do it right. When I saw him, how pale
and haggard he was, my resolve crumbled a
bit.

He was standing by the fire, talking with
Jack, and I felt my stomach tighten when he
glanced up suddenly as I walked near. Again,
he wasn't looking at me, but he 'saw' me. I
felt like pinching myself at the wonder of
Mulder seeing again, no matter how he did it.
Now I had the chance, though. For whatever
reason, Mulder had set me free and I needed
to let him know my feelings while I could. I
had to get him to start taking on the
responsibility that came along with his great
powers.

"Mulder, why did you trick me like you did?"
I asked, making my voice as firm as possible.
"You know I would have come with you if you'd
asked. You didn't have to play with my head.
Stop messing with my head, Mulder."

A flash of pain flickered across his face and
he sighed, "I didn't trick you, Scully, the
dream was yours. You'd already started it. I
didn't put the dream in your head. I only
made it come true."

My cheeks burned. Mulder was right, he told
the truth. He has been in my dreams longer
than I care to have him know. But he was
missing my point. The problem was,  the issue
was, the very fact that he did know my
dreams. He was privy to my thoughts and I
wanted him out of my head. Now. And from now
on, unless I invited him.

He listened quietly, as I told him my
demands, then he solemnly nodded that he
would do as I asked. My anger abated even
more. I studied his face.

"Where's your beard?" I asked, stunned, just
realizing his face was now smooth. I reached
up to touch that finely chiseled jaw line and
I took a moment to take him in. I saw that
his hair now hung long down his back and
surprised, I turned to Kami and Jack. They
both were astonished, too. Either none of us
had noticed, or this change in his appearance
had just happened. Was this another game? Was
he making himself into the image of the Mayan
gods, the better to keep their company?

Mulder's hand went to his face and a shadow
of his usual grin tugged at his lips. He
shrugged. My hand still lingered on his jaw
and I jumped when he suddenly grabbed my
wrist; but I relaxed when he broke into a
real smile as he fingered the bracelet he'd
given me so long ago.

"Forever," he whispered softly to me,
reaffirming the meaning of the knot.

I mutely nodded, that word now having a
meaning that made my hands begin to shake.
What is forever to a god? My knees felt weak
when I watched him touch the jewelry. For a
moment the silver flashed bright in the
moonlight then it muted to gleam warmly on my
wrist when my gift turned to gold.

"Water into wine?" Mulder smiled down at me.
His lips brushed my cheek, then he was gone,
disappearing into the shadowed forest.

I sank down to sit beside the fire with my
friends. The camp was blanketed in silence.

"Hey, Scully, next time he stops by let him
know the Suburban needs gas, okay?" Jack
suggested, his eyes still wide.

Our laughter may have been a little too loud,
a little too long to be good.

 end 7/9

TITLE: THE DAMASCUS FILES FILE 1/3 Part 8/9
AUTHOR: Katvictory
FEEDBACK: dev1025@uswest.net
Disclosures, ratings, etc. in Part 1
 

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER EIGHT
<><><><><><><><><>
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
November 5, 2000
Near Chunchucil, Guatemala
 

I awoke this morning to find my guardian knot
gone. Nothing was left but a sprinkling of
golden dust on my skin, and across my pillow.
Nothing is left of the miracle.

Mulder didn't come by at all today and we
have no hope of finding him. Kami, Jack and I
believe he has set us free. The feeling that
he is always there, watching, listening,
always in our heads, is completely gone. It
seems strange, like when I was young and lost
a tooth. I remember my tongue constantly
seeking the empty spot. Now, I find myself
searching for the imprint of his will there
in my head and it's gone. I hate to admit it,
but I feel a certain longing, almost akin to
grief, for what's missing. I am alone now. I
need to know Mulder is all right.

The three of us, his reluctant disciples,
woke up this morning, bleary eyed and shell
shocked. We ate breakfast in silence until
Jack, as always, made a statement that opened
a floodgate of debate.

"Since this is all in his head, what if we
drugged him, then kept him that way 'til we
could get him out of here? Maybe to Guatemala
City or back to Belize?"

"You make it sound so simple. 'All in his
head.' I'm not so sure that's all this is,
and even if you're right, that it's all in
his head, what he can do is definitely not
imaginary." Kami argued the point, showing
more heated emotion than I'd seen from her in
weeks.

I watch the two of them go at it, back and
forth. They've been through hell these last
few weeks, we all have, but they talk about
Mulder as if he's a problem to be solved. A
puzzle to be worked out. Like he's not human.
Oh, God. He is human, isn't he? But no human
can do what he can do. Can they?

I spent 7 years investigating mysterious
phenomena like this. Why is my mind blank
right now? Over the years, we saw so many
with special powers. Clyde Bruckman was one.
Bruckman was psychic. I never wanted to admit
to Mulder that I thought Bruckman was truly
'gifted', but Mulder knew I believed. I
discovered the man had the power to see the
future, specifically, a person's death. How
horrible. It was a curse. Never to be able to
see promise, love, hope, or happiness. Only
the end. Clyde saw his own death, then he
made sure it happened.

Modell. Robert Patrick Modell.  Mulder called
his 'power' the whammy. Such a sad, pathetic
man. He helped us though, before he died. But
still, he died. Modell came to a tragic end.
And Marty Glenn. She was blind. But she could
see things she didn't want to see. She's in
prison. Darren Oswald is, too. Samuel
Hartley. Dead. Lucy Householder. Dead. All of
them, their powers either corrupted them or
killed them. Or both. And Luther Lee Boggs.
Oh, yes. Boggs was given his 'gift' as
penance. It was a punishment from God.

Is Mulder being punished? What was Mulder's
sin?

*****

Still no Mulder. Kami and Jack have hashed
and rehashed the situation. Is Mulder a god
or isn't he? Nobody knows for sure. I've
listened to their speculation until I could
scream. We have become a house divided. None
of us agree on what is happening or what to
do. Jack, of course, wants to take action. He
still believes we can drug Mulder and spirit
him away from here.

This idea was put forth when he and Kami were
going through the "brain injury, miracles and
messiah complex" conversation. That went on
from right after lunch until right before
dinner. I listened for a while, especially
when I heard mention of brain tumors. But
since my name didn't come into the long,
heated discussion, I lost interest.  I think
I deliberately stopped listening when Jack
started spouting off about autopsies and
saints.

Kami's view is that there is some kind of
unknown force involved and, while she won't
come out and say possession, I think that's
the point she's trying to make. She never
really offered any opinions on who the
possessor might be. Perhaps she's not really
even sure. She claims that she knows for a
fact that Mulder is not acting entirely on
his own. She won't tell us how she knows, but
I can tell by her eyes, she believes Mulder
has been touched by something that changed
him.

What is my opinion on all of this? What do I
have to show for an entire day spent thinking
of nothing but Mulder? Nothing. Nothing but
questions. Could Mulder have always had these
"gifts"? Is this proof that we all have
amazing powers waiting to be released? Has
Mulder truly been touched by some spiritual
force, or were the messages he received
nothing more than a chemical imbalance? Has
all this come from the misfiring synapses of
a severely damaged brain, or did his injury
awaken a sleeping god?
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
November 6, 2000
Near Chunchucil, Guatemala
 

"And God stepped out on Earth, and looked
around and said, "I'm lonely, I'll make me a
world."

I think Mulder is lost now; between his two
worlds. He strolled into camp to visit this
morning. Kami and Jack didn't even speak to
him. Their conversation, the debate that had
raged since yesterday, died at his sudden
appearance. Mulder noticed. He knows they
don't see him the way they once did. He knows
why their view of him has changed. It
bothered him that the gulf between heaven and
earth is so wide and he turned to me for
council. Advisor to the gods was NOT in my
job description, so I wasn't able to help him
much.

We took a walk; this time our destination was
mundane. We found a spot down by the river
where we could be alone. I found out Mulder
is scared and confused and, worst of all,
he's now utterly alone. His visions, his
gods, have not come back and he's at a loss
as to where to go from here. He wants to know
why he was given these powers. He wants to
know what his purpose is. The voices of his
gods brought him this far, then deserted him.
He tells me he needs my help. Great.
Wonderful. Like I know where this is going. I
don't even know how we got to this point.

I'm rambling, I know. But something has to be
done. Somebody has to help him. Mulder is too
powerful to be left alone now and no one
appears to be standing in line to fill this
position.  So, even though I'm not qualified,
I'm taking the job.

Where do I start? I'm the type of person who
likes to have the full background on a
situation. Mulder knew this and tried to help
me. We didn't have our projector, sitting
beside the river tonight, but it reminded me
of when he used to brief me before a
case...Me, sitting impatiently while he
expounded on the alleged facts. The Gospel
according to Fox Mulder. I had to smile,
watching him pace back and forth. Waving a
hand animatedly as he spoke. It was just like
old times.

Oh, God. How do I make sense of it all?
Mulder admitted, after my gentle but
persistent prodding, that he hasn't been on
any medication since the day Kami was hurt.
It was like a fist in my belly. My first
thought was, "No wonder he's hearing voices.
He has had another breakdown." But does that
really explain all that has happened? All
we've seen? Folie a quatre? I don't think so.

I decided we need to stop focusing on what
has given Mulder these god-like powers. What
he needs to know now is how to control them.
This is not something I was taught in medical
school or at the academy. Over the years I
have learned how to improvise and think on my
feet. Because I want to make sure I'm the
only one advising him, I think we should get
away from here.  I told him, "Mulder, stay at
the camp tonight. You probably shouldn't try
to go back to the temple. Tomorrow we'll
start getting ready to go back home.  Once
we're there maybe we'll be able to find out
what's happening to you."

To my surprise, Mulder took my advice. So now
I sit atop my sleeping platform writing in my
journal, chronicling my latest adventure with
Fox Mulder. As always, it has been a journey
into the uncharted waters of the unknown and
unexplained. And, as always, my part has been
to be the voice of reason; what he calls his
touchstone to the truth. He says I'm here to
keep him honest.

Well, I honestly don't know if the man who
lies beside me, sleeping so peacefully, is
ill or if he has truly been keeping the
company of the gods. The rest of us in camp
watch him warily.  I know he is afraid that
without me he is alone. He knows that I'll
love him, always and forever.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes
Late September, 2002
(Exact Date Unknown)
Wellington, Colorado
 

Houston, we have a problem. I don't think my
cold is a cold.

You know, I can feel Scully coming home.
She's still pretty far away, can't tell
exactly where. But she's trying to find a way
to get a message to us that she's coming and
she's trying to hurry. She knows our
connection runs both ways. But I guess I'm
not sending too well right now. I feel like
shit. Shh, Skinner's worried enough as it is.

He's turning into a damn fine thief, for a
federal agent. He has ripped off so many
supplies that our little shack's starting to
look like a clinic. The problem right now is
that I need antibiotics. They are impossible
to come by. I have a feeling my 'almost
cremation' didn't do my lungs much good and
even though my friend has done everything he
can to protect me, some bug just might take
me out. He came in tonight with oxygen and I
do feel better. I mean, I'm sitting up and
making this tape. I haven't had the strength
to make it to the head the last couple of
days, even with Skinner's help, so there is
an improvement here. The thing is, without
some kind of a miracle, I don't believe
what's wrong is going to go away.

I never was that good at miracles, even when
I was at my best. That part Skinner read last
night about what I did to Scully's bracelet
was proof of that.

I'm just so tired. I hope Scully gets here
soon, 'cause things have a way of working out
when she's around. If I can just hang on 'til
she comes home, it'll all be fine.

-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
November 7, 2000
Near Chunchucil, Guatemala
 

If. I think the world turns on that tiny
word. Every moment of our lives, from birth
to death, can be changed by those two
letters. If. If my mother had not been so
health conscious and had not gotten her
annual mammogram in February of 1999 would I
still have wound up spending this November
night in Guatemala, fearing for my life? If
my mother had not known of the tiny cluster
of cancer cells and not had the surgery when
she did? What if I had not taken emergency
leave to be with her during the surgery? If I
had been there would Mulder have been given
the undercover assignment with the Barnabas
Brotherhood that almost killed him? If Mulder
had not suffered that injury, would he have
these powers? If.
 

Chunchucil lies five miles northeast of our
compound at the end of the small, dirt path
that is our road out of the jungle. The
village was originally settled over six
centuries ago by the descendants of the
Mayans who lived in the great cities of Tikal
and Bonampek that sits across the river. It
was built as a trade center. It lies on the
slow moving waterway and grew into a good
sized town. That was a very long time ago. It
still gets occasional tourists because the
settlers built the place around one of the
oldest known Mayan shrines.

The ruins are in a sad state of repair. A
small altar is still there and the gigantic
carved statue that gave the town it's name
--Chunchucil, means literally, "to suckle."
The massive, crudely chiseled idol represents
the pre-history Mayan fertility god/goddess.
This twin sexed deity rises up in the village
square, twenty feet tall, proudly displaying
an enormous penis AND two colossal breasts.
Unfortunately, the statue's head was knocked
off during an earthquake in the distant past.
The huge face rests beside its body, staring
up at the heavens with blind eyes.

Nothing is left of the original town. Modern
Chunchucil is only a few dirt roads filled
with potholes, about 40 mud brick homes and
two business. The first structure you come to
when you enter the village from the
cross-country highway, is a medium sized
Quonset hut. It serves as the local cantina,
restaurant and mercantile. Apparently, the
owner of this establishment enjoys the local
cervesa a bit too much because I have never
seen the place open.

The other business is an enormous cinder
block garage and is the only spot in a
hundred mile radius that sells gasoline. That
is why we were in Chunchucil this morning,
fueling up the Suburban for the first leg of
our trip home. Jack was settling up the bill
when a young man walked up and introduced
himself. Since I couldn't understand his
rapid mixture of Spanish and Mayan, I
motioned for him to stop and he patiently
waited with me until Jack could translate for
us.

The young man introduced himself as Roberto
Esteban. He owned a farm about twenty miles
west of Chunchucil and journeyed to town with
his wife Felicia, who was 8 months pregnant
with their third child. It seems that Felicia
was feeling ill and because this pregnancy
had been "bad" he'd decided to take her to a
doctor in Tikal. But his old truck had broken
down here in the village. He wanted to know
if we could please take them the rest of the
way to the clinic.

The young farmer seemed very calm. I never
expected that Felicia might be in labor or
the severity of the problems she had been
having during this "bad" pregnancy. Roberto
led us to his dilapidated pick-up and I
strolled to the rear, wanting to check out
the mother-to-be. She lay on her side, in the
bed of the truck, curled up in a tight ball.
I could hear her frantically panting and
smiled, knowing Roberto and Felicia would be
parents soon. Leaning over her, I brushed a
strand of sweat dampened hair from her face.

The dark brown eyes that stared up at me were
glazed and sunken. Her skin felt clammy and a
faint bluish tint colored her lips. She
grasped my hand when I reached to touch her
taut belly and I gasped, seeing the blood.
Warm, sticky blood that covered her hands,
dripping slowly from her fingertips.
Scrambling up over the side I gently pushed
her over to move her onto her back. My heart
jumped when the change in position revealed a
bright red river that flowed heavily enough
to soak the entire back of her smock in an
instant.

I stepped over her leg, moving to examine
her, and found that my shoes were sticking in
the thick, dark puddle that had pooled
beneath her while she'd been on her side.

"She's hemorrhaging," I announced. My cry of
alarm seemed an idiotic understatement. It
heralded the lethal deluge that began gushing
from Felicia when nature forced her to push
with the contractions she'd fought for so
long. I'd positioned myself between her
sprawled legs and crimson droplets splattered
my face when she bore down with the pain.

The young mother's bent knees bracketed my
head. I cursed silently under my breath
realizing just how "bad" this pregnancy must
have been. How many times had she bled? Had
she ever sought treatment? She couldn't have
or she would have been told that the
positioning of the placenta, totally covering
the cervix, was a ticking time bomb. She
should have been under constant medical
supervision from her second trimester. There
was no way she and the child would survive a
vaginal birth. My heart sank for I gathered
she had been laboring for a while and since
this was her third child, the birth would be
quick. I could see the clock had almost run
out. I watched the glistening, brick colored
flesh bulge out then smoothly retreat when
her straining efforts suddenly stopped. The
groan that had been a harsh, guttural,
rasping testimony to her struggles died
mid-breath. Her deeply exhaled sigh was
followed by silence.

Frantically, I laid my head against her
belly, urgently searching for the sounds of
life. I heard nothing. I felt no further
movement from Felicia or the child still
inside. I straightened, pushing myself up,
stunned that it was over in an instant. I'd
only blinked, and she was gone.

I could hear the sound of voices, mutterings
in English, Spanish and Mayan, but nothing
came through the fog as I stared blankly at
my patient.

"Roberto wants to know what's happening,"
Jack's words teased my ears but didn't quite
penetrate the murky haze that shrouded my
brain. I watched the ocean of blood,
Felicia's life no longer flowing from her,
but still spreading out and away from her
body.

"Scully, what's wrong?" Jack asked, tapping
my shoulder, finally breaking through to me.

"She's dead," I murmured numbly. He winced
and I saw his soft brown eyes mist over.
"They're both dead."

With a choking sob, Kami ran to me, throwing
her arms around my neck to pull me close. Her
face was wet against my cheek and with a
shaking hand I patted her back in a weak
attempt at comfort. Roberto stood in front of
me, slack jawed and white faced. Had Jack
told him yet? I knew he must have because
Roberto felt my stare and turned to give me a
look that pleaded for an answer I didn't
have. Why? I couldn't meet his eye and leaned
my face against Kami's shoulder, too weary to
even hold my head up.

Suddenly, Roberto let loose with an yell,
angrily screaming at someone in his staccato
mixture of Mayan Spanish. We all turned to
see what had so enraged the grieving man. It
was Mulder.

My partner had climbed in the truck and had
gathered Felicia's body into his arms. At
first I thought his action was a sad, pitiful
expression of grief over the death of the
young woman, but as I moved closer I realized
the truth.

Mulder had both hands placed on the dead
woman's chest, palms down, just like he did
when he used his powers to "read" an object.
I knew that was not what he was doing now. My
mouth grew dry and I felt vaguely light
headed as I hurried to stop him.

"Mulder!"

He didn't stir. I saw his lips moving in a
silent chant and I grabbed his arm to stop
the unholy act he was attempting.

"Don't do this!" I ordered.

Mulder finally turned to me and a slight
smile played at his lips, "I can help her,
Scully."

The warm fall day turned suddenly cold at his
words. I shivered and he pulled his arm back.
He closed his eye and continued with his mute
entreaty to the gods. I looked around,
searching for someone to help me stop this
horror. A crowd had gathered. Where did all
these people come from? A sea of faces
surrounded the truck, some angry, all
silently watching Mulder bring the dead back
to life.

The quiet was broken when a loud gasp rose
from the on-lookers. I whirled and felt as if
my sanity was leaving me when I saw Felicia's
arm was up, her trembling hand reached for
the sky.

"MULDER STOP! Please!" The tears that
couldn't come with the young woman's tragic
death fell at witnessing the sin of her
rebirth.

Thankfully, Mulder turned. Felicia's arm
dropped down with a dull thud and I winced.

"I can do this, Scully," Mulder whispered. He
seemed saddened by my doubt.

"Don't, Mulder. Please don't," I begged him,
sobbing in fear.

He gently moved the dead woman off his lap
and eased over the side to hug me. I flinched
at his touch then guiltily looked away at
seeing the pain my reaction had caused him.

"Then, what else should I use the powers for,
Scully?" He murmured softly, the hurt making
his tone raw.

I never got to answer him. The first stone
hit him square in the chest and he hissed a
sharp curse from the pain. Glancing around I
saw that the crowd of people had moved
closer. I cringed from the hate that came
from a hundred pairs of blazing eyes. I heard
the heated mutterings of Spanish and Mayan
and the one word I could decipher chilled me
-- diablo. Other assorted missiles; stones,
clods of dirt, bottles came flying from the
crowd. None found their mark until I turned
to grab Mulder's hand knowing we needed to
try to escape. Something hit my forehead. I
groaned and sagged against the side of the
truck. I felt blood run down my face and out
the corner of my eye. I saw Mulder stand up,
his face creased in rage.

That's when it happened. A gust of wind from
nowhere blew through the crowd and the angry
hum stopped instantly. A harsh, terrified
scream rose from behind us and all eyes
turned to see the miracle happen. Or was it a
curse fulfilled?

The idol's head was a good six feet in
diameter, but it floated high in the air.  I
saw some of the villagers run in fear, but
most were frozen in awe, like I was. Jack
pushed through the crowd and jumping up
beside Mulder, angrily grabbed his arm.
whirling him around. I was torn between
watching the head or my companions, but
turned to see our driver shaking my partner.

"Don't do this! Enough, Mulder!"

Mulder's face was pure anguish and he shook
his head. "I'm not doing this!" he cried.

At that moment a rash of screams and moans
shattered the morning and I turned to see
that the head was now back on the massive
idol's shoulders. Jack grabbed Mulder and
half carried him over to the Suburban.

"Kami! Scully! COME ON!" he screamed, trying
to shove my partner into the vehicle.

I ran to join them and Kami and I jumped into
the back seat just as Jack revved the motor.
"A bat out of hell" is an apt description of
how Jack drove out of the village. Not a word
was said by any of us until we suddenly
stopped about half-way to the compound. Jack
frantically twisted the key, trying to
restart the vehicle. Neither his actions nor
the stream of mad, blue curses he uttered
were working.

Mulder opened his door and silently slipped
out.

"They shouldn't see me with you," he said
blankly to Jack. He turned to move away, but
stopped and whirled to face our driver. "I
didn't do that to the statue," Mulder bluntly
stated. He pushed away from the Suburban,
then lurched off into the forest. I moved to
follow him, but Jack grabbed my wrist.

Before I could unleash my anger at him for
being stopped, Jack shook his head and held
up a hand, quelling my tirade. "He's right.
They'll kill us if they think he's still with
us. Scully, the Mayans have a legend about
that statue." He paused to make sure I was
listening. I nodded to him I was and he
continued. "It's said that when the god's
head returns to its body, the world will end.
Mulder swears he didn't do it, but because of
what he did with the woman, I don't think
they'll believe him."

Jack turned back around and gave the key a
quick twist. The engine immediately growled
to life.

*****

It's now almost midnight. We've had no
visitors, so maybe Jack was wrong about how
angry the townspeople were. He claims we
should follow through with our plans of
leaving tomorrow. Kami hasn't said so, but I
think she agrees. I've told them both, I
won't go without Mulder.

End 8/9

TITLE: THE DAMASCUS FILES FILE 1/3 Part 8/9
AUTHOR: Katvictory
FEEDBACK: dev1025@uswest.net
Disclosures, ratings, etc. in Part 1
 

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER NINE
<><><><><><><><><>
 

From the Pen of -
Dana K. Scully
November 21, 2000
Orange Walk City, Belize
 

I told Kami that I needed something to take
my mind off 'things', to keep me from
dwelling on all that has 'happened'. She
brings me this book. Now, tell me, what does
one usually write in a journal but the
'things' that have 'happened' in their lives.
Sometimes I wonder about that girl.

I have decided to just go ahead and finish
the story I started. I don't know, but maybe
someday I'll want to have a record of this
trip. There were lots of good times, happy
times. Probably though, I'll never read it.
I've always hated tear-jerkers. I walked out
on Terms of Endearment and Steel Magnolias. I
figured I didn't have to see the end; I knew
where they were going. I mean, we all have to
sit through the tear-jerking parts of our
lives. I don't really consider crying
entertainment.

The last time I wrote was November 7th. I
remember writing that entry. It was late
evening, long after we normally would have
shut down the camp and retired. Immediately
after I finished jotting down all that had
happened, Jack came over to talk to me. I
thought that the man knew me well enough by
then to take me at my word. He believed me
when I told him I would not leave without
Mulder. I think Jack wouldn't have left him
behind either, not unless he absolutely had
to.

"You doin' okay?" Jack asked, plopping down
on the log next to me. We had a huge fire
going because it seemed fall had finally
decided to put in an appearance.

I nodded, throwing in a smile for added
reassurance. "So, what's on your mind, Jack?"

"I'm gonna take a walk tonight into
Chunchucil to see what the weather's like
there. I think Manuel at the garage will talk
to me. Think you can hold the fort?"

I chuckled softly and nodded. Jack bent down
and reached into the knapsack that sat at his
feet, removing a huge 357 magnum.

"Used to carry this back in my prior life,"
he grinned, a slight blush darkening his
cheeks. "I don't have to ask if you know how
to use it, do I?"

"I don't think so, Jack." I smiled and set
the weapon on the log beside me.

"It's loaded," he warned, his forehead
wrinkling into a frown.

"They always are," I murmured, and my friend
nodded in approval.

"If he shows up while I'm gone, you wrestle
him down and hold him, okay?" Jack smiled,
standing to leave.

"Don't worry, I'm armed now," I joked and
reaching up I gave him a quick hug. "You be
careful."

My little demonstration of affection
embarrassed the man and, with a quick wave,
he set off down the road. I watched Jack walk
down the path until the night swallowed him
and he disappeared from sight.

*****

Man with the burning soul
has but an hour of breath
To build a ship of truth
On which his soul may sail --
Sail on the sea of death
For death takes toll
Of beauty, courage and youth,
Of all but truth

John Masefield
 

The first doctor that examined Mulder here at
the Orange Walk Medical Center took one look
at his injuries, turned to me and simply
asked, "Why?" My first instinct was to answer
him thus: "Exactly." Mulder is here, in this
place, in this condition, because he felt he
had to know 'why'.

We talked before he lost consciousness that
morning. I have an idea about what happened
after he left us and disappeared into the
jungle, but not the complete story. That
we'll never know.

Somehow, somewhere, Mulder found out about
Na. In times of mental stress, the Ancient
Mayans would seek the truth by undergoing the
ritual of bloodletting, called Na. If one
performed the rite dutifully the end result
would be enlightenment in the form of the
appearance of the vision serpent, who holds
the spirits of our ancestors in its mouth.
Mulder's wounds, and the results of his blood
work, led me to do some research and I
discovered what the ritual of Na entails.

Mulder first prepared and consumed a mixture
of Balche, a fermented honey drink, a Datura
known as Jimson Weed and the venom of the
Bathrops Asper. Now, the ancients usually
used the local viper venom for their
hallucinogenic brew. But, from the test done
on Mulder to identify the toxin that still
lingered in what little blood he had left, it
was discovered he had used the venom of
Barbamarilla, the most lethal of all
poisonous snakes in the Americas. It seems
Mulder's need for truth was worth the risk,
worth any price he'd have to pay.

Once the desired state of altered
consciousness was obtained, the follower
would have proceeded with the ritual cuts.
The text I read was specific to the
positioning of the seventeen points, and the
wounds we found on Mulder matched exactly.
Each tiny incision had been made the
prescribed quarter inch width and the exact
depth required to achieve a slow but steady
blood loss. That, together with the elixir,
would bring about the visions.

Mulder would have knelt on the altar,
allowing the initial spurt of blood from each
wound to flow into the recessed font, so it
would create the pool from which the serpent
could emerge. I don't know what he used to
make the cuts. The Ancients used bone knives,
ornately carved, made especially for the
rite. The first point, always on the temples,
left, then right. Next was the soft tissue on
the underside of the tongue, then onto the
curve of the jaw, the base of the neck, the
veins atop the shoulders, then on to the
wrist. Always following the left side to the
right, moving down to the skin on the
stomach, there beside both hip bones then
atop each foot.

Had Mulder been female, there would have been
twin cuts high on the inner thigh to bracket
the pubis and the tongue would have been the
last slit made. Mulder's final offerings to
the font were the two incisions he made on
the flesh of his penis, one on the shaft near
the stomach and the other, the underside,
near the head. Once done, all that was left,
was to wait for the serpent to come.

*****

Kami fell asleep by the fire. I found myself
nodding, jerking awake each time my head
bobbed forward. Jack was long overdue, and I
was worried. Waiting through the long night
had tired me. Staying awake was becoming a
losing battle. I must have dropped off, right
at dawn, because I didn't hear Mulder enter
the camp.

"Scully."

His voice was a quiet whisper, barely
audible, but I came awake instantly. I
thought it was a dream. No, this would have
been a nightmare. Mulder stood before me,
bathed in blood from head to foot. He was
nude; the dark wetness that covered his skin
shimmered in the flickering campfire. He
seemed to sway and, thinking it was part of
the illusion, I didn't even move to help him
until he toppled to the ground. Jumping to my
feet I scrambled to him, cradling his head in
my lap.

His eye was glazed as he looked up at me. I
don't know if he saw me, but he knew I was
there. "Scully," he murmured, offering me a
smile. With a sigh of relief, my fear eased
as Mulder drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Kami had stirred at the noise and stifled a
scream at seeing Mulder's condition.

"You want to get me some water, rags and my
bag?" I asked softly, checking my patient's
pulse. It was too rapid, too weak to suit me,
but was slowing now that he rested. He
stirred now and then while I cleaned and
treated his wounds, even waking a few times
with a start, only to drift off when he
realized he was safe.

I was appalled by what he'd done to himself;
it was clear the cuts had not been
accidental. He slept until almost noon,
awakening only when I tried to move him from
my lap. I helped him to sit up and watched
with concern as he fought the dizziness the
change in position brought. We needed to get
him to a hospital. Jack had been gone for
twelve hours, and I was now past worry. I was
rapidly approaching panic.

I looked up and noticed that Mulder was
quietly watching me. I studied his face,
taking in the gray pallor of his skin. He'd
covered himself modestly with the thin
blanket Kami had thrown over him after his
bath. Forcing a weak grin he finally spoke,
"Think I could get some pants?"

Kami had been breaking camp, but hurried to
comply at hearing his request. It took both
of us to help him dress, and the simple task
of slipping on his jeans exhausted him. I
anxiously felt his forehead as he sank back
down to lean against the log. Even though
he'd broken into a sweat from his exertions,
his skin was cold.

He'd lost his patch, and my hands shook when
I noticed that somehow the scars that once
outlined his ruined eye socket had vanished.
I couldn't help myself. Gently I touched the
smooth, flawless skin where his eye had once
been. Mulder couldn't replace his eye, but
the damage that the exiting bullet had left
was gone.

"When the gods were more manlike; men were
more godlike," he recited softly, lightly
brushing his lips to my hand. A tear had
rolled down his cheek from his lone eye and I
felt my mouth begin to quiver.

"Mulder, what happened?" I asked, forcing
myself to gain enough control to speak.

"I found answers, Scully, but I don't think I
asked the right questions. The only truths
she told me turned out to be ones I should
have already known. You already know them; I
think you always have." He gave my hand a
squeeze as a sob escaped. I waited while he
struggled against his pain. When he lifted
his head, his face mirrored his anguish.
"Samantha was in the serpent's mouth. She's
dead, Scully."

I pulled him to me and felt his body shake as
he cried. I didn't understand what he had
told me. It wasn't until I read the text
describing the ritual of Na that I realized
the connection between the vision snake and
his sister.

"How do you know this, Mulder? Maybe the
voices aren't real. You're sick..."

He gave a harsh, bitter laugh and pushed away
from my embrace. "Yeah, don't tell me I go
through all this and all I wind up having is
a fucking delusion?" His laughter suddenly
died. He grimaced, shoving me away before
leaning off to the side to vomit. I rubbed
his back while his body convulsed, then
helped him to settle into my lap when the
sickness finally passed. Kami pressed a wet
rag into his hand.  I took it from him and
wiped his sweat dampened face.

Nothing was said while Mulder recovered, arm
slung over his face. I had so many questions,
but not wanting to upset him, I forced myself
to wait. There's always time later, isn't
there? Kami brought some water to him and he
gave her a wan smile as he sipped it.  He
looked so very ill. His face had a drawn,
pinched look that I didn't like and my unease
grew. I spotted broken capillaries in his
eye, but I related their sudden appearance to
his violent retching.

Kami went back to packing our gear and I sat
silently, thinking, idly playing with
Mulder's long dark hair, while he dozed.

"There is a God within us and we glow when he
stirs us," Mulder informed me, grabbing my
hand to still its motion.

I laughed, "Are we dreaming in quotes?"

"I'm reading Bartlett's, telepathically." His
grin flickered on, then disappeared as he
sighed, "Scully, she's dead. She told me she
died that first year they took her; from what
they did to her. All the others are her
clones. She has been dead for 25 years. I
know it now. I can feel in my heart that it's
all true."

I didn't feel we needed to discuss this now,
so I simply nodded and continued to stroke
his neck. Finally I felt his breathing slow
and deepen and knew he'd drifted to sleep.

*****

Jack sprinted into camp at about three,
wide-eyed and panicked. He woke us with his
yells.

"We have to go now!" he screamed, shoving
Kami toward the Suburban. "But I'm not..."
she argued.

"Forget it! Let's Go! Scully!" Jack finally
turned to me and spotting Mulder, a smile
started to spread across his face only to die
when he noticed how sick he was. The driver
rushed over, grabbed my partners arm, and
pulled him to his feet. "We have to leave,
NOW!" Jack ordered.

I scrambled up, taking Mulder's other arm,
and helped him into the car. I made him
stretch out on the back seat, taking his head
once more into my lap.  Jack took off, tires
spinning. No one said a word until we reached
Chunchucil where we were to make the turn
onto the highway that would take us back into
Belize.

"Oh, My God!" Kami gasped.

Over two hundred people were angrily striding
toward us. It must have been the entire
village. Jack floored it, cranking the wheel
to the left and we cut across a field,
avoiding the mass of people who blocked our
way. The vehicle bucked and bounced across
the uneven ground and dried out corn stalks,
tossing us about. I held on to Mulder, who
was just now fully awakening, and turned to
see the angry crowd start to give chase. They
disappeared behind us in a cloud of dust.
Making another skidding left, Jack put us on
the paved road. My heart thudded in my
chest.  I watched out the back window until
the village disappeared in the distance.

Mulder's struggle to sit up pulled my
attention from what lay behind us and I
turned to help him up.

"She's not dead?" Mulder gasped, leaning
forward so Jack could hear him. I pulled him
back to lean against me, dismayed by the way
his heart was pounding and his breath rasped.
I frowned, concerned about his rapidly
deteriorating condition. Then the horror of
his question hit me. Jack answered it and I
listened to our drivers tale in amazement.

"Yeah, the woman's dead all right," Jack
responded, his tone chillingly calm
considering his news. "It's just that the
people in the village didn't like the way she
flung her arms up in the air and sat during
the rosary."

Jack's reply seemed to sap the last of
Mulder's energy and he sank back exhausted. I
rested against the door, holding him upright
because I didn't like the sodden sound of his
lungs.

"I guess I make a lousy god, huh?" Mulder
sighed, settling into me. I remember thinking
how funny it was that he never felt too heavy
when he laid against me. It was so strange,
because when he held me, he enveloped me
completely. There was such a difference in
our size, yet we fit so perfectly it never
mattered which of us did the holding. I was
relieved to feel his breathing smoothing out
a bit.

"We'll figure out how they work, Mulder.
We'll find out what you should do with the
powers," I reassured him. He accepted my
comfort but I knew he would never let go of
the guilt he felt over his mistake. Mulder
didn't know how to let things go.

"Samantha and I talked about the powers. She
looked just like she used to, not much older.
I guess it was because she didn't get much
older." His body shook when he sighed and I
knew he was crying. I rubbed his chest,
trying to comfort him. Once again his grief
made him sick and we pulled off to the side,
to let him lose the little bit of water and
bile that filled his stomach. We had to stop
twice more in that hour for Mulder and the
second time I noticed that blood was all he
brought up. It wasn't much, but once more I
lied to myself, wanting to believe that it
was from his violent retching.

This part is hard for me. I know there was
nothing I could have done. There was no help
around for hours in any direction. We got
Mulder medical attention at the first
available place. But it doesn't help the
hurt. Nothing does. You see, I have trouble
letting go, too
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

From the Pen of-
Dana K. Scully
November 28, 2000
Orange Walk City, Belize
 

I'm nothing if not prompt. A week to the day
and I've returned to finish my story. I AM
going to finish it. I want to get it over.
God, it has been a week of trying to wrap
things up. Nothing has changed in the here
and now. Nothing except that we turned off
the respirator four days ago and Mulder still
hasn't died. I told you he doesn't know how
to let go. He isn't alive, but he won't die.

Time to get on with the story, pressing on to
the end.

Those next few hours are embedded in my
memory. It's actually like I recorded them
with a camera because I can play them back
anytime I want, in an instant. I wonder now
if I knew this would be the last time we
would talk. Did I have a premonition? Did my
subconscious somehow register those small,
telltale signs that I beat myself up with
now, and make me grab hold of those last few
hours? I remember the sound of his voice. The
touch of his hand. Even with the horrible way
it ended, I'm glad I remember. It's all I
have left.

It was starting to get dark when Mulder began
to talk. Maybe he knew there wasn't much
time. He told me that he had taken something
to cause visions. Never in my life would I
have thought of the venom. But I did start a
mental list of his symptoms, comparing them
to my knowledge of hallucinogens. His
descriptions were vague, probably
deliberately. I knew he was trying to keep
from worrying me, trying to hide how sick he
was feeling. That's another reason why I
watched and listened so closely to him.

"I asked her where the powers came from. It
was funny, listening to this little girl,
telling me about the mysteries of the
universe. An oracle in pigtails. She said the
Creator gave them to our people. We did fine
with them at first. We did just what it
wanted, we stretched and grew, settling other
worlds. Like blowing on a puff-ball, she
said. That's what Sam used to call
dandelions. My omnipotent vision called
dandelions puff-balls, Scully. I don't lack
imagination do I?" He grinned up at me, his
head once more in my lap. He had the most
beautiful smile. Even now I'll touch those
lips and remember how they looked teased into
a smile.

"By the time they settled here, they were
straying. They'd bio-engineered a creature,
that was part human, part beast. It could
gestate in any carbon based, life form. Part
of its life cycle was the black oil. Easily
transportable. They used it to conquer
worlds, Scully. Even the worlds they had
originally settled."

"But Mulder, what other worlds were settled?
Were they made by the Creator, too. I mean if
they weren't, then who created them?"

"I can't tell you if we came from the first
Creator or its mate, Scully. There once was
one; but it's lonely being the only one. So
the Creator made itself become two. It
learned how lonely one was. It didn't make
the same mistake again. Always it would make
two from the one."

I smiled down at him, "Mulder, I like that.
We're separate but equal, because we came
from one."

"I didn't say equal, did I?" he teased.

I played my part and looked sufficiently put
out to get another grin. "Whatever, go on
with the story."

"Tell me where I was?" he asked, brow
furrowed. "I don't remember what I just told
you."

It scared me, Mulder admitting that. I told
myself he was just tired. After his injury,
he didn't have the memory he once had.  He
was so sick right now. With all that had
happened lately, I'd been forgetful, too.

"They brought the black oil with them to
conquer worlds," I murmured, swallowing hard
to make sure my voice was strong.

"They didn't plan on using it. It was put
away and forgotten, 'til some of our cousins
came looking for us. The cousins have changed
themselves so much over the years, making
improvements on the Creator's work. The
Creator made us that way; always searching,
always wanting to improve. But somewhere our
kin have taken the wrong turn. They've come
so far, Scully, but they've lost so much on
the way. They can't smile. They can't laugh.
They don't play baseball."

"My God, the inhumanity," I laughed with him.
I remember the sound of our laughter as it
blended together.

"They can't love," he murmured.

For the first time I noticed a flicker of
pain cross his face. His hand moved up to
touch his head and the faint hitch in his
breathing returned once again.

"I gotta stop," Mulder pleaded, rolling off
my lap.

Jack and Kami were listening to our
conversation so they heard Mulder's distress.
The car came to a stop immediately but it was
too late. We'd traveled far enough from
Chunchucil and knew no one followed so we
took our time cleaning up. Mulder was so
embarrassed. He must have apologized to each
of us a dozen times. I got some water down
him, and it came up within minutes, mixed
with more blood. I convinced Jack and Kami
the floorboard was washed down enough and we
continued. We had another delay at the border
crossing. It was slow without Mulder being
able to do the "whammy." Then it was back on
the road.

"There never was a missing link. We devolved,
not evolved on this planet. But maybe it's
for the best. Every time we build to a
certain point, we destroy ourselves, over and
over again. The Mayans. Atlantis." His speech
was beginning to slur. It was like a
clock-work toy running down. Still he told me
what he "saw" in his vision. But the words
came slower and lower with each passing mile.

"Atlantis, Mulder?" I asked, my laughter came
through tears.

A soft, low chuckle, "Think Edgar Cayce, not
Patrick Duffy."

"Patrick Duffy?" I asked.

He gave a real laugh. "Patrick Duffy...The
Man from Atlantis? I guess you never watched
TV as a kid?"

"We got an hour a night, after homework," I
confessed.

"And I thought my family was dysfunctional,"
he teased. The smile was tired.

"I had a crush on Donny Osmond," I confessed.
"I used to watch their show for my hour. Him
and Marie. Bill used to throw a fit."

"For good reason. You're sick, Scully." He
seemed to linger on my name a moment, tasting
it almost. Then his face twisted and he began
to convulse. I checked my watch, calling the
time out to Kami -- 6:35..."
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

CLIPPING FROM THE DENVER POST
November 9, 2000
 

ASSOCIATED PRESS - An earthquake, reported to
be 7.6 on the Richter scale, hit Guatemala
yesterday at 6:35 p.m. local time...
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

...then tried to get out of his way. He drove
me hard into the door as the rigidity made
his long body stretch out. It was over
quickly. It lasted a little less than five
minutes. We didn't stop. We all knew we had
to hurry.

I have to laugh at the absurdity of life
sometimes. Mulder and I have had some deep
conversations over the years; from Genesis to
Revelations. But our last conversation was
about Donny and Marie Osmond. I think it's a
inexplicable world.

Mulder's next seizure came at 7:02, the next
7:49, and the final one was 8:18. After the
last seizure he went into respiratory
distress. Right before starting artificial
respiration I remember noticing a sign that
said Blue Ridge Creek, 12 miles. We were at
the clinic in seven minutes.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

CLIPPING FROM THE DENVER POST
November 9, 2000
 

...aftershocks ranging from 3.5 to 6.9, the
last measurable one coming at 8:18pm. The
epicenter for the quake was a sparsely
populated area of rain forest near the Mayan
ruins of Tikal. There are reports that the
village of Chinchucil, site of one of the
oldest Mayan shrines, was totally destroyed.
Forty fatalities have been reported as a
result of the quake but local estimates say
the number could be as high as four-hundred
for the northeastern area.
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

And so I'm sitting at his beside, waiting
once again. Waiting for him to die this time.
The last time it was different. I don't know
how to explain it, except to say there was
always a chance that he would survive. I've
said before that what I feared, for the
longest time, was that he would live and be
left with an existence that would be a
nightmare to him. I knew then that some part
of Mulder was still trapped there.

This time there's nothing. I know he's gone.
The tests show minimal brain function at
best. Mulder had a severe cerebral accident.
Whether it was his prior condition that
weakened him, the loss of blood, the toxin,
an act of God, or what, several intracerebral
arteries began to leak in Mulder's brain. He
was dying when he first stumbled into the
camp. The pressure built as the blood pooled
into the brain parenchyma. They have the
hematoma under control, but the damage was
done by the time we arrived at Blue Ridge
Creek. By the time they moved him here to the
Medical Center, my Mulder was gone. I didn't
need the EEG to tell me that fact. My heart
already felt his absence.

This time I'm the one trapped. Mulder is not
really here; he has been released. I'm angry.
That sounds so horrible, but it's true. I'm
not angry at Mulder. He's a victim, too. I'm
angry for him, because he had his life stolen
away. A life spent struggling to overcome a
childhood that held pain I can't even
imagine. Struggling to bring the light of
truth into the world and getting nothing for
his efforts but ridicule and more pain.
Struggling to come back from death and
disabilities that would have crushed someone
with less spirit.

All the faith I rediscovered is gone now. God
has me angry! The God I thought I found
really doesn't exist. He is the uncaring,
teasing, tyrant who vengefully punishes his
wayward children. He punished Mulder for
daring to fly to close to the light. Mulder
didn't use his powers in a way that God saw
fit so he was punished. This God didn't care
about intent. Again, he's Santa Claus with a
Dirty Harry complex. I'll give you these
gifts but don't fuck up, for goodness sake.

I'm being punished, too. I suppose for daring
to question his will.  He gave me a gift,
then stole it away. And maybe I angered him
even more than Mulder, because I've got a
life sentence. How long does a god live?
Forever is a long time to spend with a corpse
that breathes.
 
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes
October 13, 2002
(Exact Date Unknown)
Wellington, Colorado
 

I finally got Skinner to read to me from
Scully's journal again. He didn't figure the
last few parts were exactly the kind of
reading a dying man would find inspirational.
He's probably right. Seems like every time I
almost die I get a little depressed. I think
I'm developing a Job complex.  I wonder why
all my psychoses have religious connotations,
being an atheist and all?

Well, I didn't die. I made it through to
another birthday. I think I'll just ignore
this one. I don't think Skinner knows and I'm
sure as hell not going to mention it. I'm not
quite well enough to take a chance at having
the man serenade me with "Happy Birthday to
You."

He saved my life again. He has to realize
that the debt he thinks he owes me has been
paid back. He really should go on and try to
find a life for himself. There's no need for
him to be stuck here with me while I play the
waiting game. I'd find a way to make it, I
always do.

Except I don't want to be alone, and I'd miss
him. He's my friend. Not an over abundance of
them around anymore. Yeah, who am I kidding?
Skinner's all there is. Well, Scully, but
she's still not here. I know she's okay now,
but while I was sick I couldn't feel her at
all, and as weak as I am I know she can't
feel me. So she's alone. This is not a good
time to be alone in the world.

-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

From the Pen of-
Dana K. Scully
December 8, 2000
Orange Walk City, Belize
 

We're going home, Kami, Mulder and I. Mr.
Wagner came down and chartered a jet for us.
We'll be flying home to Colorado tomorrow and
should be back at Sky Watch by dinner time.
Mr. Wagner and I had a long talk and we
reached an understanding. I guess you can say
I've forgiven him.  I have. It's just that
I'm so beat right now the thought of trying
to work up enough energy to forgive someone
is beyond me. All I can manage is acceptance.

I accept the fact that while he didn't have
Mulder's best interest at heart, he wasn't
trying to do him harm. It was more an act of
unthinking, self-interest. Mr. Wagner
admitted that sometimes he has tunnel vision
when it comes to his efforts at getting what
he wants. It's not a vice limited to the very
rich. I see the same flaw in myself, so I
accept his apology.

He has opened up his home to us again. He has
informed me that Mulder's room has been
re-equipped to meet his needs. I'll be in
charge of taking care of Mulder there at Sky
Watch, and Mr. Wagner has offered to pay for
any help I might need. He agrees with me,
there's no need for hospitals anymore. I've
sent Dr. Raposa Mulder's records and she has
offered to do the unthinkable -- make house
calls. Everything is all set. Mr. Wagner has
even arranged for my mom to be there when we
get to the ranch. I'm grateful. I think I
could use a bit of mothering right now.

I feel almost like the last two years have
disappeared and Mulder and I are back where
we started. He hangs between life and death,
his brain almost destroyed. I sit beside him,
watching and waiting. We've traveled so very
far to go nowhere. They say life is a circle.
That frightens me. It means that this may
never end.
 

The End
The Damascus Files File 1/3