AUTHOR: Katvictory
Katvictory57@aol.com

Date: Thu, 30 Sep 1999 07:45:07 -0600
DISCLAIMERS: They all belong to Chris Carter
and Fox, I want nothing. Don't sue. RATING:
This chapter is PG-13, The only problem here
might be the language and perhaps the intense
subject matter. R for the series
SUMMARY: Chapter 1 - Mulder and Skinner
strive to survive the start of that first
post apocalyptic  winter. FILE 2 : After
fighting his way back from near death, Mulder
still must learn to deal with lingering
disabilities and discover how to control his
mysterious and often frightening psychic
powers. Along the way old secrets are
revealed and hidden truths uncovered that
affect not only Mulder's and Scully's
relationship but the future of the entire
planet. <gasp>
CATEGORIES: Mulder angst, this chapter is
completely post -colonization, Skinner
torture
SPOILERS: We leave CC's universe completely
toward the end of the 6th season.
FEEDBACK: Katvictory57@aol.com

Note from the author: Eventually this story
will be composed of three separate files,
each one detailing a different period in this
long story. This is File 2. Wonder who the
heck Alfred Packer is and why would Mulder
want his cookbook? I have some wonderful
sites that tell his story, just drop me a
line.
 
 

THE DAMASCUS FILES  FILE TWO Part 1a/?
by Katvictory
 
 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

In Damascus there was a disciple named
Ananias. The Lord called to him in a vision,
"Ananias!" "Yes, Lord," he answered. The Lord
told him, "Go to the house of Judas on
Straight Street and ask for a man from Tarsus
named Saul, for he is praying." The Lord said
to Ananias, "Go! This man is my chosen
instrument to carry my name before the
Gentiles and their kings and before the
people of Israel. I will show him how much he
must suffer for my name."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
 
 

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER ONE
<><><><><><><><><>
 
 

FWM Tapes
October 16?, 2002
(Exact date unknown)
 

The snow started three days ago and it hasn't
let up since. It's constantly drifting in
front of the door, and it takes both of us,
using all our strength, to open the damn
thing when Skinner goes out to gather
firewood. He won't let me make the trek out
to the woodbox. He tells me my health is too
fragile. Asshole. I'm not an invalid, for
God's sake. Well, I've told him there's no
way he's going out in this weather to
replenish my medication, so I guess we're
even.

I can't believe it, I think the two of us are
turning into old maids in britches. If he
reminds me to take off my wet socks one more
time, I'm going to have to kill him. I guess
he has just gotten into the habit of taking
care of me. I'm not fooling myself anymore, I
know my survival depends on him. That last
bug almost took me out. I know the
self-healing kicked in and finally saved me,
but we never did find out what the limits
are. Between recovering from the alien's
attack and now getting over pneumonia or
whatever it was I came down with, I doubt I
have the strength to heal a hang nail. Plus,
(pause) I don't think I could make it without
his company (long pause).

Well, we do have enough food to last us 'til
spring. Between what Wagner had stored in the
basement for just this occasion and what
Skinner's picked up, we definitely have
enough to eat. So, that's one thing we don't
have to worry about. We won't starve to death
(laughs). Good thing. I don't think I could
find an Alfred Packer cookbook on audio tape.

I can't believe this storm. I wonder if
THEY're fucking with our weather now. It
would be a good way to get rid of a lot of
us, this first winter. Could be I'm paranoid.

Scully's okay. I know she's hunkering down
somewhere east of here. It's snowing there,
too. It makes me wonder what's making this
winter so harsh. I mean, it's a little too
soon for this much snow all over the country,
isn't it?

Shit, I only have two day's medication left.
Maybe the storm will stop. Still, I don't
think the road crews will be out to clear the
highways. They're all on permanent vacation.
Only places that will be cleared to travel
will be where THEY want to go. Maybe that's a
good thing, at least we'll know where THEY
are.

God, that sounds so paranoid. I skipped my
meds this morning, trying to make them last;
but there still has to be some in my system.
I can't already be showing the effects. It's
probably cabin fever. I haven't been out of
this place for...shit, I don't know how long.

(Pause, loud sounds of stamping feet. He
speaks to Skinner). Still coming down? Does
it look like it's letting up?

(Reply is inaudible).

Well, get those wet clothes off and come over
here by the fire. You're going to make
yourself sick.

Shit, what did just I say?  I can't believe I
said that. I do sound like an old maid! No,
my God! It's even worse than I thought, I'm
turning into Skinner's mother.

End Tape
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes
Late October 2002
(Exact Date Unknown)
 

Though he tried to be inconspicuous, Skinner
watched me very closely the last couple of
days of the blizzard. I could feel those two
beady black eyes studying my every move. I
was under surveillance. The man didn't make
it to Assistant Director because he was good
at sucking up, and knew whose ass to kiss. He
is an expert at deductive reasoning. I
believe that's why he always seemed so
uncomfortable behind the desk. The
interagency political maneuvering that came
with the office never came easy for him. He
rose to the position he held because he was a
damn fine agent for the Federal Bureau of
Investigation. The emphasis, of course,
should be on the I.

The day the snow finally stopped, he
confronted me about not taking my meds. I'd
made three days dosage last for over a week,
but I was completely out. The light in our
little ex-tinker shop home was never very
good.  The two windows on each side of the
front door were ignored when Skinner made the
place ready for us to move in. The Coleman
lanterns he'd acquired on one of his night
raids just didn't produce enough illumination
for me to even come close to making out a
person's features. All I saw was a pale
blur.  But I didn't have to see his face to
know he had discovered that I had not been
taking my meds. The tone of his voice was
clear enough.

"I know you haven't taken any of your pills
since night before last. I have just two
questions. One, with us stuck here like we
are, how long did you think you could go on
covering this up? And two, why are you
pulling this stunt again?" Skinner angry at
me is something I do remember clearly. There
are certain things that have imprinted
themselves in my brain and no bullet or
stroke could erase them. This, however, was
not just his usual rage. This was me, ruining
his chance to assuage his guilt and grief.
His sins wouldn't be absolved if I died now,
if I killed myself with this act of
stupidity. How dare I do this, after all his
hard work keeping me alive 'til Scully could
come and take over this task of caring for
me?

"What is it this time? Visions of Druids
chanting that you need to check out
Stonehenge? A trip to Peru to find your
ancient astronaut's landing sites? Agent
Mulder, I don't know what to think about
what's in these files, the story they tell. I
just know your health is shot and without
that medication you will die."  I jumped when
he called me by my old title. It was like a
ghost returned. His voice had grown more
controlled. The ire was less evident. He'd
fallen, without realizing it, back into the
stern tones of a supervisor upbraiding an
underling. He didn't even realize he was
doing it. "I read some on how dangerous the
seizures really are for you. Hell, I watched
you go through four of them before we got the
Tegretol and each time I thought you were
dying, right there in front of me. Why are
you doing this to yourself?"

Skinner finally paused in his lecture and
after taking a deep sighing breath, he
finished. I already knew what he was going to
say. His last few words were testimony to the
crown of thorns he'd worn for almost four
years. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The question slipped out in an
uncharacteristically plaintive cry of
betrayal. Once uttered, I think he wished he
could take back his last heartfelt query. The
words hung there; the sudden quiet added an
unwanted exclamation point. Emotionally
spent, Skinner sank down in the beat up,
overstuffed, easy chair he'd claimed as his
when we moved in.

My throat was dry. I had grown used to the
kid gloves he'd handled me with since his
return. So much of what Skinner had said
hurt, deeply and to the quick, but his
outburst did help. It allowed some of the
pain that accompanied his guilt to be shucked
away. His load would be lighter now. I
carefully chose how I replied, knowing after
all he'd done for me, I owed him this chance
to walk tall again, his burden lifted
somewhat. The truth that I'd only been trying
to make the medication last, would make his
outburst seem simply an overreaction on his
part and not a much needed catharsis.

"I'm sorry, I should have talked with you
about it. Since you know my history, I don't
blame you for being upset. This time, it
wasn't so much me having delusions, it was
more me making a stupid move. I decided to
cut down on my dosage because I didn't want
the pills to run out before the storm was
over. I know how dangerous it is to do that.
I just wasn't thinking straight." My apology
made him slump a bit, but I breathed a sigh
of relief, thinking I had allowed both of us
to save a little face.

"Don't worry, Mulder, I got used to your
tendency to foolishly rush into things a long
time ago," Skinner murmured softly, finally
looking up at me. There was a long pause
before he spoke again. "And I wouldn't worry
too much anymore about how straight your
thinking is. The way you just covered both of
our asses at the same time proves you've more
than recovered."

I couldn't really see it, but I think he was
flashing me one of his 'anymore than this
will crack my face,' sly grins.

End Tape
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes
Late October, 2002
(Exact Date Unknown)
 

This is exactly what I've feared since
Skinner started to make these night raids,
that one time he might come back hurt or,
worse yet, not even make it back at all.

He left the night after he discovered I was
out of meds. I tried to talk him out of it,
telling him there were enough of the drugs
still left in my system. I let him know he
didn't have to risk this in the waist deep
snow. I told him I could miss a few days of
my seizure medicine without having a grand
mal. I promised that I'd take it easy;
Skinner knew stress had usually been what had
triggered my seizures. That's why the
Risperdal/Xanax combination. They control the
psychosis that the first brain injury caused
and also keep the bi-polar disorder that I've
probably suffered with my entire life,
manageable. When I'm not crazy, I'm actually
a pretty calm, even tempered kind of guy.

Skinner wasn't going to take the chance that
I might get sick again. I understood where he
was coming from. I know guilt first hand. I
understand how it can be the dominant,
driving force in a person's life. The man had
sent me on an assignment and I'd gotten my
eye and half my face blown off. He has never
forgiven himself for buckling under to the
plan that allowed the bad guys to win. What
had happened to me out in that field had
become his cross to bear. The shot David Moye
fired, laughing at the game of having a human
target, shattered two lives, three, counting
Scully's. Nothing has been the same since for
any of us. At least I found  comfort because
Scully's and my relationship seemed to be
tempered by the trials. All Skinner has had
for the long years since that happened to me,
is a need to make amends. This was his chance
to repay his self assumed debt, and nothing
was going to stop him.

That entire first night I cursed loud and
long, calling him every name I could think
of. My association with a sailor's daughter
has broadened my vocabulary of expletives
immeasurably. By morning I was gritty eyed,
but calmer and I forced myself to stay busy,
attempting to do both of our chores. I
surprised myself with the success I had with
completing my tasks. I guess chopping the
firewood was a bit foolhardy. Skinner
probably could have finished the cord in a
third of the time it took me, but I didn't
lose any appendages and when I finished the
job I was able to fall into an exhausted
sleep, too tired to worry.

I woke sometime during the night, freezing
because I'd neglected to feed the stove
before I'd slipped into my coma. I'm used to
darkness, I've had close to four years of
learning to live in my world where
insatiable, greedy shadows lurk constantly to
consume the dim, blurred light. I'm not used
to facing the night alone. Whatever tricks
I'd learned in Guatemala, when I'd wandered
the jungles in easy solitude, were lost with
my memories of that time. I know I could have
restarted the fire, I'd done it countless
times before. The shack is always gloomy, so
it was just a question of me getting up and
doing the task in a room that was pitch black
instead of dark, murky gray. I just couldn't
bring myself to do it. I huddled in my bed,
facing the tiny window, 'til the faint
streams of dawn filtered through the grimy
panes of glass.

I forced my three meals down that day,
dutifully keeping my strength up. Grabbing
our biggest pot I made trip after trip
outside, collecting snow to melt in our huge
washtub. I set it on the cast iron, wood
stove, taking my time to wash away the sweat
and grime that covered me from my labors from
the day before. Only half the morning was
gone when I'd finished, try as I might to
squander the time. Sinking down into
Skinner's chair, I silently began my vigil.

End Tape
-WSS-
 
 
 

End Part 1a/?

TITLE : The Damascus Files  File Two  Part
1b/?
DISCLAIMERS and the rest of the stuff like
that, if you really care, is in Part 1a/?

The Damascus Files  File Two
By Katvictory

( Chapter One cont.)

When the second night descended, I didn't
bother with the lanterns. Fortunately, I'd
kept the big, hulking, wood stove stoked,
leaving the metal door open because I liked
to hear the crackle and pop of the fire.
Skinner told me its faint light led him to
the tinker shop on that almost moonless
night. Expectantly listening for the sound of
his approach, I still jumped when I heard his
boots thud on the wooden step. He seemed to
have trouble with the door, so I leapt to my
feet and lurched to help him open it. I was
smiling with relief when he stumbled inside,
falling heavily against me.

His weight almost brought me to the ground
with him. The smell of damp wool was strong
and overpowering. But, there was another odor
that returned me to childhood. It reminded me
of the smell my skin used to get after
holding pennies too long in a sweaty hand.
That acrid, coppery stench my palm would take
on is identical to the scent of blood.
Skinner moaned when I began frisking him. My
stomach gave a sick lurch when I felt that
his flannel shirt was soaked with a warm,
sticky wetness over his ribs on the left
side. Sliding my hand beneath him, I found
his back tacky with more of the thick,
seeping moisture.

"Oh, shit, what did you do to yourself?" I
groaned, struggling to undo his down jacket.
My hands shook so, I couldn't get the zipper
to move. My 'bad' hand, my right, wouldn't
stop trembling enough to let me use even a
mitten grip to hold the thick fabric still,
so I could slide the zipper down. When I
finally was able to get it to move, the cloth
caught in the teeth and it became hopelessly
jammed. I howled in panic and frustration.

"Mulder?" Skinner mumbled, his hand gripped
my arm. "We're in deep shit!  You need to
hide in case they followed me."

"Skinner, give me a hand here, okay?" I
asked, fighting back my tears. God, I felt so
useless at that moment. I was having to ask a
seriously injured man to undress himself. I
couldn't even manage to work a zipper. "Help
me get your jacket off, sir. I got the zipper
fucked up. Jammed."

Skinner's hands slowly moved to his front and
I felt him lift his head to check out the
damage I'd done. I rocked back, moving out of
his way and lost my balance, almost tumbling
on top of  him. My eye finally spilled over
at this latest sign of my weakness. I knew
better than to try to squat. I knew better
than to try to be of help to anyone. I was
useless and my friend, a man who had saved my
worthless life four times in the last three
months, was going to die because of it.

"Oh, shit. Yeah, I see what you did. I hate
it when that happens. This thing is such a
pain in the ass. I shoulda ripped off one
with snaps. Mother-fucker's always going off
track and jamming." He struggled with the
zipper for a few more minutes before finally
gripping the sides and ripping the fastener
apart from its seams. Sagging back, worn out
from his struggles, he chuckled, "Nothin' to
it, huh?"

I tried to laugh with him but the lump in my
throat blocked everything but an odd, choking
cough. His trials with the jacket, whether
real of feigned for my benefit, did help my
ailing ego, but I was still wallowing in
misery, knowing Skinner deserved more than
the little help I could offer him.

"Got your pills in the pack, you need to go
take them, okay?" he mumbled, motioning to
the bag he'd dropped when he'd stumbled
through the door. I nodded that I would do
what he asked, "later, after we take care of
you." My reply was a faint whisper.

"Well, why don't we just get me up off the
floor, try to get me to my bed, AND get my
clothes off all at the same time? The less I
move, the better I'll feel." His hand went to
my shoulder to pull himself up and together,
we got him to his feet. He swayed for a
moment, holding on to me to steady himself.
Using both arms to hold him, I got him to
stand beside his bed.

He allowed me to finish taking off his
clothes, down to his boxers. I think our
stroll took the last of his energy, and I
strained to lower him to his mattress when
his legs just gave out.

"A through and through on the left side,
entry from the back. The size of the holes
are pretty impressive but I don't think it
hit anything important." Skinner gave me this
quick rundown on his wound, but I only stood
mutely at his side. I had no idea where to
start. "Mulder, maybe you ought to get a
little water boiling. Neither one of us is
gonna like it much but you might better try
to clean it at least."

I turned, numb, moving to do as I was told.
His grip was still strong when he caught hold
of my arm to stop me, "Mulder, I'm just as in
the dark here as you about what to do. You
just do what you can. I don't expect a
miracle."

Skinner released his hold and after grabbing
a pot, I walked slowly out to get the water
going. His comment about a miracle opened a
door for me, setting a plan in motion, and my
steps were faster as I moved inside. My idea
jelled while I melted the snow, and found
some soap and rags to clean the wound.
Skinner took a cloth, wiping the blood off
his torso. Taking a deep breath, I wet my
towel and with my friend's guidance to find
the place, I began to dab at the wide,
irregular cleft of rendered flesh. Skinner
hissed as I grew braver, gently probing the
spot where the bullet had exited, the force
shoving all that came before out to make this
gaping insult to the human anatomy.

My friend gave a loud cry of pain when I
surprised him by inserting a finger to probe
the wound. His hand caught my wrist to stop
me, but I stilled his interference with a
thought.

"Mulder?" Skinner questioned, fright and
surprise mingled in his voice when he found
he couldn't move. He felt the energy I was
drawing into me, feeding my powers, gathering
strength. I knew what to do now, for I was
being driven by some long forgotten instinct.

"As long as nothing's missing it'll be
fine,"  I softly reassured my patient. "All
I'm going to do is speed up the cell
division, growing new cells...pushing them
on..."  I sank my fingers into the wound,
deeply, past the torn muscles, feeling,
reaching into him with my touch and my mind.
I was strong enough then, so I was
controlling his pain with my unspoken
suggestion. Later, weakened by blood loss, he
drifted off to sleep, so when I could no
longer maintain my psychic analgesia, his own
body was able to take over.

I ordered the cells to hurry their
reproductive division, over and over, first
one side of the gap then the other, until
each type of tissue rejoined as whole.  Then
I went on to the next. What was rapid for
human physiology still took time, so when I
finally stood to rest, my bones popped and
creaked in protest. I lurched over to grab
the medicine that Skinner had gotten at the
spilling his own blood, then fumbled around
'til I found the bread I'd made for
yesterday's solitary lunch. I was too tired,
too eager to return to my work, to bother
slicing the half loaf, so, after downing my
medications, I leaned against the wall,
sipping water and gnawing on my slightly
stale breakfast. I finished the entire meal,
not because of hunger, but because I knew I
needed the fuel in order to finish my task.

Skinner awakened as I moved to sit beside
him, but I had regained some strength and I
instructed him  to return to a deep sleep.
Once he complied, I pulled him over to lie on
his stomach and began anew on the entrance
wound. The site was smaller than the massive
exit hole but I was not as fresh, so my work
was slower, and the room was light by the
time I finished. I hadn't stopped to rest,
wanting to press on to the end.  When I
finally pushed myself upright, knowing I
needed to at least take my medication and get
some water before I retired, I fell flat on
my face.

Try as I might, I couldn't even raise my head
from the hard, concrete floor. I'd been so
caught up in my psychic repair work, the fire
had long since burned out.  I was glad I'd
covered my patient with both our quilts
before I'd left him. It wasn't going to kill
me if I just went ahead and dozed off on the
floor, and I really didn't see that I had
much choice.  I was burnt out, used up and
sucked dry. Without someone dragging me over
to my bed, this was where I was going to stay
until I got some of my strength back.

It really wasn't too bad, a bit chilly lying
on the cold cement, but I didn't think I'd
have any trouble sleeping. In Colorado, the
temperature almost always drops at least
twenty degrees when the sun goes down so, as
long as I woke up before nightfall, I was in
good shape. If I didn't, well, the phrase
'dead to the world' popped into my head and
it took on a whole new meaning. However, the
chuckle that rose up, at that touch of dark
humor, didn't even have a chance to make it
out before I drifted off.

Skinner woke me. It was night, but I could
tell that he had lit the lanterns by the
charcoal gray haze I saw around me.
Fortunately, Skinner had sense enough not to
overdo. While I'd made his damaged tissue
heal itself completely, he was still weak.
His body had suffered a major trauma and the
tank was way too low on blood. It would be a
while until he would feel back to normal.

Skinner covered me with my blanket, and I
relaxed there on the floor. My mind was
drifting and I thought about how Scully had
always puzzled over the fact that I could get
a body to heal muscle, skin, and organ
tissue; how I could even command nerves to
regenerate themselves and the brain to grow
new cells, but I couldn't do anything about
replenishing blood loss. She theorized it
must have something to do with me not being
able to replace the water content that was
missing.

My gifts held so many mysteries and seeming
inconsistencies. While I was able to convince
bones to knit together, if you lost even the
tip of your finger and were not fortunate
enough to save the amputated piece, there was
nothing I could do. It seems that I can't
create something from nothing. So, no matter
what my dementia might have been while I was
in Central America, I'm definitely not any
kind of a god. My eye, the workings of my
inner ear, are gone forever.

I've had to learn to deal with the fact that
my vision and hemiplegia can't be repaired.
While I can get the brain to dissolve dead
and scarred tissue and replace it with new
cells, the regrown tissue must be reeducated
in order to function. And if there was an
injury that compromised the blood supply to
that portion of the brain, well, that is why
I still have limited use of my right side. I
must have been able to reroute a part of the
function to another healthy area, but
anything requiring even limited dexterity is
still beyond me. It seems that what I can
make any part of the anatomy do varies from
person to person, which just proves that
there is no such thing as normal. I find that
truth comforting.

I think Skinner has been converted from
skeptic to true believer. I'm not really
comfortable with the way my ex-supervisor
views me now, and our friendship seems
strained and awkward these past two days,
since the 'miracle'. That's what he calls it
and I cringe every time he says that word. He
rambles on and on about what he remembers of
his healing, marveling over how he actually
felt the new cells growing to join together.
Hopefully, things will soon settle down and
we can get back to our old routine.

End tape
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes
Early November, 2002
( Exact Date Unknown)
 

I was right, thank God, Skinner is no longer
constantly watching me in amazed wonder,
waiting for my next miracle. It's very hard
to maintain awe for any extended period. This
must be why God rarely makes house calls. If
He stopped by too often we'd be less inclined
to show Him the astonished reverence He's
grown so used to. This is just my opinion.
That's another change in Skinner. I believe
I've helped him see the light. At least
that's how he views it. He feels that there's
some sort of divine purpose to me having
these powers. Oh, excuse me, 'gifts'. To
Skinner they're my 'gifts'. I think I pissed
him off though, when I commented that since
my wondrous capabilities appear to have come
to me along with of a severe, seizure
inducing, brain injury, God needs a little
work on His packaging concepts.

Actually, Skinner has tempered his initial
zeal in the past couple of days and his new
found faith really does seem to have offered
him peace. So as long as he's not casting the
Messiah part locally, and he learns that
every conversation we have doesn't have to be
related to theology, I'll be happy for him.

His proselytism did bring about some
confessions, and he finally told me the
entire story about what happened on that last
night raid. It seems that Skinner has been
protecting me from day one from truth about
the nightmare that the world has become. The
first time he went to town to get supplies he
was implanted with a chip, exactly like
Scully's. This marker is the only way we
humans are able to get supplies, what little
medical care that's being offered, any kind
of housing and almost every other need
necessary for our survival.

Non-compliance to the binary marking system
is automatic banishment from any settlement
area. A settlement area is any town with a
population of 10,000 or more. The only place
to legally buy or sell anything is at a
designated, licensed dispensing center and
the only place these are located is in a
settlement area. If a citizen, meaning any
registered person, is involved in any act of
unlicensed barter, punishment is immediate
confinement to one of the camps the state
runs for 'undesirables' for life. Anyone
caught associating in any manner with an
unregistered human will receive life. The
unregistered human will be immediately
executed.

Skinner recalls that the first time he was at
the settlement area, formerly known as Fort
Collins, there had been a rumor floating
around that removal of the chip was a
carcinogenic. The story he heard that last
time he'd gone to claim his provisions, was
that the cancer causing claims were, in fact,
100% true. The numbers being quoted were that
90% of the test group, i.e., inmates at the
undesirables camps, had developed cancerous
tumors in the first month after removal of
the chip.  I believe the rumors.

This is the world Skinner ventured into when
he journeyed out during the day. A place
ruled by a totalitarian, world-wide
government where the aboriginal denizens have
been made the indentured servants of a
"Master Race" of conquering off-worlders. At
night, though the world truly becomes a hell
on earth. Even the town formerly known as
Fort Collins, a peaceful, midsize college
town, proudly nicknamed by its residents,
"The choice city," turns into a dark pavement
jungle of crime, violence, and contraband.
The control is still there. Most of the
illegal underground activities are being run
by the very off-world visitors who manage the
cities during the day. It's a lethal quagmire
of treachery and deceit where anything can be
gotten for a price, yet the life of a human
is worth only what can be squeezed out of
him.

Skinner's drug run had gone off without a
hitch, even given that the amount he had
stolen was twice as large as any of his other
hauls. His mistake came when he pressed his
good fortune and attempted to burgle the
local militia's armory. Skinner's two service
weapons, and the three hunting rifles that
survived the fire, were useless without
ammunition and my friend had been studying
how to remedy this problem in the month since
he'd discovered the armory. Security was much
tighter at the firearms storage building than
the pharmacy, which was logical. If you steal
from a pharmacy, the only people that could
be endangered are those silly enough to abuse
the drugs stolen. If you steal from a weapons
storehouse you could be a danger to anyone.

But Skinner staked out the place and came up
with an excellent plan. He knew exactly where
the guards and security devices were located,
and how to avoid them. The problem occurred
because the warehouse had been robbed the day
before the blizzard struck, and during the
following ten day period, the entire security
system was redesigned. My ex-marine friend
was totally ignorant of this development
having been snowbound during the entire time
the changes were made. The moment Skinner
made it inside he knew his original plan was
useless.

The mission was scrubbed and immediate
retreat was his intent. He made it safely
out, but was not yet clear of the fenced in
grounds when he triggered a silent alarm.
Instantly, the small enclosure was awash with
twenty search lights and his initial escape
route closed. Going over the roof to the far
side of the building allowed him a chance at
freedom providing he could succeed in finding
a way across the 12-foot gap between the
roofs of the armory and the university's old,
abandoned field house.

Skinner's running leap cleared the distance
with room to spare but his rolling landing
brought him almost to his feet and he
presented a perfect target for one
crack-shot, newly hired guard. How he made it
out of the city and all the way home, given
the size of the hole in his side, might be
part of the reason he has found God. Somebody
had to have been on his side.

Needless to say, no more trips away from our
safe little hovel are planned. We have
everything we need. At least a year's worth
of food, a six month's supply of my three
medications, and one full clip of ammo for
two handguns. The hunting rifles could be
used as clubs so I guess we'll count them,
too.

Tape end
-WSS-

End 1b/?
 

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER TWO
<><><><><><><><><>
 
 

FWM Tapes
Mid November 2002
(Exact Date Unknown)
 

We could tell this was coming. Yesterday the
weather was beautiful, almost like a spring
day. But the air was too still, so you knew
the front that lay behind the warmth had
stalled in the mountains. That is bad news.
Winter feeds off the high peaks. When it
rolls down to the plains after a time spent
gorging on the freezing, rarefied air, it is
mighty and merciless. Skinner and I made sure
we were ready.

For five days the storm raged, blanketing
everything with over six feet of snow.
Finally, it loosened its hold and moved on,
slowly making its way east. It was too brief
a respite; early this morning, the next front
moved in. I have no idea how long this one
will last. When I look outside, my view of
the world is a study of gray and white.
Skinner claims his isn't much better. He says
there's nothing to see but charcoal skies and
falling snow.

To keep busy during the anticipated blizzard,
Skinner and I searched out everything we
could find pertaining to Scully and me. We
wound up cleaning out the basement those two
days, setting what we didn't need or
recognize clear to the back. After boxing all
our findings, we brought them here.  They are
stacked from floor to ceiling to be
researched.  We are piecing together the
record of what has happened to me and my
partner since our arrival in Colorado 'til
now.

On top of the Journals, tapes and letters I'd
gotten together, we have writings and tapes
from Kami, Mr. Wagner, Jack, and my mother.
We are putting those into the story, too.
Skinner found some tapes I'd hidden when I
was having that breakdown, so my mad rantings
were added to that section of the story.
Getting all this information in order is a
huge task, but I know we have a long, hard
winter ahead.

Skinner has been reading the Bible in his
newfound, religious fervor. He suggests we
name what we are compiling "The Damascus
Files".  I'm going to have to get him to read
the story of Saul of Tarsus to me. I can't
see the connection except for the obvious and
I don't remember if it had a happy ending.

End Tape
-WSS-
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
December 25, 2000
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

I believe I've witnessed my mother lose her
temper three times in my 36 years. As with
most things rare and unusual, it is truly a
sight to behold. Each time, this unique and
unexpected experience has been triggered by
an act that, upon examination, hardly seems
to merit the tempestuous storm that is
unleashed. However, on closer inspection, one
would find that no one deed or utterance had
spurred the turbulence. Margaret Scully's
tumultuous fury is always a slow brewing
disturbance, fed by seemingly unnoticed
irritations and annoyances.

The obstinate belligerence I exuded in my
refusal to join her and the Wagners for
midnight Mass proved to be the catalyst that
launched 'hurricane Maggie'.  For the first
time ever, I bore the brunt of her rage. I
must admit, in the weeks following our return
to Sky Watch, Mom has suffered my angry
moodiness with her normal, good natured
tolerance. My surly demeanor, acid tongue and
often deliberate disregard for her feelings
has been shameful. Up until last night she
only answered my disrespect with forgiving
sternness, quietly ignoring my rude behavior.

I deserved everything she gave me. She left,
still fuming. I stayed, huddling on my daybed
in Mulder's and my room, too filled with
remorseful guilt for even tears.

I'd been told the truth and it hurt, but it's
what I needed. Mom was right. I hurt so
deeply, so painfully, that my every action
was a desperate attempt to hurt back - -
someone, anyone and everyone. I was crying
out in fear and anguish - - a plea for help.
The tears that finally came were huge and
choking. I glanced to the still, thin form on
the bed and felt drawn to him. For the first
time, stoic, strong, suffer-in-silence Dana
Scully cried out the need that had never
stopped. I fell across his chest, my mind
screaming the anguish that threatened to
drive me insane.

"Mulder, come back to me. Mulder, I need you.
Please. I love you."

It was a mute entreaty, no words were spoken,
it was simply my every feeling. My essence.
And it reached him.

His answer took my breath away. My gasp was
deep, a stutter-step intake of air that began
at my toes. I was frozen, held close by the
force of his will. Mulder had reached out to
me. Like mine, his call was not in a word, or
any spoken language. It was pure thought, the
essence of his soul. Mulder was still here
and he had just touched me as no other human
being ever had. The electric sensation slowly
ebbed, fading away to leave me spent. I
pushed up from his thin, wasted form and
glanced at his face. Nothing had changed,
except that now a small smile tilted his
lips. He knew I had gotten his message.
 

It was late, just past midnight, when I
placed the call to his mother. Waking a woman
in her 60s, who was not in the best of
health, requesting information that would
open old wounds, was not the most mannerly
thing to do. Adding to my misdeed was the
fact that it was two hours later in
Greenwich, Connecticut.

During our psychic embrace, Mulder had passed
the information to me that Samantha was not
the only child their family had lost.  Mulder
had a twin brother who died shortly after
their birth.  They had named the little boy
Adam. Confirmation of this knowledge by his
mother was proof, to me at least, that Mulder
had actually answered my plea to return, and
was still alive.

Mulder could not have sent me a more perfect
message. I am a person who requires concrete
proof. By telling me something he had learned
during his vision quest, his revelation of a
twin brother, never spoken of, never before
whispered about, had given me something that
could be verified, yet was unknown by all
save a select few.

I knew everyone would be home soon. I
pondered what to tell them about my Christmas
miracle. I sat beside Mulder's bed and held
his hand. I studied his face, searching for
some difference that could be pointed out as
proof to the others that Mulder has returned.
The tiny, triumphant grin had faded. The lips
were now slightly parted and his breath
whispered through them in a faint snore. He
looked the same as he had since he'd first
slipped away from me. His face was relaxed,
utterly peaceful.

"We'll keep it our secret for now, okay?" I
murmured, leaning close so I could whisper
into his ear. "I don't know what I'd tell
them and I wouldn't want them to worry about
me. You know they'd think I'd lost it, that
I'd gone around the bend. I thought you'd
left me for good, Mulder;  I haven't been
doing so well myself. I won't tell anyone
you've come back. We'll just wait to let them
know until you're able to show them."

I leaned back and watched him, but nothing
changed. His expression remained still and
placid. The inhale, exhale of air continued
in its soft measured rhythm; the rise and
fall of his chest visually marked the time.

My heart gave a quick flutter and tears
sprang to my eyes as doubt began to surface.
Had the stress of the long, endless weeks of
my deathbed vigil finally taken its toll on
my mind? Had what I experienced been only a
hopeful delusion, my own desperate creation?
Perhaps Mulder had said something of a
brother during our years together, and I'd
not paid attention. It could have been a
vague suspicion he might have had that his
past held yet another secret. Or maybe, at
some point, his mother had mentioned Adam to
me and I'd either not understood or not
registered what she'd said.

There were a million possibilities of where I
might have heard this information I'd so
hastily deemed proof.  Tears rolled down my
cheeks as I admitted I had to have been
fooling myself. I leaned my head against my
folded arms and cried, sobbing in
disappointment until I exhausted myself. The
soft folds of Mulder's silk comforter muffled
my last weary, hiccuping gasps as I drifted
toward sleep.  I was abruptly awakened by my
mother's loud cry of surprise.

"Dana!"

Mom had slipped in to check on Mulder and me.
Seeing that I slept, she'd tiptoed quietly to
my side, debating on whether to try to get me
to my bed, or to allow me to continue my nap
undisturbed. A glance at Mulder made the
decision unnecessary. His left hand had been
resting atop my head.   She had watched in
stunned silence as his long, thin fingers
slowly moved to stroke my hair.

Hearing my name, I bolted upright!  I leapt
to my feet to see what was wrong and spotted
Mom across the bed from me. She was leaning
over Mulder, touching his cheek.

"What happened?" My heart was in my throat as
I pushed her hand aside to examine my
patient. I quickly discovered nothing was
amiss and I glanced over at my mother,
raising a puzzled brow.

Mom's hand shook as it returned to Mulder's
face and she smiled.

"Mom?" My short query sounded almost like a
squeak. My voice reflected my nervous concern
as I finally noticed the steady stream of
tears that flowed from my mother's eyes.

"They all were wrong, Dana."  Mom's voice
shook with emotion and she gave a loud sigh
to regain some control. She reached out,
grasping my hand, lacing her fingers in mine.
"Fox isn't gone, honey. I saw him playing
with your hair when I came in. He's back." I
felt a quick, tender squeeze of reassurance
before she let go to gently caress Mulder's
face once more. She leaned over, her lips
softly brushing his brow as she whispered to
him, "Thank you, Fox, sweetheart, for
fighting so hard to come back to her."

I met my mother's eyes when she straightened;
they shone a luminous pale blue and sparkled
with tears.

"Merry Christmas, Danie," she laughed. It was
a joyous, girlish giggle.

"Merry Christmas, Mama," I murmured, hurrying
over to the embrace that waited in her
outstretched arms.

"You both are going to have a very happy New
Year, baby. I just know it," she assured me
with a warm kiss.
 

Wrapped warmly in her love, I am filled with
a childlike faith because my mother is always
right.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FWM Tapes
November 2002
(Exact Date Unknown)
 
 

Between Skinner and I, these files are coming
together. We finished that entire first year
after I was shot and added it to what we had
done earlier on the Central America trip. It
turned out to be one massive tomb so I
suggested that we start another file and
label it "Damascus Revisited".  Skinner
states that's too theatrical so we're simply
calling this "Damascus Files 2".

Much to Skinner's disappointment, I can't say
I returned from my near-death with a sudden
knowledge of "the other side." I don't have
any tale of enlightenment for him. I remember
Palenque. Then I woke up and everything had
changed. Somehow, I was back in a bed, unable
to talk, to move, to think clearly. I didn't
know what had happened to me. I was confused
and frightened, just like before, after I was
shot. Memories of coming back are unclear. I
hear things I was supposed to have said and
done and it's as though these tales are about
someone else. I wish I could recall
communicating with Scully, but I can't. My
memories of that time don't start until
later.

The one constant throughout both of my
recoveries that helped me to my goal was the
knowledge that Scully was by my side. The
second time, she came prepared. It's like she
grabbed me by the hand and hauled me back to
life. I trusted her implicitly and she did
get me home, but it was a very long journey
which took its toll on everyone involved.

End Tape
-WSS-
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

From the Pen of -
Dana K. Scully
January 14, 2001
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

Mulder is conscious. He's awake and moving
and everyone is rejoicing that he has come
back from the dead. He has rejoined us with
more problems than I can count. Recovery is
going to be hard even with his powers of
self-healing. While he has come far in his
efforts to repair the damage the
intracerebral bleeds inflicted on his brain,
his gift can't restore the physical abilities
he has lost.

I have been so busy, combing the Internet,
and reading constantly. I've been scanning
all kinds of sites featuring subjects ranging
from new, scientific discoveries involving
estrogen and the restoration of cognitive
abilities, to channeling the power of the
third eye. I've been ingesting countless
tombs from the local libraries that cover
Mulder's illness, methods of rehabilitation
after an intracerebral hemorrhage, and so on.
I have my patient on a regimen of constant
therapy and stimulation. It's helping; Mulder
is responding.
 

I've also been trying to analyze and define
Mulder's powers.  The focus of my research in
this area has been on the abilities he's
showing now, this PSI link we have and the
self-healing. I have searched and searched
but nowhere have I found any kind of
description that remotely resembles what I
feel when Mulder is 'inside' my head. What I
feel now is even more intense than when we
were in Guatemala, but somehow, I find it
less intrusive. Then, I would hear his voice,
constantly talking to me, telling me what to
do. How to think. How to feel.

Now, he has no language skills left. The ICH
stripped him of the very abilities he worked
so hard to relearn the last time around. He
enters my head and his thoughts are instantly
my own. I am surrounded by ideas, hopes,
needs and wants; every emotion and each
sensation he feels, I share. I am assaulted
by a kaleidoscope of images, that are not
truly pictures. I am pulled into a
conversation without any words. After that
first emotional experience when the message
was placed in my mind, I tried to analyze
what exactly he had said to me. It took me a
good week to realize that Mulder 'says'
nothing. He told me of his twin in a memory,
a whole, fully formed concept. Somehow, I can
interpret his ideas and label them for him.
This is how he 'speaks' to me.

I've discovered that my thoughts confuse him
at times. I assume it's because I do try to
communicate with him using words. Every now
and then, my transmissions become garbled in
the translation. I might tell him about
writing in this book, but instead of 'this
book' he sees a tree. It's a struggle, but I
have to learn to communicate with him by
ideas alone, at least until we can reteach
him language skills.

He's made so many strides these last few
weeks, but I believe I will take Mr. Wagner
up on his offer to hire someone to help me.
I'm going to hire both physical and speech
therapists to either live in, or at least be
available to give Mulder three to four
sessions a day. This will give me more time
for research. I believe if I can understand
Mulder's self-healing power, I can help him
to refine and increase his gift. We might be
able to speed up the time for self-healing,
and perhaps I might aid him in making a more
complete recovery. There's no telling what
the limits of his powers are. The abilities
he showed in Guatemala, amazing as they were,
could be just the tip of the iceberg.

-DKS-
 

End Part 2a/?

( Chapter Two cont.)
 
 
 

From the Journal of Kami W. Wagner
January 28 2001
Sky Watch Bed and Breakfast
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

I don't think I will even let Dad know I've
started writing this book. My entire life has
been documented in his files and I feel like
having something that I can keep just to
myself.

Who knows though, I just might change my
mind. I just might make something of myself
one day, become famous. My biographers will
have almost a library of research on me all
in one spot, Dad's basement. Maybe I will let
Dad put this in my file, for posterity.

I started taking classes last week at
Foothills Junior College and plan on leaving
next fall for Boulder and CU. I can't make up
my mind what I want to study. I'm torn
between Archeology and Medicine. Archeology
was my first thought, because of our trip to
the ruins. But Medicine just kind of keeps
rearing its head. I've gotten quite a lot of
experience in the field with Mulder having
all his health problems. Since we've come
home, Scully has let me take over his care
for at least a couple of hours a day and I
believe I'm getting pretty good at it.

Mulder seems to respond to me well, even
better than to Scully in some instances, such
as when we do his range of motion exercises
connected to the MFES (Multichannel
Functional Electrical Stimulator). When I do
them with him he offers the correct
resistance and seems to be actively
participating with the biofeedback that the
machine offers. When Scully does them with
him, it's like he's just there. She does all
the work. It's that way with all of his
therapy. We have just hired a therapist who's
going to take over most of Scully's session
time. His name is Jake and he'll be living
here at Sky Watch. He looks like some kind of
body builder or wrestler, but actually he's a
sweet, gentle man. Anyway, Mulder also works
well with Jake, so it's probably for the best
that Scully won't be working directly with
Mulder on his PT.

We also have a speech pathologist, named
Julie, who is going to come out twice a day
to help with Mulder. That's the area where I
see the biggest change from the last time
Mulder was like this. He moved into Sky Watch
in June of '99 and with one major difference
he was in about the same shape that he is in
now. After his gunshot injury he was more
vocal. However, I think he's actually
progressing better now in every phase of his
recovery except for the problem with
communication skills. I mean, in one month's
time he has gone from being almost like a
vegetable to being able to sit up in a chair
without help, feeding himself, and is totally
responsive to everything except verbal
commands. When I first met him in June of '99
over three months had passed since his
injury. He'd gone through at least two months
of PT, but he wasn't this far along.

I guess what bugs me, why I'm rambling on
about this, is that Scully is the only person
Mulder seems able to fully communicate with.
And Scully only has the time and desire to
communicate with Mulder when she's putting
him through his paces during therapy. I try
to spend time with him, connecting
emotionally, just being with him to let him
know I care, but I'm going to be gone a lot
now that school has started. Where is he
going to get any companionship? Doesn't
Scully know that is as important to his
recovery as the constant therapy sessions? I
don't know what's going on with her, but
someone had better tell her she might be
doing her best for her patient, but sadly,
she is not doing her best for her friend.

-KWW-
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K SCULLY
February 22, 2001
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

Most of my writing has been in Mulder's
rehabilitation log and my research notes but
I thought I'd go ahead and catch this book up
to date. I don't think this anniversary will
ever go by without me suffering a severe bout
of melancholy. I can't believe it's been 2
years. It doesn't help that it's the day
before my birthday, hard to forget it. I
guess it could have been worse had the
Brotherhood decided to take Mulder out in
that field and destroy his life a day later.
There's always something to be thankful for.
 

Mulder is progressing beautifully. Jake has
just started on patterning. The repetitive
motion therapy is tedious but so very
effective. Combined with the Multichannel
Functional Electrical Stimulator that we've
been using on him during adapted range of
motion exercises on his upper extremities, he
is almost ready to begin the crawling part of
the rehabilitation. He has made me promise
not to push him during this important part of
his retraining. Jake says at least three
months are necessary for the patterning to
effectively work. Babies utilize the benefits
of crawling faster than adults. So, my
impatience to get Mulder upright will just
have to wait. Jake does know what he is
talking about regarding this method.

My concerns lie elsewhere. I should have
known we wouldn't make it through his entire
convalescence with Fox Mulder keeping his Mr.
Congeniality image. I guess I'd hoped his
good humor and eagerness to please would stay
with him a bit longer. Julie, his speech
therapist, is leaving us. She told me she was
sorry and was willing to come back and try
again a few weeks down the road. She claims
that she just isn't making any headway with
him at this point in his recovery. Her
sessions have just been a waste of their
time. She claims she has run into this before
and that sometimes her methods of therapy are
better later on when progress is a bit
further along. She believes if we continue
with frequent but low pressure mini-sessions,
he just might start showing some kind of
improvement.

So, I'll have to put my intensive study of
PSI abilities on the back burner and try to
create a low stress environment for Mulder to
learn to communicate with others. Mulder and
I don't have a problem communicating. Since
I've learned to send my thoughts around the
blocks that his stroke left in his brain, our
mind-speak has become both fluent and
informative. And necessary. Much to both
Mulder's and my frustration, I am the only
person with whom he can express anything more
than his most primary needs and I am the only
person he can understand.

Mulder still cannot understand even the
simplest commands from anyone but me. Since
his vision is so poor, hand signals are
almost useless. Anyone instructing him must
literally show him what they want him to do
by manipulating his body to do it. Lately
there have been signs that he is growing
weary of this isolation and he has been
responding with sullen pouts, fits of anger,
much like temper tantrums, and bouts of
uncontrollable despair where he silently
cries for hours. I guess that's another
reason why I should stay here at Sky Watch
more often from now on. I know it must be
horrible for him not to be able to make
himself understood. It's probably even worse
for him not to fully comprehend what's going
on around him.

Kami was better at connecting with him than
Julie, Jake or Mr. Wagner, but she has made
friends at college and is finally building
herself a life away from here. She even has a
steady boyfriend now. So her time with Mulder
has been limited to the weekends. I could
call my mother out to help, but she, too, has
a life. But at what better time could this
come than now? His physical therapy will be
nothing but using the MFES, doing his regular
exercises, and Jake programming the large
motor function patterns into his brain.
Mulder and I can use this time to visit and
work on his communicative skills.

I can still use the computer for research and
maybe even try out some of my PSI-increasing
theories on him, to see if I can help develop
and train his powers. Looking at it this way,
this next three months might not be so bad
after all. It's even beginning to sound
exciting.
 

- DKS-
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FWM Tapes Winter -
December 2002/ January 2003
(Exact Date Unknown)
 

Before this frozen time, I believe Skinner
always knew the date. He'd dutifully kept
track and because of that, he could help me
label these tapes or at least give the rough
estimation of when they occurred. Now, after
countless days of icy gales, where the sun is
invisible to one of us and nothing more than
a faintly glowing silver disk to the other,
time itself has ceased to matter. We count
only the passing storms and brief respites.

At least we have these files to keep us sane
or, in my case at least as close to sanity as
I will ever get. I honestly believe I'm
showing signs of developing an eidetic memory
again. I can't recall the events that
happened in any given post that Skinner has
read.  I know where they are,
chronologically, in the file, and the
information is stored away in my mind for
instant access. I can tell Skinner what comes
before and after any given item. I'd make one
hell of a secretary if I could only see to
retrieve them.

Skinner asks after each part he reads, "Do
you remember this one?"

Part of the problem is that with the
disabilities I was suffering, I had no
concept of time. I do recall starting the
crawling phase of rehabilitation and I have
memories from even before that time but
there's no cohesion to them. They're not
really recollections of events but of my
emotions at the time. If I had to give one
single word to describe how I felt then, I
would be hard pressed to do it, but I think
I'd have to say fear.

I was frustrated, angry, confused, but the
feeling that drove me, that colored my every
response and was the final result of the
input of all my other emotions, was fear.

What had happened to put me here? Why was I
like this? Was this going to be forever? Why
was I so alone? Where was Scully? Why was she
afraid of me?

My only bridge to the world was Scully and
the only way to reach her was on her terms.
She has always been there. She has always put
my needs before her own. Who am I to find
fault with her? I know the danger of
obsessions first hand, and how a single
minded purpose can cloud one's judgment. Her
intent was always sincere. My best interest
was always paramount in her heart.

That said, I'll speak of my state of mind
during this long stretch of my recovery. From
late February until I was finally able to
really speak, I clung to my connection with
Scully as a lifeline to my sanity. Could I
have recovered from the aphasia sooner? I
suppose I could have.  Desire always plays an
important role in reclamation of anything,
including health. My wants laid solely with
holding on to a bond. I was unable to think
past the moment. Try waking up, not once but
twice in a two year span, with not only time
missing but parts of yourself gone, and you
just might understand why I held to the
comforting surety of Scully's presence in my
head.

At that point, outward displays were hard for
her. She'd walked this path right alongside
me; hope had constantly been snatched away
from her, too. I don't blame her for holding
back this time, for turning all her energy to
getting me well before she would allow
herself to open up her heart again. What she
never understood was that the feelings were
still there, locked down tightly in her mind.
Our link gave me access to them. I didn't
know if she'd ever be able to openly show me
what she felt again. So I desperately held on
to what I had.
 

End Tape
-WSS-

End 2b/?

THE DAMASCUS FILES  FILE TWO Part 3a/?
by Katvictory
 
 

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER THREE
<><><><><><><><><>
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
May 18, 2001
Wellington, Colorado
 

Will spring ever come? While the snow has
finally stopped, we never see the sun because
of this constant, drizzly rain. The winters
seem to get worse and worse. I am beginning
to doubt the validity of the scientific
theories concerning the greenhouse effect.
Maybe I just don't understand them. I'm
starting to think there is nothing in this
world that can be fully comprehended.

Mulder is finally starting to speak but it is
not through my efforts. Kami has made the
greatest strides with him in this area. Julie
is back and claims he's now suffering from
what's called non-fluent aphasia, which means
the words are there, he just hasn't developed
all the pathways to find them. His auditory
receptiveness is coming along rapidly, which
is a relief to me.  I'm no longer constantly
needed as a translator. He is finally able to
understand, for the most part, what others
are saying to him.

I just can't comprehend why Kami and the
others were able to reach him and I wasn't.
Somewhere, somehow, something has changed
between Mulder and I.  When he does let me in
now, I sense resentment from him.  I can't
figure out what has happened.  Why is he
acting this way toward me.  Kami has made
some rather thinly-veiled, sarcastic remarks
hinting that she believes I'm neglecting
Mulder. I am frustrated and angered by these
barbs. My every thought is of Mulder and
helping him make it back. Her insinuations
hurt.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
(Exact Date Unknown)
 

Skinner asked if I realized what was
happening that summer. If  I perceived the
tug-of-war over my care that went on between
Kami and Scully. I'm happy to say I was in
the dark, as always.  I do know it all came
to a head after Kami left for Boulder and
Scully and I were once again alone. Skinner
and I have found nothing that truly documents
the change in Scully, why she finally faced
her fears, except for this entry in her
journal.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
September 12, 2001
Aspen Glen, Estes Park, Colorado
 

I noticed today that I've neglected to write
in this book for months. Since, suddenly,
there is all the time in the world, I thought
I'd catch up. I finally have something to
say, or maybe I finally know my own mind. No,
I believe it's that for the first time since
Mulder came back to me, I've allowed what's
in my heart to come out. Kami forced me to
face my fears, to deal with my anger, and at
last progress can be made.

The first time Mulder almost died I had an
enemy, a place to focus all the anger and
hurt I felt over what had happened to him.
Who could I blame this time? I found all I
could do was shake my fist at the winds of
fate or -- be angry with Mulder. He doesn't
remember anything about the events leading up
to what happened to him. We're not even sure
his vision quest is responsible for his
'accident'.  And even if I had proof that the
elixir, the blood letting ceremony, or the
fact that he went for weeks without
medication, directly or indirectly  brought
about his condition, I can't fault him. This
man, who has struggled so hard these last
nine months to be able to stand on his own
two feet and communicate with the world
around him, has more than paid any debt owed
by that 'other self' who ruled him in
Guatemala. So I've had to come to terms with
the fact that I'd best let go of this rage or
it would destroy both of us. It only took me
eight months to learn this truth and it was
taught to me by a girl who turns 20 years old
today. Out of the mouth of babes...

Mulder and I are on a retreat; a vacation
together, to get to know each other again. We
are staying in a cabin Mr. Wagner owns on the
Big Thompson River just outside of Estes
Park, Colorado, the gateway to the Rocky
Mountain National Park. This is late in the
season so the area is quiet, peaceful and
perfect for reflection and quality time
together.

Mulder, for the first time in three quarters
of a year, is not having to suffer through
constant therapy sessions. I left that Dana
Scully at Sky Watch. His time is his own and
yesterday, our first full day here, he awoke
and wandered outside to the back porch deck
while I was preparing breakfast. I brought
our meal out and was gifted with a grin so
familiar and sorely missed it almost brought
tears to my eyes.

"Well, have you been thinking about what you
might want to do today?" I asked, noticing
how the mountain air seemed to have increased
his appetite tenfold. Mulder has been unable
to regain the last thirty or so pounds he'd
lost right after the ICH so this is very good
news.

He stopped, surprised, fork on its way to his
mouth. It was as though he just realized he
did have a choice on what the day's itinerary
might be. The knowledge seemed to tie his
tongue and he shook his head.

"Did you want to go into town?" I asked
softly, hoping a few suggestions might help
him find his voice. He has come so far, but
fluency is still a way off, especially when
he feels pressured. Unfortunately, Mulder
seems to feel a great deal of pressure when
he is speaking aloud to me. This was one
reason I'd wanted us to take this vacation.
Again, he slowly shook his head.

I forced myself to make no further
suggestions, wanting him to speak when he
felt able and at last my patience was
rewarded.

"A drive? To the park?" he murmured,
beseeching my approval nervously.

"Great, we can make a day of it!" I exclaimed
with false heartiness, forcing a smile to
cover the sorrow I felt over just how
strained our conversations are now.  I know
it will take time for us to readjust to our
roles as friends. Yesterday, our drive up
Trailridge Road to the top of the world, was
the start. I think we can recover.
Everything? Do we want to take on all that
baggage? Only TIME will tell. Maybe we'll
only salvage what's necessary.

*****

We drive past the high, frost covered glen
and I read aloud the sign announcing that we
are at THE GREAT DIVIDE. We stop to see this
place where the continent's waters make their
choice of which path  to take, to determine
which direction their destiny might lie. The
tumblers click into place and I know the time
has come for me to make a selection of my
own. Although I say nothing of where my own
thoughts have traveled, Mulder wants to get
out for he knows this is a place of decision.

The thin air clears the head.  I make a slow
turn to see the breath taking, panoramic view
of the Medicine Bow to the north, the central
Rockies to the east and west, and the distant
Sangria de Christos to the south. The sign
says we should be able to spot almost every
one of Colorado's 40 plus 14,000 foot peaks
from where we stand.

Does Mulder see any of this? Not with his
eye, but from the look on his face, he
perceives clearly what choices lie ahead and
that sadly, the road never gets less rocky.
His tears aren't only from the sting of the
harsh, freezing wind on his face. I watch his
thin shoulders shake until his whole body
starts to crumble. I rush to grab him and
with a pull of his arm I manage to get him
back to the jeep. His sobs are still silent
and he quakes beside me in mute anguish. Will
he ever be able cry aloud again?

I'm amazed for I find I can touch him now and
it doesn't hurt. As his arms wrap around me,
I realize we both have made our choice.
Neither of us want to make out journey alone.
We hold on to each other; a natural, soothing
ebb and flow is born as we both give and
receive comfort. I feel his hand brush my
hair back and the gentle touch of warm, soft
lips kissing away the salty tears that spill
from my eyes, mixing with his own. Our pain
is shed, one tear at a time and finally the
fear seeps from us to make its way to those
distant seas.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
September 12, 2001
Aspen Glen, Estes Park, Colorado
 
 

It's early evening; the sun hits the canyon
wall with light. It is worth building a fire
to cut the chill in the air, to be able to
hear the sound of the Big Thompson. The
aspens are turning early this year, heralding
the coming of  winter. Mulder says he can see
them; he can make out the bright riot of
shades of gold that light up the
mountainside. Sometimes, I forget that even
before he lost his sight he suffered from
color-blindness.  I tell him I love the way
the bright red contrasts with the shimmering
yellow spray against the dark green of the
conifers. It brings a laugh from him, and my
cheeks redden as I remember red and green are
just words to him.

"I know red," he whispers, and touches my
cheek. "This is red." He's right, it's very
red.

"It's warm," his tone is soft, smooth and I'm
amazed at how well he's learned to modulate
his voice. I begin to compliment him on this
achievement but his lips still my comments.
My body responds to the gentle touch of his
tongue as it leaves my mouth to flick lightly
against the fluttering pulse in my neck. He
remembers the key to my body that his
musician's touch has always played so
masterfully.

I hear his voice inside my head. As we melt
together before the fire, I know that it is
true when he tells me, "It's still forever,
Scully."
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
September 15, 2001
Aspen Glen, Estes Park, Colorado
 
 

Mulder knows the last of my secrets so now if
he leaves me, I'll just have to kill him. I
believe his blood oath that he'll never tell,
but he knows he carries this knowledge under
the threat of death. I, Dana Scully, am a
Stephen Kingaholic. I have been addicted to
the horror-master's tombs since Junior High,
when I swiped Bill's copy of "Carrie" from
his bedroom. Mulder journeys to Memphis to
pay honor to his King. I make a pilgrimage to
Maine for mine. And here, not three miles
down the road from our cabin, is the hotel
that spurred that dark, macabre mind to come
up with the classic "The Shining". Yes, Estes
Park is the site of the Stanley Hotel and
Mulder and I are staying there tonight. Be
still my heart.

Actually, the grand old place is nothing like
the fictional "Overlook". In fact, they
remodeled in the late 1990's and it doesn't
even resemble the hotel King stayed at in the
'70's. We have one of the deluxe suites which
affords a beautiful view of the grounds,
still lush and green even this late in the
year. There is no topiary, much to Mulder's
and my disappointment, or even a maze like
the first film, but it is a beautiful
resort.  It was built in the 1900s, designed
to convey the Georgian Revival style of
architecture.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
September 16, 2001
Aspen Glen, Estes Park, Colorado
 

Our night passed without one moment's horror.
We both had eight hours of restful, almost
dreamless sleep. Mulder confessed he dreamed
we stayed over and rented room #217 tonight,
making mad, passionate whoopee in the
bathtub. (I'm assuming this odd little
fantasy didn't include King's ghostly suicide
victim joining us. Mulder is kinky but that's
just too 'spooky'). I assure him we can
forego that little homage to my idol and tell
him the hot tub at the cabin will just have
to do. His grin tells me he'll settle for
this plan.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
(Exact Date unknown)
 

Skinner has allowed me to pick and choose
which writings I put in this record and I
have kept the more personal ones out, unless
they relate or drive the story. That doesn't
mean that I'm spared the embarrassment of
Skinner reading them to me directly from
Scully's journal.  It seems my life's partner
does tend to believe her books labeled 'From
the Pen of -' that she picked up from the
bargain bin at Currant, are a confessional of
sorts.  I'm glad that I can't see the
expression on my former supervisor's face
when he reads one of Scully's more explicit
entries. Skinner is gracious enough not to
mention the colors my face turns when our
tale turns steamy.  He is no longer
questioning me if I remember any given post.
I think he realizes I remember all too well
these particular moments in time.

Scully and I returned to Sky Watch the day
after my fortieth birthday, refreshed and
recommitted in our relationship. Jake moved
out and joined Julie coming only once a day
for my therapy. I was upright and mobile and
while not a picture of fluid grace, I was
walking without assistance, which is more
than Jake thought I'd ever be able to
achieve. My fluency was improving, and while
the aphasia would continue to plague me, by
the time the snow flew I no longer needed
Julie's expertise except for weekly sessions
down in Fort Collins.

We rarely spoke of the past, but at this time
Scully told me what happened  in Guatemala.
Then, as when Skinner read her journals to me
earlier this winter, I didn't know who that
person was. I don't know what triggered the
quest. I don't know why I followed through
with the search for the temple. I don't know
who was instructing me on my journey. I
remember nothing of my visions.

It is strange, though, because when Scully
told me of my belief that Samantha was dead,
I was not surprised. I believe I've had that
knowledge within me always.  I just refused
to see it. My heart knew, but I needed the
hope to sustain me. Self-delusion is not
always a bad thing. It's my favorite defense
mechanism.

Scully and I actually spoke little of the
future. We had no plans at this point in
time, except for me working to make it the
rest of the way back. Wagner had introduced
me to horseback riding as a form of therapy,
to improve my balance. While lessons from my
childhood surfaced enough to allow me to sit
the docile beast I mounted, I don't believe I
will ever be a rider. The chaps chaffed too
much.

Wagner and I did cement our friendship during
these rides. I believe that is what spurred
him to finally reveal all after Christmas.
 

End Tape
-WSS-
 
 

End Part 3a/?

( Chapter Three cont.)
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
December 21, 2001 Sky Watch,
Wellington, Colorado

It seems so strange to be home. I feel like
I'm a visitor in a place I've lived my entire
life. To add to this awkwardness, I brought
Derek home with me. Even though he is staying
in the guest room, I think everyone knows the
truth. I know Mulder does.

Mulder is my Christmas gift!  Derek and I
pulled up to the house and Mulder walked out
to greet us, that crooked grin plastered
across his face. Dad had said he was doing
fine in his e-mails and since Scully and I no
longer keep in touch, 'fine' covers a broad
spectrum. I wouldn't let go when he grabbed
me for a hug. He's walking, talking, strong
and healthy. He wouldn't let go either. Dad
had to force us apart to get his own hug. I
had to laugh at the expression on Derek's
face. Mulder is hardly the invalid I'd
painted him to be. I think my friend is
concerned about how I know this tall,
handsome, roguish looking mystery man. God,
he looks good!

Mulder and I haven't had a chance to talk
alone, but it appears that he and Scully have
worked out all their problems.  Their
relationship looks to be working out better
than ever. I AM very happy for them. I know
Scully thinks the friction between us early
this year springs entirely from my ego and
jealousy. I admitted the day I left that I
have loved Mulder since we first started the
interviews after my 17th birthday. But, I've
known from the very start where I stood.

Mulder and I have a relationship. It isn't
the one I'd wished for in my childish dreams.
Those feelings passed quickly. What Mulder
and I have is a deep friendship, and love
made strong from what we've shared. I just
wish Scully and I could get past our
disagreements and rebuild OUR friendship. I
do miss her.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
December 22 2001
Sky Watch Bed & Breakfast
 

I had a chance to speak to Kami this morning
while Mr. Wagner, Mulder and Derek were out
riding.  I needed to thank her for what she
had said to me, for all that she's done for
Mulder. Within moments we both were in tears.
Wounds that had festered for a season were
healed. Our celebration of forgiveness was
interrupted when the three men returned from
'checking out the north forty'. One glance at
two women in tears, comforting each other,
was all it took. There was an immediate about
face, and without a word, the door slammed
shut behind them.  Kami and I figure they
might be back by lunch. We hope they don't
mind left-overs. We're on our way into town
and might return by dinner. If they're lucky!
 
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
(Exact Date unknown)
 

Holidays were made for the memories they
create. Thoughts of childhood cause us to
picture holidays. Good or bad, these are the
times that are indelibly imprinted in our
brains. Christmas was always a secular
holiday at the Mulder household. Samantha and
I never felt that they lacked because of that
fact. It was still the time of the year we
longed for most. I don't really believe it
was youthful anticipation for the gifts
either. There always seemed to be the feeling
of the holiday spirit around the house, and
we relished the warmth that suddenly
enveloped our family at this time of year. I
learned at a young age that my mother lived
for parties. The season always kept her step
light and a smile on her beautiful face. At
least that's how it was while Sam was still
with us. After 1973, Christmas didn't come to
the Mulder's.

(Laughs) I'm not casting myself as Tiny Tim
here. I won't be uttering any heartfelt
exclamations of 'God Bless Us Everyone'. I
only want to explain why that Christmas at
Sky Watch was special. It was a holiday spent
with friends that had become family. It's a
memory that will never be forgotten. How
could it be? What happened the following
summer might make it the last Christmas. If
the day has passed this year, neither Skinner
or I knew when and I don't think we were
alone.

We all awoke that morning to the smell of
scones and coffee, courtesy of Maggie Scully,
who had arrived on the 23d. Kami's boyfriend,
Derek, and I had stayed home holding the fort
while the others had attended midnight mass
in Fort Collins.  Everyone awoke early,
though, thanks to Maggie's aromatic alarm
clock. Had I scripted this day it couldn't
have gone much better. It was a Frank Capra
film come to life.

Gifts were exchanged, amid hugs and thanks.
Homage was made to the pigskin gods. A
banquet was served and eaten with everyone
wearing there holiday best. The day ended
with fully stuffed guests sitting before a
roaring fire for toasts and an evening of
laughter and good conversation. It was
nothing spectacular. Just a simple, happy
holiday shared with family. It is a memory
that has kept me warm almost every night this
winter.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

From The Journal of K.W. Wagner
December 28, 2001
Sky Watch, Wellington, Colorado
 
 

This Christmas has to be the best ever and
one I won't soon forget. Derek gave me my
gift after we returned from mass. It was a
beautiful ring, a marquis cut sapphire,
completely surrounded by diamond chips. He
earnestly proclaimed that we are engaged to
be engaged. I smiled; I guess I can agree to
that. We do seem to fit together. Somehow,
everything about us feels right. Who knows?
Time will tell.

On Christmas Eve, Mulder and I finally got a
chance to talk. Everyone was gone one place
or the other, last minute shopping, I
suppose. He's happy. Just looking at him I
can tell, but even better than happy, he is
content. Finally, he is comfortable with
himself and his life. Now that makes ME
happy.

Our conversation was just that, two friends
catching up on each other's lives. Nothing
important. We talked about his and Scully's
plans to stay at Skywatch until summer, and
then maybe move to Baltimore to be near her
mother. Apparently, Scully has already
investigated job possibilities with the
Medical Examiner's office and several
hospitals. Mulder's immediate plans are up in
the air but he does have some appointments in
January to check into some rehabilitation
programs that might help him decide.

"Have you decided?" he asked, a smile playing
about the corners of his mouth. His speech is
still halting and sometimes slow but the
improvement since August is miraculous. My
friend never ceases to amaze me.

"Premed," I sighed, knowing this wouldn't
come as a surprise.

It wasn't, of course, and with a broad grin,
he nodded. "Is this serious?" He fingered
Derek's gift, studying it again by touch.

It's wonderful to be able to have a
conversation with someone with whom you only
need shorthand due to the fact that you know
each other so well. It helped when Mulder was
first regaining his speech and now, we
slipped effortlessly into our clipped style
of communication even more fluent by Mulder's
much expanded vocabulary.

"It's going that direction," I confessed and
almost laughed at the expression that crossed
his face. I've always wanted a big brother
and I think Mulder has assumed the part
without even being asked.  I believe he has
longed to play this role again for a long,
long time. "We've got time. We're just going
to take it slow and see how things develop."

"He seems like a nice guy," Mulder offered,
and I had to chuckle at the picture of
earnest sincerity on his mobile face.

"I'll let him know he has the Fox Mulder seal
of approval," I teased, smiling at the warm
red tint that instantly highlighted his
cheeks in response to my playful barb.

I love this man so much.  We whiled away the
afternoon chatting about everything from the
current unrest in the Middle East to our
names. I learned that Mulder's first name is
a family name from his mother's side. "I
don't know, but I don't think Dave or Jack or
even Bill would fit you, Mulder. You might
not like hearing it, but you are a Fox!"

I giggled when his face screwed up in disgust
over the vintage slang compliment. "I mean,
it's actually pretty descriptive. A fox is
sly, crafty...extremely handsome."

His derisive snort at my comparison hit my
funny bone and soon we were almost rolling on
the floor with laughter.

"You don't look like a Kami," he remarked,
when we calmed a bit.

"What does 'a Kami' look like, Mulder?" I
queried, with a touch of sarcasm behind my
grin. I'm used to hearing this and I guess
it's true. Derek said the same thing when we
first met.

He paused to think about his answer. "A Kami
is cute and perky. They aren't classically
beautiful, almost six foot, leggy blondes."

"You've noticed more than my hair, I guess,"
I murmured, remembering a conversation from
long ago, when he'd almost convinced a gawky,
skinny, too tall eighteen year old girl she
was pretty enough to have boys notice her.
Did he remember?

He did.  "I'll bet all the boys love your
silver hair," he replied softly.

"I miss you so much, Mulder," I cried,
leaning my head against his chest.

He gently stroked my hair before giving me a
final, quick squeeze in answer.

I glanced up at him and decided I would share
with him the secret that no one except my
father really knows. It's on my birth
certificate but every other record, from
school to the Department of Motor Vehicles,
lists me only as Kami W. Wagner. "My real
name is Katmandu Wind Wagner."

You have to give the man credit, his smile
was small and kind. "It IS pretty. Strange,
but pretty. But, why Kami? Why not Kat?"

"Dad used to call me 'Kat Man'. I guess I
couldn't say it right, at first. I was
supposed to have told everyone I was Daddy's
Ka' Ma' which finally became Kami."

Funny, that story used to irritate me at
sixteen, when Dad would relate it to me
during his vain attempts at father/daughter
closeness. It brought nothing but scowls and
complaints when I was forced to hear it yet
again. Now, I suddenly felt like crying with
the wistful longings it stirred. Mulder held
me, gently caressing my back. I awoke curled
up beside him, my head still resting on his
shoulder, when everyone finally returned
home.

*****

I've enjoyed this visit so much.  Derek can't
help himself, he has to remind me that I'd
changed my mind at the last minute and
decided that going home for Christmas was an
idiotic, infantile waste of time.
Fortunately, Derek talked me back into
coming. I think my favorite memory of this
holiday will be the look in my father's eyes
this morning when Mulder appeared wearing the
gift Dad gave him for Christmas for the third
day running.

Mulder was pleased when he first opened the
package but momentarily puzzled because the
Bronco jersey was not the now familiar dark
blue and burnt orange. When Derek let out a
low whistle and exclaimed over the rarity of
finding a number 7 jersey in the vintage
bright orange of old, Mulder's grin grew even
broader at realizing the specialness of his
gift. It wasn't until later, though, when I
told Mulder the story behind the Elway shirt,
that he completely grasped just what that
particular piece of sports memorabilia means
to my father.

John Elway gave my Dad the jersey the spring
after his rookie season in thanks for my
father's generous contribution to the
athlete's favorite charity. Elway knew my
parents were expecting a son later that
summer and it was a gift for the baby. My
mother died that July, giving birth to my
stillborn brother.  I was shocked when I saw
Mulder hold up that familiar, bright orange
shirt, but one glance at Dad's face, when he
saw my friend wearing his gift again today,
made me know my father had found the right
person to inherit his treasure.

*****

Well, I guess Derek and I are leaving
tomorrow. We'd planned on staying 'til after
the New Year, but my father just informed me
that a certain relative I'd rather not see
will be dropping by tomorrow night. I guess
he's actually kind of like my brother but
I've just never gotten along with him.  I
haven't seen him, face to face, since he
settled down in Washington D.C. back in 1992
and I plan on trying to make it through
another decade without laying eyes on him.
Longer, if I can manage it!

This news of this pseudo-kin's impending
return has soured my mood a bit, turning my
thoughts dark. My foul mood reminds me I need
to write about the only smudge on this almost
perfect visit. I guess I really shouldn't
label this a bad thing, but it did send a
shock through Scully and me. Since Christmas
morning, I haven't found the nerve to even
glance at what is inside that small blue box.
Mulder's gift to me is packed away in my
suitcase. I doubt I'll ever want to wear it.
I know, that is a horrible thing to say about
something he gave to me with such pride and
love.  I'd never admit to him that I feel
this way about his present. I'll take THIS
secret to my grave.

Mulder did every bit of his shopping this
year on his own. It's a fact he is very proud
of, and it is quite an achievement.  The
thought of venturing into a mall filled with
last minute pre-holiday gift buyers with an
entire list of Christmas shopping is enough
to make me burn my Visa. And I am fully
sighted and didn't suffer an ICH a little
over a year ago. The man should get a medal
for bravery and be written up in Guinness for
this accomplishment.

Mulder's memory is still spotty in parts and
he didn't remember that he had once bought
Scully the identical bracelet he presented to
me on Christmas morning. When I opened the
beautifully wrapped box and saw the delicate,
finely crafted Guardian's Knot gleaming amid
the soft cloud of cotton batting, a chill
went up my spine. I had to force myself to
take it from its place so it could receive
the ritual ohhs and ahhs from my friends.

Maggie recognized the familiar design that
her daughter had worn so proudly, however,
she politely refrained from mentioning
Mulder's faux pas. Scully has never told her
mother the full story of what happened in
Central America, so this was nothing more
that a slight social blunder. Mulder was a
man, and Maggie had been raised to be
tolerant of the masculine gender's lack of
gift buying skills. How would he know one
should never give the same gift twice,
especially not to two women who know each
other.

"It means forever, Kami," Mulder proclaimed
with a happy grin, not realizing the
disturbing memories connected with that
particular Celtic jewelry. Forever had not
been very long at all for his last Guardian
Knot.

I caught sight of Scully as her face paled. I
couldn't help my sudden shiver at seeing my
own dread was mirrored in her eyes.

End 2-3b/?

( Chapter Three cont.)
 
 

From the Journal of Kami W. Wagner
December 21, 2001
Sky Watch, Wellington, Colorado
 
 

It seems so strange to be home. I feel like
I'm a visitor in a place I've lived my entire
life. To add to this awkwardness, I brought
Derek home with me. Even though he is staying
in the guest room, I think everyone knows the
truth. I know Mulder does.

Mulder is my Christmas gift!  Derek and I
pulled up to the house and Mulder walked out
to greet us, that crooked grin plastered
across his face. Dad had said he was doing
fine in his e-mails and since Scully and I no
longer keep in touch, 'fine' covers a broad
spectrum. I wouldn't let go when he grabbed
me for a hug. He's walking, talking, strong
and healthy. He wouldn't let go either. Dad
had to force us apart to get his own hug. I
had to laugh at the expression on Derek's
face. Mulder is hardly the invalid I'd
painted him to be. I think my friend is
concerned about how I know this tall,
handsome, roguish looking mystery man. God,
he looks good!

Mulder and I haven't had a chance to talk
alone, but it appears that he and Scully have
worked out all their problems.  Their
relationship looks to be working out better
than ever. I AM very happy for them. I know
Scully thinks the friction between us early
this year springs entirely from my ego and
jealousy. I admitted the day I left that I
have loved Mulder since we first started the
interviews after my 18th birthday. But, I've
known from the very start where I stood.

Mulder and I have a relationship. It isn't
the one I'd wished for in my childish dreams.
Those feelings passed quickly. What Mulder
and I have is a deep friendship, and love
made strong from what we've shared. I just
wish Scully and I could get past our
disagreements and rebuild OUR friendship. I
do miss her.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
December 22 2001
Sky Watch Bed & Breakfast
 

I had a chance to speak to Kami this morning
while Mr. Wagner, Mulder and Derek were out
riding.  I needed to thank her for what she
had said to me, for all that she's done for
Mulder. Within moments we both were in tears.
Wounds that had festered for a season were
healed. Our celebration of forgiveness was
interrupted when the three men returned from
'checking out the north forty'. One glance at
two women in tears, comforting each other,
was all it took. There was an immediate about
face, and without a word, the door slammed
shut behind them.  Kami and I figure they
might be back by lunch. We hope they don't
mind left-overs. We're on our way into town
and might return by dinner. If they're lucky!
 
 
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
(Exact Date unknown)
 

Holidays were made for the memories they
create. Thoughts of childhood cause us to
picture holidays. Good or bad, these are the
times that are indelibly imprinted in our
brains. Christmas was always a secular
holiday at the Mulder household. Samantha and
I never felt that they lacked because of that
fact. It was still the time of the year we
longed for most. I don't really believe it
was youthful anticipation for the gifts
either. There always seemed to be the feeling
of the holiday spirit around the house, and
we relished the warmth that suddenly
enveloped our family at this time of year. I
learned at a young age that my mother lived
for parties. The season always kept her step
light and a smile on her beautiful face. At
least that's how it was while Sam was still
with us. After 1973, Christmas didn't come to
the Mulder's.

(Laughs) I'm not casting myself as Tiny Tim
here. I won't be uttering any heartfelt
exclamations of 'God Bless Us Everyone'. I
only want to explain why that Christmas at
Sky Watch was special. It was a holiday spent
with friends that had become family. It's a
memory that will never be forgotten. How
could it be? What happened the following
summer might make it the last Christmas. If
the day has passed this year, neither Skinner
or I knew when and I don't think we were
alone.

We all awoke that morning to the smell of
scones and coffee, courtesy of Maggie Scully,
who had arrived on the 23d. Kami's boyfriend,
Derek, and I had stayed home holding the fort
while the others had attended midnight mass
in Fort Collins.  Everyone awoke early,
though, thanks to Maggie's aromatic alarm
clock. Had I scripted this day it couldn't
have gone much better. It was a Frank Capra
film come to life.

Gifts were exchanged, amid hugs and thanks.
Homage was made to the pigskin gods. A
banquet was served and eaten with everyone
wearing there holiday best. The day ended
with fully stuffed guests sitting before a
roaring fire for toasts and an evening of
laughter and good conversation. It was
nothing spectacular. Just a simple, happy
holiday shared with family. It is a memory
that has kept me warm almost every night this
winter.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

From The Journal of K.W. Wagner
December 28, 2001
Sky Watch, Wellington, Colorado
 
 

This Christmas has to be the best ever and
one I won't soon forget. Derek gave me my
gift after we returned from mass. It was a
beautiful ring, a marquis cut sapphire,
completely surrounded by diamond chips. He
earnestly proclaimed that we are engaged to
be engaged. I smiled; I guess I can agree to
that. We do seem to fit together. Somehow,
everything about us feels right. Who knows?
Time will tell.

On Christmas Eve, Mulder and I finally got a
chance to talk. Everyone was gone one place
or the other, last minute shopping, I
suppose. He's happy. Just looking at him I
can tell, but even better than happy, he is
content. Finally, he is comfortable with
himself and his life. Now that makes ME
happy.

Our chat was just that, two friends catching
up on each other's lives. Nothing important.
We talked about his and Scully's plans to
stay at Skywatch until summer, then then
maybe move to Baltimore to be near her
mother. Apparently, Scully has already
investigated job possibilities with the
Medical Examiner's office and several
hospitals. Mulder's immediate plans are up in
the air but he does have some appointments in
January to check into some rehabilitation
programs that might help him decide.

"Have you decided?" he asked, a smile playing
about the corners of his mouth. His speech is
still halting and sometimes slow but the
improvement since August is miraculous. My
friend never ceases to amaze me.

"Premed," I sighed, knowing this wouldn't
come as a surprise.

It wasn't, of course, and with a broad grin,
he nodded. "Is this serious?" He fingered
Derek's gift, studying it again by touch.

It's wonderful to be able to have a
conversation with someone with whom you only
need shorthand because you know each other so
well. It helped us connect when Mulder was
first regaining his speech and now, we
slipped effortlessly into our clipped style
of communication made even more fluent with
Mulder's much expanded vocabulary.

"It's going that direction," I confessed and
almost laughed at the expression that crossed
his face. I've always wanted a big brother
and I think Mulder has assumed the part
without even being asked.  I believe he has
longed to play this role again for a long,
long time. "We've got time. We're just going
to take it slow and see how things develop."

"He seems like a nice guy," Mulder offered,
and I had to chuckle at the picture of
earnest sincerity on his mobile face.

"I'll let him know he has the Fox Mulder seal
of approval," I teased, smiling at the warm
red tint that instantly highlighted his
cheeks in response to my playful barb.

I love this man so much.  We whiled away the
afternoon chatting about everything from the
current unrest in the Middle East to our
names. I learned that Mulder's first name is
a family name from his mother's side. "I
don't know, but I don't think Dave or Jack or
even Bill would fit you, Mulder. You might
not like hearing it, but you are a Fox!"

I giggled when his face screwed up in disgust
over the vintage slang compliment. "I mean,
it's actually pretty descriptive. A fox is
sly, crafty...extremely handsome."

His derisive snort at my comparison hit my
funny bone and soon we were almost rolling on
the floor with laughter.

"You don't look like a Kami," he remarked,
when we calmed a bit.

"What does 'a Kami' look like, Mulder?" I
queried, with a touch of sarcasm behind my
grin. I'm used to hearing this and I guess
it's true. Derek said the same thing when we
first met.

He paused to think about his answer. "A Kami
is cute and perky. They aren't classically
beautiful, almost six foot, leggy blondes."

"You've noticed more than my hair, I guess,"
I murmured, remembering a conversation from
long ago, when he'd almost convinced a gawky,
skinny, too tall eighteen year old girl she
was pretty enough to have boys notice her.
Did he remember?

He did.  "I'll bet all the boys love your
silver hair," he replied softly.

"I miss you so much, Mulder," I cried,
leaning my head against his chest.

He gently stroked my hair before giving me a
final, quick squeeze in answer.

I glanced up at him and decided I would share
with him the secret that no one except my
father really knows. It's on my birth
certificate but every other record, from
school to the Department of Motor Vehicles,
lists me only as Kami W. Wagner. "My real
name is Katmandu Wind Wagner."

You have to give the man credit, his smile
was small and kind. "It IS pretty. Strange,
but pretty. But, why Kami? Why not Kat?"

"Dad used to call me 'Kat Man'. I guess I
couldn't say it right, at first. I was
supposed to have told everyone I was Daddy's
Ka' Ma' which finally became Kami."

Funny, that story used to irritate me at
sixteen, when Dad would relate it to me
during his vain attempts at father/daughter
closeness. It brought nothing but scowls and
complaints when I was forced to hear it yet
again. Now, I suddenly felt like crying with
the wistful longings it stirred. Mulder held
me, gently caressing my back. I awoke curled
up beside him, my head still resting on his
shoulder, when everyone finally returned
home.

*****

I've enjoyed this visit so much.  Derek can't
help himself, he has to remind me that I'd
changed my mind at the last minute and
decided that going home for Christmas was an
idiotic, infantile waste of time.
Fortunately, Derek talked me back into
coming. I think my favorite memory of this
holiday will be the look in my father's eyes
this morning when Mulder appeared wearing the
gift Dad gave him for Christmas for the third
day running.

Mulder was pleased when he first opened the
package but momentarily puzzled because the
Bronco jersey was not the now familiar dark
blue and burnt orange. When Derek let out a
low whistle and exclaimed over the rarity of
finding a number 7 jersey in the vintage
bright orange of old, Mulder's grin grew even
broader at realizing the specialness of his
gift. It wasn't until later, though, when I
told Mulder the story behind the Elway shirt,
that he completely grasped just what that
particular piece of sports memorabilia means
to my father.

John Elway gave my Dad the jersey the spring
after his rookie season in thanks for my
father's generous contribution to the
athlete's favorite charity. Elway knew my
parents were expecting a son later that
summer and it was a gift for the baby. My
mother died that July, giving birth to my
stillborn brother.  I was shocked when I saw
Mulder hold up that familiar, bright orange
shirt, but one glance at Dad's face, when he
saw my friend wearing his gift again today,
made me know my father had found the right
person to inherit his treasure.

*****

Well, I guess Derek and I are leaving
tomorrow. We'd planned on staying 'til after
the New Year, but my father just informed me
that a certain relative I'd rather not see
will be dropping by tomorrow night. I guess
he's actually kind of like my brother but
I've just never gotten along with him.  I
haven't seen him, face to face, since he
settled down in Washington D.C. back in 1992
and I plan on trying to make it through
another decade without laying eyes on him.
Longer, if I can manage it!

This news of this pseudo-kin's impending
return has soured my mood a bit, turning my
thoughts dark. My foul mood reminds me I need
to write about the only smudge on this almost
perfect visit. I guess I really shouldn't
label this a bad thing, but it did send a
shock through Scully and me. Since Christmas
morning, I haven't found the nerve to even
glance at what is inside that small blue box.
Mulder's gift to me is packed away in my
suitcase. I doubt I'll ever want to wear it.
I know, that is a horrible thing to say about
something he gave to me with such pride and
love.  I'd never admit to him that I feel
this way about his present. I'll take THIS
secret to my grave.

Mulder did every bit of his shopping this
year on his own. It's a fact he is very proud
of, and it is quite an achievement.  The
thought of venturing into a mall filled with
last minute pre-holiday gift buyers with an
entire list of Christmas shopping is enough
to make me burn my Visa. And I am fully
sighted and didn't suffer an ICH a little
over a year ago. The man should get a medal
for bravery and be written up in Guinness for
this accomplishment.

Mulder's memory is still spotty in parts and
he didn't remember that he had once bought
Scully the identical bracelet he presented to
me on Christmas morning. When I opened the
beautifully wrapped box and saw the delicate,
finely crafted Guardian's Knot gleaming amid
the soft cloud of cotton batting, a chill
went up my spine. I had to force myself to
take it from its place so it could receive
the ritual ohhs and ahhs from my friends.

Maggie recognized the familiar design that
her daughter had worn so proudly, however,
she politely refrained from mentioning
Mulder's faux pas. Scully has never told her
mother the full story of what happened in
Central America, so this was nothing more
that a slight social blunder. Mulder was a
man, and Maggie had been raised to be
tolerant of the masculine gender's lack of
gift buying skills. How would he know one
should never give the same gift twice,
especially not to two women who know each
other.

"It means forever, Kami," Mulder proclaimed
with a happy grin, not realizing the
disturbing memories connected to that
particular type of Celtic jewelry. Forever
had not been very long at all for his last
Guardian Knot.

I caught sight of Scully as her face paled. I
couldn't help my sudden shiver at seeing my
own dread was mirrored in her eyes.

End 2-3b/?
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
Wellington Colorado
 

The problem with putting our idols high upon
a pedestal is that unless the base is set on
solid ground, even the most steady of stands
will tumble; the higher anything is placed,
the harder it will hit the ground when it
falls.

*****

Kami was right, the progress I made from
August to December was pretty amazing.
Physically and mentally, I'd recovered by
leaps and bounds, but emotionally I had
regained only about as much control as an
eight year old child. I thought I had found a
father to replace the one who left me almost
30 years ago. Hardly a fair position to put a
man in, who, at most, could chronologically
only qualify as an older brother, but S.A.
Wagner did fit the image of the perfect
patriarch that I'd formed during my youth.

My dream dad had always been the archetypal
man of the old west (Colorado), silver
haired, tall, broad shoulders, who sat tall
in the saddle. He was a strong, but gentle
man.  He had raised his motherless children
alone - - (Kami and the 'adopted son' who
lived back east, that I had never met). My
fantasy father was kind and always ready to
help those in need (a jobless, homeless woman
and a blind, cripple).  Top everything off
with the fact Wagner lived on a huge spread,
that had once been a ranch.  Well, the man
was just lucky I hadn't started calling him
'Pa'.

Seriously, there's little wonder, after my
rebirth, I longed for the guidance and
security that one looks to a father to
provide. S.A.Wagner, robbed of his son so
many years before, accepted the role with a
gracious kindness that showed a heart as big
as the Colorado skies.

Like all families, my selection of kin by
choice had a few secrets hidden in his
closet. Sadly, Wagner hadn't just kept these
skeletons locked away from the outside world.
Scully and I were also among those he'd kept
'in the dark'. My new found, surrogate
father's hidden truths were revealed by the
arrival of that mysterious, somewhat prodigal
son.  Alex Krycek visited Wagner that late
December day, and afterwards nothing in any
of our lives was ever the same. Once exposed,
the bright light of truth can't be squelched.
Like the promised Biblical Armageddon, that
shining heat set off a blaze which would soon
consume the world.

End Tape
-WSS-
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
December 29, 2001
Sky Watch Bed & Breakfast
 
 

I feel as though I'm trapped in a nightmare.
I'm stumbling about, desperately seeking to
discover what is truly real and what is my
own self-deluding fantasy. I'm afraid that
might be everything. My life has been nothing
more than a gossamer thin facade and
everything I allowed myself to believe during
these past 2-1/2 years is nothing more than
lies.

I have to laugh.  It is bitter, and filled
with self-contempt.  I have let myself play
the fool for so very long. So many times,
both Mulder and I experienced moments when
the nagging doubts about our living situation
would squirm free from where we had them so
tightly bound. It was only our earnest tag
team effort at denial that has kept them
sequestered for this long. Looking back in
painful disbelief, I see our struggles as a
mad dance to avoid the truth, where we each
took the lead in turn, frantically trying to
stay safe in a haven built of comfortable
illusion. First Mulder then I, would put
forth that one question, but always we would
stop short. It seems we never really wanted
to hear the answer.

"Why does Wagner want us here?"

We covered our benefactor's purpose in a
cloak we ourselves made for him by accepting
every glibly uttered half truth and seemingly
sincere deception he put before us. I blame
myself for what promises to be our downfall.
Truthfully, how can Mulder be held
accountable for this?  I won't allow myself
to escape my culpability by using the excuse
of distracted concern over his injuries and
illnesses. However, admission and acceptance
of guilt won't rectify the situation. I have
to discover what is actually happening here;
unfortunately, the only way I see to
accomplish this task is by direct
confrontation.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

"There is frequently heard a loud noise like
thunder, which makes the earth tremble,
[Indians] state that they seldom go there
because [their] children cannot sleep - and
conceive it possessed of spirits, who were
adverse that men should be near them."
William Clark - 1806 Journals
 

S.A. WAGNER CONVERSATION
DECEMBER 30, 2001 -TAPE 1
S.A.Wagner, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully
Recorded at Sky Watch Bed & Breakfast
Wellington, Colorado
Subjects: Sky Watch, Roswell, C.G.B. Spender
 

(Tape On).

SCULLY - Good idea, keep it running.

S.A.WAGNER - (Laughs).  I wouldn't have it
any other way, Scully. Get Mulder's recorder
set up. Never hurts to have a backup. Oh,
(laughs) I guess you already have that
covered, huh?

MULDER - (Impatient anger).  Just get on with
it.

SCULLY - You called us in here. Just say what
you have to say.

MULDER - Lay some more lies on us, Wagner.

WAGNER - I never lied, Mulder. I kept things
from you. I've covered things up. But you
were never lied to.

(Long pause).

You can either sit here now and listen to
everything I need to tell you or come back
for the tape. I'm probably going to be here
most of the night getting this all out, but I
have a lot to explain...

MULDER - No shit...

SCULLY - Shut up, Mulder. Let him talk.

MULDER - (Barely audible).  Fuck this...

(Long pause. Mulder and Scully have left the
room but the tape is left running).

SCULLY - (Out of breath upon her return). You
know how you've hurt him? (Pause). Okay,
here's his recorder, I'll make sure he hears
what you have to say.  Speak right into the
mike.

WAGNER - (Sigh). You're staying?

SCULLY - I like a good story.

WAGNER - I can promise a long story, Scully.
But it's a true story, like I told Mulder, I
don't lie.

SCULLY - Just tell it, Wagner.

WAGNER - All right (pause). Ever hear of the
Piute Ridge Grasslands?

SCULLY - Yeah, I think it's a national
wildlife reserve not far from here, isn't it?

WAGNER - About 20 miles northeast and yes,
it's being run as a high plains eco-system
project. The government bought that land from
my father the year I was born, 1946.  I guess
that's when my STORY starts. Mid-August of
that year dad was out near the the butte that
overlooks the north side of the area. He was
checking out what was left of a shack.  It
was one of the last of the old line camps
left from back in the days when Sky Watch
used to run cattle there on the grasslands.
He'd heard from an old hand that lived just
south of the place that some kids from town
had been out there and according to the
retired cowboy, "they wuz liquored up and out
doin' no good." He was right, the ancient
outbuilding had been completely destroyed.

Dad told me the vandalism had made him sick.
He felt like driving back to town and kicking
some young ass. The boys had destroyed part
of my family's heritage. A piece of history
was lost to a night of drunken fun and games.
Now, my father wasn't a violent man.  So he
decided a walk might get rid of some of his
anger. He hiked out across the plain and had
almost made it to the base of the ridge when
he spotted the lights. You've got to
remember, this was 1946 and Alexander Wagner
was a no nonsense, feet on the ground sort of
man. I doubt, before that warm summer night,
when he had gazed up at the stars, he would
have even considered wondering if perhaps
someone or something might be looking back. I
could be wrong, of course, but I don't
believe I am.

It was exactly eighteen minutes from the time
my father first noticed the bright object on
the horizon, until it set down on the rocky
shelf above him.  That's what I mean about no
nonsense. The man actually had the presence
of mind to time this amazing vision. You can
bet, if he'd had his camera, there would be
clear, perfectly focused, documented proof of
alien visitation.  As sure as his hands were,
he couldn't have taken one of those blurry,
maybe it is, maybe it isn't, pictures that
the UFOologists display with such pride. Not
my father.

The moment he saw the massive craft disappear
overhead, he knew he'd seen enough. He'd just
made it to our old Ford truck when a dull
thud shook the ground, reverberating through
the leather soles of his boots. He glanced
over to the distant butte and made note of
where the strange object had set down.  Then,
scrambling into his seat, he raced off to
inform the authorities. He felt this was his
duty as an American.

My father first told me the truth when I was
fourteen, though I'd dogged him with
questions about the place my entire life. The
legends surrounding Piute Ridge had been told
to the first white explorers, along with
tales of the land to the north that breathed
fire. When Clark's man, Colter, explored
Yellowstone in 1808, one set of legends was
explained. The strange things that go on at
Piute Ridge would probably still be nothing
more than folklore if those kids had just
stayed sober. Sort of amazing to think about
how different my life might be right now if
one of those teenagers had just said no
(laughs).

The stretch of tall-grassed plain that lay
beneath the dark, maroon colored ridge was
once considered to be sacred ground by the
Piute and Pawnee. It was feared, too. The
local Native Americans would never cross that
lush, fertile land. It was a haunted place of
lights and frightening gods who would carry
anyone away who was foolish enough to venture
there.

You could still hear the stories about the
lights while I was growing up.  People would
always question me about what had happened
there, that first year after the war, when my
father had sold off our land to the
government. To dad, what he had done when
he'd turned the matter and our property over
to the military had been necessary for the
security of our country. He'd never breathed
a word to anyone about what had gone on.
Loose lips sink ships. But when he thought I
was old enough to keep a secret, he told me
everything.

Scully, you have to know about the time I
grew up in to really understand my
relationship with my father AND what led me
to do what I did later. I loved my dad but
his ideas of  "America - love it or leave it"
never sat right with my generation's
consciousness. We were the children that were
going to change the world. President Kennedy
had challenged us to be the standard bearers.
He told us WE could change the world.

When dad told me his secret, that the
mysterious lights at Piute Ridge were
visitations from aliens, and he'd been sworn
to secrecy by our government, I was full of
indignation that my own father was allowing
the truth to be covered up. I called him a
hypocrite. He ranted and raved constantly
about the oppressive spread of Communism and
how the atrocities Stalin had committed in
Russia were kept secret from the 'free'
world.  Yet he believed it was right to keep
the people of this country in the dark about
what their military was doing in our own back
yard. On land that we had previously owned.

It got so we couldn't say two words to each
other without one of us getting angry over
what the other had said. I don't know, but if
it hadn't been dad caving in to the military,
I probably would've found something else to
argue with him about. Kids always have to
have something to rebel against, some way to
prove they're different than their parents.

I stewed for two years over what had happened
at Piute Ridge. It all came to a head the
Summer of 1963. I got to go to Washington, DC
because I was the president of Wellington
High's Honor Society my senior year. It was
Mary Scott, my vice-president and I, plus
Coach Ridgely and his wife as chaperones, who
made the trip. I felt this was my chance to
uncover everything I needed to know about
what was really happening at Piute Ridge. I'd
laid some ground work with an organization
I'd written to about buying information. For
a price, I could get proof that the American
public was being lied to and oppressed just
as much as all the communist countries dad
obsessed over.

I'd learned early that my family's fortune
was an easy way to get doors to open. You
know, I can tell by your expression, Scully,
what I just said didn't sit too well with
you. It's a fact of life, you know?

SCULLY - Yeah, selling our country's secrets
to the highest bidder, nothing wrong with
that!  Having secrets is wrong in the first
place. Bet your mercenary pen pals only sold
their product to people like you, good, loyal
Americans.  I just wonder how you were able
to justify doing what you did. Your father
only did what he truly believed to be his
duty.

WAGNER - You're right, I know. My Father
might have been a blind, patriotic fool, but
I know he never had to hide behind his
beliefs to justify his actions. You don't
know how many times I've wished I'd never
started this self-righteous quest. I paid for
the truth all right, the price was my
father's trust, my Anna's life...The truth
has cost me everyone I've ever loved.  Well,
everyone except Kami (long pause).

 Still, there's a chance that I might have
bought us all a future. Look, just let me
tell my story.  I know it's long, but when I
get to the end maybe you'll understand why
the truth just might be the only thing
that'll save any of us.

end
4a/?
 

<><><><><><>
Chapter 4 (cont.)
<><><><><><>

Like I said, I'd been setting this up for
over a year. I'd sent over $1,000.00 to the
contact I'd discovered in, of all places, a
John Birch Society news letter. Before you
ask, that money was really mine. I didn't
sell my dad out behind his back. I'd had my
own bank account since I sold my first spring
lamb at the county fair when I was eight.
That grand was my life's savings. It was the
profit plus interest from every animal I
raised for ten years, but it bought me what I
wanted to know. Hell, it bought me MORE than
I wanted to know.

You haven't said anything, but I know what
you're thinking and you're right. Thank you
for not laughing, Scully. It was pretty
naive, but kid's were young a lot longer back
then. I didn't realize that secrets like I
wanted to know weren't actually bought for
such a paltry sum. I didn't know I'd caught
someone's eye and was getting a bargain of a
lifetime.

I was supposed to get my information on the
steps of the Lincoln memorial in broad
daylight. I never even saw the person's face,
he just passed by me and suddenly there was a
book bag in my hand. Not even a brief case. I
remember being kind of perturbed because I
was a little old to be carrying a book bag,
but I'd read enough Ian Fleming to know that
after the drop off you just keep moving.

I got back to our hotel room without Coach
Ridgely knowing I'd left. Mary and I weren't
due to meet up with him and his wife for the
tour of landmarks 'til noon. I slipped in and
after locking the door, I tore into the
satchel. It was the wrong information. I
looked through that file, my first file, and
my hands began to shake. I was seeing proof
of something that I knew was probably going
to get me killed. I was going to be dead at
seventeen, and it was over information I
didn't even want.

SCULLY - What? It wasn't the file on UFOs?
What happened?

WAGNER - Well, apparently, the file I was
supposed to get got intercepted and this file
was my protection. I didn't know this at the
time, but I had made a friend somewhere and
this person knew I had to be taught a few
things, like how to cover my ass. There was a
note written on the manila folder that told
me I had to do something to protect myself.
Somebody already knew I wanted information I
wasn't supposed to have, and it wouldn't take
them long to figure out that I h