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

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K SCULLY
January 4, 2002,
Wellington, Colorado

It has been a long, tiring two days for both
Mulder and me and I'm so very glad to be
home. Even while he's soundly sleeping, one
glance at his face shows the strain he
suffered listening to his mother's lengthy,
disjointed tale. Still, I believe knowing is
better. Knowing has to be better than
wondering, right?

The trip seemed worse because after we
returned home this evening, he suffered his
first seizure in nine months. It was a Grand
Mal, but the duration was only just over two
minutes. He actually recognized the onset by
an aura and was prepared for it. I walked out
of the shower and found him lying on the bed.
He was about to explain what was happening
when it struck. Afterwards, he was able to
recall the sensations he experienced just
preceding the episode and related them to me.
So finally, we just might have a warning of
these brain storms if, and when, he has
another.

Mulder was still deeply upset that he
convulsed; he has been taking his medication
religiously. I tried to comfort him by
explaining that the episode was most likely
triggered by the strain of the trip, and
having to deal with his mother and all she'd
told him. I even attempted to placate him by
mentioning that he should be pleased he has
learned to catch the telltale harbinger of an
impending seizure by the aura, but he was
just too depressed to listen. His head was
pounding, his body sore from the spasms and
the tiredness was overwhelming. He didn't
care to hear the 'good news'. All that
matters to him is he suffers from post brain
injury induced epilepsy, and probably will
for the rest of his life.

He will most likely sleep throughout the
night so I thought I'd use this time to go
over the tapes we made with his mother.  I'll
see if I can transcribe them. Perhaps with a
bit of  "color commentary", and a lot of
luck, we just might get a cohesive story out
of the rambling remembrances.

*****

We arrived at Teena Mulder's residence
early.  We had rented a car and come straight
from the airport. Mulder seemed in good
spirits, perhaps a bit nervous. Not having
seen his mother in three years would have
been more than enough reason for his
nervousness.  I reached over as we strolled
up the walk and took his hand. The slight
squeeze I felt in return was my
acknowledgment and thanks. I watched the
flash of white teeth begin to worry that full
bottom lip, his habit when he's nervous. It
was just further proof that this homecoming
wasn't something he looked forward to or
particularly wanted.

(Speaking of homecomings, I am going to have
to take the time to watch Nick at Night. My
knowledge of seventies television is sorely
lacking, and between Mulder and Wagner I'm at
a decided disadvantage at understanding their
coded references to the pop culture trivia of
that time. I know it has something to do with
some television show, but why did Mulder
laugh when Mr. Wagner yelled out as we
boarded our plane, "Good-bye, John Boy")?

I was a bit taken aback when Teena Mulder
answered the door. I had not seen the woman
in over three years and time has not been
kind to her. It seems that her excuses of
failing health have been truthful. She was no
longer the stately queen I remembered, but a
frail, elderly dowager who began to sob when
she saw her son.

Mulder actually is in fairly good health now,
and the aftereffects of his injuries and
illnesses are not THAT noticeable. Well,
perhaps they are to a mother who had not seen
her son in almost half a decade. Though the
scars on his face are gone, the fact that
he's missing his left eye is plain to see. He
wears a patch to cover the smooth skin that
is all that remains of the empty socket. When
he walks there is a noticeable limp. His
right side is still weak, and he tends to
hold that arm close to his body, a telltale
sign of his hemiplegia. Mulder is forty now,
and his dark hair IS streaked with gray.
Still, I find the silver strands strikingly
handsome. Even with all he has suffered, the
lines of age have not so much attacked his
countenance but defined it. If I were only so
lucky to be aging as well as Fox Mulder. I
hate admitting what gravity and the years are
doing to me.

Mulder's response to his mother's tearful
fawning over what had happened to him was a
thinly masked irritation. As time went on her
constant reminder of how he had changed began
to take its toll, and wore him down. It got
to me, too. By the end of this session, all
three of us were emotionally exhausted. That
we even returned the next day to finish up
the interview shows just how much courage my
partner has, and what finding the truth means
to him.

Between the two of us we finally were able to
get Teena into the living room, and on the
right track. We told her what we wanted.
After informing her we were recording the
interview, we began --
 

KRISTENA ELIZABETH KUIPERS MULDER
CONVERSATION - TAPE 1
JANUARY 2, 2002
Teena Mulder, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully,
Greenwich, Connecticut
 

TEENA - It was January of 1961 when the tests
began. I was the first one to "take," so we
called the baby Adam. The visitors knew from
the start he was a boy. They, of course,
planned it that way. Since I was the first,
my test was the simplest, and I was the only
in vitro, human ovum/hybrid recipient to make
it full term. I don't think this was the test
they did on Jackie Kennedy. Was it? (She
pauses as though she expects an answer from
us to this odd question. When none is
forthcoming she sighs, then continues). Well,
I don't think it was. Her baby lived a few
days, and she always said that Jack's DNA was
in the child. So it couldn't have been like
my test, could it? Because Adam had nothing
of Bill in him. (She stops and looks deep
into Mulder's eye. He can't see in the dim
light of the living room, but he knows she
believes she has made visual contact with
him.  He stares at her intently, trying to
make out her expression. Teena grips her
son's hand as she speaks). Neither do you,
Fox. The visitors did all kind of tests,
trying to figure out where you came from.
They never did find out for sure, but they
knew it wasn't from Bill Mulder.

(Mulder digests this information silently as
he slips his hand from her grasp. I have no
idea what she is talking about so the first
round of questioning begins. Thankfully, this
time she is lucid in her replies).

SCULLY - Mrs. Mulder, let me see if I
understand you. In January of 1961 you were
impregnated by the "visitors". THEY used your
ovum and somehow by bioengineering they
implanted 2 fetuses into you...

TEENA - No, one baby. They only put Adam in
me. There was only one baby at first.

(The implication of what she is saying chills
me. I glanced at Mulder and his face is
deathly pale. I fear he might have a seizure
at hearing this news).

SCULLY - You mean Mulder and Adam were
identical twins? (I don't know how I got that
sentence out. I'm surprised I was able to
respond as quickly as I did). Mulder is an
alien/human hybrid?

TEENA - (Laughing) No, of course not. Fox is
entirely human.

(She reaches over and pats her son's hand.
Mulder allows her this motherly gesture, but
his face has taken on a grayish cast that
frightens me).

MULDER - Mom, how can this be? You're not
making sense here. (His words are fluid, no
sign of aphasia. I am so proud of him. But
they are spoken in a voice that is breathless
and reed thin with strain).  If THEY
implanted only one fetus, and two were born,
then the babies were identical twins.
Identical, Mom. If the fetus they implanted
was an alien/human hybrid, the second baby,
the twin, would have to be, too.
 

TEENA - Fox William Mulder, I'm not ignorant.
I know what the term 'identical twins' means.
When they discovered you, the second fetus,
that September, THEY were astounded. THEY
couldn't believe they had missed seeing you
for so long. THEY were so much more advanced
than we were, yet nature could still play
tricks on THEM. Fox, you were my miracle from
the start.

(This time Mulder grimaces at the squeeze she
gives his hand, but I don't believe Teena
notices).

SCULLY - So you were well into your third
trimester when you discovered you were
carrying twins? The "visitors" apparently had
some type of equipment that disclosed this...

TEENA - Well, that, and the fact one day in
my eighth month I suddenly just got utterly
HUGE. All in all, though, it wasn't an
extremely uncomfortable pregnancy.  (She
pauses and glances at me. I know she's read
the disbelief in my face). Ms. Scully, I
assure you I am telling the truth, and I do
know what I'm talking about. I might remind
you, children usually get their intelligence
from their mother's side and Fox is MY son.
The visitor's proved that with all their
testing. They just couldn't figure out who
his father could have been. I believe they
tested half of the east coast, from the
president down to our gardener and never
found a DNA match. What I'm telling you is
this - In late January, THEY took one of my
ova and through their superior knowledge,
fertilized a zygote which THEY implanted in
me. In late September, a second fetus was
found in my womb. When I came to term,
October 13, 1961, I delivered two babies via
cesarean section. One, which THEY had named
Adam, lived less than a day. THEY wouldn't
even let me hold him. I only saw him through
the glass, where they took him. When he
succumbed, he turned into this green sludge.
We were not even left a body to bury.

The second child I named Fox William. He was
my son. Mine. I'm the only tie you have here
on earth, Fox.  You knew that when you were a
baby. That's why you spoke to me the moment I
first held you. We had that connection, Ms.
Scully. I knew my Fox was special from the
very beginning. I could hear him in my head.
I didn't tell anyone at the start, and when I
finally did, when he was three, that's when
they took him from me. That's when I lost
you, Fox.

(Teena Mulder begins to sob at this point and
her son leaves, returning with a glass of
water. Mulder offers her a shoulder to cry
on. He grabs the hand I place on his own
shoulder in comfort, and lightly kisses my
palm, letting me know he is grateful I'm
there for him. We leave the tape running, but
nothing more is said about the past until
after lunch, when we finally get the woman
back on the subject of Mulder's history. The
respite seems to have helped, and once again
she picks up the story, almost exactly where
she left off).

TEENA - I don't know if carrying Adam
"unhinged" me. That seems to be what the
general consensus was at the time. I kept
knowledge of Fox's gifts to myself, not even
telling Bill about them. Especially not
telling Bill. You knew, you sensed, Fox, that
you should only let me see just how amazing a
child you were. Oh, you were being watched
closely, by humans and aliens, but all they
saw was a toddler that was exceptionally
bright, extremely precocious, and somewhat
advanced for his age. You knew just when to
let it be known you could walk and talk.
Early, but not too early.  Seven months
wasn't terribly young. Eyebrows were raised
when you began to read at a little over two
years of age, but it wasn't you who let our
secret out. It was me.  I have only myself to
blame.

Things weren't going too well with their
little "project". The still births and
"un-viable results" were adding up. What
happened with Adam and Fox told them that God
considered their tests an abomination, but
still they continued. I do believe they
created a few monsters with their mad little
experiments. And what it did to the women
varied so, they never knew whether to have a
straight jacket ready or if a bullet to the
brain would have been more merciful. Maybe it
WAS the strain of having Adam or maybe it was
trying to hide the ever increasing mental
faculties of my miracle child. Regardless, my
slip up was so simple it bordered on lunacy.
I let my three year old son read the New York
Times and he made an off-handed, not very
child-like, disparaging remark about the
Warren Commission to his "father". How do
they say it in the movies? The "jig" was up!
They were on to us.

I didn't know it at the time, but Bill called
in Spender to do the dirty work. I was taken
away and it was February of 1965 before I
came back to the real world. It seems that I
had been involved in a car accident and my
precious baby boy had been almost killed. He
was just now coming out of the coma, but
sadly, he was severely brain damaged. The
strange thing was, I'd never driven a car in
my life.  You were never the same after that,
Fox.

Bill came to the hospital, and informed me
that I would be going home soon. I asked him
if I'd been injured in this "accident".  He
told me, "No, only the boy." Apparently, I'd
suffered a breakdown, and I was now in a
psychiatric hospital. I had been since the
"accident", three months before. I told him I
wanted to see my son. Bill assured me I
would, next week when I went home. I didn't
say a word; I was afraid to argue. I was
afraid to fight. When I realized what they'd
done to you, I knew there was no hope. I
stopped fighting back. I stopped caring. I
conceived Samantha that month. She wasn't
Bill's child, either. The only comfort I
found was in the arms of the man who did this
to my son. I didn't know, Fox. Spender was
Samantha's father. But I didn't know he was
the one who hurt you.

(Mulder is sitting at her side, on the arm of
her chair. He has his back to his mother as
she says these words. I see him stiffen, and
a shudder runs through him. But he never
turns to face us. Teena Mulder glances at me,
a plea for understanding. I can't help her.
The interview ends for the day. Mulder and I
murmur our good-byes, but the woman doesn't
utter another word. She simply slumps in her
chair, her eyes haunted, lost in the past).

-DKS-
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
January 5, 2002,
Wellington, Colorado
 

Mulder is still sleeping, and I do believe
he's coming down with something. He roused a
bit at daybreak, and I took his temperature.
It's a little over 100, so he just might be
fighting a bug of some kind on top of
fatigue. I'll finish my work here, and if
he's not better, I'll see if Dr. Raposa will
examine him.

That night, back at the motel, we talked over
what his mother had told us. Emotionally,
Mulder was spent. He was confused, angry,
hurt and frightened by what had been
revealed. The questions that had been raised
bothered us most. Teena Mulder insisted that
Mulder's paternity was a riddle that remained
unanswered to this day.

"Scully," Mulder sighed, pulling me close as
we lay in bed.  Sleep would not come even
though we both felt exhausted. "Why did I
have the feeling when she kept insisting that
I was her "miracle child" she was this close
to claiming I came from an "immaculate
conception" ?"

I smoothed his perpetually contrary bangs off
his high, unlined forehead. My chuckle was
uneasy at his bordering-on-blasphemous words.

"Well, she did say you just kind of
"appeared" in her womb," I agreed.

"I've had my parentage questioned a lot of
times in my life, but I've never been accused
of being a son of a deity," he grinned.

"We almost have to believe her, Mulder. I
mean, she admitted who Samantha's father
was."  My reply came without thinking, and I
instantly regretted it when his grin vanished
at the reminder of his sister's paternity.

"He'd told me that time at the diner that he
was her father," he murmured softly, his lips
close to my ear, head resting against my
shoulder. "But he tried to tell me that clone
he brought was really her. Scully, how do we
know what's true and what's a lie? Even with
my mother, is this all just more of their
lies? Or are they delusions? Delusions are
really big in my family, huh? Some forms of
insanity are hereditary. Like mother like
son."

I let my fingers play across the soft, warm
skin of his cheek, biting my lip at the
wetness that I found there. "Mulder, I don't
think what she told us were delusions, or
lies. I believe her."

His laugh was bitter, "I guess now we're
going to have to make it on the strength of
your beliefs. Mine are all worn out."

I let my lips brush his brow. "Well, you rest
then. It'll be my turn, okay? I'll just have
to find the truth that's out there."
 

I felt his embrace tighten around me, and I
drifted to sleep, praying I'll be able to
keep my promise.

end 6a/?
 

<><><><><><>
Chapter 6 (cont.)
<><><><><><>

The next morning Teena woke us and invited us
to breakfast at "the club". Mulder is not one
for dining out, and we wanted to keep his
public appearances to a minimum, so we
declined her offer. Instead, we grabbed
something for a brunch that we could take to
her house to share. She thought this "a
lovely idea." I ignored Mulder's grinning
suggestion of pizza, and after a stop at a
local deli we arrived at her door, arms laden
with a variety of sandwich works.

Teena shooed her son out of the kitchen, and
he retired to the living room where he
flipped on the television to some football
play-off game, leaving the two of us alone.

"Ms. Scully," she began, breaking the silence
just as we'd almost finished our meal
preparations. "There's a lot I need to tell
Fox today.  Do you think he'll be able to
handle what I have to say? Is he in good
enough health to hear all this? He's been
through so much; it hurts to see what he's
gone through. Does he have to hear what else
THEY've done to him, to his family, over the
years?"

I studied her face, and read true concern
there, but paused, wondering how to answer
her. I discarded my initial, bitter reaction,
of hot anger that she'd not been there for
him while he'd suffered through so much these
last few years. My heart melted at a glimpse
of the liquid pain in those eyes that were so
hauntingly familiar. Mulder had inherited his
mother's eyes. I remembered how I used to
look into those green, grey-flecked sea mist
reflections of his soul. I saw that Teena
Mulder's eyes mirrored what was in her heart
just like her son's once did. I miss getting
lost in his gaze.

"He has to know," I suddenly replied, not
knowing where the words were coming from, but
certain they were true. "You have to tell him
now. We can't wait for a better time. It has
to be now, because of what's coming. He has
to be ready."

Teena Mulder's whole body shook at hearing my
unexpected statement. She quickly nodded and
silently pushed through the swinging door,
carrying the pitcher of iced tea to the
adjoining dining room. Still stunned by the
odd reply that had poured out of me unbidden,
I grabbed for the tray of sandwiches but had
to stop a moment. I willed my hands to cease
their trembling, and my knees to have the
strength to support me.

I feel a force is driving us forward, on to
the future, and I'm frightened, because once
more, I'm just along for the ride. Mulder
might be the pilot, but I don't know who, or
what is navigating for us on this journey.  I
just hope it's the one to whom I'm directing
my prayers for our safety.
 

We ate, watched the Broncos finally win a
play-off game again, and put off the
inevitable for as long as we could, but at
last the recorders were once more in place
and switched on.
 

KRISTENA ELIZABETH KUIPERS MULDER
CONVERSATION - TAPE 2
JANUARY 3, 2002
Teena Mulder, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully,
Greenwich, Connecticut
 

TEENA - Fox, before I go any further, I want
to tell you about your father, about Bill
Mulder.

MULDER - You said he wasn't my father...

TEENA - Fox William, don't be difficult. He's
the only father you ever knew. (Mulder sighs,
but allows his mother to continue).  I
sometimes let my anger at the man's frailties
overshadow the fact that he was basically a
good, decent human being. And he did love you
children. Even if you weren't his blood, he
loved you.

MULDER - I loved the way he showed it, Mom.
Did he go to the same school of parenting as
Joan Crawford?

TEENA - Fox, he wasn't a strong man. When he
gave them Samantha, he couldn't face what
he'd done. That's why he drank.  His guilt
ate at him until it consumed him. Just listen
to me. Maybe you'll see why I can't hate the
man. I despised his weakness; I loathe what
he did, what he allowed to happen. But I
don't hate Bill Mulder. And I don't want you
to, either.

(I've never seen such disgust on Mulder's
face as he listens to his mother's speech,
and I can tell it is taking every bit of self
control he has to stay in the room. His hands
shake as he wipes at his face, trying to
banish anger, pain, all the emotions that war
inside of him. I am amazed at the strength he
is showing).

MULDER - (His sigh is weary and the strain
makes his voice break).  Just tell what you
have to tell, Mom. Don't worry about me. Just
go on with the story.

TEENA - (She is fighting back tears, but she
continues, speaking in a flat, emotionless
monotone. She chooses to focus on me as she
returns to her tale). I asked no questions; I
did just what I was told. A week to the day
after I "woke up", C.G.B. Spender showed up
at the "Hospital" to bring me home. I didn't
know the man, he simply showed up, introduced
himself as a friend of Bill's, and told me he
had been asked to help out. He explained,
claiming he wasn't sure of all the details,
only that Bill had gone to see about "our"
son's release from the special clinic in
Maryland where the child had spent the last
three months. He seemed a nice man, quietly
soft spoken and unassuming. A good Samaritan
and friend to my husband, who knew of our
family's tragedy and was extending a helping
hand.

I grasped the offered assistance without a
second thought. My only excuse to what
happened was I believed I'd found someone who
cared. Bill was gone that one night. Spender
left before his return the next morning.
Nothing was said, but I believe my husband
knew what had happened almost immediately.
Perhaps it was all part of some plan. I don't
know.

The "accident" had turned my son back into an
infant. Bill told me that he even had to
relearn to swallow, but the clinic where he'd
been taken specialized in treating traumatic
brain injuries.  With the right therapy, Fox
just might recover. At least, they all had
their stories straight. When I saw the thin,
frail shell that was left of my miracle
child, I cried. I looked for signs of what
had supposedly happened to my son. They'd
shaved his head; his baby fine ringlet's were
gone. In their place was a season's growth of
coarse brown hair. I noticed a faint,
straight scar just above his hairline. This
disappeared completely by the time his sister
was born.

Therapists who came to the house to work with
him were amazed at the progress he made that
summer. It was certainly a testimony to the
resilience of children. Fox was just like any
other normal child by spring of the next
year. He started kindergarten that fall. If
you hadn't known what had happened, you
wouldn't have thought him different from any
of the other 4 and 5 year olds there. I tried
not to remember. For the most part, I was
successful.

I have pictures, would you like to see them?

(I watch her in stunned silence as she
vanishes down the hallway toward the back of
the house. Mulder rises stiffly from his seat
and disappears in the same direction. Teena
returns moments later carrying a huge,
leather-bound book. She seems surprised when
she notices her son has left the room. With a
grin she eases beside me at the table, and
begins showing off the photographic memories
of her children. We are about a quarter of
the way into the scrapbook when Mulder
quietly returns to his seat).

Teena - Fox, if you want to join us, there's
room.

(I start at her polite offer, amazed that she
seems not to remember her son's vision
problems. Mulder's face is parchment white
and he smiles weakly).

MULDER - ( His tone is a soft, patient
murmur). That's okay, Mom, I've seen 'em all
before.

(Teena chuckles at his teasing truth. I don't
know how much more I can handle of this
surreal visit. Between shocking revelations,
high intensity emotions, and the mercurial
mental state of our hostess, I feel I am
stranded in some sort of nightmare dream
world. It is not quite over. There is more to
come. The pages continue to flip, interrupted
only by an occasional pause to lovingly study
the memories. Every so often, Teena slips in
a comment or asks Mulder a question to which
he wearily murmurs some reply she only half
hears. The routine stops when we reach the
shots of her son's 12th birthday).

TEENA - ...And here you are, here's Sam and
Nana. This was right before Nana died...

MULDER - (Mulder's head shoots up and he
straightens). That was October of 1973. We
stopped by the house on the lake after we
took Nana home. What happened there, Mom? You
remember now, don't you?

(His mother seems to shrink at his bitterly
spoken words and the Mulder Family Album
slams shut with a muffled clap. Time
stretches out forever while she silently
sits, head bowed, studying her hands that lie
clasped together atop the big, brown book.
Finally she looks up to stare at her son.
I've seen THAT look before, in Mulder's eyes.
Usually it had been directed at a person who
was always surrounded by a haze of smoke. For
once, I am grateful that my partner can't
see. I think he feels the heat, though).

MULDER - Finish your story, Mom.

TEENA - This is where it ends, isn't it?
Okay, Fox. I'll finish my story. Should I
start with the nice sweater Nana bought you?
Or later when we popped popcorn in the fire
place? Is this what you want to hear?

MULDER - Finish, Mom.
 

(Teena sighs and closes her eyes. The lids
look tissue paper thin to me, and her face
sags, a bit more on the right.  I try to
remember if that was the side her stroke
affected. She is so tired and frail.  I am
momentarily frightened I might be seeing the
early signs of another one. I can't recall
what affects had lingered after her last ICH.
Aphasia, but that usually would have left
facial paralysis...I'm still searching my
memory when she speaks).
 

TEENA - We'd known this was coming. Bill had
approached me the year before with their
group's plan. He asked me to choose. I was
supposed to pick which of my children to turn
over to that bastard. I knew the truth by
then, Fox. I knew what he had done. I was on
to him. But, smart as he thought he was, he
never suspected I was putting one over on
him. I'd played my role, the not to tightly
wrapped Teena Mulder, social butterfly. State
Department wife and premier hostess for
agency parties. But all the while I searched
for the truth.

God, I hated them for what they'd done to
you. To me. I couldn't love you. Either one
of you. I was afraid to let myself love my
babies. Not when they could take you from me
at any time. What would they do to you next
time, Fox? And Samantha? They'd made it so I
couldn't let myself care. By the time Bill
came to me with his plea for me to make a
choice, I'd discovered who had actually taken
you from me. I'd unmasked the devil. I knew
the experiments had taken a new twist. Once
I'd found that Bill was just a pawn in the
whole giant scheme of things, I could almost
forgive him. I began to learn of the group's
plan to try to survive the alien's takeover.
I agreed with Bill's quest. It meant a chance
for survival. I supported him in his work,
until I was told I had to donate one of my
children to the cause.

His 'honor' made him want me to choose
between you and your sister. I was your
mother by blood, so I should decide. I
refused. I think he decided on you, Fox,
because he didn't want me to think his choice
had been influenced by my being unfaithful to
him. But for some reason his judgment was
overruled. That's what we discovered that
night after you children had gone to bed.
Spender showed up to tell us that Samantha
would be the one taken. I assumed it was
Spender's way of getting back at me for
rebuking him after I'd exposed his deception.
The sheer extent of the man's evil nature is
only eclipsed by one thing. His ego. But I
was wrong about the reasons why I lost a
daughter and not a son.

MULDER - (His control is gone and the husky,
raw edge to his voice tells me just how close
his tears are to the surface). We heard you
arguing that night. I remember him being
there. Sam and I heard it all. She told me
she was afraid. (Mulder's turmoil at these
memories keeps him from hearing his mother's
statement about making an error in her
reasoning as to why Mulder had been spared. I
want to continue down this path, but his
anguished remembrances push my desires out of
my mind and I quickly hurry to his side. He
wraps both arms around my waist, pulling me
close). Scully, why can I remember this now?
It's like it happened yesterday. So much is
gone now. Why is that night there? It wasn't
before. Not this plain. Not all of it. That
was what I saw with the treatments. What I
wanted to see. I don't want to see it
anymore, Scully.

(He buries his face against my belly,
muffling his sobs in shame. I smooth his
thick, soft hair, biting back my own tears,
suddenly realizing that his sorrow has
finally been borne aloud. I find myself
wishing I could make the pain of this sensory
birth go away. I don't even recall Teena
being here until she places the glass of iced
tea in her son's hand. Her own eyes are full,
but a wisp of a smile tugs at her lips with
Mulder's murmured thank you. He drinks half
the glass in one gulp, and his expression of
sated pleasure makes me giggle.  Mulder's
chuckles are a bit less free but, at least,
the tension eases. I remember the direction
the story had started to travel and broach
the subject of Teena Mulder's mistake, as we
all take our places around the table).

SCULLY - Mrs. Mulder, how were you wrong?
Did Spender have another reason to choose
Sam? Could it have been he wanted to assure
his daughter was going to survive the
colonization, if the experiments they planned
worked?

TEENA - (Her laugh is bitter). That would
mean that Spender loved Samantha, wouldn't
it? Or at least, cared about someone other
than himself. You have to have a heart and a
soul to love, and that man has neither.

I lost my mind when they took Sam. We left
the house that night knowing it could happen
at anytime. That THEY could take my baby girl
from us. Maybe I just never believed THEY
were actually going to do it. I wallowed in
self-loathing pity, just like Bill. I stayed
wrapped up in myself for over a decade. I
knew what was happening in my absence, to my
marriage, to my husband. To my son. But it
wasn't until Fox went to England, that I
finally saw past my pain. I didn't hear from
my only child for four years. I was hurt and
angry. At first it was at this ungrateful ass
I raised. Then the truth hit me! I hadn't
been a parent to my child in years. Why
should he call? Why should he care? What had
I shown him?

I began to think about everything that had
happened, all the pain THEY caused me.  I
hated THEM for what THEY'd done. That led me
to the question. Just who was it I despised
so?  I needed to put a face to my rage. I
needed to discover the whole truth. I'd made
it my duty to find out exactly what was going
on. I decided in order to make sense of the
tragedy that my life had become, I should go
back to when everything had started to go
wrong, and track each step that had been
taken along the way.

I knew Spender had taken you from me. I knew
it was because it had finally been revealed
that you were becoming truly special. I'd
seen the fear in those around me at your
birth. The very fact that you existed
confused and frightened both humans and
aliens. That's why I tried to keep your
development a secret. I'd failed, and my
fears were realized. They took you from me.
They harmed you, and they tried to make it
look like an accident.

I believed before I'd realized the truth,
that it was me they were trying to fool. I
thought they'd destroyed your specialness,
then tried to cover it up with butcher shop,
brain surgery made to look like a car
accident. I never stopped to think that they
couldn't care less if I knew what they had
done to you. Finally, after all those years
of believing the lies, I asked myself the one
question that I should have asked first.

Why didn't they just kill you? I know the
answer, Fox. Dealing with a martyr to some
trumped up cause would have been simple
compared to the problems they've had in
dealing with you. They don't kill you, my
dear son, because the don't want to anger
your father, God.

End 6/b

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER SEVEN
<><><><><><><><><>
 
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
January 5, 2002
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

I have a call in to Dr. Raposa. Mulder is
ill.  His latest symptoms make me believe
that the fussy little boy we met on the trip
to Connecticut, who would only stop crying
while sitting in Mulder's lap, was fussy
because he was coming down with strep throat.

When Mulder woke just after noon, his fever
was up to 103.  I gave him some Ibuprofen. He
could hardly get the caplets down so I
checked his throat. It was not a pretty
sight.

I'm watching his fever closely for it just
might have been a hidden trigger to his
seizure. I don't remember Mulder feeling that
warm, but then I wasn't even thinking he was
sick, only stressed and tired. Looking back,
Mulder hasn't actually suffered any illnesses
where he has run a fever since a slight case
of pneumonia while he was in the ICU after
his gunshot injury. That must be some kind of
record for him. It's amazing. Could it be an
aspect of the self-healing power I'd never
considered or did Mulder's luck at not
catching a bug finally run out?

*****

The results are in and I was right, so it's
rest, antibiotics, fever reducers and fluids
for the next few days. The thought hit me
that it might be wise to call his mother to
make sure she wasn't infected with the virus,
but I'm getting no answer. I have no idea
what her routine is, so I don't know if not
being able to reach her weekday evenings is
the norm. The few times I've contacted her
since Mulder's problems began back in '99,
she was always home. The next time Mulder
wakes up I'll see if he knows of anyone who
might help me reach her.

We'd left her that evening in good spirits;
she and Mulder were sharing a warm embrace
just before he climbed into the rental. I
called before we caught the plane yesterday
because she seemed to grow a little fuzzy
there toward the end. I might as well finish
transcribing that last tape while I have a
chance. She could have mentioned something in
conversation that would give me a clue if she
had plans to be out of the house today. I
worry because I had concerns about her
health, and the possibility that the strain
we were putting her through could cause her
to suffer another stroke. I will call again
after I finish this.  I may wake Mulder if
she doesn't answer then and find out if he
knows who we might contact.

*****
 

"The first fully formed men to be created
were endowed with intelligence and they knew
everything in the world. When they looked
they would see everything that was around
them, and they constantly contemplated the
arch of the sky and the round face of the
earth. . .

Then the creator said: "You know everything
now, but your children . . . what are we
going to do with them? That their sight may
only reach what is near them, that they may
only see a small part of the face of the
earth. . . . Are they not by their nature
simple creatures, products of our hands? Do
they also have to be gods?" "

The POPOL-VUH of the Mayas-Quiche
 
 

KRISTENA ELIZABETH KUIPERS MULDER
CONVERSATION
JANUARY 3, 2002 - TAPE 2:
Teena Mulder, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully,
Greenwich, Connecticut
 

(Teena giggles. It sounds strange to hear
girlish laughter coming from this woman and
it's not simply because 'sixty something' is
too far removed from youth. My mother isn't
that much younger than Teena Mulder, and her
laughter always reminds me that age is just a
state of mind. I don't think Mulder's mother
was ever one to laugh so hard her underwear
was in danger. After announcing to Mulder
that his Father was the same Father I mention
when I cross myself, she not only gives a
chortle, but her cheeks take on the color of
an embarrassed teen. It has been a long,
exhausting two-day interview.  Mulder is too
tired to come up with a glib, smart ass
remark to cover his concern as to his
mother's mental stability).

MULDER: (His whispered queries are actually
plaintive pleas for reassurance that she's
sane). Please tell me you're joking. Please,
Mom?

TEENA: (Her face falls. She reaches out to
touch his hand in comfort). Oh, Fox, I'm
sorry. I forgot you've never been able to
read me. I was just trying to be clever.
You've always taken everything I say so
seriously.  I was being facetious.

What I was relaying is the irony that the
visitors, who are so superior, so above we
humans, still have the same beliefs that we
all were created by some omnipotent Heavenly
Father. They won't admit it, even to
themselves, but your existence can't be
explained any other way. You can't read those
expressionless faces of theirs, but
everything they've done in regard to dealing
with you proves that they believe you are an
act of God.

The child, the experiment that would have
been Adam, was meant to be a blending of
human and alien. Somehow, right before birth,
the fetus split in two -EXACTLY dividing into
one fully alien child, and one fully human
child. That doesn't happen in nature, even
after bioengineering. There ARE certain rules
of science that even they can't bend. That
cannot be broken. The only way they could
explain this mysterious, inexplicable
happening is that it was a miracle.

I found out that they still, shamefully,
secretly, but ultimately, truly believe that
we --both human and "Master Beings" alike,
were created by one supreme entity. They
reasoned that our creator didn't want our two
"races" to mix and even though it went
against their conviction that they are the
ultimate, superior life forms in this
universe, apparently, God feels we humans are
his chosen people...because Fox survived.
They've watched you, this unexplainable child
of the creator, and fear his wrath should
something happen to you.

Spender made up the story of the car
accident, not to hide what he did to you from
me, but from the visitors. He has tried every
way he can to discreetly get rid of you, but
has never succeeded. I think he's even
starting to believe what the aliens do,
because you keep rising from the dead, Fox. A
second coming in the second millennium. I'm
joking, son.

(Her wry grin is mirrored on her son's face).

So, actually, I guess you don't have a
father. Genetically, you came only from me.
Not a clone, of course, but from my essence.
>From my ovum and touched by something
divine. For a purpose.

(I believe if Mulder hadn't been so weary he
would have run from the room, at hearing his
mother's calmly uttered prophecy for his
future. Instead, he starts to laugh. His
harsh, bitter glee goes on a bit too long,
and I feel the need to calm him. His hand on
my arm, that I have wrapped around his chest,
is tight, almost painful. It's as though he
is grasping me tightly to hold on to his own
sanity).

MULDER: I don't believe you. (He speaks
softly, but his tone is raw).

TEENA: I think you do, Fox. I know Ms. Scully
does. I see it in her eyes (pause).  I'll
tell you what I believe is happening now.
It's getting past THIS old woman's bedtime
and it has been a long two days. I'm tired
(pause).

The visitors are here and like willful
children, they want something they can't
have. They've tinkered so much with
themselves that they no longer know what they
are. Everything that God put into us that
makes us human, the special gifts of the
ability to love, to laugh, to cry, to look
around in wonder, they've rid themselves of.
They thought those traits were useless
baggage, and concentrated instead on
cultivating the powers of the mind and
lengthening their lives. They wanted to be
gods. All powerful and immortal. They never
realized that the parts of themselves they so
thoughtlessly cast away were the traits our
Father most wanted to pass on to his
children.

Somehow, they know they've lost something,
Fox. They want it back, but they don't really
even know what it is. They feel their race is
dying. Not literally, like in the science
fiction literature (laughs). I don't think
they're here to use us as breeders to save a
dying race. But, they want what we have. Like
a jealous sibling, envious of the parents'
favored child.

You were put here to teach your brothers a
lesson. You're our only hope.

MULDER: (He has calmed a bit). Why do I feel
George Lucas should yell 'cut' about now?
Does Scully wind up being my sister here,
Mom?

(Teena seems puzzled, then a light comes on
as she makes the connection).

TEENA: (Smiles).  I only watched that movie
once, Fox William. You know I like my Science
Fiction pure, in novels.

MULDER: I know, Mom -- 'The movie is never as
good as the book'.

(I feel I'm lost during this exchange. Teena
Mulder's revelations have me stunned and I'm
listening to, but not really hearing, my
companion's banter, so my serious inquiries
call a halt to their light-hearted exchange).

SCULLY: What is he supposed to do? What can
we do? Mulder's supposed to stop these aliens
from taking over the world? This is crazy!

(Mother and son turn to face me at my place
behind Mulder's chair. Their expressions are
at first surprise over my sudden outburst
then, in unison, apprehension darkly clouds
their faces).

TEENA: I really don't know.  I just have this
feeling that somehow that's his purpose.
That's why Fox was born. I know you think
this is the demented rambling of a senile old
woman. Maybe I AM crazy; I've had an insane
life. I feel that Fox is a "wild card" in the
hand we humans were dealt, and I think that's
why the aliens fear him. I know there's a boy
out there that they fear, too. I don't know
his part in this either, but I'm sure you'll
run across him sooner or later, if you choose
to follow through with this.

SCULLY: I think we have met him. Gibson.

TEENA: Yes, I believe that is his name.

SCULLY: We think THEY have him. THEY've hurt
him, too.

TEENA: Oh, no.  That poor little boy
(pause).  But, you see they didn't kill him.
THEY're afraid to kill him. That just shows
you I might be right in my reasoning, doesn't
it?

(Both Mulder and I are lost in thought. I
know where my musings are heading, and
whether I want to believe it or not, I think
Mulder's mother is right).

MULDER: (He finally breaks the silence. His
voice is low and sounds as old as time
itself).  What do you think I should do, Mom?

TEENA: (Sigh) Fox, I know you've found your
gifts. Try to develop them. They might not
save "us" in the end, but I think you were
given powers that will at least keep you
alive until you find out what you need to do.
Allen Wagner will be able to tell you more
about who the enemy is. That will help, too.
Still, I think you need to go to the source
to really find out what is happening.

MULDER: You mean confront the aliens?

TEENA: (A slight, very Mulder-like grin
teases her lips).  No, son. I'm telling you,
you need to pray. I think somebody up there
likes you and might help if you'd just give
Him a chance.

( Tape ends)

-DKS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
Wellington, Colorado
 

My mother's smiles were rare.  I always felt
I had to earn them. Was this wrong? How can I
say? She was the only mother I had. I simply
know for a brief glimpse of her upturned
lips, her eyes glowing warm like some light
shimmering beneath a sea, I would have done
anything she asked. Because they were so
infrequent, I treasure each one I captured in
my memory, savoring the knowledge that I'd
been given something that she only bestowed
on those she considered worthy. What could be
so wrong with that?
 
 
 

Tape End
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

FROM THE PEN OF -
DANA K. SCULLY
January 25, 2002
Wellington, Colorado
 

Well, over two weeks have passed since I've
found the time to record my thoughts in this
chronicle. So much has transpired and the
emotions of everyone concerned have run at
such a fevered pitch.  The days have just
sped by, blurring together so I hope I can
make a lucid, logical account of them here. I
feel the need to at least write an epitaph to
a woman who touched so many lives, but had
too few left who care enough to mourn her
passing.

The evening of the January 4th, Teena Mulder
contacted Jerome Phillips, her attorney and
old family friend, to schedule a meeting the
following day. She wanted to set up some sort
of trust fund to assure that after her death,
her son would be taken care of should his
disabilities incapacitate him. An appointment
had been made at the counselor's downtown
office for 4:45 P.M. the afternoon of the
5th.

When the hour passed without word from his
long time, unfailingly punctual client, Mr.
Phillips became concerned. After several vain
attempts at telephone contact, the
prestigious attorney had driven out to Teena
Mulder's home. One look at the house,
silently dark on that cold winter's evening,
convinced him something was wrong. Jerome's
unanswered knocks and gut feeling of dread
left him little choice as to how to proceed.
Ever cautious, the man placed a call to local
law enforcement asking for some available
officer to accompany him in entering the home
to check on the elderly woman.

His wait was less than an hour, and with two
young patrolmen at his side, Mr. Phillips
repeatedly knocked loudly on the front door.
When the pounding  went unheeded, the officer
searched for a less direct entry into the
home, finally settling on jimmying the
kitchen door lock. Teena Mulder's body was
discovered in her bedroom. She was dressed
for sleep.  No lights were on anywhere in the
house.

Later that evening Mr. Phillips called to
notify her son of  his mother's  passing. I
took the call and was told the initial
findings at the scene were pointing to death
by unnatural causes. The preliminary cause of
death appeared to be an overdose of an
undetermined substance combined with alcohol.
Memories of Mr. Wagner's tale instantly
played across my mind. It was 8:00 P.M., and
I had just finished listening to the last of
Teena's interview tapes. I'd gone to grab
something to drink before completing my task.
I decided not to transcribe the last hour of
the recording because it was mostly small
talk. I'd planned on copying what I have in
here, then submitting it to Wagner for entry
in his files. I've yet to do that, but it
will have to wait. I have too much on my mind
right now.

Jerome Phillips was extremely helpful for he
had detailed knowledge of his client's
affairs. He asked who I was and immediately
recognized my name. I believe Mrs. Mulder had
told him I was Mulder's "primary
care-giver/nurse".  I didn't correct him.
Though my thoughts were in turmoil from
shock, I still had enough wits about me to
realize that maintaining the fallacy that
Mulder had not recovered from the ICH was
very much in our best interest. I also
informed the man that I was legally able to
handle all of Mulder's affairs which was
true. I'd assumed that task when I first came
to Colorado in 1999, and we'd never
officially changed anything.

I scribbled down the information Mr. Phillips
gave me as to where the body was taken, what
funeral home would claim it after the
autopsy, his phone number and address. I
numbly accepted his condolences, and agreed
to call him back when my plans, as to taking
care of the necessary family business, were
finalized. I hung up the phone, feeling oddly
disconnected from reality. I knew I needed to
go back to the bedroom to tell Mulder the
tragic news, but my body just didn't seem to
want to function.

 Mulder had laughed that last night in
Connecticut, when we had discussed his
mother's beliefs about his destiny. We'd made
love, long and slow, our weariness replacing
the heated rush of passion with something
more akin to relaxing comfort. Afterwards,
there was whispered conversation. I rested
against his chest, warm and safe in his
embrace.  He had convinced me of the
absurdity of Teena's claims. Mulder had
assured me the role of savior wasn't one he
felt he was suited to or particularly wanted.

Standing there in the kitchen, two short days
later, I feared that perhaps our destiny was
no longer ours to control. That somehow we
were now caught up in some grander scheme
that had been preordained long ago.  In my
mind's eye, a scene played out, over and
over. It was the image of dominoes falling,
one by one, clicking forward to create an
intricate design. The vision seemed
terrifyingly prophetic and frighteningly
unstoppable. With a sigh, I went to awaken
Mulder, flipping off the light as I exited
the kitchen. The sound echoed in the
darkness. It was a loud, haunting click.

End 7a
 

<><><><><><>
Chapter 7 (cont.)
<><><><><><>

The antibiotics had yet to start working.
Less than eight hours was hardly enough time
for this scientific "magic bullet"  to
effectively slay the beast - streptococcus.
Mulder was still very ill when I told him of
his mother's death. It might have been a
blessing.  Even if he hadn't been so sick,
Wagner and I would have tried to convince him
that an appearance at his mother's funeral
would be a public announcement that he was
not the brain damaged invalid we wished our
enemies to believe him to be. As it was, he
was only able to offer a weak, token protest
that I was making the journey back to
Connecticut alone.

We really didn't even get to talk until I
returned, three days later, on the 9th.
Before I left, he barely aroused to take his
medication. Upon my return, he confessed that
he hadn't even realized I was gone until the
day I came home. I was grateful for this
knowledge. I had fretted over the thought of
him having to face his grief alone the entire
time I'd been gone.

The trip was uneventful except for two
occurrences, both reminders that Teena
Mulder's life had been far from mainstream.
Why would her death be any different? The
first had been the "guest list" at the
woman's funeral. In addition to familiar
public faces such as former President George
Bush and Senator Ted Kennedy, I spotted our
old nemesis, C.G.B. Spender, standing beside
her coffin looking suitably forlorn. He saw
me, and I read in his face that he noticed
Mulder's absence. I do believe a flicker of
what I can only describe as relief crossed
his face as he silently acknowledged this
fact. It took every ounce of control I had
not to grin at our deception.

Also present was our former supervisor, (and
friend?) Walter Skinner. We only spoke for a
moment after the brief graveside service, but
I was chilled by the harsh lines of age the
years have cut into his once handsome face.
(I always thought Skinner was one good
looking man). He was much thinner and so very
haggard looking. I felt a tug at my
conscience when he asked about Mulder's
health.  He winced when I was forced to
reply, "He's about as well as can be
expected.  He has started to recognize ME, on
his GOOD days."

My statement was overheard by the rude
individual who actually lit up a cigarette
there at the grave. That was why I lied so
blatantly. I wish I could think of some way
to let Skinner know the truth about Mulder's
recovery. I do believe the man has been
living in a hell borne of the guilt he feels
over his part in the Brotherhood debacle. I
think he has suffered far too long. I'm sure
Mulder will feel the same when I find the
time to talk to him about it. (Note to myself
-- Make the time, Dana).

The second occurrence was startling proof
that Teena Mulder was not the somewhat
addled, still recovering, elderly stroke
victim she so cleverly made herself out to
be.  I was going through Teena's belongings,
making arrangements to place them in storage
until a time when Mulder and I could decide
what to do with them. Jerome Phillips
suggested putting the house up for sale
immediately because it was a seller's market
in the area at this time. I found the one
item Mulder had requested  me to bring back
hidden beneath some towels in the hall linen
closet. An odd place to keep a family photo
album.

Stuck inside the huge, leather bound book was
a small tape. The recording was labeled with
only a date and a name  -- "Fox, January 4,
2002". I knew Teena had wanted her son to
hear what was on this tape. I debated
listening to it first, but decided her wishes
should be honored; that it was for her son to
hear...alone if he wished. Slipping the
cassette back in its place inside the album,
I carried the final message from a mother to
her son home with me.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

RECORDED TELEPHONE CONVERSATION -
TEENA MULDER AND MAN (BELIEVED TO BE C.G.B.
SPENDER).
January 4, 2002
 
 

SPENDER - Hello...

TEENA - I saw him...I saw what you did to
him! You son of a...

SPENDER - Teena?

TEENA - You know it's me. I saw Fox. I saw
what you did to my son!

SPENDER - What do you mean, you saw him?
(Calmly patient).  Teena, he's in Colorado.
You've just had a bad dream...

TEENA - You don't know everything. You don't
know everything I do. Allen Wagner flew me
out to Sky Watch yesterday. To see my son. I
saw him. I know YOU did this to him.

SPENDER - (Pause) He did this to himself,
Teena.

TEENA - No, YOU did this to him. You set him
up. That's what started all this. YOU made
him like he is now. Almost a vegetable. You
blew off half his face!  It's just like you
were holding the gun. You pulled the trigger.
This time, you're going to pay. I'm going to
make sure of that. When I tell, you're going
to pay for everything you've done to him. To
me, to my whole family.

SPENDER - Teena, they've already investigated
what went down with the Brotherhood. The
subcommittee proved Fox...

TEENA - I don't plan on telling the Senate,
or Congress, or even that horny puppet you
made President. I'm telling THEM, Charles.
And I think they'll take me at my word. They
know I'VE never lied to THEM. I'm telling
THEM everything. Everything you've done, from
that first time when Fox was three. When you
took my baby's mind. You're going to pay for
it all. THEY've had suspicions. Doubts about
you. You know THEY have. THEY'll believe
me...
 
 

SPENDER - Teena, we need to talk. You know
what they have planned. Don't do this. You
can't want them to win. Let's talk. I can be
there in two hours. Please, just give me a
chance. For the cause, Teena. You once
believed in the cause. This is the final act.
Don't let them win. Just talk to me.

TEENA - (Long pause) I'll leave the door
open...

Tape ends
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
Wellington, Colorado
 

Scully never transcribed that tape. Skinner
and I found it stuck in a box with her last
"FROM THE PEN OF -" journal. I'd only
listened to it that one time; that first
night when she came home. She must have put
both journal and tape away that very night.
We have nothing more from her that adds to
this story from that point on. So other than
what Kami and Skinner can tell, I guess it's
now my turn to narrate the final chapters of
The Damascus Files 2. It's kind of fitting I
suppose, that a mad man will chronicle how
the world ends.

My mother's message left us with more
questions than it answered. The first and
foremost on our list was why had she called
Spender? She knew what would happen if she
threatened him. She knew he would retaliate.
She knew he could not be trusted. Allen
Wagner informed us at this time that early
last summer she sent him some information to
"hold for her". Wagner had never opened the
sealed envelopes, but stated her note had
said they held "proof to help clear Fox".  He
assumed it must have told what really
happened during my undercover assignment, and
had temporarily stored it in the tall, four
drawer cabinet he had reserved for members of
the Mulder family other than me.

When Wagner went to retrieve it for us after
my mother's death, the envelope was gone. Of
course, we all suspected only one person of
taking files that weren't his and Wagner's
"son", Alex Krycek was conveniently no where
to be found.
 
 
 

*****
 

The end of January proved to be no better
than the first part, but we did wind up
gaining an alliance with an old "friend". Dr.
Shelia Raposa had been my physician since my
arrival in the emergency room that late
winter afternoon almost 3 years before. While
primarily a renowned neurosurgeon, she had,
in effect, become my "family" doctor of the
old school. Scully claims she had often
wondered why Dr. Raposa followed through with
my every day care to such a degree. That type
of hands on, primary care is not common with
surgeons who practice such a demanding
specialty, for obvious reasons. However,
since Scully had worked hand in hand with the
woman, throughout my recovery and
rehabilitation after my gunshot injury, and
to a lesser degree, after my stroke, my
partner was not really surprised by the good
doctor's visit that last Monday in January.

Dr. Raposa came prepared, determined to get
some answers, some kind of explanation as to
how she had witnessed a miracle recovery in
her patient, not once, but twice.  She
couldn't quite figure out why I merited such
blessings from "the man upstairs". I believe
her opening question, sitting there in the
living room at Sky Watch was -

"I'm here for some answers. Before I decide
if I'm going to continue to help you, I need
to know why this man" -- (I was told she cut
a hard glance in my direction.) "is not
sitting in a wheel chair wearing depends and
drooling?"

We told her everything. I think for a doctor,
Shelia Raposa had an extremely open mind. I
was surprised because some people I've known
who have training and beliefs that are
grounded in the sciences, took quite a bit
longer to convince than one morning. Still,
Dr. Raposa had been puzzling over the results
of the CT scan I'd undergone upon my return
from Central America for almost a year. It
seems that after my trip to Guatemala,
suddenly the left section of my frontal lobe,
which had been almost completely destroyed by
the exiting bullet, had increased in mass
100% with healthy brain tissue. This is not
an everyday occurrence.  In fact, it was
impossible.

Dr. Raposa had not seen me since mid-July.
When Scully had summoned her to Sky Watch
during my recent illness it had been a shock
to see how, once again, I'd recovered almost
totally from what should have been a severely
debilitating brain injury. What had spurred
this visit was the question of governmental
red tape. The Department of Social Security
was demanding an update on my condition in
order for me to continue to receive my
disability stipend, and for my Medicare
Insurance to continue. Dr. Raposa was at a
loss as to what to tell them about my current
condition. She actually believed there might
be an investigation if she told them the
truth. I was just this side of being
officially brain dead a little over a year
ago.  It was time for all of us to lay our
cards on the table and decide where we should
go from here.

I listened to the doctors, Scully and Raposa,
discuss me, and though I realized I had
rarely been in any condition to join in their
conversations before this, my interruption
was still sharp, and spoken in a voice that
dripped with sarcastic bitterness.

"Do you think you could ask me where I want
to go from here?"

The silence that followed my question was so
complete it made my ears ring.

Apologies came after a heartbeat from both
women, and I raised a hand to quiet them. My
emotions were in turmoil.  As I've stated
before, my recovery was far from complete.
Even now I sometime lack control enough to
speak without my feelings tying my tongue. In
discussing her problems in dealing with the
government, Dr. Raposa had inadvertently let
some information out that I had not been
aware of.

"Why am I on Social Security...What about the
bureau...?" My voice broke before I got the
words out, and I had to stop, unable to
complete my question.

Scully realized immediately that I had never
understood the full extent of what had
happened as a result of my being labeled
insubordinate in my dealings with the
Brotherhood. I'd known that I had been made a
scapegoat and had been accused of almost
causing a Waco-like catastrophe, but I had
never sought to find out what the results of
the so called investigation had done to my
reputation. I found out I had been denied all
benefits due me from my years of service at
the FBI. In effect, my entire career was
wiped out by the lies that had been told
against me.

I've had to accept what has been done to me.
What I have trouble with is, what THEY,
(always THEY,) have done to those I loved. I
believe that is what angered me when I found
out my career was gone. I came to terms a
long time ago with the fact I could never go
back to the bureau. I knew from the start,
that part of my life was over. But by robbing
me of what was due me from my years of
service, they have put a hardship on those
who care about me. And they have ruined My
reputation -- My name. What bothers me about
that, is that one of the only things I got
from my father, from Bill Mulder is -- My
name.

So, my mother got her wish. The gauntlet was
picked up. My allies and I began to make
plans.  We decided we were going to save the
world. I wonder now, were we actually the
ones who spurred the final destruction?

End 7b/?

<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER SEVEN
<><><><><><><><><>
 

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

Scully came to me last night in a dream. It
was so real. I woke with the fresh, clean
scent of her on my clothes. Skinner smelled
it, too. He has been reading his Bible all
day. I think he believes it's another sign.
Of what, he won't commit, but I guess we all
take our omens any way we can get them. I
believe she came to me to keep my faith
alive. I believe she is making her way home
now, as I speak.  I want to believe. I HAVE
to believe.

*****

February began with Scully setting us up a
plan of action. During the day she would put
to use her vast storehouse of knowledge
obtained the preceding year during my
recovery from the ICH, and attempt to define,
harness and train my powers. The nights were
to be put aside to study everything Wagner
had in his files on the visitors, C.G.B.
Spender, the consortium, and the project.

I knew Scully was a harsh task master from my
time spent as her partner, and even more so
because of the regimen she had me under
during my latest rehabilitation. Wagner joked
that Scully missed her true calling. He
claimed she would make a wonderful Marine
Boot Camp Drill Instructor. Personally, it's
my opinion, from the stories I've heard my
friends and acquaintances who attended
parochial schools tell, Scully would have
made an excellent nun.

The second week in February brought one of
those rare, late winter days in Northern
Colorado that tease you into thinking spring
is just around the corner.  Sunny,
temperature in the upper 60's. Even the air
takes on the aroma of rebirth. The soil
almost calls out for seedlings to burrow into
its melted, snow-moistened richness with its
pungent earth scent. My demanding partner had
allowed me a break from my lessons of trying
to increase my abilities at what I teasingly
referred to as the Vulcan mind-meld, to take
a ride with Wagner. We were the furthest we'd
ever ridden; the beautiful day calling us to
range ever deeper into the rolling foothills
that bordered Sky Watch to the west when it
happened.

The young buck must have just been feeling
his oats when he leaped from the brush across
the trail. I don't think his feet even hit
the ground, because I saw the blur that meant
he was gone before my horse reared. Still, I
wasn't ready for my animal's frightened
reaction, and before I knew it, the ground
rose up to meet me. Hard. The good news was
my fall was broken somewhat. The bad news was
my tumble was forestalled by a fence made of
barbed wire.

"Don't move," Wagner cautioned, touching my
right shoulder, the only place I think he
felt was safe to touch.

I was in so much pain, the obvious, smart-ass
rejoinder of  "Don't worry" didn't occur to
me until later.

"I'm going to have to cut your legs free,"
Wagner murmured.  I heard the unmistakable
snip of wire cutters as my tangled legs were
freed from the metal that had wrapped around
them. I remember rejoicing that this man was
with me because who else but S. A.Wagner
would have had the presence of mind to be
carrying wire cutters?  "Oh, shit, Mulder."
His words were a fearful epitaph, and I felt
his hand move down to touch the inside of my
left leg.

"Son of bitch!" I cried. I felt the bones of
that ankle grind together when he pressed
hard against my calf. I pushed his hands
away. "I fucking broke my ankle!  Don't touch
it."

Wagner exhaled a deep sigh. "Mulder, that's
not all you did. That fence nearly tore your
muscle off. You're bleeding like a stuck
pig."

"That's not good, I take it," I muttered, not
quite able to force a laugh. I tried to push
up to see what I could tell about my
injuries.  I couldn't help the scream that
came out when fire shot through my right
shoulder and upper arm. My body seemed to
tingle as dizziness swept over me.  I think I
blacked out for a bit because the next thing
I realized was Wagner covering me with his
coat. "Is it time for a nap?" I asked weakly.

"Mulder, I'm gonna have to go get help,"
Wagner said, pushing himself up to stand.

The thought of being left alone was not that
appealing to me and I panicked. I tried to
sit up. The pain almost took me out again.
"Don't," was all I could manage to get out.

"Mulder, I need you to listen to me, okay?"
His voice came from my side. I was so
frightened I couldn't seem to get my eye to
focus. I was blind, hurt, and he was going to
leave me. I grabbed at Wagner with my weak
am, clutching his shirt in desperation.
"Okay, but don't leave me," I breathed.

"Mulder, calm down. Please. Take a few deep
breaths, okay?"

I tried his suggestion and discovered it did
help. I was finally able to perceive his
blurred form above me. Unfortunately, I was
also now suddenly aware that there weren't to
many places on my body that didn't hurt. "My
leg is broken, right?" I sighed, starting an
inventory of aches. "And I fucked up my
shoulder."

My sight had returned enough that I could see
his nod that I was correct in my assessment
of the damage so far. "It's either your upper
arm, or your shoulder or both. I didn't wanna
hurt you more so I didn't try to find out for
sure. I'm not a doctor. Mulder, at least,
your arm and your foot are broken, but what
worries me most is the way your calf is
bleeding on one side.  Also, this other big
gash here on your weak arm that looks like
it's just pumping blood." He gently moved my
hand to feel the wound. He was right. I could
feel the blood flowing over my fingers.

"I'm going to try to put a pressure bandage
on your leg and make a tourniquet for your
arm. It's gonna hurt like hell but you gotta
let me do it, and I have to hurry. I can make
it home in about 20 minutes.  I can have
Scully back here in maybe 10 more.  Let me do
this or else I think you're gonna bleed to
death."

The warm stickiness pouring over the top of
my hand made me nod mutely. I believe I was
gone from the moment I felt him wrap
something around my leg and start to tighten
it, until I heard his boot heels moving away
across half frozen, hard packed dirt. The
sound of him riding off made my stomach
lurch. I remember trying to spot the sun, but
not being able to find it. My world was a
dim, gray blur. Trying to ignore the pain in
my shoulder, I cautiously reached to discover
if he'd quelled the flow of blood from the
gash in my right arm. I could still feel the
liquid trickling out, a rhythmic ooze that
matched my pulse.

I think what saved me that day was fear. The
last words Wagner said to me had been about
bleeding to death, and they stayed uppermost
in my mind. Of course, I didn't want that to
happen. I don't believe I consciously
realized I was healing myself until I felt
the smooth, new skin beneath my fingertips.
The act was complete. With the understanding
of what I'd done to the jagged tear on my
right forearm, I realized  that the
tourniquet Wagner had made from his belt to
quell the bleeding, was now a danger to me. I
struggled to remove it.  I finally managed to
get the leather binding off, although my
shoulder injury announced its presence with
eye-watering agony.

I lay on my right side, trying to decide what
to do next. I remembered the damage to my
calf my friend had spoken of.  Pulling my
knee up I forced myself to examine the wound.
The broken bones were throbbing constantly,
but until I touched the wound, I wouldn't
have known my muscle was half ripped off, if
Wagner had not told me. The sharp, searing
agony told me I had the right spot. My breath
came in quick gasps as I tried to control the
pain.  I focused the energy, running like an
electric current through my hand, into the
savage rip in the muscle of my lower leg.
Scully, Dr. Raposa and I found out later that
knowledge of anatomy did help me focus the
energy, but the ability to know what to do
came from pure instinct. It took me more than
a month of analyzing the memories of what I
had done out on that trail, before I was able
to pick apart the process enough to explain
it to anyone.

I could feel the fibers of the muscle
regrowing; the tissues and damaged nerves,
blood vessel, tiny capillaries, reforming to
make the injured leg whole. My task was
almost complete when I heard the jeep tearing
up the hill to where I lay huddled on my
side. I was exhausted and hurting, but still
had enough adrenaline remaining to offer
Scully a grin when she hurried to my side.

"You know, nobody as little as you should
make that much noise when they walk,
Scully."  I laughed breathlessly, elated over
what I had accomplished and the touch of her
warm, soft hands on my skin as she mutely
began to examine me. "I'm almost done here,"
I murmured, lifting my hands away to let her
see my work.

"I'll be a son of a..."  I heard Wagner gasp,
and felt his presence as he knelt at my feet
to gape at my handiwork. "Scully, that leg
was filleted wide open, down to the bone, I
swear..."

I chuckled wearily, "Scully, let me rest a
bit and I'll finish up, okay?" I knew I was
rapidly running out of steam, so I spoke as
quickly and convincingly as possible.
"Scully, just take me back to the ranch. Not
to town."  I knew I was about spent. My words
were starting to slur. "Scully, no hospital.
You and Raposa can make sure nothing goes
wrong, but we need to know what I can do. How
I do it, too, okay?" I tried to grip her arm,
but suddenly my strength was gone. I could
hear Scully and Wagner talking; their voices
blended, fading into a droning buzz.  I sank
back into the cold darkness that rose up and
around me like a shroud.

*****

I awoke in a hospital bed. It took me less
than half a heartbeat to recognize it was the
same one I'd occupied for so long this past
year, before I'd graduated to the wonderful
queen-size mattress I shared with Scully.
While I wasn't thrilled with what had been
decided for my sleeping arrangements, I was
thankful Scully had complied with my wishes
and not taken me to a hospital. The fact that
I was totally sightless told me it was most
likely night. I listened for the telltale
sounds around me to try to establish exactly
where they might have put me. The soft,
rhythmic half snore that filtered from
somewhere to my side let me know that
regardless of where I was, Scully was there
also.

I cautiously began to access what had been
done to me.  My ankle had been casted, but
the slightest movement of my foot informed me
that my self-healing had not extended to the
bones I'd splintered in my fall. My groan at
the pain my movement caused wasn't loud, but
it was heard.  My partner was by my side
before I even realized I'd awakened her.

"Mulder? It's me..." she whispered, flicking
on the lamp.

"I'm..." My mouth was dry and there was a
strange, metallic taste. The words stuck in
my arid throat, but Scully instantly had a
straw to my lips. The cool water helped. "My
mouth tastes like ozone," I murmured, placing
the odd, tangy bite that wouldn't wash away.

Her chuckle was a hushed, ruffled flourish
against my cheek, and I turned to plant a
kiss wherever it might land. Happily it was
the warm tenderness of her lips. I'd wanted
the contact to linger but she pulled away too
soon.

"You need to save your strength," she
whispered softly, letting me feel the gentle
touch of her fingertips on my temple. The
slight sting told me I must have been stung
by barbed wire where she touched, and I
flinched a bit.

"I hurt everywhere.  My lips are the safest
place to touch, Scully," I complained.

"I think you're right," she agreed and
granted me a quick peck before moving away to
grab some pills, which she began to feed me
one at a time, slipping the straw to my lips
after each dose.

"What are all these?" I managed, in the small
break between tablet 7 and 8.

"Your normal meds, plus antibiotics, vitamins
and a couple of pain relievers."

"The good stuff?" I asked hopefully.

"Oh-h-h yeah," Scully laughed, finally
finishing up on what I think was pill number
30 -- more or less. There were a few moments
of silence as she fussed about the room. I
don't know what she was doing, but I soon
felt the wonderful signs of the pain meds
kicking in. I was allowing the foggy mist to
begin its embrace when she spoke again.
"We're going to do this right. At the first
little sign of fever or anything the least
bit off, you're on your way to PVH. Right?"

"Right," I smiled. She was also right that it
was the good stuff.  Everything was already
getting nice and fuzzy. I knew I needed to
get my answers quick or I wouldn't remember
what they were. "Scully, what was the final
damage?"

"Well, not having a x-ray machine we can't be
completely sure, but you broke eight bones,
all on the left side -- your clavicle,
humerus, two ribs, and four bones in your
foot and ankle."

"Ground was pretty hard I guess."  My tongue
was getting very thick.

"And you don't bounce like you used to."   I
could hear the smile in her voice so I knew
she was happy I was not in pain. I was
getting fairly 'happy' myself.  "We decided
to help you out.  You have a total of 108
stitches at various places on your anatomy."

"Isn't that cheating?" I grinned, fighting a
losing battle to keep my eye open. "Well, how
long will it take to get me back on my feet?"

My comment brought her best laugh, free and
wild. "Mulder, you're the miracle worker
here, you tell me.  This is on your clock,
remember?"

I grasped her hand with my clumsy 'bad' one,
and moved it toward my mouth. I think the
thought that I was only going to have use of
my weak side flitted across my drug addled
brain, but at that point I was feeling to
good to care. "I love ya, ya know?" I
slurred, brushing my kiss across the smooth,
tender flesh of her palm.  "Always, forever
and ever."

"I know."  Her lips caressed my neck, light
as a sigh, warm as her heart. This time I
drifted into darkness wrapped in a blanket of
contentment, hearing her whisper, "I love
you, too, Mul..."

End 8/a

<><><><><><>
 Chapter 8 (cont.)
<><><><><><>

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

Looking back on it, I guess we could call our
project a success. My recovery, while not
amazingly swift, was more rapid than
'normal'. We did learn quite a bit by trial
and error. While the exact limits to this
particular power proved to be impossible to
ascertain, we did establish some guidelines
as to what I could and couldn't accomplish
with my gift. This is when we developed the
theory that I cannot create something out of
nothing. I can speed up the rate that new
cells reproduce, which is in essence how our
body repairs itself. I don't actually know if
the doctors were correct in their educated
guesses as to the hows and whys of what I can
do. Personally, I don't believe they were
positive of their findings themselves.

The only tapes of mine we found in the entire
basement, other than my mad rantings from
that time before Mexico, are my musings
during our little controlled experiment. What
follows are a few excerpts of my thoughts
from that long, sometimes fascinating,
frequently boring month.

*****

FWM Tapes
February 11, 2002
 

It has been two days and I'm think it's time
for me start healing myself. I think this
positive attitude should help, shouldn't it?
I did my arm and almost rebuilt my leg all in
a matter of an hour according to Wagner. So
why can't I get the inch long cut on my ass
to at least quit itching in 48 freaking
hours? I know, Scully tells me it's itching
like this because it's healing. Yeah, it's
itching and burning and stinging like this
because I've been lying on my ass for two
solid days!

I can't move! When I felt myself flying
through the air, I must have instinctively
tried to break my fall. Now, since my right
side is weak, I'm automatically going to try
to land on my left side. That's only logical.
So I wind up breaking half a dozen bones on
my "good" side. Which effectively leaves me
with no "good" side. Until I heal, I can't
even scratch my own ass.

(Loudly). SCULLY!!! (Pause).

S.A.WAGNER - (Sound of door opening). Yeah?
Scully ran down to the store. You need
something, Mulder?

(Barely audible). Never mind.

End Tape
-WSS-

*****

FWM Tapes
February 15, 2002
 

If we could store sleep to use later, I think
I'd have a backlog that would carry me
through 'til doom's day (pause). Not a good
thing to say anymore, I guess. Maybe I should
demand the chance to use all that sleep. Buy
us a little time.

Shit. Shit. (pause) Shit. I've got to get
better. The days are dragging, but we're
running out of time. I know my powers are
working. I'm down to being 99% covered with
barbed wire cuts. God. Raposa and Scully make
me feel like I'm the latest fad. You bored?
Let's go watch Mulder heal a sore. I ought to
charge admission. I want to forget the
freaking cuts and work on the bones. The
stiches'll take care of the cuts. Damn.
(Pauses and takes a few deep breaths to gain
control). And what is wrong with me? Why am I
always so tired? Is it because I'm using the
powers?

End Tape
-WSS-
 

*****

FWM Tapes
February 22, 2002
 

Well, the doctors finally figured out what's
wrong with me. I'm anemic from the blood
loss. Apparently that's one thing I can't do.
I can't make my red cells multiply or divide
or whatever it is that they think I'm doing
to heal myself. So that's one type of cell I
can't manipulate. They've got me on Iron
shots and I'm already starting to feel
stronger after only 3 days. I've been able to
get up and make it to the couch. I hate the
fact I'm such an invalid here. Wagner is
almost carrying me when he helps me get
about, but I refuse to let him drag out the
wheelchair from the medical supply storage
shed he has accumulated since having me as
his house guest.

I've been better able to focus since starting
the shots and I've told Scully to cut out my
pain medication, which has helped my
concentration. Yesterday afternoon and this
morning, I tried a direct, hands on effort at
healing my ankle.  I can actually feel the
difference. Mr. Wagner has an old friend,
Mary Filson, who is a vet. (I believe she's
the same Mary Scott who went to DC with him,
so long ago, and she wound up marrying the
son of Wagner's old housekeeper).  She has an
x-ray machine in her mobile, equine/large
animal hospital, so we're going to check out
my shoulder and ankle this after noon. I
believe everything is knitting up fine.
 

*****
 

I've hobbled out here to the living room
because Scully's snoozing and I had a few
things on my mind. I really don't want to
wake her. She's been sleeping so lightly
since my tumble, she wakes everytime I change
positions in the bed. I believe it might help
if we get OUR four-poster back in and start
sleeping together again. I'm such a restless
bed partner, that out of self-defense, she's
learned to snore through someone tossing and
turning beside her all night. We need to get
her back to being able to sack out through an
earthquake. Plus, I rest better with her
beside me.

It didn't hit me what was wrong with her all
day. I couldn't figure out why she seemed to
be just this side of tears when, all in all,
our morning and afternoon had been relatively
smooth and uneventful. The vet van x-rays
showed my broken bones were healing
perfectly. In another week or so, I'll
probably be good as new.  We'd been on the
couch, and she was doing her Obi-wan routine,
helping me heal my ankle when it all just
came pouring from her.

I don't really think about what happened very
much anymore. Now that's not to say I don't
think about what that black lunged bastard
has taken from me. No, there's not a day that
goes by that I don't think about Sam, or how
he destroyed my family. How he set me up and
stole my life. But the actual injuries that
resulted from that day don't cross my mind
that often. Oh, sometimes, I feel the pain. I
can't see the light that makes Scully's eyes
sparkle that crystal blue when she laughs. Or
catch the way her cheeks color when something
excites her...or embarrasses her.

Still, I do know my other senses have
heightened. Naturally or paranormally, I see
things now I probably would have missed, even
with all my training and 'spooky' ability. I
can hear her smile, I can feel her blush, and
I know the touch of her soul. It's imprinted
on my mind.  I know where she is and what she
is feeling even when she is not physically
around me (pause).

When she started crying, everything came out
in such a flood of pain that I had to
struggle to understand. Today is THE
ANNIVERSARY. Apparently, this day has hit her
this way every year since it happened.  She
finally admitted, with red faced
embarrassment, that what bothers her is that
this event happened the day before her
birthday. Makes it hard for her to forget it,
huh?

I did what I could to comfort her. I think
just getting her feelings out helped. Scully
is nothing if not resilient. Once her pain
was spilled, she dried her face and it was
business as usual.  That is Scully. Back to
the task at hand. Get the job done. She has
made me her life. I wish I could give her
more.
 

*****
 

FWM Tapes
March 1, 2002
 

I'm on my feet. They took another x-ray at
the mobile horse hospital, and my bones are
all back together. The casts are off. I think
that, all in all, our little experiment
worked out great. To have healed half-a-dozen
breaks in under a month is amazing. We've
learned a lot from this. It's helped prove
some theories Scully had on how I might be
able to learn to project and channel my
powers. Apparently, while I was in Central
America, I was able to harness my abilities
enough to do some very amazing feats. Scully
says she witnessed a city that she believes I
created from memories that were stored at the
ruins where this ancient place had been. She
claimed it was more than a vision, it was
real.
 

Where did it come from? I don't remember that
time, but Scully is not one to imagine things
or to embroider on the truth. If she claims I
made this place, that she saw this miracle
with her own eyes, it really happened. It
excites me. And yes, it frightens me, that I
have that kind of power within me. I need her
to help me draw it out, to help me control
it. I truly believe that without her here to
guide me, this would be a 'gift' that would
be best not opened.
 

Tape ends
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 

From the Journal of K.W. Wagner
March 10, 2002
Sky Watch, Wellington, Colorado
 
 

"Ain't it good to be back home again.
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long
lost friend, and ain't it good to be back
home again."  John Denver.

You don't grow up in Colorado without knowing
a lot of John Denver songs. There's even a
high school in Fort Collins called Rocky
Mountain High. Hey, that's a great lead in,
so my next number will be...

Too little sleep does this to me. Should any
future readers of this tomb wonder, two hours
sleep and too much coffee make Katmandu Wind
Wagner, world renowned physician and paragon
of medical research, a bit punchy. Scully
would probably tell me this weekend will be
good practice for my on call stints during my
residency. Shall I say a few Hail Marys for
my patients? Will I even have patients? No,
wait, I'm getting ahead of myself here.

The last two days have been so confusing,
almost like a dream. Nothing seems real
anymore. I'll try to get some order in this.
Let me start at the beginning, wherever that
might be. I'll start with the day after the
fight with Derek. That's as good a place as
any. As I wrote in the 10 pages of tears,
anger and angst, Derek has chosen a different
path than mine. With another person. Only
thing new on that is -- I kept the ring. : )

Problem was my spring break plans went in the
toilet, because it was his parent's condo in
Aspen where we were going to stay that week.
I planned on spending the final weekend at
Sky Watch so I called Daddy and told him I
was coming home. He seemed strangely distant
at first, but then he said 'Come on down'.
(It's actually up, but I knew what he meant,)
so I grabbed my bag and ran home to lick my
wounds.

Dad knew something was wrong the minute he
hugged me, just like I knew something was on
his mind, too. We both made a silent,
telepathic agreement to talk about it later,
and settled for small talk for the moment.
Hi. You look great. School's fine. Yadda,
yadda. Derek's name was not brought up so I
knew he knew, but was waiting for me to pick
the time to discuss my broken heart. My
father is the best. I know that now.

I asked about M&S.  He just gave me a quirky
sort of smile, and told me they were down in
the horse barn working on Mulder's
exercises.  Of course, my next question was,
what exercises?  But he just kept smiling
that same silly grin and suggested I go check
it out. Now I knew about Mulder's accident.
It took Mulder himself ordering me not to
miss any school to keep me from coming home.
But, I didn't get all the details about what
he'd done to himself this time, only that
he'd broken some bones. The 'some' part
bothered me, but Mulder reminded me that he
is a fast healer. What are a few broken bones
to a man who came back from both a traumatic
brain injury AND a severe ICH?  I took him at
his word.

I walked down to the big barn picturing what
various forms of tortuous therapy Scully
might be putting him through. (I know, I'm a
bitch when it comes to my Mulder). I must
admit, tennis balls and broom handles never
even crossed my mind.

The exercise was in full swing as I entered,
and neither participant noticed when I walked
into the very dimly lit building. Scully
stood in front of me, tossing day glow,
orange tennis balls down the aisle that
separated the two rows of stalls. I must
admit, the woman has a mean fast ball. I was
impressed until I realized she was slinging
these missiles at Mulder who was clear at the
other end of the barn. I wouldn't have been
able to see him in the gloom except his
jersey was the same bright orange as the
balls.

Shock was my first reaction. With the
lighting as poor as it was I knew Mulder
would have been totally blind. Why was Scully
pelting Mulder with tennis balls? "Well, it's
better that baseballs," crossed my mind. That
just shows how upset I was. That was when a
bright orange object hit my leg. Hard. My
pain laced expletive interrupted the
exercise.

"Kami!" Scully yelled and rushed over to me,
"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I murmured, rubbing my leg where the
ball had stung me. It wasn't bad. After all,
it was just a tennis ball. I glanced up to
see Mulder shuffling over to me. There was a
moment's concern as I noticed his gait was
off. I know the man's walk like my own.
Normally he hides his weak side so
masterfully there's hardly a limp, but as he
walked toward me his stride was almost a
lurch.

"It's getting better. He broke the talus and
all three inner tarsels. You know how the PT
always goes slower than the actual healing."
Scully whispered in my ear just before Mulder
made it to me to get his hug.

He'd lost weight and tears filled my eyes as
I returned his embrace. "You just can't stay
out of trouble, can you?" I choked when he
pulled away. His expression was a mixture of
sheepish embarrassment and concern. I felt
horrible at my chastising greeting, and
clutched him again quickly. "I'm sorry, but
you've got to quit hurting yourself. Okay?"

His face was still bright scarlet but he
managed a weak smile. "I'll try," he offered,
then broke into huge, boyish grin. Naturally,
my mood brightened. How could it not, seeing
that smile?  "But I healed myself in a month.
No hospital. Not too bad, huh?" He didn't
notice the worried glance I shot Scully or
the brief look she gave that told me --
later.

"When aren't you amazing, Mulder?" I asked,
matching his grin.

"Hey, you want amazing, watch this."  He
hustled off in his odd, swagger/trot  toward
his spot at the rear of the barn, stopping to
grope for something when he found his place.
"Okay, Nolan! Let 'em rip!" Mulder yelled, as
he fell into a batters stance, a cut-off
stick at the ready.

Scully gave a muted chuckle and slight shrug.
"You know, we have to humor him when he's
like this."

Despite her words I could detect a note of
excited pleasure and pride at what was about
to happen. Scully paused a moment, then with
perfect form cut loose with a hard,
beautifully thrown curve ball. I followed
it's neat arc as it moved straight toward my
sightless friend. I watched, mouth popping
agape, as Mulder's smooth swing connected
expertly with the pitch. The ball bounced off
the far side of the barn in a
sultan-of-swat-like homerun.

"Way to use the force, Mulder," I murmured to
myself. Scully's laugh ricocheted off the
cavernous walls just like the ball.

Watching a game of blind man's baseball was
just the start of this wild weekend. Mulder's
exercises are only part of Scully's ingenious
plan to help Mulder discover, focus and use
his PSI-powers. We had a moment alone while
Mulder was showering.  The good doctor
explained how Mulder wound up avoiding the
dreaded hospital after his latest accident. I
was glad to hear we now had Dr. Raposa in our
confidence.  Scully says that so far she has
been able to keep the new of Mulder's miracle
recovery under wraps. For how long, no one
knows. I was soon to learn just how important
nondisclosure of my friend's actual health
might be when my father finally revealed what
skeletons have been hidden in his basement.

I found everything out during our
prerequisite home from college
father/daughter talk. I thought I was going
to be the one with the number one news flash.
Everyone else had gone to bed, and Dad and I
were chatting in the living room.  I finally
broke down, crying on his broad shoulders as
I wove my lonely heart's soap opera of Derek
and the new love of his life. This naturally
lead to the topic of my future. I discovered
I might have over planned my life a bit. It
appears anything beyond this summer should
carry an astrik - * subject to change should
the Alien Colonization occur. I wonder if my
student loan carries an Apocalypse clause.

I have to laugh, because I'm afraid I'll
start crying. I'm torn. Should I be angry at
my father? Why did he and my mother even
consider bringing a new life into a world
where there was no future? And he has lied to
me my entire life. He has always promised me
that I could grab that brass ring -- the
tomorrows of my dreams, yet he has known all
along what was coming. Okay, maybe not when,
or for certain. But he knew THEY were here
and what THEY wanted and still he has
showered me with false hopes when what he
should have given me was the TRUTH.

I didn't want to return to school. Why spend
my last days preparing for a life that I'll
never have. Mulder changed my mind. I had
driven my father from the room with my angry
tirade at hearing his story. I must have
woken the whole house with my response to
what I felt was my parent's ultimate betrayal
-- giving me a life that could bear no
promise. I was lying on the couch, dry eyed
and feeling utterly hopeless when Mulder came
in.

"Did he tell you everything?" Mulder asked,
his voice soft and low.

"How should I know? You knew, too, didn't
you? I guess everyone I know lies," I
retorted bitterly, then immediately regretted
the ire I'd directed at my friend. Scully
once told me that before the accident
Mulder's face always personified bland
inscrutability except for those who knew him.
She said she always knew what he felt because
she could read it in his eyes. He no longer
has the ability to hide his emotions. I could
see the pain I'd caused the moment I spat the
words.

"What is truth, Kami?" he murmured, sinking
down in Dad's chair across from me. "What
should he have told you? Better yet, WHEN
should he have told you? Your 16th birthday
party? Should he have given you the truth as
a graduation present? Last Christmas? When
you told us about you and Derek and Medical
School? What good is truth? Does it change
anything?"

He was right. He held me while I cried.

"What can we do, Mulder?" I finally asked
when my tears were spent.

I watched his face as he searched for an
answer. He looked at me, through me in the
near darkness. I felt a chill at his
sightless gaze. His answer offered no warmth.
His voice was cold when he spoke, a tight
grin tugging at his lips. "We just go on
living -- and hoping. There's still hope,
Kami."

end 8b/?
 

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

FWM Tapes
Winter 2003
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen." Hebrews

I told Kami there is still hope. I had no
idea what I was talking about. What could we
humans do to stop this horde of highly
advanced beings from another planet from
taking over the World?  These creatures had
the support of some of the most powerful men
and women on our planet.

Skinner, you said you read some of Wagner's
files while I was sick. What did you think?

SKINNER - I just wish you'd documented your
X-Files half as well.

(Laughs).  If I'd had Wagners' money in my ex
pense account maybe I could have. Did you
believe what they said?

SKINNER - (Long pause). Considering what they
said has come true, I believe I have to,
Mulder. I believe in a lot of things now.  I
think we live in times when an open mind
might be our only chance to survive. That and
our faith.

Faith. (Mulder gives what can only be called
a derisive snort). Faith in what? That we're
in the last days? Is this Armageddon? Words
in a book of myths, is that what you believe
in now? Where's your proof? You always
demanded proof from me? What changed you? One
little parlor trick, me making your body
speed up a natural process?  Why, if we had a
phone you'd be asking the Amazing Yappy about
your sign. Hey, you think he saw this coming?
(Laughs).

SKINNER - Just say I saw the light, Mulder.

Yeah, well, so did I, and now I'm blind
(pause). So, help me out here.  The files are
down in the basement buried in 20 feet of
snow. If we're going to finish this up I need
to remember what they say about the
"visitors," as my mom called them. Where
should we start?

SKINNER - Genesis?

And they call me a smart ass.  I remember
Wagner had an interview with one of the
Jeremiah Smiths.  He explained who all those
Smith boys were.

SKINNER - I caught that. Clones. One of the
first tries at Alien/Human hybridization. The
original Jeremiah Smith was an American
scientist who offered to help them back in
1947. The man died in 1951. From what I
understand, the clone Wagner talked to
thought they were a success except for that
one missing thing.

Oh, God, I should have known you'd buy that
part.

SKINNER - Well, it makes sense, Mulder. Smith
knew he had no soul. Only God can give us the
spark of life. The aliens must have believed
that's what they were missing, too. Right?

Well, if you want my opinion, I think for all
their knowledge, the aliens are pretty lousy
scientists.

SKINNER - I believe that's what their problem
is. The alien's have lost their sense of
wonder. THEY have no imagination. That's
where genius truly lies. THEY can't dream.
They've become stagnant. That's why THEY feel
THEY need us, new blood. THEY want to get
back what they're missing.

Okay, I can swallow that a lot more than my
mother's "chosen people" theory.

SKINNER - It's all one and the same. We're
all created by the same entity, but they
threw away the gifts the Creator thought most
important.

(Mulder's tone is angry). You sound just like
my mother. I need the facts here, Skinner.
All you can spout is religious fairy tales.
How about just letting me get back to my
work?

SKINNER - Okay, you tell your story. I'll go
try to find some wood. We're running out of
trees around here. Looks like that fence of
the neighbor's might be my next haul.

You said they left back in August. I think
that gives us squatters' rights. (Sound of
door opening). Be careful! (Reply inaudible
as door closes).

Wagner's files gave us the truth, but "there
are truths that are not for all men, nor for
all times." The governments of the world hid
the fact that there is alien life on earth --
with the lie of alien abductions, but to what
purpose? It depends on who was asked and when
they were questioned. The plan was to hide
behind an uneasy truce in order to buy time.
The object was to create a human/alien hybrid
to survive the proposed take-over. The plot
was to concoct a vaccine that would render
the visitors' killing machine, the black oil,
useless against us. The desire was to save
the world. The road to hell is paved with
good intentions. The liars were lied to, the
betrayers, betrayed. In the end only the
devil and his minions were left standing. And
of course, THEM.

(Sighs). This next part is hard. Skinner
calls these powers my "gifts". They're a
curse. Absolute power does corrupt absolutely
With Scully's help we began to explore what I
could do. We used information from Wagner's
files to study the abilities the aliens had
shown, and sought to uncover them in me. They
were there, waiting beneath the surface. It
was like we'd opened Pandora's box.

I practiced alchemy, clairvoyance,
levitation, precognition, psychokenisis,
psychometry and telepathy. I found I could
control what another person thinks, sees,
does. This is one way THEY are able to change
their appearance. The simplest way. THEY
implant an image of how they wish to be seen
in the mind of the unsuspecting viewer. I got
fairly good at this that summer. Imagine if I
had tried my hand at acting. Why the money I
could have saved the studios on makeup alone
would have kept me in demand. Hollywood might
have been breaking down my door except for
one problem.  I couldn't fool the camera. The
talent I learned was another parlor trick.  I
think learning to truly morph would have
taken more time than we had. I don't really
know.  I don't plan on using any of my gifts
ever again, unless I truly have to. They are
too dangerous.  I think I can control the
powers; it's myself I have the problem with.

*****

Skinner came back, so I had to stop. I don't
want to talk about what happened in front of
him. I know he will transcribe this, but I'm
going to make sure I'm not around when he
does. Let's just hope it's not snowing at
that point. It's night now.  He's asleep.
Hopefully, I can get this done by morning. If
I do it fast, maybe it won't hurt as much to
tell it. Yeah, right.

We were like children, playing with fire.
What we found out about my abilities during
our days of discovery were only the surface
facts. We had no idea how striking this match
could set off a force that could consume us.
Skinner's beliefs in my abilities being a
gift from God will probably change when he
hears this part of my story.

By the end of July we were all impressed by
what I could do. Still, the thought of
confronting our conquerors-in-waiting was
daunting, to say the least. What could one
man do against THEM, even with the powers.
THEY, also, were gifted. To attempt to stop
them without a plan was more than insanity.
It was suicide. Of course, it never came to
that. The arrival of Alex Krycek changed our
course of action. Did he discover what
transpired that next week when we went to
Washington? Did he tell THEM what I could do?
Is that what spurred the aliens to finally
follow through with the colonization? I
forgot to ask Krycek that last time I saw
him. I was too busy bleeding.

Scully, Kami and I were taking a much needed
vacation at the Estes Park cabin, when
Wagner's prodigal son made his appearance, so
we missed him. His dad coerced a confession
out of him. He did steal the file. It did
contain information that could clear me.
Wagner then asked Krycek to leave, and he was
gone before we arrived home that afternoon. I
was ecstatic when I was told that the missing
file contained copies of records confirming
that I had received Marty Fulcher's identity
in the Kansas City Office of the FBI.

It was then that Wagner explained that Krycek
had not actually returned my mom's
vindicating gift. No, the thief had hidden
his pilfered information in a certain
basement office. The manila folder had become
an X-File. Our plan to get it back was
nothing more than smoke and mirrors. The
magic worked to the extent that we got what
we went for. It also led to Scully not being
here with me tonight.

We entered that dark office building on
Pennsylvania Avenue at just past 10:00 p.m.,
August 4th. Mike, the guard let us pass
without a second thought. After all, the
faces and ID we showed him belonged to Alex
Krycek and Diana Fowley. Why should he doubt
his own eyes? My next trick was to
momentarily disable each camera we passed,
all the while assuring that Mike, ever alert
at his security post downstairs, saw nothing
but what I wished him to.

Scully was worried, walking beside me down
that dimly lit hall. I could smell her
nervousness, feel the staccato rhythm of her
heart, taste the hot, wetness of tension in
each of her exhaled breaths. But we made it
to the door of our old office without a
problem. It was locked, of course.  I stilled
her hand when she reached for her tool kit.
Using my powers, I unlatched the bolt,
allowing us to enter.  That was when I first
noticed a faint flutter of fear in my
partner-in-crime. It wasn't because of the
felony we were committing; it was because of
what was happening to me.

She could feel the change, sense the energy
that was coursing through me. I knew this,
just like I knew everything else that was
happening in the building. I "saw" Mike,
cheating to solve a crossword puzzle. I heard
the faint, straining hum of the air
conditioning, working overtime on this sultry
summer night. I smelled the pine scented mop
as the ancient janitor wearily scrubbed the
fifth floor bathroom. I knew that Krycek had
placed my proof in the cabinet where his own
file was stored.

"It's under "P" right next to Krycek's file,"
I instructed Scully. She chuckled as she
flipped past prick, but her laughter died
quickly when she found our prize.

She read the contents to me by the beam of
her penlight. My concentration wavered those
few brief minutes; so I didn't realize we had
company until the door opened. Instantly the
harsh bite of ozone shriveled the membranes
of my nose and tongue.  I felt my composure
evaporate. I was flooded with emotions,
smothered with sensations; my control had
slipped to leave me hanging by my finger
tips. The heavy, electric smell choked me as
it seeped from my pores.

Diana Fowley was there at the door. Lights
flashed on. She murmured something I didn't
catch, for I was immediately engulfed by a
wave of loathing and apprehension that surged
out from the two women standing on each side
of me. I was inundated by sharp words,
bitter, cutting phrases, hatred, jealousy,
distrust...passions, violently swirling
within Scully's and Diana's thoughts.

"What do you want...so he's an idiot
savant...his mother's file...Krycek
stole...half a mind, like him...shut
up...Fox...Mulder...leave him alone!" The
women's voices blurred together; the
venomously uttered rage burned my senses.

Somehow, I also felt the sting of the slap
Scully delivered to Diana when she finally
tired of the woman's taunts. Fowley uttered
an angry hiss in response to the blow.  My
eyes watered in pain when a fist hit my jaw.
It was only when Scully collapsed against me
that I realized Diana had struck my partner,
not me. A crackling, blinding burst of anger
exploded from me in a thundering scream of
primal energy, and the world fell suddenly,
completely dark. The room was showered with
sharp, tinkling glass as the light overhead
burst. As the blackness swallowed the world,
I felt an amazing calm encompass me. Once
again my consciousness was able to expand.
The guard, Mike, was trying to use a cell
phone to report the blackout. It was not
working. The hum of the air conditioning had
stopped. The janitor was blindly stumbling to
the stairs. Scully huddled near my feet, but
I felt her hands grasping my pants legs as
she tried to rise. Diana Fowley was slumped
in the doorway, so very, very still.

I helped my partner to stand. She blindly
attempted to bring some light into her world,
clicking and reclicking the flashlight
switch.

"It won't work," I murmured, my throat still
raw from the cry that had strained it the
moment the overload had been released.

"Mulder," Scully's voice was a small moan,
almost lost in the night. "Mulder,
what...what happened?"

I held her close, trying to lightly brush the
tiny, crystal shards of glass off her hair
and shoulders. She was trembling. Her small
frame began to shake, but her sobs were
silent. I continued to comfort Scully, but I
reached out mentally to the limp form on the
floor, wanting to see what help I could
offer.

What happened next is completely my sin. My
only excuse is ignorance. Scully had told me
some of what I had done while I walked in the
footprints of ancient Mayans, but she had not
related the tale of Felicia. So I knew
nothing of my prior mistake. The sound of
Diana stirring announced that my unholy act
was a success. At this point, Scully didn't
know of either of the sins I'd committed that
night. I knew though.  I knew the moment the
creature, who had once been Diana Fowley,
made it to its feet. I touched a mind that
was as dark as the grave it belonged in; as
cold as the hands that clawed at me, crying
out for release.

"Mulder?" Scully questioned, feeling the
tangible shade as it moved beside her. I
perceived her horror when she realized what
I'd done, both the murder and the incomplete
resurrection. "Oh, God! God, no, Mulder." My
name was but a whisper.

We both backed away, shrinking from the
abomination that shuffled toward us,
desperately seeking liberation from its
soulless agony. I granted it release and let
the fire go. The walking corpse burst into
flame. Instantly, water began to pour from
the overhead sprinklers. With my thought they
ceased their deluge. They'd served their
purpose. The lump of charred flesh on the
floor had been put out. Scully pressed her
face to my chest, gagging at the sickly-sweet
stench that wafted up from the body.

"We need to finish up here. Can you see if
you can find me a plastic bag?" I asked, when
the last of my partner's quaking finally
stopped. She gave a loud, choking swallow,
but moved to do as I requested.

We left the building unnoticed, and traveled
through the darkened city streets unseen.  I
had Scully stop at the closest dumpster where
I disposed of the remains. I felt no sadness
at that point. The damning power still drove
me. Scully never said a word the entire trip
to the motel. Silently, she followed me
inside.  I heard her groan as she collapsed
on the bed. Moving through my familiar
darkness, I slid alongside her when her tears
finally came.

"Rest," I soothed, stroking her back. She
felt so tiny, so fragile. At last her gasps
quieted, and she lay mutely against me. Her
breath was a warm whisper on my outstretched
arm. Minutes ticked away; an hour passed.
"Scully, I need you to take me to his house,"
I said softly, finally making my decision.

Sleep had almost claimed her.  Her reply was
a soft, mumbled, "Who?"

"We need to finish this. I know where Spender
lives," I answered, speaking louder than I
wished with the excitement of knowing that
justice was at last going to be served.

This is what makes my shame so hard to bear.
This time, I can't claim illness; my mind was
clear. I remember it all. The powers had
consumed me, but I let it happen. I wanted
these feelings to go on forever. Finally, I
was in control again. I'd been a hopeless,
helpless cripple for longer than I cared to
remember.  For the first time since I'd
scrambled for my life in that cold, snowy
field, praying to a God I wasn't sure
existed, I felt whole. I felt good.

Scully gently pushed up to stare at me. The
curtains were open. I was sure she could see
me in the moonlight so I offered her a grin.

She moved to sit, grabbing my hand. I felt a
tingle as her lips caressed my palm,
lingering on the thumb where once there had
been a scar. It had long since disappeared.
Another "gift" of my gifts.

"Let's go home, Mulder," she murmured,
placing my hand so it cupped her face.
"Please. We have what we came for. Please." I
was surprised to feel a warm droplet splash
against my skin. "Tonight, okay? I can be
ready in 10 minutes. We've got Wagner's
platinum ticket back to Sky Watch. Please?"

I couldn't believe she didn't share my
excitement. That she didn't understand my
purpose, but I kept my voice low. "Okay, but
I need to take care of this. You can wait in
the car. I'll find him myself. It'll take 5
minutes, tops."

Her reaction surprised me. I took it as
simply anger. Why couldn't I read her? What
kept that part of me so blind? "No, do you
hear what you're saying? Don't you know?  All
this makes us no better than them! Let's
leave Mulder! We need to go home now. No
more, Mulder. Please!"

She stood beside the bed. She was almost
screaming. Why didn't I hear her fear?

"YOU don't understand. Why can't YOU see why
I have to do this? I'm finally standing up
for myself. I've finally got control. Why
don't you want me to feel this way?  You want
me to stay weak, to stay a cripple. Then you
can control me." My voice was loud. I was on
my feet now. The taste of ozone was once
again in my throat.

Scully stopped. The air was thick with
tension. Finally, she sighed. "Then you go
alone. I'll call a cab for you."  She began
to frantically rush about the room, gathering
her things.

I stood, stunned speechless, amazed by what
was happening. The click of the suitcase
shutting brought me out of my stupor. "You
can't leave me!"

She didn't answer.  I heard the door open. I
reached out to stop her with my will.

Scully's cry was a frightened gasp as the air
left her lungs. I knew I had hurt her.  She
crumpled to the carpet in a heap. The sound
of her head hitting the door echoed in my
brain.

"Scully," I groaned, lurching to her side.

She pushed away from me, shuddering at my
touch.

"I'm sorry." I tried once more, but she
winced from the contact.  I stopped, allowing
my hand to fall away. "Scully..."

"No," she choked.

I fell back. The wall was my only support.
"I'm sorry," I murmured. Panic made me reach
for her blindly. My power was gone. My
strength was beside me, struggling to stand,
threatening to walk out that door. I
frantically clutched at her hand, but she
shook free.

"If you ever cared, Mulder, let me go," she
whispered.

I let her go. The door closed behind her with
a soft click; she was gone.

End Tape
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
 
 
 

FWM Tapes
Late Winter 2003
Wellington, Colorado
 
 

I saw the sun yesterday; finally felt its
warmth against my face. Is spring coming, or
is this just one of God's practical jokes?
Now, why did I say something like that? I
don't even believe in God, and I know it'll
just upset Skinner. I think I'm becoming a
bitter old man, filled with hate. Even with
the change in the weather, I feel old today.
Maybe it's because of the change. I know that
this is a false spring. Soon, maybe this
evening, maybe tomorrow, another storm will
come in, and the fair days will be gone; gone
as though they were never here. I feel a cold
darkness seeping into my bones. There are
still bad times ahead, and I'm so tired.

*****

The blizzard hit as soon as the sun went
down. The little bit of snow that had melted
during the warm days froze instantly. Now we
can't get the door open. The drifts have long
since covered our two small windows. Skinner
and I are trapped with a rapidly dwindling
supply of wood (laughs). Wouldn't it be
'perfect' if we wound up having to burn these
files?

End Tape
-WSS-
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

W.S. Skinner
Est. Date March 25-30, 2003
Wellington, Colorado

The storm left us late last night. The
morning dawned bright, but Mulder is still
caught in a depression that hasn't lifted in
a week. I know he is taking his medication. I
don't believe he has the energy to use his
powers on me, fooling me like he did Scully.
My father used to call this type of mood his
"black dog". It has always brought to mind
the picture of a hound, slowly moving about,
eyes sad, ears drooping. All Mulder wants to
do is sleep. I am getting worried.

My part in recording this history starts now.
It was late evening on August 7th. I was in
the office of my insurance investigation
agency, Skinner/Ross Investigations, when I
received a call from a man inquiring if I was
"An ex-FBI man named Walter Skinner?"

I answered in the affirmative, so the caller
continued. "Well, my name is Amos Williams. I
run a gas station over here on 14th Street.
'Bout three hours ago I caught some punks
beatin' up on this white guy. I ran the
assholes off and brought the guy here to the
station. I thought he was a bum, ya know? But
he claims he used to be FBI, too. I was gonna
call him an ambulance 'cause they beat him up
pretty good, but he wouldn't let me. All I
could get outta him was your name so I looked
you up. Do you know a tall, skinny, blind,
one-eyed white guy?"

From what I'd last heard, the only person I
knew that would remotely fit that
description, was a bed-ridden,
semi-vegetable, living over 1500 miles away."
Did he tell you his name?"

"Mister, how many tall, blind, skinny,
one-eyed, white guys do you know?"

The man did have a point. "Just give me the
directions. I'm on my way."

*****

It wasn't until the next day that I finally
got Mulder's home phone number out of him.
From the time I picked him up at Amos
Williams' gas station, until he awoke the
following morning, Mulder spoke lucidly only
once, and that was to inform me that a
hospital was not necessary. Then he started
muttering about having healing powers. I had
assumed his ramblings were just part of the
brain damage he'd suffered.

I'd last seen Mulder that day in January 1999
when I'd given him the undercover assignment.
Here and there, I'd heard snatches about his
condition. I knew he'd suffered a stroke the
next year. I had thought he was brain dead.
The half-crazed, mumbling maniac I picked up
had me baffled. I was even more surprised by
the monosyllabic, manic-depressive wreck who
greeted me that following morning with a
tearful plea to find Scully.  I was afraid to
guess how he'd lost her. I tried Margaret
Scully's house, but to no avail. That's when
he'd finally mumbled out the number to Sky
Watch.

S.A.Wagner was grateful to hear from me. He
had no idea what had happened to his two,
long-time house guests, not having heard a
word from either of them since August 4th. I
was asked to bring Mulder home. Scully wasn't
there, but we would deal with one problem at
a time.  There would be a ticket waiting for
both of us at Dulles Airport. After making a
call to Kim to inform her of my travel plans,
we left to catch our flight to Colorado.
 
 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 

From The Journal of K.W. Wagner
August 9, 2002
Sky Watch, Wellington, Colorado
 
 

I haven't written in here since spring break.
The news my father gave me quelled my desire
to finish this book. I guess I thought no one
would be around to read it, but I couldn't
help myself. There are two more pages, and I
can't stand the thought of leaving something
undone. So sue me.  I'm a Virgo. That means
I'm a perfectionist. Perhaps the little green
men (oh, forgive me, Mulder claims they're
gray) will be curious as to what a young,
female Homo Sapiens once thought about life,
love and the world in general. Then again,
probably not, but I don't give a shit. I'm
finishing this up anyway. Go ahead and burn
it, you frigging, hateful ET bastards.

God, that felt good. : )

I guess I have enough room left here to tell
about Scully's and Mulder's return. It IS
romantic, in a way. It is a good way to end
this journal. My two friends left on August
4th to recover Mulder's files from where my
asshole adopted brother had hidden them.
Apparently, that part of their mission went
well because Mulder returned home yesterday
with the pro