Susanna Starz
mookie102283@hotmail.com
 

FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
DISTRIBUTION: OK
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORIES: SRA -- Story, Romance, Angst
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance, William Fic
SPOILERS: Through season 9
DISCLAIMER: The characters of The X Files belong to Chris Carter and
1013.
NOTES: The town of Caribou Cove is my own invention, entirely
fictional, and no similarity to any real place is intended.
SUMMARY: William moved through a nightmarish landscape of a world on
the brink of madness, feeling like a stranger to his own history.

*

          The locker room was crowded and noisy, and Will Mulder moved
away from his celebrating teammates, opening his locker and pulling out
his clothes. A news reporter was moving her way calmly through the maze
of half-naked men, camera man in tow as she stopped to speak with
several of that night's heroes.
          Will had never been much for publicity, so he ducked his head
quickly, preferring to exit with as little fanfare as possible.
          This had been his last game, and he was certain that the
reporter was looking for him. Instead, he hurried up the stairs and out
the back gate to the stadium, hurrying across the shadowy parking lot
towards his car.
          There was a woman leaning on it, blonde and beautiful,
dressed in a demure gray skirt suit. She smiled innocently at him as he
approached, sultry and full-lipped.
          "Hello," she said.
          "Who are you?" he scowled, glancing around. Why hadn't
stadium security noticed her?
          "Security figured they were doing you a favor by letting me
linger here," she said, reading his mind. She stood up straight,
looking him in the eye. She was tall, almost his height, and strikingly
attractive, even up close, which was more than he could say for many
women.
          "Have a good night," he said, stepping around her and
opening the door to his car.
          "Don't you want to talk to me?"
          He paused and stared at her for a moment, a half-smile toying
on his lips. "If I had a dollar for every woman that threw herself at
me after a big game, I wouldn't have needed a baseball career to make
me rich."
          "Lucky for you," she said coolly. "And lucky for me
that I'm not here to throw myself at you, although it's quite
charming that you thought so."
          "Then I give up. What are you doing here?"
          She smirked at him and pulled a small notepad out of her
jacket pocket. "Erin Doggett. Washington Post."
          "Now everything makes sense," he sighed. "Why didn't
you attempt to ambush me in the locker room like all the others?"
          "Amateurs," she said with a flip of her hair. "They
didn't do their homework. I know you avoid reporters like the
plague."
          "Forgive me if I vaccinate myself against you too, then,"
he said and cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Talk
about a cheesy line...
          She smiled, obviously amused. "Can I quote that?"
          "I'd rather you didn't."
          "Then give me an interview."
          He blinked at her. "Are you blackmailing me?"
          "You're an American hero. A pitcher and slugger of your
caliber hasn't been seen since Babe Ruth. I'd hate to see your
legacy tarnished by having you come off like an idiot in the press."
          "It's been my observation that most athletes *are*
idiots," he said. "What makes you so sure I'm any different?"
          "Keep digging that hole for yourself," she said, waving
her notebook at him.
          He sighed and sagged against his car door. "What do you
want to know?"
          "Why are you retiring?"
          "I've had enough. I want to do something different."
          "Most baseball players of your caliber don't retire after
four years to pursue law enforcement."
          "You *do* do your homework," he said, raising his
eyebrows. "I don't recall ever publicly mentioning my future
plans."
          "The FBI, to be exact," she licked her lips. "Like your
famous father."
          He frowned and crossed his arms. "What, exactly do you want
to know? It sounds like you've already dug up everything on me."
          "People are calling you the next Babe Ruth."
          "You know, he gave me some pointers on my batting stance
the other day."
          She blinked at him, her tone sardonic. "Really."
          He smirked, glancing around the darkened parking lot. "As a
kid, it was always a dream of mine to play professional baseball. One
of many dreams. Now that that particular dream has been accomplished,
it's time to move on to something else."
          "We should all be so talented."
          He shrugged. "I've always anticipated having a career
with the FBI."
          "Any particular interests?"
          "I'd answer that question, but I'm sure you already
know."
          "The X Files."
          Will couldn't stop himself from snorting in amusement.
"Exactly how long have you been researching me?"
          "Long enough."
          "I've read some of your stuff," he said abruptly,
shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You're a pretty
accomplished writer."
          "And you let me go on all this time thinking you didn't
know who I was?"
          "I know you by name and reputation, not by face."
          "I've heard rumors," she said, all earnestness now, her
sly demeanor vanishing. "About your role in certain...crucial
events."
          "Rumors," a ghost of a smile touched his face. "Are not
to be believed."
          "Are you an alien, Mr. Mulder?"
          Will blanched, stepping backwards. "You ask all of your
subjects that question?"
          "Just you."
          He shook his head slowly, eyeing her with new wariness.
"No. I'm a baseball player who's making a career change. Nothing
more, nothing less."
          "Then set the record straight about certain events."
          "Not a chance."
          "Off the record then," she said, flipping the cover on
her notebook closed and tucking it back into her pocket. "For
personal interest."
          He shook his head, mesmerized by her stare. "No."
          "I won't tell..."
          He let out a bark of laughter and sat down in his car.
"Have a good night, Miss Doggett."
          "I've done extensive research," she said, her tone
cold. "I know enough about you to know that things don't add up.
You don't have a history before the age of thirteen. No school
records, no little league trophies, no childhood friends. It's as
though you didn't exist."
          The car engine started with a roar. "What exactly are you
implying?"
          "I've researched your parents. They obviously didn't
raise you. It's as though you dropped out of the sky." She licked
her lips again. "Did you?"
          "I was adopted."
          "No adoption records."
          "This is all private information."
          "You look too much like him to be an adopted son."
          Irritated, Will glanced back up at her. "You want to know
the truth?"
          "Yes."
          "Get in."
          Smiling, she walked over to the passenger side of his small
sports car, sliding into the leather seat beside him.
          "Off the record," he said, his voice low.
          "Of course."
          "You were looking under the wrong name. I was adopted as a
baby under the name Van de Kamp. I was readopted by my real parents
years later."
          "Ah," she smiled at him, her face illuminated by passing
headlights. "The plot thickens."
          "Do you believe in ghosts?" he asked her as he pulled out
of the parking lot, the engine rumbling.
          "Should I?"
          "Oh, yes..."
 

*
 

          William Van de Kamp couldn't say when the ghosts had
appeared in his life; their arrival predated his earliest memory. For a
while, when he was three, he had a distinct memory of being followed by
a dark haired man who had watched him with intense interest. Whether
William was with his parents or playing alone in his bedroom, the man
was always standing in the shadows, staring.
          He had mentioned him once to his parents, who had laughed and
brushed it off. His mother had swatted his father and told him to stop
letting William watch so many monster movies on TV. When he'd
insisted, his mother had bent down to his level and, in a soft voice,
told him that maybe he had a guardian angel.
          The man, in his leather jacket, did not look like any angel
William had seen pictures of. For one thing, he lacked wings and a
golden halo, and the scowl on his face always seemed vaguely menacing.
          Finally, after weeks of enduring the man's intense stare,
William had said hello.
          The man looked shocked. "You can see me?"
          "Sure. Are you a ghost, mister?"
          He'd stood there for a moment, regarding the boy with
something like awe.
          "My name's William, even though they only really call me
that when they're mad, like the time I knocked over the vase in the
living room. What's your name?"
          "Alex," the man said after a long pause. Then he'd
vanished.
          For a few weeks, William had pestered his parents with
chatter about Alex his guardian angel, before new interests drove the
memory from his mind. As far as he knew, his parents had never given it
another thought, and Alex had never again returned.
          What they *had* given another thought, however, were the
abilities he began to manifest as he got older. His parents had always
wondered-as an infant he'd displayed an uncommon ability to soothe
himself, rarely needing parental comfort. If something upset him, he
simply made it right.
          How he made it right, they couldn't-or
wouldn't-understand. But when it came time for William to start
kindergarten, it was immediately clear that he was years ahead in
intellectual ability. Rather than advance him to a higher grade, his
parents had opted to home school him, hiring a teacher from a
neighboring town.
          It had worried his mother, who desperately wanted her adopted
son to have a normal childhood. She led a personal crusade against the
school system to allow William to participate in extracurricular
activities with other children his age, allowing him to pick what he
wanted to do from a colorful school brochure. He had decided on
baseball, basketball, chess and football, although his mother put her
foot down about football and told him that she hadn't gone through
all the trouble of adopting him so he could break his neck in a field
somewhere.
          So every day after he was tutored, his mother would buckle
him up in a car seat and drive him into town, where she'd turn him
loose onto the tee-ball field with a herd of other small children his
age.
          It was a week into this very first baseball season that the
five year old William developed what his father called a "natural
sports aptitude." Upon discovering that his coach became happy when
one of the clumsy little children in his care either hit a good shot
off the tee, or caught a ball while it was still in the air, William
began making it happen. When he got up to bat, he'd swing his
bat-no less awkwardly than the other children-striking the ball
lightly and popping it into the air. Then he'd touch the ball with
his mind and push it, like a soft puff of wind, far into the outfield.
          William liked to do that, because it made everyone cheer.
          "Damned if that kid of yours isn't a future pro," his
coach had yelled to his father once, slapping him heartily on the back.

          It was the same with basketball. William, no more fleet of
foot or graceful than the tangle of other children, was able to throw a
frighteningly accurate shot. Sometimes, his opponents tripped and fell
down before they were able to block him. To those who observed him, he
seemed nothing short of an athletic prodigy blessed with an unusual
streak of luck.
          To William, these things seemed natural. He would have been
surprised to learn that other children did not possess similar
abilities.
          And when more ghosts appeared on his sixth birthday, he was
not frightened.

*

          He'd awakened, full of excitement about birthday cake and
presents, to find three men standing around his bed, peering down at
him with interest.
          "Look at the little guy," one of them said in a
breathless whisper. "Looks just like him, doesn't it?"
          "Minus the nose."
          "Lucky bastard."
          "I don't see much of her in him," the first man said.
"Except for the nose," the second man said as William opened his
eyes and stared upon them for the first time.
          "Ah," the three of them said at once.
          "Right there."
          "Those eyes!"
          "More angels?" William asked, sitting up and rubbing his
eyes.
          The three men exchanged startled glances. The one nearest to
him, a kind looking man wearing a dapper suit, leaned down towards him.
"Can you see us?"
          "You guys don't look like angels," William said,
sitting up straighter. "But then, neither did my other angel, even
though I can't really remember him. He looked kinda scary."
          "Angels?" another man, this one short and squat, said
with a laugh.
          "We're not angels," said a tall man with scraggly
yellow hair. "We're ghosts."
          William eyed them suspiciously. "You're not wearing
sheets."
          "Sheets?"
          "My daddy told me that ghosts walk around in white
sheets."
          "Only the ones with identity issues," the yellow-haired
man said.
          William stared at them blankly. Then he smiled. "It's my
birthday."
          "Great idea, we scare the kid to death on his birthday,"
the man in the suit said with a groan.
          "Does he look scared to you?"
          "How come he can see us?"
          "Maybe he's like that kid from that Bruce Willis
movie."
          "He's not nearly as creepy."
          "My name's William," he said.
          "Byers."
          "Langly."
          "Frohike."
          "Funny names for angels."
          "We're not angels."
          "We're ghosts."
          William frowned, scrunching up his face at them. "I liked
having a guardian angel, because angels are nice. But ghosts are mean.
I was watching this movie last night where these ghosts-"
          "We're not mean ghosts," Byers told him reassuringly.
          "We only came around because we were curious about you,"
Langly added.
          "We've done just about everything ghosts can do, and we
got bored," Frohike nodded.
          "For a while, it was great!" Langly said, brightening.
"All the government secrets we finally got to see." Then he
frowned. "Of course, we can't write about them now. Or let anyone
else know what we've discovered."
          "Floating through walls in military bases," Byers nodded.
          "Stopping by the ladies' locker room," Frohike sounded
wistful.
          Byers shot him a warning look. "Then we tried haunting
Mulder and Scully, but that wasn't much fun."
          "No sense haunting someone when they're not frightened of
you," Frohike sighed.
          "Besides, sometimes you'd float through the walls and get
an eyeful." Langly shuddered. "And no one wanted to see that."
          "Speak for yourself," Frohike snapped.
          "Not in front of the kid!" Byers folded his arms and
stared sternly at them.
          "Who are they?" William was baffled.
          "Who are they? Kid, they're your par-" Langly was cut
off by a sharp elbow to the stomach from Byers. He narrowed his eyes.
"That could have hurt me."
          "Good thing you're dead, then."
          "In any case," Langly scowled. "It's no fun haunting
your friends after you've died. It's just depressing."
          "Totally depressing," Frohike agreed.
           "So you've seen other ghosts?" Byers asked him,
leaning close again.
          "Just one, I think." William struggled to remember. "He
said his name was Alex."
          "Rat bastard!" Frohike snapped.
          "Language!" Byers corrected.
          "How come I'm the only one that can see you?" William
asked them.
          "Good question," Byers said softly.
          "If I wasn't a disembodied spirit, I'd run some tests
on you," Langly offered.
           William climbed out of bed. "My teacher's gonna be here
in a little while. Then after I take my math test my mommy and daddy
are gonna take me out for pizza and ice cream." He stared at them
somewhat shyly. "You guys can come if you want."
          "Pizza..." Langly sighed.
          "Too depressing," Frohike shook his head.

*
 

          The three strange ghosts, who had eventually told William to
refer to them as his dead godfathers, hung around for the next six
years of his life. Often, while taking a test, William could look up
and see Frohike helpfully offering to purloin the answers for him while
looking longingly down the tutor's blouse. Langly talked him through
fixing the problems that periodically popped up on the family's
computer.
          Byers had assumed a strangely protective role, stepping up to
offer William fatherly guidance when his own father was away at work.
It was Byers that William talked to about the questions and fears he
had about being adopted, a truth his parents had told him when they
thought he was old enough to understand. Byers swore to him that his
real parents had loved him very much, although he was always somewhat
evasive on the subject.
          His three ghosts also refused to speak with him about the
nature of his strange abilities. When he had inquired, rather eagerly
of Byers, whether his parents could see ghosts too, Byers had responded
stonily, "Your parents were very intelligent people."
          They discouraged William from asking too much about his
heritage. They seemed insistent that he be content with his life the
way it was, content in the knowledge that he had two adopted parents
who cherished him.
          And for six more years, William was content.

          The beginning of his unraveling happened unexpectedly on a
warm June day, when William was twelve years old. Fresh out of school
for summer break, Will found his hazy afternoons filled with his
favorite past time: baseball.

          "Strike!" the umpire yelped. The batter, his chubby face
shadowed by his helmet, scowled at the call.
          William, standing on the mound, cracked a smile. A bead of
sweat ran down the side of his dirt-streaked face. He had been pitching
an exceptional game, only relying on his gift to pull him out of one
tight spot when he'd had bases loaded and the other team's star
slugger up at bat.
          His team was winning six to zero.
          He could see his mother sitting in the stands, munching
happily on a hot dog and chatting with the other parents. She had
always been social, and he'd always felt somewhat guilty that his
home schooling had kept her from contact with a lot of other parents.
She seemed like the type of mother who would have really enjoyed
chaperoning a school trip or two. His father was working, although he
had promised to take them out for pizza that night when he came home.
          The three ghosts were lined up behind the backstop, cheering.
William was always amused to see his teammates standing behind the
ghosts, looking out, never realizing what stood inches away from their
faces.
          As he wound up and delivered another pitch, he realized that
something was wrong. Both Frohike and Langly were cheering exuberantly,
but Byers looked nervous. His eyes were fixed on a spot past William,
out in left field.
          Unnable to turn around mid-pitch, William did the only thing
he could think to do in order to get a look at the outfield. He
delivered a fastball dead center over the plate, exactly where he knew
the chubby batter liked it. The boy swung, hard, and knocked the ball
deep into left field.
          William turned to watch, feigning dismay, and saw a figure in
a dark suit walking slowly across the grass. He turned towards the
umpire, certain he would throw the offender out, but the other man did
not seem to notice.
          The boy in left field, running for the baseball, ran right
*through* the intruding man.
          William sighed. Another ghost. This explained why the others
weren't responding to the intrusion. As he watched, the ghost reached
into his pocket and drew out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one. He
puffed ghostly vapors as he strolled across the field.
          "Will-hey Will!" his coach's voice broke his
concentration. He turned away from the ghost on the field. "Don't
worry about that pitch, you'll get 'em on the next one-you
okay?" He had seen the stricken look on Will's face.
          "Fine," Will grunted, winding up and delivering another
pitch. It scorched over the plate before the batter even had a chance
to get a good look.
          "Strike!" the umpire bellowed.
          "There you go, Will!" His coach yelled, his voice tinged
with relief.
          William felt anger bubbling up. He'd been pitching just
fine before the stupid ghost had showed up and made him sacrifice a hit
into left field. *Normal* kids weren't bothered by such things, hell
the kid in left field had run right *through* the ghost for god's
sake!
          He flung another pitch, which the batter swung wildly at and
missed. William smiled savagely, beginning to enjoy making the others
look foolish. Stupid ghosts, making him worry about things a twelve
year old kid had no business worrying about...
          As he threw the third strike to end the inning, Will glanced
up at the backstop, and what he saw made his blood run cold.
          His dead godfathers were gone.

          The remainder of the baseball game passed by in a blur. Will
no longer had much interest in his pitching, and his team won by a
narrow margin. He kept turning around to see if someone was behind him.
          The strange new ghost that had appeared in left field had
taken up residence next to first base, standing only inches from the
players. He blew a puff of ethereal smoke and stared at William with
bright, fascinated eyes.
          When the game was over, Will shoved through his enthusiastic
teammates, ignored his the praise from his coach, and hurried over to
his mother.
          "I want to go home now."
          She paused, mid-conversation with another mother, to smile
vaguely at him. "You played a wonderful game, Will. This is Mrs.
Sanderson. You know her son, Carl?"
          Will nodded mutely. Carl Sanderson was the small, loudmouthed
left fielder who had run through the ghost only moments earlier.
          "I was mentioning it to her that you've found it
difficult to...make friends...being as you're home schooled," his
mother was still smiling at him, her hand on his shoulder.
          "I'd love for you to come to Carl's birthday party this
afternoon," the other woman said to him.
          Will felt panic seize him. He had no desire to go
anywhere-all he wanted to do was find his dead godfathers and find
out what was going on, and who the strange new ghost was.
          "Look at him," his mother said softly. "Overcome with
emotion. The poor boy, this has really been hard for him."
          Sometimes, Will wondered what planet his parents were from.
          "I'll bring him by at two," she said, still smiling at
the other woman.
          "Wonderful!" Mrs. Sanderson enthused. "I'll have some
tea ready for us grownups."
          Grumbling internally but not daring to show his unhappiness
on the outside, William followed his mother to the car. He noticed with
growing unease that the strange man trailed behind him.

*

          The birthday party was loud and boisterous. Will hung
nervously in the doorframe of the patio, staring out at the crush of
children leaping in and out of a large in-ground pool. He spotted Carl
and several of his baseball teammates, and hesitantly walked towards
them to say hello.
          "Hey Will," Carl said, spying him. Some of the other boys
followed suit.
          They had always been friendly to William-it was hard for
them not to like him as he'd continuously led their team to the
championships for years. Yet he'd never really clicked with anyone on
the team beyond a purely superficial level. He found it hard to discuss
baseball cards and movies with the other kids when he was constantly
being tailed by a trio of socially challenged ghosts. He could not help
but feel that he was different from the other children, different in
his intelligence, in his abilities, and also in some strange way that
he was never quite able to define. He felt marked, somehow, as though
he were destined for something great or terrible or both.
          He wondered if every adopted kid had these thoughts.
          For a while, with respect for his extraordinary abilities, he
had entertained a hope that he was Harry Potter, and that his dead
godfathers were no ghosts, but wizards. When his eleventh birthday
passed without an invitation to Hogwarts, he could not help but feel
disappointed.
          And yet he still felt different. Special, somehow. A shrink
would probably have a field day with him.
          "Hey, look!" Will felt Carl Sanderson's damp hand on
his arm, turning his attention to a girl who had just come through the
back door. She was tall, too tall for her age, and quite thin. She had
dark blond hair which was pulled back into a ponytail, and which had
already started to frizz in the humid weather. Her clothes were ill
fitting, loose on her and yet too short for her height. There was a
smudge of dirt on the side of her face and scabs on her knees. She wore
glasses.
          "Who is that?" Will asked, blinking.
          "The freak. Oh, man I can't believe my mom invited
her!" Carl was giggling. "She's so awful."
          "What's so bad about her?" Will was confused. "She
looks a little nerdy, but-"
          "A little nerdy?" Carl laughed. "Oh, man, what a laugh.
I keep forgetting you're not in class with the rest of us. She's a
freak! Her dad just got out of jail, he robbed a bank and said aliens
made him do it. Aliens, man, can you believe it?"
          "Weird," Will allowed himself a little laugh, still
staring at the girl. She seemed lost, confused, searching for a smile
in a sea of unfamiliar faces.
          "Watch this," Carl whispered. He turned towards the girl
and waved. "Hey, hey Pam! Come on over here!"
          The girl turned at the sound of her name, eyes alighting on
Carl. She smiled, deliriously happy to be noticed, and began to walk
towards them.
          "Hi Carl," she said, and her voice was soft and not
unpleasant. "Happy birthday."
          "Oops!" Carl said, smirking, as his foot went out.
          Will saw it happen in slow motion, saw the girl stumble over
Carl's extended leg and pitch headfirst, arms flailing, into the
pool.
          Carl doubled over laughing, several of his other baseball
cronies joining in.
          "Look at the freak!" Someone yelled.
          It seemed like the whole party had ground to a halt. All
around the yard, kids who had been engaged in various activities froze
as one and looked towards the pool, where the girl had surfaced, her
blond hair matted to her head and tangled in her eyes, her clothes
sopping wet. Her glasses floated somewhere behind her as she flapped
her arms, struggling desperately to climb out of the water.
          As one, the group of kids began to laugh.
          Will felt something tear inside him as he stared down at the
girl, whose face was glowing red with shame even as she struggled out
of the pool. Water ran in rivers down her arms, pooling at her feet.
          "My glasses," she moaned, looking around.
          "Here," he said quickly, bending down and fishing them
out of the water. He handed them to her and she put them on without
wiping them off, staring at him from behind droplets of water.
          "Sorry," Carl said, not sounding sorry at all. "My foot
must have slipped."
          Something burst in Will's vision, and he lunged for the
other boy, shoving him hard. Carl let out a yelp of surprise and fell
backwards into the water.
          "William!" His mother gasped, standing up from where she
sat with the other mothers.
          "Sorry," Will said savagely. "I slipped." He turned
away from the others and stalked off, wanting to put as much distance
between himself and the party as possible.
          "William Van de Kamp!" his mother yelled behind him.
"Get back here!"
          He ignored her and kept walking, letting himself out of the
back yard and into the relative quiet of the surrounding neighborhood.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned, steeling himself for the
inevitable confrontation.
          The girl-Pam-stood behind him, looking pathetic and
miserable in her wet clothes.
          "What?" He asked irritably.
          "Thank you," she said, her voice soft and shy. She did
not meet his gaze.
          "Yeah." He was suddenly awkward. "Sure." He turned
away from her and kept walking. Her soft footsteps echoed behind him.
Sighing, he turned around to face her once more. "Your name's Pam,
right?"
          "Pam Sullivan," she nodded.
          "I'm Will Van de Kamp."
          "I know who you are." A blush spread across her cheeks as
she spoke.
          "How?"
          "Everyone knows who you are," she smiled shyly and
glanced down at the ground. "All the guys, because you're the best
baseball player our town has seen in years. And all the girls,
because...well...just because."
          "I don't really know anyone," he admitted. "Just the
guys on my teams."
          "Like Carl," she said softly.
          "Like Carl," he agreed, and then frowned at the
expression on her face. "But Carl's a jerk."
          "He's no different than most. He only did it to impress
you"
          He realized that she had taken the lead, walking purposefully
down a side street that wound away from Carl's house and the rest of
town. He fell into step beside her. "Where are we going?"
          "You're walking me home."
          "You don't want to stay at the party?" he joked
halfheartedly.
          She smiled at him, her eyes meeting his, and he saw that they
were a mesmerizing green behind her thick glasses. "Sometimes I fool
myself into thinking I'll have a good time, but I never do. I should
have just stayed at home and read a book."
          "It can't be that bad. You met me, didn't you?"
          "You have an awfully high opinion of yourself, Will Van de
Kamp."
          "That's not what I meant," he squirmed. "I just
meant...well...neither of us have many people to talk to. Now we're
talking to each other. That's all."
          She came to a stop in front of a ramshackle house on the edge
of town. A rusted wrought iron fence separated the sidewalk from the
weed choked yard.
          "Thank you for walking me home," she said, her hand on
the gate.
          "You're not gonna invite me in?" He was incredulous.
"I stick up for you, push Carl into the pool, and walk you home, and
you don't even invite me in for a soda?"
          "I..." She dropped her eyes. "I don't think we have
any soda. I could run and get you a glass of water though."
          Will shrugged, realizing that something was bothering her.
          "My dad's asleep," she said quickly. "He naps
sometimes in the afternoons. I don't want to wake him up-"
          "Pam?" A voice bellowed from inside the house. "Pammy,
that you?"
          "Just go home," she said to Will.
          A man appeared in the doorway, banging through the tattered
screen. He was dressed in shorts and a stained white tee shirt that did
little to conceal his expansive belly. He clutched a beer can in one
meaty fist. "Pammy, what are you doing out here?"
          "I told you I had a birthday party to go to," she said,
near tears.
          "I woke up and you were gone," the man gasped, lurching
towards her. "I thought they had gotten you, Pammy. I thought they
took you away and I'd never see you again." His voice was shaky and
tear-choked.
          "I'm all right, daddy."
          "You-" He froze when his eyes fell on Will.
"Mulder?" He gasped, reaching out a trembling hand. When he spoke
again, his voice was more certain. "Mulder! Agent Mulder! I knew
I'd see you again..." Then he frowned, contemplating William's
age with bleary eyes. He appeared to do some unsteady mental
calculations. "Not Mulder. Can't be Mulder. His son?" His voice
dropped to reverent awe. "Are you his son?"
          "I'm William Van de Kamp," he said, holding out his
hand awkwardly.
          "Not Mulder?"
          "Not Mulder," William shook his head. "I've never
heard of him, I'm sorry."
          The man sighed, gripping Will's hand with a fierce grip.
"He was kind to me. I have to go." He said abruptly, turning and
disappearing into the house.
          "I'm sorry you had to see that," Pam said.
          "I'm sorry you have to live that," Will replied flatly.

          She blinked at him, surprised by his frankness. "You're a
strange one, Will Van de Kamp."
          Will smiled at her, and then turned and made his way for
home.

*

          "My dad was abducted by aliens," Pam said as she sat
cross legged on the floor in Will's living room three days later,
munching on a peanut butter sandwich.
          "Aliens?" William was astonished. "But that's movie
stuff!"
          "I can't say for sure whether it's true or he's just
crazy. It happened before I was born. But he swears that they took him
repeatedly when he was in his twenties."
          "And what about the guy he thought I was, Mulder?"
          "This much I know is true...my mom told me about it. Some
twenty years ago or so an FBI agent came calling to investigate my
dad's claims about alien abduction. Before the investigation was
over, my dad, apparently claiming that aliens were controlling him
through something in his nose-weird, right?-robbed a bank."
          "That's wild."
          "I guess...I was conceived when he got out of jail," she
blushed. "My mom died a few years ago."
          "So why does he care so much about an FBI agent he hasn't
seen in more than twenty years?"
          "He says that Agent Mulder did something that no one had
ever done for him before."
          "What?"
          "He believed him."
          William frowned and stared at the television screen. "He
must have been a crackpot to believe a story like that. No offense."
          Pam shrugged. "Everyone has their opinions."
          "Aliens though," William shook his head. "Wow. Totally
nutso." Then a thought hit him and he scowled. *How much weirder was
a ghostly trio of godfathers?*
          "You're the only person I've ever talked to about
this," she said, fixing her gaze on the flickering television screen.
"Everyone else would rather call me a freak than listen to any of
this."
          "I don't think you're a freak. But you might think that
I am after I tell you this." Will dropped his voice, knowing that his
mom was in the other room. "I see ghosts, sometimes."
          "What, like the kid in that movie?"
          "Kind of. Not really though. I don't see a lot of ghosts,
just some. And they never ask me to do things for them. For the past
six years I've had a trio of guys following me around claiming to be
my dead godfathers. They say...they say they knew my parents back when
they were alive."
          "Are they here now?" She was breathless, looking around
the room wide-eyed.
          "No. They disappeared during my baseball game the other
day. Right after another ghost showed up." He glanced warily at the
man who had taken up residence in the living room corner, blowing
silvery puffs of smoke out of the shadows.
          "So who's the other guy?"
          "I don't know. He doesn't talk to me." Will
shuddered. "He just watches. Like I'm about to do something
fascinating. He's right over there."
          "Where?" She asked eagerly-too eagerly-and before he
could say another word she had walked towards the corner, hands
outstretched. "Over here?"
          "Yeah," he grimaced. "Your hand's in his stomach."
          Pam winced and pulled her hands back. "What's he
doing?"
          "He's looking at you."
          "Creepy."
          "It's weird. The ghosts that I see; they all seem to be
waiting for me to do something. It's like they're my audience.
Somehow I get the feeling that they knew me before..."
          "Before you were adopted?"
          "Yeah."
          "Have you tried asking your parents about it?"
          "They don't want to talk about it. They tell me that they
love me and I'm their little miracle." He rolled his eyes. "They
don't like to acknowledge that I had parents before them, but they
felt it was important that I know. Something about it saving me the
pain of finding out later."
          "Maybe your parents were psychic. Your real parents, I
mean."
          "Maybe," he shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised. Want
to see something totally crazy?"
          She grinned and nodded.
          "I don't tell anyone I can do this. Not my parents, not
my coaches, no one. Maybe this is what everyone is watching me
for..." He glanced over at the man in the corner. "Hey-ghosty!
You paying attention?"
          Will stared hard at the television screen. The power
flickered and went off.
          Pam gasped. "You're hiding the remote somewhere,
right?"
          Will shook his head. He turned his attention to the couch,
where the remote flew out from behind some cushions and landed neatly
in his hand.
          "Holy shit," she said, then blushed. "Sorry."
          "That's why I'm so good at baseball. When I do bad, I
can just correct it."
          "Don't tell anyone about this," she said, staring at
him intently. "The government will take you away and do tests on you.
This is really serious."
          "You're paranoid."
          "I mean it! You'd be really valuable to them." Pam
crossed her arms. "You have to know that. That's why you never told
anyone."
          "I never told anyone 'cause I didn't want them thinking
I was even weirder than I already am. My mom already hates that she has
to have me home schooled. She'd rather be going to PTA meetings and
parent/teacher conferences."
          "At least she's sane and sober," Pam said coolly.
          "She'd think I wasn't, if she knew about the ghosts and
the...flying things."
          "Promise me you won't tell anyone else."
          Will stared at her for a long moment, before sighing.
"Fine."
          "William?" His mother was standing in the doorway,
wringing her hands together as she regarded Pam with an obvious air of
unease. She appeared torn between happiness that her son finally had a
friend he hung out with regularly and anxiety that the girl he'd
choose to befriend did not belong to a family she'd like to associate
with.
          "Hmm?"
          "I just wanted to know if Pam was staying for dinner, or if
we were driving her home, or..." She let her voice trail off, her
question clear.
          "I can walk home," Pam said quickly. "My dad will want
me home for dinner."
          "Walk home?" His mother looked appalled, her unease about
Pam's presence vanishing in light of new motherly concerns. "Oh,
honey of course not. I'll drive you."
          "You really don't have to-"
          "Nonsense. Just let me grab my keys."
          The three of them made their way out the front door and were
heading towards the Van de Kamps' station wagon when a beat up brown
pickup truck rattled to a stop in front of the house.
          "Oh.." Pam breathed with dismay as her father staggered
out from the cab.
          William chanced a glance at his mother, who was staring at
the other man with an expression of mingled pity and disgust.
          "Pammy," he said, stumbling up the walkway. His skin
stank of liquor and cigarette smoke. "Pammy, we have to go."
          Pam wordlessly stepped towards him.
          Mrs. Van de Kamp hesitated for a moment before stepping
forward. "You're not going anywhere with that child while you're
drunk."
          Pam's father eyed her for a moment, before his gaze
traveled to William. "They're coming, now," he said, and the tone
of his voice chilled Will's blood. "They were scared of you, but
now they're not."
          "Daddy, stop it," Pam pleaded, tugging on his arm.
          "They told me," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"They told me everything. They're going to deal with you, William
*Mulder* and then nothing can stop them."
          "My name's Van de Kamp," he said, baffled. "You've
got it all wrong."
          "They know the truth now," the man laughed, a short,
terrified bark. "Everyone's going to die."
          He slid back behind the steering wheel and roared off,
Pam's face ghostly pale in the window as she stared out at them.
          "My god," Will's mother said, her lips pursed as she
stared after the truck. "That poor, poor girl."
          Dinner that night was fried chicken and mashed potatoes, but
Will couldn't bring himself to eat. Looking across the table at his
mother's pinched expression, he thought perhaps she understood.

*

          The voices roused him from a fitful slumber; for a moment he
was certain they were a part of his dream and then his heart leapt when
he realized they were real.
          His dead godfathers stood over his bed, shrouded in shadow.
          "Get up kiddo," Byers said.
          "Time to go," Langly added.
          "Go?" William asked sleepily. "Go where?"
          "Out of this town, for starters," Frohike said, his voice
edged with panic.
          William sat up, staring at them. "Where did you guys go? I
was starting to get worried when you disappeared after my baseball
game, and that other guy was following me around-"
          "Just get up and pack," Byers said. "We'll explain
everything, but you have to get moving."
          William reluctantly stood up. "What am I packing?"
          "Only what you can carry," Frohike told him. "Fill up a
backpack with clothes. Jeans, shirts, a jacket...wear comfortable
shoes."
          "You need to convince your parents..." Byers frowned.
"The Van de Kamps to wake up and pack. It's not safe here anymore.
Tell them to load up the car and head south."
          "Like they're gonna believe that!" William said
incredulously as he finished stuffing several pairs of jeans and some
t-shirts into his school backpack.
          "Make them believe!" Byers insisted. "You have to move.
Now."
          William jumped as he heard a barely audible thud from down
the hall.
          "Goddammit it's too late," Frohike groaned. "Move,
William! Out the window!"
          "What about my parents?"
          "They're dead," Langly said.
          William froze. "They're what?"
          "They're dead, and you will be too if you don't get out
of here now!"
          Moving as if underwater, in a dream, William grabbed his
light windbreaker off a chair and slipped it over his shoulders. He
slid his window open and stepped outside onto the angled roof, the warm
July night air hitting his skin. He shimmied down the gutter pipe,
breathing a sigh of relief as his feet touched the cool grass.
          "Damn, kid," Frohike said with admiration. "Given more
time, I think you could have made yourself into one hell of a Don
Juan."
          "Run," Byers told him.
          William ran. He ducked into the foliage instinctively to
avoid the unmarked black sedan sitting in his driveway. His bicycle
waited by the garage and he flung himself onto it, pedaling hard across
the weed choked side field, desperate to reach the road before he was
seen.
          *Let this be a dream* he begged silently. *Let me wake up in
some field after a crazy night of sleepwalking and have my parents
standing over me ready to punish me*
          But some part of him, the part that had been anxiously
awaiting the moment when his life would change forever, knew that this
was no dream.
          "Is it aliens?" He asked out loud as he pedaled, knowing
that his dead godfathers were somewhere nearby.
          "It's started," Langly said. "The invasion. They held
off longer than they had planned because they were scared of you."
          "Pam's dad was right," he murmured.
          "They were in communication with him. They knew who you
were the second he saw you," Byers said.
          "Rotten luck, growing up in the same town he lived in, him
recognizing your real father and all," Frohike sighed.
          "My real father?" William almost stopped pedaling. "So
he was right about that?"
          "Christ, kid, you're a dead ringer for him," Langly
snorted.
          "Once they knew where you were," Byers cut in, staying
determinedly on topic. "They figured they could deal with you quickly
and effectively. They've begun the invasion, counting on their
assassins to take you out."
          "They killed my parents?" William wanted to stop pedaling
his bike and find somewhere to curl up and cry.
          "They would have died anyway in the coming invasion,"
Byers said softly, his words meant to reassure.
          "It's my fault they're dead?" Will's voice had
dropped to a whisper.
          "You're going to save the world," Langly said.
"Without you, millions will die."
          *Here it is, then* William thought bitterly. *The Harry
Potter moment I've been waiting for all my life. Only it's not
nearly as fun as I'd thought it would be*
          "We need to move faster. This town is going to be ground
zero for an attack."
          "Pam!" William said suddenly, jerking his bike to a halt.
"I can't leave her here!"
          "Will, there's no time!" Byers said.
          "You weren't around her! She knows stuff! She needs to
come!" Suddenly saving Pam was the only thing that Will could think
about. The thought of her, with her thick glasses and untidy blond
hair, perishing in some alien invasion was almost too much to bear. She
was the only friend he had left in the world...the only *living*
friend, anyway.
          He turned his bike down her street and was surprised to see
her sitting on the street corner, a small backpack by her side.
          "I'll be damned," Byers whispered.
          She looked up at him and smiled, a small, confused smile.
"I figured, with all this talk my dad's been doing about the end of
the world, I should be prepared to run. You know, on the off chance
he's right about something."
          "Where's your dad?"
          "Passed out," she shrugged. "Just because he's
predicting the end doesn't mean he's going to do anything about
it."
          "It's true," Will said, gulping.
          "I figured," she sighed. "Where are we going?"
          He stared at her hopelessly for a moment before looking
around frantically for his dead godfathers. "Byers? Langly?"
          "South," Langly said.
          "South," Will told Pam.
          She raised her eyebrows but said nothing, merely hitched her
backpack securely over her shoulders and grabbed the handlebars of her
mountain bike.
          Will glanced around. The small town was so peaceful, shrouded
in darkness. Well-manicured houses dotted the land as far as his eye
could see. It was hard to believe anything bad could ever happen here.
          Then he thought of his parents, and a lump rose in his
throat. Maybe he should have gone downstairs to check. Maybe his mom
had just fallen-
          "Will, we gotta move," Frohike said, and he felt the
chill of a ghostly hand on his back, guiding him gently towards his
bike.
          As they pedaled off into the darkness, Pam turned towards
him. "Man, I sure hope you're not crazy."
          "Me? You're the one who believes in aliens and all that
other movie stuff."
          "And you're the one who ran away from home with the
intention of fleeing those aliens," she muttered. "And you talk to
ghosts. No sane people talk to ghosts."
          "I wish you could see them."
          "So do I!" she exclaimed. "It would make things easier.
Then at least we'd both be insane." Her face grew serious as they
reached the edge of town. "So everyone here... They're all going to
die, aren't they?"
          Will frowned. "Maybe not everyone."
          "A lot of people here tease me. Carl Sanderson pushed me
into the pool, but I don't think he deserves to die. I'd like to
see him get a good smack from his mom, but I just don't think he
deserves to die."
          "There are a lot of people who don't deserve to die,"
Will said, thinking of his parents. With every turn of his bike's
wheel, his mounting terror compounded his significant grief.

*

          Four hours and many miles later, the first beginnings of
morning light had begun to filter up from the horizon. Will glanced
over at Pam and saw she was pedaling with her eyes closed, her jaw
slightly slack.
          "We need to stop for a little while," he said.
          "Probably a good idea," Langly said from behind him.
"You should only travel at night time."
          "Less chance of being seen," Frohike added.
          Will touched Pam on the shoulder and they both stopped their
bikes. On either side of the road, long stretches of wheat fields
rolled out as far as the eye could see. In the distance rolled
beautiful, purple mountains that in the winters would be capped with
snow, luring skiers from all over the world.
          "Get off the road," Byers said. "The wheat will conceal
you. Just try and get some sleep, and we'll wake you if anything goes
wrong."
          Will wheeled his bike onto the field, feeling the wheat
stalks close over his head. The effect was startlingly claustrophobic,
and he froze.
          "If they can't see you, they can't hurt you," Frohike
spoke behind him. "Go."
          Will and Pam made their way further into the wheat, until
they could no longer see the road. Then Will sat down with a grunt,
realizing for the first time how tired he was.
          Pam had pulled a sleeping bag out of her small backpack and
was busily unrolling it. He gaped at her.
          "What?" She raised her eyebrows as she climbed into the
small bag, which was decorated with little cartoon UFOs. "I told you
I was prepared."
          Shaking his head, amused, Will rolled up his windbreaker and
used it as a pillow as he lay down in the wheat. The plants tickled his
skin, but within a few moments he had been lulled into sleep by the
soothing whispers of nature.

*

          When Will opened his eyes, it was five o'clock in the
afternoon. He sat up, brushing wheat off of his clothes. Beside him, in
her sleeping bag, Pam continued slumbering.
          "No chance of this being a dream," he muttered to
himself.
          "Look who's awake," Langly said, brightening as William
stood up and walked towards them.
          "I want to know what's going on."
          "Byers went back into town to check everything out,"
Frohike said. "He should be back soon."
          "I don't mean in town," Will shook his head.
"Well...I do, but not just that. I want to know who you are. I want
to know who I am. And I want to know where we're going."
          Frohike and Langly exchanged glances, before Frohike took a
deep breath.
          "Your real parents were FBI agents. They ran a division of
the FBI called the X Files, which specified in unexplained
phenomena."
          "Your dad was obsessed with proving the existence of
extraterrestrials."
          "But you can find out their history when you meet them,"
Frohike said. "During the years that they worked on the X Files
project, they uncovered a conspiracy between aliens and the
government."
          "There was a planned invasion. Colonization."
          "When you were born..." Frohike shifted uncomfortably.
"Well I don't want to get too deeply into the facts of life, but
your mom wasn't supposed to be able to have children. You were
considered a miracle."
          "Right off the bat, you had interesting gifts."
          "Then your dad had to leave-"
          "He left? He left my mom and me?" William didn't know
why he felt so offended by someone he couldn't remember.
          "You don't understand," Frohike shook his head. "It
was dangerous times. There were people looking for you, and for your
dad. People who wanted to kill you."
          "I *am* Harry Potter," he said with a groan.
          "Your mom couldn't protect you. She finally made the
decision to give you up for adoption, hoping you'd be safe somewhere
else. None of your enemies ever found out where you had been placed,
and the colonization that was supposed to have occurred sometime last
year was held off because there was a fear that you'd emerge
and..."
          "They'd lose," Langly finished.
          "Most teenagers think the world revolves around them,"
Frohike snorted. "In your case, the world really does revolve around
you."
          "When you were located, everything went back into
motion," Langly said grimly. "Colonization began. They planned on
eliminating you, a naive adoptee who had no idea of the true nature of
his gifts."
          "I know I have gifts," William said, frowning. "I never
really showed them to anyone. I always kept it private...except with
baseball."
          "That's probably why you're still alive," Langly
said. "If they'd had any idea, they would have snuffed you out
years ago."
          William grimaced. "Do me a favor and don't tell Pam that,
okay? I'll never hear the end of it." He stared at them for a
moment. "Where did you guys go that day? You were gone for almost two
weeks."
          "When we saw that bastard..." Frohike scowled. "Sorry.
We knew something had to be up. People were always stopping by to look
in on you...you were quite a curiosity amongst the ghost community in
the know. But that man...he wasn't just curious to see how you were
growing up."
          "Who was he?"
          "Your grandfather, so to speak," Langly shrugged. "But
don't go expecting any paternal affection from him."
          "He was one of the key players in the conspiracy."
          "I figured if he was coming around to look in on you,
something must have changed. So we went and sat in on several key
secret government meetings. The aliens were getting restless. There was
going to be an increased effort in the search for you. Not an easy
task-all of your adoption records had been destroyed. They might
never have succeeded, but then all hell broke loose."
          Frohike shook his head. "They were notified that an
abductee, Roger Sullivan, had seen and recognized the boy."
          "He meant you no harm, William," Langly said sadly.
"But they knew everything he knew."
          "Because of the implant," Will said.
          "Mulder and Scully are gonna love this kid," Langly
smiled.
          "You look a lot like your dad," Frohike said. "But you
have your mom's eyes."
          "A devastating combination," Langly added.
          "Here's Byers," Frohike said suddenly, glancing up as
Byers drifted grimly through the stalks of wheat.
          "What's the news?" Langly asked.
          "Bad," Byers said quietly. "It was bees. Those that
didn't get stung and those that were immune to stings...They were
torn apart in the aftermath."
          "God," Frohike gasped.
          "They are already spinning a cover story to sell to the
media. Something about rabid wolves. It's doubtful this will even
raise an alarm in Washington."
          "No one will know it's happening," Langly whispered.
          "Some suits showed up and destroyed everything. They burned
the town and called it an out of control fire started by some guy who
attempted to stave off the wolves from his family farm. Nothing
escaped."
          "The aliens?"
          "Dead for now. This was just an exercise. This was for
*you* Will."
          William stared down at his feet. "So now what?"
          "They're fairly certain you've been killed. No one can
know you escaped the town. Now the colonization will progress as
planned."
          "They'll hit the big cities first," Langly said. "On
a holiday. July Fourth."
          "That's in two weeks," William said, horrified.
          "There's nothing you can do to stop it. But you *will* be
able to end it once it starts."
          "I take it back," Will groaned. "I'm not Harry
Potter, I'm John Connor from Terminator."
          "You sure know your movies."
"We have to get you to your parents."
          "There has to be someone we can call! Someone we can
warn!"
          His dead godfathers exchanged glances.
          "There is someone," Frohike said hesitantly. "I don't
know if they'll believe you, if anyone will believe you are who you
say you are, but it's worth a try."
          "There's a town five miles south of here. There will be a
pay phone you can use."
          Byers glanced up into the sky, which was slowly purpling with
the advent of dusk. "I think it's safe to start moving again."
          "Are you done sitting there and talking to yourself?" A
voice said from behind Will.
          He jumped slightly, turning around to meet Pam's amused
gaze. "I wasn't talking to myself. I was talking to-"
          "Ghosts, I know. I still haven't seen any proof you
aren't crazy."
          "Everyone's dead," he said flatly, not in the mood to
bicker. "Our town's gone."
          She sobered immediately. "Everyone?"
          "That's what they say."
          "What about the world?"
          "Two weeks."
          Pam sat down in the wheat with a thud. Bits of hay were stuck
in her hair, further emphasizing her rumpled appearance.
          "There's a town about five miles from here. We can get
something to eat and use a pay phone."
          "Who you gonna call?" she joked weakly.
          "Hopefully someone who can help us."

*

          They arrived in the next town within a half hour, tossing
their bikes on the curb and making their way into a dingy diner on the
street corner.
          The early dinner crowd was dispersing, and they found the
small space relatively empty. Pam slid into a booth and began examining
a menu while Will walked to the back towards the pay phone.
          "I just have to call my parents," he told the waitress
who was eyeing him suspiciously.
          He dropped two quarters into the slot and dialed the long
distance number that Byers dictated.
          "It's the director's private line," Frohike piped up.
          "Skinner," a deep baritone voice answered. He sounded
surly.
          Will felt his breath catch in his throat. He tried to speak
but his voice came out in a tiny squeak.
          "Who is this?" Skinner snapped.
          "Don't hang up," Will finally managed to yelp. He
cleared his throat and his voice returned to him. "I was told that
you could help me."
          "Who is this?" Skinner repeated.
          "My name is William Van de Kamp," he said, dropping his
voice so no one in the diner could overhear him. "But I think you'd
know me as William Mulder."
          There was a long pause on the other side. "I don't
appreciate practical jokes. Don't call this number again."
          "Byers, Langly and Frohike told me you could help me!"
          "They're dead."
          "I know."
          There was another pause. "Son, are you telling me you talk
to ghosts?"
          "That's not the point. I just came from the town of
Caribou Cove, Colorado. It's a little south of Aspen. You might have
seen something on the news about rabid wolf attacks."
          "I don't-"
          "It wasn't wolves. It was bees." William spoke clearly,
repeating the information that his dead godfathers had imparted to him.
"Everyone's dead."
          There was a long silence on Skinner's end. Will prayed he
was getting through.
          "They found me," he said. "They think I'm dead now
and the colonization is going to start. Two weeks. July Fourth."
          "Where are you now?" Skinner finally asked.
          Byers shook his head frantically.
          "I'm...on the road."
          "I'm coming to get you."
          "There's no time. I need to find my parents."
          Skinner sighed. "I should have known you'd be
pigheaded."
          "Do you know where they are? You should go there," Will
insisted. "I think it's safe there."
          "Nowhere is safe now," Skinner said. "Just safer. You
keep moving, William. Don't stop for anything."
          Dial tone echoed in his ear as he slowly hung up the phone.
Shaking his head, he made his way back to the booth where Pam sat,
contemplating the menu.
          "Who did you call?"
          "I think I just got off the phone with the director of the
FBI."
          "Walter Skinner?"
          Will caught his godfathers shooting impressed looks in the
young girl's direction. "How do you know who he is?"
          "God," she shook her head. "Don't you *ever* watch
the news? Or are you just too busy being the baseball prodigy of
Caribou Cove?"
          He shrugged. "I can't help being wonderful."
          "Walter Skinner was appointed director of the FBI about
five years ago. There was a really interesting biography about him on
TV last week. They talked about some cover up he helped expose, and
then talked about a movie-" her face went white. "Oh, god, the
movie!"
          "I'm lost," Will said blankly.
          "The Lazarus Bowl," Pam let out a bark of laughter. "My
dad's favorite movie, next to Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
Walter Skinner was given credit for part of it...it was loosely based
on a case some of his agents worked on. I was always interested in
Skinner because my dad made me watch the movie so many damn times."
          "Could you get to the point?"
          "The agents in the movie...the ones it was based on...They
were your parents!"
          "They were what?"
          "I mean, it wasn't them in the movie, it was Tea Leoni
and Gary Shandling, but their names were Mulder and Scully-"
          "You're telling me your dad flipped when he saw me
because he thought I bore an uncanny resemblance to *Gary
Shandling*?"
          "Don't be an idiot."
          "We have to get to a video store," Will stood up, almost
knocking over the disgruntled waitress who had arrived with their
sandwiches.
          "Will, we can't!" Pam said urgently after the waitress
had disappeared behind the counter. "We don't have time. These
things that are trying to kill you, they're still only a town away.
We have to keep moving."
          "But-"
          "Even if you got the tape, where in the world would you
watch it? You can't just go home and put it in your VCR."
          Will frowned and slid back down into his seat, unhappily
picking up his roast beef sandwich.
          "Let's just keep moving south. Eventually we'll find
your parents, and that'll be better than any movie."
          "My parents are dead," Will said sadly as he chewed
halfheartedly at his dinner.
          "Lucky you've got a spare set floating around out there,
then."
          They finished eating in silence, ordering two extra
sandwiches to keep with them for the road. Pam paid the check from a
wad of bills she removed from her pocket, responding to Will's raised
eyebrows with a small smile.
          "Let's just say I saved all my pennies for this day."
          "How could you possibly have known?"
          "I didn't. But when a girl is raised under the impression
that the sky could fall at any minute, she doesn't take any
chances." She let out a sad chuckle. "That, and I was saving up for
a new computer."
          "I'm glad you're with me," Will said as they stepped
out of the diner and into the rapidly darkening night.
          "I'll return the sentiment when I'm certain you're
not crazy."

*

          The two of them pedaled their bikes rapidly through the
night, never encountering more than one or two cars on the quiet
streets. William's muscles had begun to ache, and as he stared at the
expanse of stars in the sky above him he had started to wonder how long
they could keep this up before they recognized the fact that they
needed to find better transportation than a pair of mountain bikes.
They weren't conditioned athletes; they were unprepared twelve year
old kids who were bound to wear out eventually.
          "Hey," Pam said, slowing slightly. A slight glow was
emanating from somewhere ahead of them.
          "What do you think it is?"
          She looked wary. "Hopefully not a spaceship."
          Will repressed a shudder. "It doesn't look like what
I'd imagine the light from a spaceship would look like. It looks
like..."
          They crested a slight hill and paused to take stock of what
lay before them.
          "An RV park," Pam said softly.
          "Let's just keep going."
          "What if they see us?"
          "Let them see us," he set his jaw and began pedaling
again. He had not yet given thought to what he would do if they were
stopped.
          As they swept past the trailers, Will found himself pulled
towards the glow, perhaps wanting desperately to connect with a
humanity he had begun to fear he had forever left behind. He could see
figures moving in the soft light, a large gathering of people.
          "Oh, god," Pam whispered, and he followed her gaze and
suddenly wished they had stayed safely at the top of the hill.
          The figures in the light had come into focus. A group had
gathered around an ashen faced man with reddish hair and a portly
figure. Crumpled at his feet was the figure of a woman.
          "Is she dead?" Pam hissed. "God, Will, is she dead?"
          Will was not looking at the woman. His attention had been
drawn to the figures surrounding her. Something was very wrong...it
took him only seconds to realize what it was. Their eyes. Their eyes
were glowing an eerie, unearthly green.
          "Are they aliens?" He asked no one in particular,
pedaling faster and wishing he could render himself invisible.
          His heart leapt into his throat as one of the men broke away
from the pack and moved into the street to intercept them.
          "Pam, run!"
          "Hey, kids!" the man in front of them called, stepping
forward. "Hold on, there."
          "Steady," Byers whispered from behind Will. "Wait until
you have a clear route. Then make a break for it."
          "What are you kids doing out here in the middle of the
night?" the man called, stepping forward. His voice had a musical
cadence to it, a twangy accent that seemed oddly out of place for the
location.
          "What are you doing with that woman?" Will yelled back.
          The man blinked, his eyes suddenly looking so normal that
Will was half certain it had been a trick of the light. "That woman
over there? That's Ronnie's girlfriend. She's gone and had too
much to drink again, that's all. Come on over here, kids. Where are
your parents?"
          "They're around," Will said cautiously. In the dim
light cast from the RV park he could now see that the man approaching
them was uniformed, with a little silver star pinned to his chest.
          "I'm Sheriff Hartwell," the man said, in that pleasant
but foreign twang.
          "Sheriff of what?" Pam asked dubiously, looking around.
          He looked mildly offended. "Not exactly a sheriff in the
way that you think about it, I guess. I just keep the order around
here. They all need someone to look up to, you know." He smiled.
          Pam smiled back.
          Will blinked in surprise. What the heck was she smiling at?
The man in front of them was suspicious, moments ago had possessed
glowing green eyes, and had buck teeth, for god's sake!
          He got another shock when Sheriff Hartwell looked closely at
him at let out a whistle. "I'll be damned."
          "Do you know me?"
          The sheriff blinked, looked closer. "You related to a guy
named..." he snapped his fingers, tilting his head to the side.
Finally, giving up, he shrugged. "Yeah, I know who you are. Name
escapes me at the moment, but I never forget a face. Had a run in with
him a long time ago, back in Texas."
          "Never forget a face," Pam sighed, still smiling at him.
          Sheriff Hartwell shifted uncomfortably and glanced back
towards the group of people he had emerged from, all of whom were
eyeing them rather...hungrily.
          "You kids better get moving, then. I'd
pedal...quickly." He patted Will on the back and gave him a wink.
"Vampires, you know."
          "Vampires," Pam echoed dreamily. "Cool."
          Sheriff Hartwell turned and made his way back towards the
group he had left behind, his reproachful voice carrying over the
otherwise silent plains. "Ronnie, I don't know how many times I
have to tell you that you can't just bite them when they don't want
to go on a second date with you! This is the twelfth place we've had
to move because of you, and now we've got to pull up stakes
again..."
          "He was nice," Pam said as they pedaled on.
          "Nice?" Will gaped at her. "We just stumbled upon a
migrating caravan of vampires, and you think he's nice?"
          "He was just kidding about the vampires," she rolled her
eyes. "Unlike some people, obviously Sheriff Hartwell has a sense of
humor."
          "A sense of humor. Right." Will shook his head as he kept
pedaling. He couldn't shake the feeling that they had been spared a
gruesome fate because of his familiar face.
          "They say Dracula was very alluring," Pam said after
several minutes of silence. The giddiness had gone out of her voice.
          "Who's 'they?' The tabloids?"
          "God, Will, for someone who's supposedly a prodigy,
don't you read?"
          "Dork."
          "Alien."
          They rode quietly for several more moments before Will
finally spoke. "I can't get rid of the feeling that I'm traveling
familiar territory. That every place I go, my parents have already
been."
          "You mean because of the vampires?"
          "I mean everything. I feel like I'm haunting my
father's trail like his ghost, and I'm sparking some kind of
reaction in just about everyone I meet, but I can't understand it. I
have no idea what they're reacting to, because I've never even met
the man."
          "You will."
          "I just...I feel like I've lost something."
          "You have lost something," Pam said quietly. "We both
have. We've lost everything that we've ever known. Everything that
was ever comfortable."
          "It's not just that. I feel like I've lost something by
not knowing my real parents. Like they were involved in something that
has such a wide scope that I *should* know more about them. Hell, even
you've heard of them. Now I'm left to draw my own conclusions."
          "I hardly think repeated viewings of The Lazarus Bowl
qualify me as an expert on your parents. The movie was mildly
ridiculous."
          "Ridiculous or not, it was based on something. Something I
know nothing about, but which *aliens* are trying to kill me over. I
can't help but feel like I got the short end of the stick here."
          "Carl Sanderson got the short end of the stick," Pam said
wryly. "He was either ripped apart by an alien or killed by a virus.
Whatever confusion you have, it's your parentage that led you out of
harm. You're only alive right now because you are who you are, if
that makes any sense."
          Will pedaled on in silence.
          "You pretty much accepted that your world was never going
to be the same when you got on your bike last night. You didn't like
it, but you accepted it, and you made the choice to live."
          "So what do I do now? Wave some magic wand and watch the
aliens disappear? I think I'm a little out of my league."
          She let out a little gasp. "You mean to tell me that the
great baseball prodigy of Caribou Cove has found something he can't
handle?"
          "The truly great baseball players were all aliens," an
unfamiliar voice echoed somewhere behind William.
          He jumped. "Who was that?"
          Langly chuckled. "Arthur Dales. He pops in to check on you
from time to time, but never made his presence known."
          "Funny, he should choose now to speak," Byers mused.
          "Who was he?" Will asked.
          "Friend of your father's."
          Pam was staring at him. "Are you talking to...them?"
          Will sighed with frustration. "I wish you could see them
too."
          "No kidding."
          "Talk to me about my parents," Will murmured as he
pedaled, his thighs aching.
          For the remaining hours of nighttime, he listened to the
gentle cadence of Byers' voice, detailing countless adventures. Pam
kept silent, never interrupting, something he was immensely grateful
for. And with each new piece of information, he felt as though some
tiny hole in his soul was slowly being patched up.

*

          They came upon the car just as morning's first light was
breaking overhead. It was an old gray sedan, with the driver and
passenger side doors suspiciously open.
          "Think they went for gas?" Pam asked as she slowed her
bike, stifling a yawn.
          Will stared down the empty road that stretched before him.
"Long hike for gas."
          Pam peered inside the car. "Keys are in the ignition."
Grinning, she turned the keys and the car sputtered to life.
"That's weird."
          "What?"
          "The tank's full."
          "Completely full?"
          "Like three quarters. They must have filled up at the last
town we passed."
          Frowning, Will touched a small rust colored smear on the side
window. A horrible notion toyed with the far recesses of his mind.
          "Oh GROSS!" Pam exclaimed suddenly, exploding out of the
car so quickly she whacked her head on the door. "Look in the back
seat!"
          Wanting to do anything but that, Will looked.
          There was an unholy mess in the back of the car. Blood soaked
the upholstery, splattered the windows and the floor. Bits of flesh and
hair seemed caught in the congealed crimson.
          "What happened?" he groaned, trying hard not to vomit.
          "Alien birth," Langly said grimly.
          "An alien was born," Will repeated to Pam, who edged
further from the car.
          "Tore its way right out of some hapless guy's chest,"
Frohike was shaking his head. "I guess the passengers ran away."
          "Probably didn't get far," Byers said.
          "Do you think it's still...out there?" Will eyed the
gently rolling wheat fields with sudden mistrust.
          "Take the car," Byers advised. "You're both getting
tired. There's no way you'll be able to keep up this pace, and
you're not getting very far on the bikes."
          "I don't know how to drive!" Will gaped.
          Pam stared at him. "I am NOT getting into that car! With
the...alien blood!"
          "It's not alien blood, it's human blood," Will said
patiently. "The alien tore its way out of the human, not the other
way around."
          "I'm gonna be sick."
          "Do you know how to drive?"
          "No!" She crossed her arms and scowled as Will popped the
trunk open and stacked their bikes inside.
          "If you'd rather be pedaling down the road when that
thing comes sniffing around for more food, be my guest."
          Making a face at him, Pam reluctantly sat down in the
passenger seat, presenting a comical picture as she attempted to keep
any piece of her bare skin from touching the upholstery.
          Frowning with concentration, Will slid into the driver's
seat and pulled the seat up as close to the wheel as possible. "Okay,
guys, I need you to help me out here."
          Byers was the one to speak. "The left pedal is the brake.
The right is the gas. Always hold in the brake when you start the car
and put it into drive."
          "Just count your lucky stars that this car has an automatic
transmission," Langly snickered.
          Gritting his teeth, Will shifted the car into drive and
slowly lifted his foot off of the brake pedal. The car rolled forward,
the tires crunching over the wheat. He gasped and slammed on the
brakes, throwing Pam forward onto the dashboard.
          "You're not making me too confident," she groaned.
          "Quiet," he rolled his eyes at her, taking his foot off
the brake again and feeling the car lurch forward.
          "Give it some gas," Byers advised.
          Will stamped down on the right pedal, and the car shot
forward onto the road.
          "Easy there," Frohike laughed, and he eased off.
          Within a few moments, Will was confident enough to relax
slightly as he kept the car moving down the lonely expanse of highway
at a steady fifty miles per hour. Behind him, floating somewhere over
the alien mess on the seat, his dead godfathers offered him advice and
praise. In spite of the circumstances, this all felt so heartbreaking
normal that he was surprised to feel tears prickling in the corners of
his eyes. Somewhere, miles behind him, his parents were dead. Yet here
he was, being taught how to drive by his trio of eccentric relatives,
almost as if everything was all right. He could almost imagine his
father-the father he had known for twelve years-sitting beside him
in the family's station wagon, gently advising him on what to do.
          He smiled when he thought of what the kids on his baseball
team would have thought if they'd been able to see him driving.
          Next to him, Pam had relaxed somewhat as his driving ability
leveled off. He was tired from the long night of pedaling, but the new
experience had sent his adrenaline pumping and his eyes were wide open
as they sped though the vast dreamscape of loneliness.
          "Things are never going to be the same," she murmured as
she stared out the window.
          Will did not know how to respond to that.
          "It will be fine," Byers said soothingly behind him.
"Frohike, Langly and I are gonna go check out some other places, all
right? There are some people and events we want to look in on. We'll
be back before tomorrow night."
          "Just keep heading south," Langly added. "Roswell, New
Mexico."
          "Everything will be fine, kid," Frohike said, and then
they were gone.
          Will tightened his grip on the steering wheel. They were
saying everything was going to be fine, because of *him*. But what
could he do? Being able to move things with his mind and talk to ghosts
was all well and good, but it didn't really amount to much when it
came to saving the world from aliens. What if he let everyone down?
What if the entire world died because he did something wrong?
          "I feel like a jigsaw puzzle with a hundred missing
pieces," he said finally. "I've always known I was supposed to do
*something* but I have absolutely no idea what it is. I don't think
I'll ever know. I'm totally unprepared for all of this."
          Pam smiled sadly at him. "So what do you want to be when
you grow up?"
          Will laughed. "Alive."
          "Well, you enjoy yourself. I'm going to be a writer."
          "What kind of writer?"
          "Science fiction or fantasy, I think."
          He shook his head. "God, you really are a dork."
          "You just keep telling yourself that, ghost-boy."

*

          The car ran out of gas and sputtered to a halt somewhere over
the border of New Mexico, just as the sun was beginning its downward
tilt. Pam immediately flung open the door and jumped out into the rosy
hues of dusk.
          "Thank god, thank god, thank god!"
          Will shook his head, smiling as he followed her outside.
"My driving wasn't that bad."
          "Your driving was fine, but that *car*! Jesus! I never want
to ride for eight hours in a tiny sedan with a dead guy in the back
EVER AGAIN!"
          "There wasn't a dead guy in the back."
          "No, just about a gallon of his blood."
          Will stifled a yawn. They had been on the road for two full
days now, and his body was rebelling against his continued insistence
that it keep moving.
          "You need to rest," Pam said, concern outweighing her
disgust over where she had spent the last day of her life.
          "We need to keep going."
          "Just lie down and take a nap. At least I got to sleep a
little in the car."
          Will scowled and surveyed their surroundings. A vast scope of
desert had gradually replaced the gentle crop fields, and while
devastatingly beautiful, it offered no cover. He wasn't about to camp
out on the side of the road and wait for the first passing motorist to
pick him up, or the first roving alien to eat him. "Pam, I'm tired
but we gotta keep going. It's not safe here. I don't think I'll
feel safe until we find my parents."
          "Here there be monsters," she murmured, staring out at
the desolate geography that surrounded them.
          "And the monsters be bigger than us," he quipped, popping
the trunk and tugging on the handlebars of his trusty mountain bike.
Sighing, Pam followed suit.
          The trip through the hot, arid climate was not as pleasant as
their previous jaunts during the night. There was no cool breeze
ruffling their hair, just a pressing heat that seemed to infuse into
his very bones and make him want to drop dead on the spot. His eyes
burned from staying awake. His neck had long ago begun to ache, as a
new pain began to throb in his temples.
          "Will, you need to stop," she whispered.
          "Can't," he breathed. "Can't stop. I have to save
the world, remember?"
          He had long ago drained his last bottle of water, leaving the
dented plastic somewhere along the dusty roadside. His tongue felt dry
and alien in his mouth.
          When headlights split the darkness behind him, he couldn't
even fathom where they could hide. He froze, as did Pam, wondering
briefly if this was how deer felt, suddenly faced with their own
impending death and unable to move any which way to avoid it. The car
was a pickup truck, fairly new, and it slowed as it passed them.
          "How the hell did you kids get way out here?" The strong
voice belonged to a bespectacled man in his sixties, with broad
shoulders and a bald head that had begun to shine in the heat.
          "Just out for a bike ride," Will grunted.
          "You're at least fifty miles from the nearest town."
          Will groaned inwardly at the thought. "That's okay."
          "Where are you going?" the man insisted. "It's not
safe out here at night."
          "We're doing just fine, thanks," Will insisted, moving
to shield Pam.
          The man scowled at them, seeming to weigh several options in
his head. "Look, I'm telling you, you shouldn't be out here so
late. There are coyotes. Snakes."
          "Pedophiles?" Pam piped up.
          "Christ," the man shook his head. "Good luck." He hit
the gas on the truck, leaving them behind.
          "Maybe we should have accepted his help," Pam chewed on
her lip worriedly. "You don't look so good, Will."
          "I'm fine. Just a little thirsty."
          "You're not going to be able to save the world if you
drop dead on a dusty road in New Mexico."
          In front of them, the headlights swung back into view as the
pickup truck made a u-turn and headed back towards them.
          Will ducked his head and avoided eye contact as the truck
pulled up next to them.
          "Listen, just get in the truck."
          "Why don't you leave us the hell alone?" Pam snapped,
bristling. Suddenly, her face went white and she jumped back so quickly
she lost her footing, tumbling to the rocky ground underneath her bike.
          "Pam!" Will leapt off his own bike to assist her.
          "Get in the truck!" Pam said eagerly.
          "What?"
          Pam staggered to her feet, wiping the dust and grime off of
her legs. "That's Walter Skinner, the director of the FBI!"
          "Him? The guy that I called?"
          "That's him! I told you, I saw a documentary about him on
television-"
          "And you're sure that's him? Not just some creep who
looks like him?"
          "Trust me!"
          "What would he be doing all the way out here?"
          "He must have believed you!" she said excitedly, grabbing
his arm. "He believed you about the aliens and now he's heading
south in search of your parents!"
          The man she knew as Skinner leaned his head out the window,
the dim light glinting off of his glasses. "Are you okay?"
          "Walter Skinner, it's an honor to meet you," Pam
giggled, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Pam Sullivan,
politics enthusiast." Will stared at her, amazed. Was she blushing?
          Skinner looked surprised as he shook her offered hand.
          "Hi," Will said shyly, stepping up behind her. "I'm
Will Van de Kamp. I think we might have spoken on the phone."
          Skinner took off his glasses and peered at him through the
darkness. "Well I'll be damned."
          "Sorry about...before. We didn't know who you were,"
Will found his own cheeks reddening under the scrutiny. He stuffed his
hands into his jeans pockets.
          "If I was in your position I'd be every bit as leery of
strangers," Skinner said quietly.
          "Are you...going to see my parents?" Will kicked at the
ground.
          Skinner smiled gently at him. "Yes. If you throw your bikes
in the back, I'll take you there."
          Will swallowed hard, imagining that he could feel fate and
destiny tugging him forward. His journey now had a definite ending
point. There would be no more bike rides down endless, empty roads with
only a vague goal of "south". Now, within a few hours he would be
in the presence of two people he had never met, but whose fates were
inextricably intertwined with his own.
          "Sure," he said finally, picking up his bike and wincing
at the terrible sound it made when tossed into the bed of the pickup
truck. Pam followed suit. As the two children climbed into the cab of
the truck, Skinner switched on the light to get a better look at them.
          "I'll be damned," he said again, studying Will's
face. Will resisted the urge to look away, already knowing what was to
be said.
          "You look so much like your father."
          "So I hear."
          "It's a relief, in a way," Skinner smiled wryly.
"There were always...questions. Now there's no doubt."
          Will felt anger flare up. What did he mean, 'questions'?
Had he been given up for a reason other than why his dead godfathers
had told him?
          Skinner pulled the truck back onto the highway and resumed
the southerly drive. He studied Will with mild concern.
          "You look like you're about to drop dead."
          "We've been riding for a while."
          "I've got some water in a cooler under your seat. Help
yourselves."
          Pam and Will eagerly dug into the cooler. The icy flow of
water over his parched tongue brought him an instant wave of relief.
With the incessant throb of thirst sated, Will found himself dropping
into sleep, despite his efforts to remain awake and ask questions.
Before he knew it, he had left his nightmarish reality for a different
dreamscape.

*

The sun was painting the sky in a beautiful symphony of color as it
slowly slipped down beyond the horizon, leaving behind splashes of red
and orange that lingered as though the sky itself was on fire.
          Will stared out the window at the gorgeous sight, beginning
to feel as though his entire life could be measured in sunrises and
sunsets. Then his stomach lurched at the thought that this could be one
of the last sunsets he'd ever enjoy. Would he even survive the events
of the next two weeks?
          "So much for the savior of humanity," he muttered,
leaning his head against the cool glass of the window.
          Beside him, Pam had finally fallen asleep, her head lolling
uncomfortably against his shoulder. Periodically she let out a loud,
shuddering snore. He hoped she hadn't started drooling, but he
supposed it would serve her right for staying awake for the past six
hours peppering Skinner with questions about his job and the people he
met.
          "You okay, William?" Skinner asked him, his deep voice
startling Will out of his reverie.
          "Are we almost there?" Will skirted the question. He
didn't want to get into how he felt, or he might lose his nerve
completely.
          "About another forty minutes," Skinner said. He had
driven continuously from the time that he had picked them up, from
sunrise to sunset, only stopping twice at dusty roadside service
stations to fill the tank and to grab the kids something to eat. He had
shown no inclination of needing a break from the monotony of the road.
          "Sir-" Will felt the corners of his mouth turn up. He
had no real reason to call this man 'sir' except for the fact that
his frame and bearing seemed to demand it. He wondered if his parents
had felt the same way.
          Skinner peered at him through the darkening night.
          "Could you...tell me a little bit about my parents? I
don't know much about them. Only what my dead godfathers told me."
          "I couldn't possibly begin to explain what they've been
doing for the past eleven years," Skinner said softly. "I knew
where they were staying. Other than that, I had no contact with them
whatsoever."
          "Were they...looking for me?"
          "No," Skinner shook his head. "They knew you were safer
where you were."
          "But I wasn't safe. Everyone in my town is dead because
of me!"
          "You were safe there for eleven years."
          "My other parents didn't deserve to die because they
adopted me."
          Skinner smiled sadly. "No one deserves to die this way."
          "I don't really think I'm cut out for saving the
world."
          "I think you've done admirably. Not many twelve year olds
would have gotten this far."
          "Not many twelve year olds have ghosts hovering around and
giving them advice."
          "That is true."
    &nb