Spoiler Warning:  This story is the latest installment in the Road Series
that includes "Goin' Nowhere", "Passing Through", "At The Blue Hotel", and
"Down The Tracks", all of which can be found on the various archives -- or
e-me, and I'll send them.  <g>  As I've said before, I'm trying to solve
the mystery of
what-the-hell-happened-to-Scully-when-she-was-missing-for-three-months.
To do that, I'm riffing off of information provided in the Duane Barry
trilogy and all the other related mythic episodes we saw during Season
Three.   (Funnily enough, Season Four hasn't touched on Scully's abduction
or the chip in the back of her neck at all -- I'm starting to suspect that
the 1013 staff has forgotten that any of it ever happened. <bg>)  At any
rate, there's nothing post -"Piper Maru"/"Apocrypha" in here, so overseas
readers should be perfectly safe.  :-)  Except I *have* borrowed Season
Four's New And Improved Action Mulder -- anyone who has seen "Herrenvolk"
and "Terma" shouldn't give me any criticism for his actions in these
pages.  <g>

A Word To Our Sponsors:  Thanks as always to Chris Carter and Fox for
providing me with such an amazing springboard for my own imagination.
Everybody knows the folks from Mr. Carter's Neighborhood by now -- all the
other characters in this story are my very own.  And I thank David and
Gillian, the two most rockin' actors on television, for their constantly
inspired performances.

Ready guys??   It's a long one, so fasten your seatbelts and let's hit the
Road...
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (1/16)   X, MSR
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97
 
 

"...every minute
every hour
every day that passes by
there's not a second
or a moment
that you're not on my mind
if you wonder
when I think of you
well just let me put it this way
every minute
every hour
every day...."

- james house
 
 

Fox Mulder was caught in a nightmare of his own creation.  A true waking
nightmare, where his thoughts were jumbled and his body was slow to
respond to his mind's commands.
 

     <AreyouditchingmeMulder>

     <Never>
 

     He'd promised her, and yet he'd gone and done it anyway.

     He would never forgive himself.

     <DanaohGodDanaI'msorryI'msosorry>

     He'd abandoned her, despite the fact that she needed him.   He'd
left her alone on that train, to fend for herself.

     But then, he'd never expected this...

     He'd never expected to find himself the prisoner of a man who
undoubtedly would like nothing more than to see them both dead.

     Mulder looked at the man whose eyes were dark and cold, yet spoke
of victory.   A victory that had been earned more by lucky circumstance
than any concerted effort on his part.   Refusing to give the man the
satisfaction of seeing his pain, Mulder merely asked, "And where exactly
do we go from here?"

     Christophe regarded him coldly.  "All I need to know is where you
saw her last."

     Mulder hesitated, still unwilling to completely go along with the
game.

     "I'm not going to ask you more than once."

     It was at that moment that Mulder was positive.  That he knew,
without question, he'd made the wrong choice.  But it was a choice that
had been made, and now there was no turning back.

     "El Paso," he finally responded, his voice low and pained.  "I
left her on an Amtrak train, the Sunset Limited, at the El Paso station."

     "Ah, so you *were* traveling by train," Christophe mused, alerting
Mulder to the fact that he had indeed been tracking them for some time.
"Under the name of Stewart?"   Mulder didn't answer, but Christophe took
his silence as a yes.  "Do you think she's still on board?"

     Mulder shrugged, having contemplated the answer to that question a
thousand times only to come up empty.   He had no way of knowing if
Christophe was aware of Scully's blindness, and was unwilling to reveal
anything unnecessarily.   "Probably," he answered, keeping his voice
deliberately noncommittal.

     "Then that's where we start."  Turning to the gunman, Christophe
ordered, "Find out where that train stops next.  We'll be there to meet it
-- and if she's not on board, we'll work our way back from there."

     The man nodded and passed the pistol to Christophe before making
his way to the back of the plane.  Christophe laid the pistol on the table
in front of him and then turned his attention back to Mulder.  "I'm glad
to see you know how to play by the rules."

     "The question is, do you?"  Mulder countered.
 
     "What do you mean by that?"

     "I just want to make sure that we have a deal," Mulder explained,
wishing more than ever that his hands weren't still cuffed behind him,
watching Christophe closely to gauge his reaction.  "I want to be sure
that the only thing you're after is the disk."

     "I hope, Mulder, that you're not insulting my honor by implying
that I might go back on my word."   Christophe's expression was
poker-faced blank, and try as he might, Mulder was unable to read him in
the slightest.  "But, if it will reassure you, I'll say it again -- I have
no interest in the girl."

     Their eyes locked then, hazel against black, each man taking the
measure of the other.  Mulder refused to look away, somehow feeling as
though this was but the first of many tests he was going to encounter over
the next few days.

     The moment was broken by the return of Christophe's associate.
"Tucson," he said, addressing his remark to Christophe.  "The train's due
in Tucson in about fifty minutes.  We're headed that way now -- we should
be landing in twenty-five."

     Christophe nodded with grim satisfaction.  Motioning to his
associate, he ordered, "We need to get Mr. Mulder wired up."

     Mulder's forehead creased in confusion as the man nodded, moving
towards a small box that sat on the side of the table.  Opening the box,
he removed a wide steel bracelet.   Moving towards Mulder, the man reached
behind him and unlocked the cuffs.  Before Mulder could adjust to his new
freedom, he instructed, "Your right arm, please."

     "What's this all about?" Mulder asked, not moving a muscle, his
eyes on the gun laying on the table just within Christophe's reach.

     "Insurance," Christophe answered, his dark eyes narrowed.  "This
is just a little something to help us track you down, if need be."

     Mulder remained still, defying Christophe with his lack of motion.

     "The bracelet isn't an option,  Mulder.  I'm afraid I have to
insist."

     Deciding that for the moment resistance was futile, Mulder slowly
extended his right arm to the associate, who rolled back the sleeve of his
shirt in order to affix the steel device.  It was snug but not
uncomfortable, yet the snap it made as it closed on his wrist sounded like
the slam of a cell door.  "State of the art," he remarked, his sarcasm
firmly intact.

     "Without question," Christophe assured him.  "It can't be unlocked
without a specific electronic key, and the range is nearly infinite."
Reaching into the box from which the bracelet had come, he pulled out a
black device the size of a TV remote control.  The upper half of the
device was a glass-covered screen;  the bottom was covered with a series
of buttons.  Christophe pushed one of the buttons and the device emitted a
small hum as the screen lit up, revealing a neon green grid of
intersecting lines.  In the exact center of the screen was a small
blinking red dot.

     Mulder had no doubt as to what the red dot represented.

     The device now activated, Christophe slipped it into the inside
pocket of his jacket.  "This way, I can be sure that you don't weary of
our company before the appropriate time."

     Mulder met Christophe's gaze once more and gave a curt nod before
turning away, focusing his thoughts on options for escape.
 
 

Moving in relative darkness, Rebecca dipped the contact sheet into the
developing fluid emulsion side up, gently rocking the tray back and forth
to keep the fluid in constant contact with the paper.  Two minutes passed
on the luminous clock beside her, and then she used a pair of tongs to
lift the sheet out of the basin, draining off the excess solution.  She
carefully placed the print into the orbit bath, shaking it gently, and
then moved it to the fixer tray.  Another five minutes passed and she
watched with a familiar sense of wonder as images took shape, fading in
gradually, lines resolving to form row after row of tiny pictures.  With a
smile of satisfaction, she lifted the damp sheet from the basin and hung
it up to dry alongside its companions from the other rolls she had shot.
Nearly through, she thought, pleased with the accomplishments of the
afternoon.  She had processed six rolls, and though she wouldn't be able
to really evaluate the contact sheets until they completely dried, it
appeared that there were relatively few bad shots in the bunch.  Not that
all of them would work out in the end, of course, but it was always nice
to have a variety from which to choose.

     As she attached a clip to the bottom of the sheet, weighing it
down to prevent it from curling, Rebecca was startled by a low growl.
Turning her head to glance over her shoulder, she noticed that Tucker had
awakened from his nap and was now standing on all fours, his head tilted
curiously towards the darkroom door.

     "What's up, Tucker?"  Rebecca asked.  "You hear something?  You
hear Dad?"

     Tucker's response was another growl that managed to convey more
than a bit of impatience.

     "I hope so too," Rebecca answered, understanding the dog
perfectly.  "It's been too long."  Although she herself had yet to hear
anything out of the ordinary, Rebecca trusted Tucker's instincts and his
extremely sharp hearing, and her smile widened into an anticipatory grin.
 Though she had to admit she got more work done when Elliot was away, she
knew she was more than willing to sacrifice productivity for his presence.
 This latest book trip had seemed to go on forever, ten endlessly long
days punctuated only by brief phone calls that did nothing to assuage the
longing.

     "If we could only get him on a plane," Rebecca explained to
Tucker, "all this traveling wouldn't take up so much time.   You want to
help me with that?"

     Tucker replied with a series of excited barks and made a circle in
front of the door.

     "Okay then," said Rebecca, wiping her hands with a cloth.  "Sounds
like we've got a plan."

     Finished for the moment, she opened the darkroom door, blinking
instinctively as sunlight  filtered in from the studio.  Tucker followed
her out and she closed the door firmly behind her, though light was no
longer a danger to the drying prints.  Satisfied, Rebecca took a cursory
glance around the converted barn that was her studio.  The word 'barn' was
actually probably too expansive a word to describe the structure, but the
word 'shed' didn't do it justice.   It was a rectangular shaped-building
about 900 square feet in diameter.  Only half of the studio was dedicated
to the darkroom.  The rest of the space was filled with all manner of
photographic equipment:  cameras and mounts and tripods;  tables covered
with books and prints and layout pages;  bottles of developing fluids,
fixers and cleaning agents;  old jelly jars filled with brushes and clips.
  The wooden walls were painted in a kaleidoscope of bright colors, red
crossbeams in diametric opposition to green slats and blue trim around the
windowsills.   Photographs of all shapes and sizes adorned the walls, some
surrounded by brilliant yellow or purple frames, others shadowed by
professional black mats or encased by glass.   The wooden floor was worn
in the places of heaviest traffic, between the door and the washbasin on
the far wall, and again near the potbellied stove that occupied most of
the opposite corner.

     Not far from the stove was the staircase, a winding open-sided
structure that led in a steep diagonal to the loft space above.  Half the
size of the studio itself, the loft was mounted with a series of braces
that hung from the ceiling and supported its wooden floor.  From where she
stood, just outside the completely enclosed darkroom, Rebecca could easily
look up into the open space.  Only the thinnest of railings marked the
edge of the loft, leaving nothing to block the view.  An antique
iron-frame bed rested on the platform, accompanied by a matching
nighttable and a small free-standing armoire.   Not much, Rebecca
reflected, but it would do.  Earlier that morning she had put fresh linens
on the bed and it looked warm and inviting, the quilted comforter a
brightly-colored contrast to the white flannel sheets.

     Tucker was now scratching at the barn door and so Rebecca moved
over to join him, lifting the latch and pushing the door open with one
hand.  Released at last, the dog scampered away from the barn, running
full speed across the dry grass towards the gate at the bottom of the
hill.  Their small house was about fifteen miles from downtown Santa Fe,
which pleased her a great deal.  They were close enough to the
conveniences of the city and yet far enough away that the beauty of the
desert remained unspoiled.  Their closest neighbors were nearly a mile
away in any direction;  beyond the north end of their property, the land
sloped upward in the beginning of a seemingly endless series of hills.  An
avid hiker, Rebecca loved nothing more than taking long walks, skirting
the random caves and abandoned mines and climbing the various hills to
savor the breathtaking vistas.

     As was her habit, Rebecca locked the barn, using a different key
for each of the two deadbolts.  Cooper had installed the locks before he'd
built either the darkroom or the loft, to protect her valuable camera
equipment from potential thieves.

     That task finished, Rebecca followed Tucker down the hill,
reflecting on the brief phone call she'd shared with Elliot earlier that
day.   They'd only been on the line a moment, and she'd been in the midst
of teasing him as she always did, when he'd cut her off.

     "Listen, Beck," he'd said, and she had heard a peculiar strain in
his voice.  "I'm bringing somebody home with me, for a little while."

     "Who?" she had asked, but his answer had done little to assuage
her curiosity.

     "A friend," was all Elliot had told her.  "Someone I met on the
train.  She just -- well, she needs a place to stay for a couple of days."

     Rebecca had sighed with a familiar twinge of impatience.  "Elliot!
 What are you talking about?  Some girl you met on the train?   A perfect
stranger?"

     "It's complicated, Beck.  You have to trust me -- I can't talk
about it here."  That remark had struck her as odd, being so atypical of
Elliot.  He was usually willing to talk about anything, anytime, and in
the most explicit kind of detail.  "I'll explain it all when I see you.  I
promise."

     She....  Rebecca rolled the word around in her head as she
adjusted the barrette at the bottom of her long braid.   It didn't really
bother her that Elliot's mysterious friend was a woman.  After four years
of dating and nearly two of living together, she was secure in their
relationship, confident that Elliot loved her as much as she did him.
Besides, it was a typical Elliot maneuver to open up their home to a
perfect stranger.   He had the world's most generous heart, always ready
to donate his time or his money or his skills to help someone else, ready
to support the underdog and champion the defeated.   He was always
brimming with unbridled enthusiasm about one thing or another, and it was
one of the things Rebecca liked about him.   She was a more reserved
person, and it took time for her to open up to people, but not Elliot.
Five minutes after meeting him you were ready to adopt him, marry him, or
just plain take him home.

     Chuckling a bit to herself, Rebecca finally saw the motorcycle
approaching, marveling as always at Tucker's uncanny ability to sense the
return of his master.  The cycle came roaring up towards the gate and
Rebecca threw a wave at the riders as she unlatched the main gate, backing
up to pull it fully open and allow the bike to zoom past.  Tucker turned
in a series of excited circles as she latched the gate back, only to race
away from her side once more, headed towards the side of the barn where
Elliot pulled the bike to a stop next to her battered blue Jeep.

     Elliot climbed off of the bike, pulling the helmet off of his head
and hanging it on the handlebars by its strap.   He then moved to help his
passenger off of the seat, offering her a hand as she stepped awkwardly
down.   As Rebecca walked towards them, Elliot assisted the woman in
taking off her helmet, unfastening the strap and pulling it off of her
head, allowing the woman's dark brown hair to tumble to her shoulders.
The woman was small, wearing jeans and a navy canvas coat, and didn't look
nearly as mysterious as Rebecca had expected, given Elliot's cryptic
message.

     "Hey you!"  Rebecca called, and Elliot looked up, a broad smile on
his face.

     "Hello yourself," he answered, running a hand through his sandy
blond hair and fiddling with his glasses in an adorably self-conscious
gesture.

     Tucker reached them then, jumping up and down and barking
excitedly.  The sudden commotion seemed to startle the woman, who grabbed
frantically for Elliot's arm with a possessiveness that caused Rebecca's
forehead to wrinkle.

     "It's okay, Lisa," Rebecca heard Elliot say as she approached.
"It's just Tucker, our dog... he won't bother you."    He bent forward to
scratch Tucker behind the ears and guided the woman down so that she was
crouching beside him.   As he held Tucker gently by the collar, he placed
the woman's hand on the dog's back.   "He's a good boy... aren't you,
Tucker?"

     Rebecca reached them then, and Elliot rose to greet her, pulling
her into his arms for a quick embrace.  "Beck...." he murmured her name
softly just before he kissed her.  "I missed you..."    His brown eyes
were filled with a combination of desire and longing potent enough to make
her blush.

     "I missed you, too."  Rebecca kissed him once more for good
measure and then turned her attention to the woman, who was still petting
the dog.  "Hi," she said by way of greeting.  "I'm Rebecca.  Rebecca
Montoya -- but you might as well call me Beck.  Everybody else does."

     The woman paused for a moment and then slowly stood up, one hand
swinging behind her to find the frame of the motorcycle which she used as
though it was a handrail.   Rebecca stifled a gasp of surprise as she
realized for the first time that the woman was blind.  "Hi," she answered,
extending her other hand in front of her.  "I'm Lisa.  Lisa Wilder."

     It took Rebecca a moment to recover from the emptiness of those
cobalt blue eyes, and then she took the woman's hand and grasped it
firmly.  "Nice to meet you, Lisa."  Rebecca glanced at Elliot and noticed
him nod his approval of her response.  The woman's hand was cold and
Rebecca shook her head ruefully.  "You must be freezing after coming all
this way on Elliot's bike -- I hope he wasn't too much of a maniac."

     Lisa's lips turned up in a hint of a smile.  "It wasn't so bad."

     "You don't have to lie to me, Lisa -- I've ridden on that bike.  I
know the truth."   Rebecca smiled at Lisa's nervous laugh.  "Come on --
let's get inside."

     It was Elliot who spoke then, motioning towards the unfamiliar
duffel bag on the back of the bike.  "You want to get Lisa's bag, Beck?"
 Shouldering his backpack, he moved forward and took Lisa's arm in a
smooth, fluid motion, guiding her gently towards the house with a skill
Rebecca found surprising.

     "Sure," Rebecca replied, raising an eyebrow in astonishment at
Elliot as she grabbed the bag.  It was her trademark
you've-got-a-lot-of-explaining-to-do look, and she knew he hadn't missed
it.   With Tucker trailing at her heels, Rebecca carried the duffel bag
and walked beside them towards the house.
 
 

Here endeth part 1... parts 2-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com.
 

X-1
               X-1
 

From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:29:06 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway"  (2/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:29:06 GMT
--------
This is part two of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (2/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97
 
 

Scully focused her attention on Elliot's steps, trying to find the rhythm.
 She could hear the dog scampering along beside them and hoped that the
animal wouldn't inadvertently cross her path and cause her to lose her
balance.  She was tired, so tired, and it felt as though an eternity had
passed since Mulder had awakened her that morning.

     Mulder... just the mere thought of him caused her heart to
constrict with physical pain.  Scully drew in a deep, quiet breath, trying
to push her fears away long enough to concentrate on the matters at hand.

     "Okay Lisa," she heard Elliot say, "we've got three steps here,
and then we're into the kitchen."

     Scully nodded her understanding as Rebecca spoke.  "I've got the
door."   Scully heard the creak of a door opening and then Rebecca's voice
again.  "No, Tucker, you stay outside for now.  Good boy."

     Scully kept a tight hold on his arm as she accompanied Elliot up
the steps, feeling a welcome rush of relief at the warmth of the room.
Elliot released his grasp on her and Scully heard the sound of something
heavy dropping to the floor that she assumed was his backpack.  "Beck?" he
asked.  "Where should I --"

     "Our room," came Rebecca's response, and Scully could hear a
slight twinge of irritation beneath her simple words.  "The studio
obviously won't work."

     "Guess not," Elliot replied.  "Beck --"

     She cut him off, and Scully recognized the tone.  It was the one
that her mother had always used with her father when she was irritated
with him, when there was something that she wanted to discuss, but not
with the children present.  "Why don't you get Lisa settled, and I'll make
us something to eat."

     "Okay," Elliot answered, and Scully felt him take her arm again.
As they started to move, Elliot asked, "Isn't it Coop's night to cook?
Where is he?"

     "He's gonna be late tonight," said Rebecca.  "And I didn't think
you'd want to wait."

     "Did I ever tell you you're a genius?"  Scully heard Rebecca laugh
at Elliot's question, and then heard the unmistakable sound of a brief
kiss.

     "Not in the last ten minutes," Rebecca teased.  "But flattery
isn't going to get you out of doing the dishes."

     Scully didn't know whether to be relieved that some of their
tension had dissipated or to be embarrassed at the awkwardness her
presence had created, but it seemed as though the latter emotion might
prevail.   When Elliot took her arm again, she followed him gratefully,
listening to his explanation of the layout of the house.

     "We all usually come in and out through the kitchen -- habit, I
guess.   There are four doors in the kitchen," said Elliot, guiding her
past each.  "The first's the one we came in through.  Then on the back
wall is the door to the laundry room.   On this wall is the door that
leads to the hall -- there's another, at the opposite end of this wall,
that leads to the dining room.  We'll be in there later."   Scully
listened closely, trying to create a map in her head as he spoke.

     "We're in the hall now -- this is the foyer.  Right here, where
we're standing?  This is the front door."  Scully reached out with one
hand to touch the wood and then nodded her comprehension.  "This is kind
of an L-shaped hallway.  If you think of the front door as the place where
the two lines converge, the short end of the L goes off to your left.  It
ends in the living room, which is a pretty big space."

     Elliot took her arm again and led her down what Scully presumed
was the "long" part of the L-shaped hall.  She could hear the sound of her
duffel bag thumping against his leg as they walked.  "Now, even though
this hallway is long, it's pretty simple.  The first door on your right
leads to Cooper's room, and the second one on the right leads to his
bathroom."

     "Cooper's room shares a wall with the dining room, right?"  Scully
asked, hoping she was getting her mental diagram correct.

     "Exactly."  Elliot sounded pleased, and Scully smiled.  "As you're
coming down the hall like this, there's only one door on the left hand
side.  That leads to our room, Beck's and mine.  That's where you'll be
staying."

     Scully felt the smile slip away from her face.  "I don't want to
put you out of your own room," she demurred.

     "Don't worry about it," said Elliot, and Scully heard the sound of
a door opening.  "There's a bed in Beck's studio -- we can sleep there."
Scully tried to protest but he cut her off.  "This is easier -- trust me.
And there's a bathroom right inside here, so you don't even have to go out
into the hall."

     Scully reluctantly allowed Elliot to lead her inside and describe
the details of the room.  The bed was up against the far wall, with the
door to the private bath in the back corner.  The design of the room was
such that the bathroom took up the same amount of floor space as a large
walk-in closet on the opposing side, turning the square room into
something more of a rectangle.  It sounded to Scully as though the floors
were wood, like the rest of the house, but there were a series of throw
rugs covering the ground in here.  The shifts in texture threw her off
balance and Scully realized that she'd have to learn their locations
quickly or risk taking an unexpected spill.

     "I'm putting your bag right over here by the bed," Elliot
finished.  "There are towels and everything in the bathroom -- but if you
need anything else, just let me know."

     Scully nodded, making her way back towards the bed where she sat
down with a sigh and pulled off her coat.

     "You okay?"  Elliot asked, concern in his voice.

     "I'm fine," Scully answered, forcing a smile to her face.  "You've
been great, Elliot, really.  I'm just a little tired."

     "Me too," Elliot replied.  "I'll leave you alone for a bit, then.
Beck and I will let you know when dinner's ready."

     "Thanks," Scully responded, listening as the door shut and
Elliot's footsteps receded.  Alone at last, Scully sat quietly for a long
moment.  She could feel the weight of the disk in the pocket of her jeans
and she traced its outline with trembling fingers, thinking about all that
it represented.  Exhaustion overcame her and she turned to lie face down
on the bed, clutching one of the pillows in her arms and burrowing her
face in it.   She drew in a long deep breath, inhaling the clean scent of
the freshly laundered linen.

     <MulderMulderMulder>

     Holding the pillow tight against her body, Scully allowed herself
to relax enough to cry.
 
 

The Tucson station was crowded, full of people headed towards a variety of
destinations.  Mulder walked with Christophe and the associate, dressed in
some casual civilian clothes that they'd given him just before landing.  A
third man who had met their plane had remained with the nondescript car
that they had taken to the station, and Mulder was glad of this fact.
Somehow it seemed easier to attempt to elude two instead of three.

     Not that he had had much of a chance to do so.  Christophe had
remained right by his side throughout their journey, carrying a gun
discreetly in his suit jacket, and Mulder was all too aware that the
associate was packing as well. And, though the long-sleeved shirt
concealed the security bracelet he was wearing, Mulder was acutely
conscious of its presence on his wrist.

     Their timing was a bit off, the Sunset Limited having already
arrived.  They made their way fairly quickly to the loading platform, to
see that passengers were beginning to disembark.

     "Check the crowds for someone matching her description,"
Christophe ordered the associate, and he immediately moved away, blending
in with the throng of people.

     Finding the conductor, Christophe produced some phony
identification that seemed to do its job.  With the Amtrak employee's
reluctant permission, Mulder and Christophe made a thorough search of the
train, checking each of the compartments one by one, but found no sign of
Scully.

     "She's not here," Mulder said, consumed by complicated feelings of
relief and disappointment.

     That wasn't enough to satisfy Christophe. "We need to speak with
all of the train attendants before you depart," he told the conductor.

     "This isn't normal procedure," the conductor reminded them, barely
able to conceal his irritation at the delay they had already caused.
 
     "Unfortunately," Christophe replied, his voice calm, "this isn't a
normal circumstance."

     With the speed of a practiced professional, Christophe raced
through the first several interrogations.  It wasn't until the fourth
attendant came forward that they learned anything interesting.

     "I think I may know who you're talking about," said the woman,
nervously twirling a lock of blonde hair that had strayed loose from her
clip.  "There was a woman, in one of the upper cabins -- she was waiting
for her husband.  She thought he might have missed the train."

     Mulder's heart caught at her words, but before he could say
anything, Christophe took the lead.

     "I'm sorry," he said.  "I seem to have forgotten your name."

     "Sheila," the woman answered.

     "Sheila," Christophe continued, "were you able to locate the
woman's husband?"

     "No," Sheila answered.  "There wasn't any word from him at either
the station we'd left behind or the upcoming one."
 
     "Do you remember what stations those were?"  Christophe asked.

     "Hmm...." Sheila tilted her head to the side, closing her eyes for
a moment as she thought.  "It was somewhere around El Paso, I think."
Opening her eyes again, she smiled.  "I'm sorry --  it's just that I'm
responsible for so many passengers.  Sometimes it gets confusing.  The
only reason I really remember her at all is because I wasn't sure it was
safe for her to be traveling alone."

     Panic in his throat, Mulder cut her off, not wanting her to say
anything more about Scully's condition.  "What happened to her?"

     Sheila shrugged, her expression vaguely apologetic.  "She told me
that her mother was meeting her in Tucson.  I didn't see her again after
that -- I assume she got off of the train here."

     Christophe looked at Mulder, a long penetrating look, before
turning back to the attendant.  "Thank you, Sheila.  You've been a great
help."

     "No problem,"  Sheila answered.  "But now I really need to get
back on board.  Is that okay?"

     "Fine," Christophe smoothly replied.

     As the woman walked back to the train, the associate returned.
"No sign of her, sir," he said.

     Christophe turned to Mulder.  "Your call," he said.  "Did she
really get off of the train in Tucson?  Or could it have happened
earlier?"

     Mulder hesitated, uncertain how to answer.  "I guess we should
start here," he finally said.  "After all, Sheila seems fairly positive
that this was the station she mentioned."

     Christophe regarded him for a long moment and then looked at the
associate.  "Get me a list of any stops between El Paso and here.   Meet
us back at the plane when you're through."  To Mulder, he said, "We start
here.  Let's both hope that we find her quickly."
 
 

Skinner paced anxiously behind the narrow desk, watching as the computer
technician fiddled with his keyboard, manipulating the image on screen.  A
man's face was slowly taking shape, a man with dark hair and olive skin, a
man who looked almost foreign in appearance. Who was this man, he
wondered, who had assumed his identity and spirited Mulder out of a Texas
jail cell?  Who was he, and who gave him his orders?

     Skinner wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

     It was equally frustrating because he hadn't been this close to
Mulder or Scully in ages.  The elation he'd felt when he'd received the
call had been dimmed by the fact that there was no news of Scully, but
he'd been counting on Mulder to fill in the missing pieces.   Had been
counting on Mulder to explain the situation.

     And now, inexplicably, Mulder was missing once again.

     And Skinner couldn't shake the feeling that he was back at square
one.

      Filled with impatience, Skinner burst out,  "Well?  Is that him?"

     The question was directed at Rusty Hackett, the police chief of El
Paso, who was standing just beside Skinner in the local Bureau office.
"Looks pretty much like him," he replied, but the statement lacked
conviction.  "I only saw him for a moment, you know.  And I didn't have
any reason to suspect him -- he had the right ID."

     "I understand that."  Skinner fought to keep his voice calm, to
avoid losing patience with the hayseed cop.  "But this is very important.
And so I need you to be a little more certain about whether we've come up
with the right composite."

     "This'll do," Hackett told him.  "Only thing I'd change would be
to make him a little more ... I don't know.  A little more intense."

     "What do you mean by that?"

     "There was something about him, something about his eyes, I think.
  Something that said he doesn't take no for an answer."  Hackett looked
up at Skinner before continuing.  "Hell, I wasn't so far off to believe
his story -- you've got that look too."
 
 

Elliot walked into the kitchen, running a hand through his still damp
hair.  He'd taken a shower in Cooper's bathroom, trying to postpone the
inevitable as long as possible, but he was all too aware that the time had
finally come.

     The kitchen was filled with a fragrant aroma and Elliot took a
deep breath, savoring the smell.  "Mmmm," he said, pleasure evident in his
voice.  "What's for dinner?"

     "Paella," Rebecca answered, from where she stood near the stove.
A pause, then, "I know it's your favorite."

     Some of the tension Elliot had been feeling eased out of his body
at her words.  He looked at her where she stood, twirling a spoon in a pan
simmering with fragrant vegetables.  She was wearing a cream long-sleeved
shirt that was embroidered with tiny flowers around its scooped neckline
underneath her favorite pair of faded denim overalls.  The long, curly
black hair he so admired was braided in a ponytail that hung halfway down
her back, and a few wayward tendrils that had escaped her grasp curled
around her olive-skinned face thanks to the steam rising from the stove.
She looked up at him with eyes so dark they were almost black, especially
now, fired with an intensity that Elliot knew all too well.

     "Thanks," he offered as a gentle prelude to their conversation.
"Want me to set the table?"

     "In a minute," Rebecca replied, removing the spoon from the pan
before covering it with a lid.  She turned the burner on the stove down to
low and then crossed to where he was leaning against the counter.
"So...." she began.  "Why don't you tell me what's going on here."

     Elliot reached out and took both of her hands in his, willing her
to understand what he'd done, hoping she'd believe that he hadn't had
another choice.  Speaking slowly, testing every word in his head before he
uttered it, he told her about his train trip.  About meeting Rick and Lisa
in the dining car.  About Lisa's arrival in his room, and the story that
she'd told him.  He left out nothing, wanting Rebecca to experience it all
just as he had, hoping that she'd come to the same conclusion.

     When he finished, Rebecca was quiet.  During the course of the
story, she'd released his hands and moved to her usual perch atop the
butcher block table that stood in the center of the kitchen.  She sat
there still, toying with the curls that emerged from beneath the barrette
at the end of her braid.  Finally, she spoke, her words low.  "What do you
think happened to him?"

     "I don't know," Elliot shrugged, palms up.  "There's still a part
of me that thinks he might have run off.  I mean, on the one hand, it
looked to me like they were really in love.  Big time, you know?"  At
Rebecca's nod, he continued.  "But on the other hand, I don't believe for
a minute that they're actually married.  No rings -- not that that
necessarily proves anything -- but it was something about the way they

said it.  As though it was an idea that they were getting used to, but not
a reality."

     "But why bother lying to you?"  Rebecca's eyes were wide with
confusion.

     "Well," Elliot replied, "if they're in as much trouble as Lisa
says they are, I guess they can't trust anyone."

     Rebecca hopped off of the counter and moved back over to the
stove, lifting the lid on the saucepan to check the vegetables.   "She
trusts you."

     The simple phrase felt like a weight on his shoulders as Elliot
walked over to the wine rack in the corner.  Pulling a bottle from the
wire frame, he placed it on the counter and then opened a drawer, fumbling
around for the corkscrew.  Without missing a beat, Rebecca fished the
corkscrew out of another drawer and handed it to him.

     Elliot smiled his thanks, but made no reply to Rebecca's
statement, and he could see her frustration in the set of her jaw.
"Elliot!"  She infused his name with an urgency that caused him to look up
from his task.

     "What do you want me to say, Beck?"  Elliot reached into the
cabinet and pulled out two wine glasses, setting them down on the counter
with a force that threatened to shatter them.  "I couldn't have left her
on that train.  I just couldn't do it!"

     "And why not?"  Rebecca glared at him.  "It's not your job to save
the word, Elliot, and it never has been.  This is a whole hell of a lot
different than bringing home a stray dog and deciding to keep him."

     "Beck!"

     "I'm serious, Elliot!  This is absolutely ridiculous," Rebecca
ranted, her eyes flashing sparks at him.  "You meet a blind woman on a
train who tells you a cloak-and-dagger story about her supposed missing
husband and just bring her home.   You don't know *anything* about her!
This could all be one elaborate lie for God knows what reason!"

     Elliot had finished pouring wine into one glass and had the bottle
poised above the other but her angry words made him stop.  "Don't you
think I *know* that?"  He paused, his own ire now rising, his words icy
cold.  "I'm *aware* of that.   I weighed all the possibilities, Beck.
And I did what I had to do."

     Rebecca's arms were folded across her chest but it didn't hide the
fact that she was starting to tremble.   "Did you ever think about what it
means if she *is* telling you the truth?"

     Elliot said nothing, just stood where he was, one hand still
clutching the wine bottle.

     "If there are people after her, bad people, like you say...."
Rebecca's voice trailed off and it was in that moment that Elliot realized
that she was afraid.  "Did it ever occur to you that they might follow her
here?"

     Elliot crossed to her in four quick steps, taking her in his arms,
sighing with relief when she encircled his back with her own and pulled
him close, resting her head on his shoulder.  "I *did* think about that,
Beck," he murmured into her ear.  "From the minute she told me, all the
way here.  I never stopped thinking about it.  And it scared me too."

     Pulling back from her slightly, Elliot raised his hand and gently
caressed her cheek.  "But do you know what finally helped me decide?"
Rebecca shook her head, the action causing her face to rub gently against
his palm.  "You, Beck.  I kept thinking about what I would've wanted Rick
to do for you if the situation was reversed.  And that's when I knew I
really didn't have any other choice."

     Rebecca's eyes were locked with his, and Elliot was almost certain
he saw tears starting to gather there, but true to form Rebecca looked
away before he could be sure, burying her face against his neck and
kissing him gently.  "I know," she murmured, her voice muffled by his
skin.  "And I love you for it."

     Elliot lifted her chin with one hand and kissed her deeply,
grateful as always for her wisdom and understanding.  Rebecca smiled at
him, and squeezed his hand, before turning back to the stove.  "It still
doesn't answer the question of what we're going to do.  How can we help
her if we don't know what's really going on?"

     He filled the other glass of wine and then recorked the bottle,
carrying both glasses over to where she stood and placing one in her hand.
 "Well, we can figure it out in the morning.  Talk to her.  Maybe we can
convince her to go to the police."

     "I'm not going to the police."

     Elliot almost dropped his wine glass at the sound of that simple,
firm statement.   He whirled around to see Lisa standing in the doorway of
the kitchen, one hand resting against the frame, her hair damp from the
shower.  She had changed into a pair of khakis but was still wearing that
big green sweater, the sweater that he suddenly remembered having seen
Rick wear.

     "Lisa!"  He sought for words, for some explanation, wondering
desperately just how long she had been standing there, how much she had
overheard.

     "I'm sorry, Elliot," Lisa said, her words clipped and even, as
though it pained her to say them.  "I never meant to put you and Rebecca
in this kind of position.  It isn't fair to either one of you."

     Elliot took his eyes away from Lisa long enough to glance at
Rebecca, who stood stock-still in front of the stove, looking as horrified
as he felt.

     "Lisa.... "  Elliot knew he was fumbling the pass, but he gave it
his best shot.  "It's alright, really.  We were just --"

     Lisa slowly shook her head, resignation evident in the motion.  "I
know.  Believe me.  But I can't involve you in this any more.  Tomorrow,
I'll need you to take me into town.  I'll figure out the rest of it from
there."   With that, she turned and headed back down the hallway, her
footsteps slight against the wooden floor.
 
 

Here endeth part 2... parts 3-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com.
 

X-2                                X-2

From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:30:38 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (3/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:30:38 GMT
--------
This is part three of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (3/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97
 
 

Rebecca stood where she was, a complex mixture of embarrassment and shame
creeping over her.  She stared at Elliot, whose eyes behind his glasses
were filled with pain.   The silent moment between them was shattered by
the kitchen door slamming open, a breeze of cold air followed by the sound
of a familiar voice.

     "What's this, a goddamn funeral?"

     Rebecca turned to see Cooper entering the kitchen, Tucker in tow.
As he entered, he pulled off his buffalo plaid jacket, tossing it
carelessly on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.  Lifting his hand to
the back of his head, he removed the rubber band that held his brown hair
back, allowing it to fall loosely around his jaw.  "E-man!   Great to have
you back."   When nobody responded to his greeting, Cooper asked, "Is it
something I said?"

     "Beck --"  Without acknowledging Cooper's presence, Elliot turned
to her, his expression anxious.  "I'd better --"

     "No," Rebecca replied, cutting him off.  "You fill Coop in on
what's going on -- it's your story anyway.  Let me go talk to her."

     Rebecca could tell that Elliot wanted to protest, but he said
nothing, and merely nodded his acquiescence.

     Oblivious, Cooper remarked, "Something smells great.  I think I
should bail on my turn at cooking more often."

     Rebecca threw Cooper a brief smile and then headed for the
hallway.  Behind her, she could hear Elliot greeting Cooper and offering
him a glass of wine.  Their voices receded as she made her way down the
hall towards the closed door of her bedroom.  The lack of light emanating
from beneath the door indicated that there wasn't anyone inside, but
Rebecca knew better.

     Knocking softly on the door, Rebecca called, "Lisa?  May I come
in?"

     There wasn't a response at first, and then Rebecca heard a faint
voice answer.  "Sure."

     Rebecca pushed open the door to see Lisa, sitting on the bed in
the dark, her legs tucked up underneath her, arms folded in her lap.
"Hey," Rebecca said, uncertain how to continue.

     Lisa didn't reply, sitting still as a statue.

     With one hand, Rebecca flipped on the light switch by the door,
illuminating the two antique lamps on either side of the bed.  Although
the lamps were small, they did a fair job of lighting up the room.  Lisa's
head was bowed, her dark hair obscuring her face.   With slow hesitant
steps, Rebecca crossed the room and came to sit next to Lisa on the bed.

     After a moment, Rebecca gathered her courage and spoke.
"Lisa....I don't know what you heard, or what you think you heard --"

     "I heard enough," Lisa told her.  "And you're right.  It was wrong
of me to come here.  It was... it was selfish of me to involve you in
this."

     "No."  The single word was short but surprisingly vehement.  "You
weren't wrong to come, and Elliot wasn't wrong to have invited you.  I...
I overreacted.  I think it all just caught me by surprise."

     "Rebecca..." Lisa raised her head then, turning as though to find
her with that clouded gaze.  "You don't understand."

     "I don't have to," Rebecca answered, though she was more than a
little curious as to how Lisa had acquired the dark bruise on her pale
cheek.  "That's not important, at least not now."
 
 

Scully sighed, feeling utterly vulnerable and alone.  "But it is."  She
sought for the words that she needed to explain.  "It's more important
than you know.  I can't ask you to do this.  It isn't fair to you, or to
Elliot."

     "Why don't you let us decide what's fair?"  Rebecca asked, and
Scully found the question to be sweet and yet incredibly naive.

     "Because I can't.  I can't ask you to be responsible for me.  Not
like this."

     Scully was surprised to feel a hand gently touch her knee.
"Lisa... you're in trouble.  And Elliot's right -- it doesn't matter how,
or why.   I don't need to know the circumstances, unless you want to tell
me.  I trust Elliot, and I trust that he did the right thing by bringing
you here."

     Trust... the simple word reverberated in Scully's brain.  Such a
simple concept, and yet so difficult to achieve.   To have faith in
someone else, an implicit belief in the validity of their decisions, in
the justice of their actions.  Something that she herself accepted in
Mulder without question, an aspect to their partnership that she had never
doubted.

     Lost in thought, Scully was unaware that Rebecca was expecting a
response until she heard her say, "I'm glad you're here, Lisa, and not off
somewhere by yourself trying to sort all this out.  You're welcome to stay
with us as long as you need to."

     Scully recognized the statement for what it was, both an apology
and an invitation.  And although she was all too aware of the fact that
her mere presence posed a danger to the young couple, at the moment she
was too exhausted to refuse Rebecca's offer.  "Thank you," she finally
said.  "And I appreciate it, more than you know."

     "Not a problem," Rebecca answered, and Scully could hear the smile
in the girl's voice.  "In the morning, we'll figure something out.  I'm
sure we will.  Now, you want some dinner?"

     "I'm starved," Scully admitted, realizing the words were true.

     "Then let's go," replied Rebecca, causing the bedsprings to squeak
as she stood up, tugging on Scully's arm in a beckoning gesture.  "Before
the boys eat it all."

     Unable to stifle a small smile of her own, Scully allowed herself
to be pulled to her feet and guided towards the door.  Just before they
stepped out into the hallway, Scully paused, finding Rebecca's hand with
her own and squeezing it tightly.  "Just promise me something," she said
softly.  "Promise me you're not going to talk to the police."

     There was a long pause during which Scully found it hard to
breathe, hoping that her statement hadn't offended her hostess.  Finally,
Rebecca responded, speaking slowly for emphasis.

     "You have my word, Lisa.  We're not going to the police."

     "Thanks," Scully answered simply.  "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't
important."

     "I believe you," said Rebecca, and then they headed down the
hallway.
 
 

There was no sign of Scully anywhere near the Tucson station.  At least
not based on their admittedly cursory examination.  In a strange way,
their search reminded Mulder of some of his more tedious Bureau
investigations, a kind of needle-in-a-haystack attempt to solve a mystery
with only the slimmest of leads.

     Which wasn't to say that Christophe didn't have a specific method
of attack.  On the contrary, he was extremely focused, moving in a logical
pattern that radiated outward from the train station itself.   His
intensity was frightening, leaving Mulder little option for the moment
except to do as he was told.

     As best as they could tell, Scully hadn't taken another Amtrak
train.  Nor had she climbed aboard any of the city buses that circled the
station -- they had managed to stop and search the three that had arrived
at the same time as her train.   Mulder hadn't expected to get anything
out of the myriad cab drivers but as fate would have it, the station was
organized so that all of the taxis had to pass through a single stop in
order to collect their fares.   The man in charge of orchestrating this
operation became extremely friendly at the sight of Christophe's fifty
dollar bill and assured them that no one matching Scully's description had
taken a cab in the last few hours.

     The last stop on their exploration of the surrounding area was a
diner directly across the street from the train station.  None of the
waitresses remembered seeing Scully, but the coffee and sandwiches were
fresh and the associate hadn't yet returned with the car, so Mulder found
himself sitting in a booth beside Christophe.

     "I need to know what this means."  Christophe's tone was almost
conversational, but there was no masking the seriousness of his request.
"Did she manage to sneak out of the station without our seeing her?
Perhaps she never made it to Tucson."

     Mulder didn't respond.  There was no point in engaging.   Until
Christophe spoke again.

     "Either way, it's a pretty neat trick for a blind woman, don't you
think?"

     The blood froze in his veins.

     "I don't know what you're talking about."

     "Don't you?"  Christophe's face was devoid of expression, save his
eyes.  They were the eyes of a predator, hungry and questioning.  "I think
perhaps you do.  I saw the way you interrupted that attendant back at the
station.  You were afraid she'd reveal the truth to me, weren't you."

     He doesn't know, Mulder thought frantically.   Not for sure, not
for certain.  He's just fishing, hoping you'll give it up.

     "I think," Mulder carefully replied, "that you've been given some
incorrect information."  He paused for a moment, then volleyed his own
serve.  "Which makes me wonder, exactly who gives you your information,
anyway?"

     "You should know better than to imagine I'd ever reveal my
sources," Christophe responded curtly.

     "I thought we were partners," Mulder countered.  "Working
together, remember?   It seems to me our little arrangement is a bit
one-sided."   A waitress came by to refill their coffee cups and Mulder
waited until she left before continuing, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"I don't even know who it is that's after the disk."

     "Maybe I have my own reasons for wanting it."

     "I don't think so," Mulder disagreed with a shake of his head.  "I
get the impression you're little more than a gun for hire."

     It was obvious by the way Christophe's face darkened that the
words hit home.  "Let's get something straight," he hissed, the words
barely audible.  "I don't work for *anyone*.  I make my own decisions."

     He paused deliberately until Mulder acknowledged the words with a
small nod.

     Satisfied, a grim smile crossed Christophe's face. "There is
nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop me from killing you right now except
my own charitable nature.  But even that has its limits, Mulder."

     The sound of a car horn outside alerted them to the return of the
associate.  Tossing a handful of crumpled bills on the counter, Christophe
rose to his feet and Mulder did the same.   As he followed his captor out
towards the street, Mulder snatched up the bills and stuffed them in the
pocket of his jeans.  A rush of guilt flooded over him as he did so but he
ruthlessly shoved it aside, fairly certain that at this point he needed
the money more than the waitress.
 
 

Skinner paid the driver and climbed out of the cab, his carry-on and
briefcase in hand.  Entering the terminal, he looked for the United
counter and then crossed towards it.

     He still wasn't certain that he should be leaving Texas, but then
again he didn't know if there was really anything to be gained by staying.
  The local Bureau office had committed full manpower to scouring the
area, in search of Mulder and Scully as well as the mysterious man who had
impersonated him.   Skinner knew for certain that he'd never seen the man
before, and thus far searches of the Bureau's computer files had turned up
no information on his identity.  He couldn't help but wonder if the man's
identity was somehow being concealed by powers within the Bureau itself.
It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

     Skinner put the fare for the red-eye back to Washington on his
credit card and then made his way up to the gate.  The plane wouldn't be
boarding for another hour and a half, so he settled down in one of the
hard-backed airport chairs and prepared to wait.

     Again, the nagging sensation that he shouldn't be leaving flooded
through his mind.  Forget about it, Skinner, he told himself.  There's
nothing more that you can do.

     "At least not now," he muttered aloud, causing the teenaged girl
sitting next to him to look at him strangely.   He offered her an
apologetic smile which only seemed to confirm her suspicions about him,
and she gathered her backpack and moved to another seat, leaving him
alone.

     That was the real problem -- Skinner felt like he was alone in
this, and it frustrated him.  He had refused to help Scully in her search
because he had believed that what she was doing went against the interests
of the Bureau, and it was his job to protect and defend those interests,
not to assist stubborn agents in their personal quests.   Yet now two of
his agents were missing, and he couldn't help but blame himself for that.
 And the institution to which he had devoted his life seemed to be working
against him instead of with him in his attempt to find them and bring them
back.

     Skinner massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers, raising
his glasses from their perch momentarily in an attempt to alleviate the
headache he could feel pounding behind his eyes.  It didn't work, nor had
he expected it to.  There was something else that was weighing him down,
the dread of a conversation that he had to have.   More than anything
else, that was his reason for returning to D.C.   The conversation was
going to be hard enough as it was, and it was something that he didn't
want to do over the phone.

     Checking his watch, Skinner noted that he still had more than an
hour to wait.   Grabbing his bags, he decided that the time was right for
a quick visit to the airport bar.

Cooper ran his hands along the extensive collection of compact discs that
rested on a series of stacked shelves on the wall of the living room,
looking for one that would strike his fancy.  Cooper spent more money than
he would care to admit on music -- it was something that never failed to
bring him joy, and as he was so fond of saying, if he got hit by a bus
tomorrow, at least he'd be listening to good tunes at the time.  Nothing
really seemed appropriate for the mood he was in at the moment, however,
so the decision was harder than he would have expected.

     There was a really strange vibe in the house, and one that he
couldn't say he was fond of.  The tension between Elliot and Rebecca when
he'd walked in had been thick enough to cut with a knife, which was
surprising since the two of them usually got along like peanut butter and
jelly.  That was the only reason he'd agreed to move in with them in the
first place.  After nearly three years of traveling the world, a steady
home had seemed like a good idea, and Elliot was one of his oldest
friends.   And Rebecca -- well, she was, in a word, great.   Cooper really
approved of Elliot's choice, and thought she suited Elliot just fine.  He
had to admit, the three of them made a great team, and he hadn't regretted
a moment of the time they'd spent as housemates.

     But tonight -- tonight, things were definitely weird, but at least
now Cooper knew enough about what was going on to be able to ascribe the
tension to something specific.

     Or someone specific, to be precise.  Elliot's mysterious friend
from the train, who had become their new houseguest.

     Cooper had yet to see the stranger for himself, but hearing
Elliot's story had him more than a little intrigued.  Like his two
roommates, the photographer and the illustrator, Cooper had a creative
mind, though his own skills tended more towards architecture and
engineering than something that you could frame and hang on a wall.  But
he shared with them an imaginative spirit, and his imagination was
definitely working full time at the moment, bursting with curiosity about
the blind woman who had invaded the sanctity of their home without
warning.

     Consumed by these thoughts, Cooper finally surrendered his compact
disc selection to mere fate and pulled the next plastic case his fingers
encountered off of the rack.  Tom Waits, he read, his eyes scanning the
paper label beneath the smooth surface.  Never a bad idea.  Popping the
disc out of its case, he placed it gently into the CD player and adjusted
the volume to a comfortable level.  Satisfied, he made his way back down
the hall to the dining room, the music he'd chosen filtering through the
speakers.

     When he entered, Elliot was already seated, pouring wine into the
four glasses that were placed in front of the matching place settings.
There were several serving dishes already present on the table, a dish
full of paella and two others containing vegetables and salad.

     "Chianti is my fuel.  Excellent choice, E-man."  Cooper's face
reflected his approval of Elliot's wine selection.

     "Always a good call," Elliot responded easily, but Cooper could
see the tension in his friend's shoulders and wasn't fooled.

     "Need any help in there?"  Cooper called, directing his voice
towards the kitchen although it seemed that the table was already full.

     "Nope, we're all set."  Rebecca's voice preceded her entrance into
the dining room.  In one hand she carried a basket full of bread, using
the other to guide their houseguest towards the table.

     Cooper tilted his head to the side, ignoring the strands of hair
that fell across his cheek as he regarded the stranger.  She was a petite
woman, with dark brown hair and eyes that were a startling shade of blue.
Her face was pale and drawn, and it was obvious from the way that she
moved that she was tired.  Yet her exhaustion couldn't conceal the
remarkable beauty of her finely chiseled features.

     Rising to his feet, Cooper pulled out a chair from the table,
reaching for the woman with one hand to guide her towards the seat.
"Here, sit down," he said, assisting her as best as he was able.  When she
appeared to be comfortable, he took his hand with hers and shook it
gently.  "I'm Cooper -- it's nice to meet you."

     "I'm Lisa," the woman said, her eyes looking just past him, her
face solemn.

     Cooper took his seat and watched as Elliot began to dish out the
food, putting a generous amount of each item on Lisa's plate.   She didn't
move, sitting still as a statue, as everyone helped themselves to
Rebecca's cooking.  When everyone had been served, Cooper picked up his
fork, ready to dive in, only to notice that Lisa still hadn't moved.

     Elliot had noticed her stillness as well, his face creased with an
expression of dismay that vanished as a thought struck him.  "Oh, Lisa,
I'm sorry," he apologized, and then proceeded to explain to Lisa the
layout of the food on the plate that sat before her, describing the
location of each item as though it occupied a position on the face of a
clock.

     Lisa nodded her understanding, and as she picked up her fork and
began to eat, Cooper shot Rebecca a look of surprise that he saw reflected
back tenfold.  Quick study, Cooper thought, as he took his first bite of
the steaming paella.

     The dinner conversation consisted mostly of Elliot's recitation of
the events of his trip, embellished Elliot-style with lots of anecdotal
details.  As always, Cooper was amused by the stories, entertained by his
friend's ability to weave a tale.  Over the course of the meal, some of
the tension dissipated.  Although she tried to be discreet, Cooper caught
more than one of the loving glances that Rebecca shot in Elliot's
direction, and was happy to see that at least the two of them were
enjoying themselves.

     Lisa, on the other hand, was almost totally silent, speaking only
when spoken to.  It was obvious that she had a lot on her mind, and
although Cooper suspected that his housemates were equally curious about
the secrets she concealed, by unspoken agreement none of them attempted to
tear down the barrier she had so painstakingly constructed.

     When dinner was finished, Cooper helped Elliot clear the table,
stacking the dishes in the sink in preparation to be washed.  Certain that
the two women still seated in the dining room were unable to hear him,
Cooper whispered, "She's a piece of work."

     "Who, Lisa?"  Elliot asked, turning on the faucet and allowing
water to fill the basin.

     "No, Rebecca," Cooper replied, exasperated.  "Of *course* I'm
talking about Lisa.  She didn't say one word over dinner."

     Elliot shrugged. "Well, assuming what she says is true, she's got
a lot to think about."

     Cooper plucked several pieces of chicken out of the nearly empty
dish of paella and held them out to Tucker, who was circling at their
feet, anxious for such a treat.  "She didn't tell you anything?  About who
she is, or where she comes from?"

     "It wasn't like that."  Elliot shook his head as he started the
dishes.  "It all happened really fast.  One minute I'm making conversation
with them, giving them an autographed copy of my book.  The next thing I
know she's knocking on my door."

     With each passing minute, Cooper found himself more intrigued by
their mysterious visitor.   "What do *you* think happened to her husband?"
 Feeling a bit like he had stepped into the middle of a melodrama, he
lowered his voice further and asked, "You think somebody killed him?"

     Surprisingly, Elliot took the question at face value.  "At first,
I thought that the guy just ran off.  He seemed nice enough to me, but you
never can tell."  Pushing his glasses back up on his nose with a soapy
finger, he continued, "But from the little that she told me, it sounds
like they were in some kind of big time trouble.  So I guess it's
possible."

     Cooper picked at the paella dish again, this time selecting a
piece of shrimp that he popped into his own mouth, ignoring Tucker's
pleading gaze.  "I don't know.  If it had been me, I don't know if I'd've
brought her back with me."

     Elliot laughed. "If it had been you, Coop, forget about saving her
ass.  You'd be off with her right now at some motel."

     "Put a sock in it, Elliot," Cooper responded, "and give me a
little credit."

     "Oh, I'll give you plenty," came Elliot's reply.  "I just don't
know if you'd call it credit."

     Cooper threw Elliot a dark stare that wasn't without mirth.  "On
that note, I'm taking out the trash," he declared.   Pulling the plastic
bag out of the bin, he headed out into the yard, Tucker trailing at his
heels.
 
 

Here endeth part 3... parts 4-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com.
 

X-3
               X-3
 

From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:33:14 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (4/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:33:14 GMT
--------
This is part four of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (4/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97
 
 

They took the plane back to El Paso, a quick but surprisingly turbulent
trip that reminded Mulder of his dislike of small aircraft.   Christophe's
main gunman was again along for the ride, and had now been joined by two
other cronies.  As introductions didn't seem to be forthcoming, Mulder had
secretly christened the men Larry, Moe and Curly, which seemed even more
appropriate since the third man was almost totally bald.  The presence of
the additional manpower made Mulder uneasy, serving only to remind him of
the seriousness of his predicament.

     Christophe said little on the short flight to anyone, sitting
quietly in a seat by the window.  Occasionally Mulder caught the man
watching him.   He could actually feel Christophe studying him, those
steel gray eyes penetrating him with sharp ferocity.  It was as though
Christophe thought he could literally read minds simply by trying hard
enough.

     Mulder wondered if perhaps he could.

     The plane touched down on the same private airfield that Mulder
remembered from the first trip, but it didn't remain on the field.
Instead, the pilot taxied it into a hangar on the far side, and it was
there that Mulder and his captors exited the plane.

     Turning to Moe and Curly, Christophe said, "Get into town and
start the search -- begin at the station and work outward from there."  He
shot a glance at Mulder and then added, "I'm particularly curious as to
whether or not the girl exited the train here in El Paso.  The attendant
who remembered her didn't seem terribly certain about when their
conversation took place.  I don't want to have to backtrack again, is that
understood?"

     Moe and Curly nodded their understanding in perfect synch and
Mulder found himself stifling a laugh at their textbook response.

     As the two henchmen exited the building, Christophe indicated that
Mulder follow with a wave of his hand and led the way over to a small door
in the side of the hangar.

     The room beyond the door was small, barely bigger than a walk-in
closet.  It was a kind of makeshift office, but the only furniture inside
was a worn armchair and a tiny steel table.  There were no windows and no
other doors, and Mulder quickly noted, there was no phone.

     "I wish I could say the accommodations were top of the line,"
Christophe remarked, "but it's the best I can do on short notice."  He
ushered Mulder into the room and then stopped in the doorway, his hand on
the knob.

     "In case you have any funny ideas about running off, Mike will be
right outside."

     Mulder looked at the henchman, standing beside Christophe, and put
on his most insouciant smile.  "Ah, so his name is *Mike*.  And all this
time I've been calling him Larry.  Glad to get that straight."

     "And I'm glad to see you're still in such good spirits,"
Christophe coldly responded.  "It makes all of this less of a chore."

     With that, he pulled the door shut and a moment later Mulder heard
the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.   He heard the sound
of Christophe giving his associate some instructions in a low voice, and
then the sound of Christophe's footsteps echoing on the concrete as he
exited the hangar.

     He was alone now, with the exception of the guard dog at the door,
and Mulder made the most of the opportunity, examining the barren room in
the vain hope of discovering some kind of weapon.   His search turned up
nothing.   The steel table was a solid piece and there was no way to
remove any of the legs.  The worn armchair was filled with some kind of
polyurethane stuffing and contained no metal springs that he might be able
to fashion into something useful.  The rest of the room was, as he had
previously ascertained, empty.  Even the ceiling light was of no use --
the glass bulb was protected by a wire mesh frame that he was unable to
pull from the plaster despite his best attempts.

     Mulder was frustrated and, though he was loath to admit it, he was
tired.  Reaching into his pocket, he counted the money he'd swiped at the
diner.  Eleven dollars.  Not enough to do much of anything, but at least
he no longer felt completely destitute.

     Sinking down into the armchair, Mulder stretched his legs out in
front of him, leaning his head back against its creaky frame.  The
security bracelet was chafing his wrist and he twisted it with his hand,
seeking some relief from the pressure.  Mulder closed his eyes and an
image of Scully swam unbidden into the forefront of his consciousness.

     <DanaDanaDanaDanaDana>

     A thousand frightening thoughts flooded his brain, making him
panic, making him worry.   Visions of her alone, afraid, vulnerable.
Visions of her hurt, injured, helpless.

     Visions of her dying.   Visions of her dead.

     Mulder's eyes snapped open and he fought down an anguished cry.
He stood up and restlessly paced the tiny length of the room several
times, trying to erase the dark images from his head.  Hoping against hope
that the terrifying visions were just the result of his imagination
working overtime and not some kind of horrible intuition.

     He lost himself in the repetitive motion of the pacing, so that
the pounding on the door came as a surprise.  "Keep it down in there!"

     It was Larry's voice, Mulder realized.  Larry or Mike or whatever
he was called.  The fact that his pacing was an irritant to the man was
almost enough to keep Mulder walking, but he wasn't really in the mood to
get into an altercation with a trigger-happy bodyguard.

     Mulder collapsed back down into the armchair and tried to relax.
He closed his eyes again and this time when the visions reappeared he
fought them off, hoping to replace the dark images of Scully in jeopardy
with brighter ones, images that would give him strength, and courage, and
hope.   He thought of her skin and how soft it was beneath his fingertips,
and of her smile and the childlike laughter that sometimes accompanied it.
  He remembered how she had sat in his lap in a chair not unlike the one
in which he sat now, and how she had stopped his reading aloud to her by
placing two of her small fingers against his lips.

     Yesterday, he thought.  It was only yesterday.

     Something about the memory tickled the edge of his consciousness,
made him think that there was something important he was missing.   But
Mulder was too tired to focus on it clearly and he slipped off towards
sleep, beckoned into dreamland by thoughts of Scully's tender kisses.
 
 

Christophe slid behind the wheel of the rental car that had been left for
him just outside of the hangar and put the key into the ignition, heading
back into town.   He wasn't worried about leaving Mulder at the hangar --
it was the safest place for him, all things considered.  There was no way
out of the room save the door that Mike was guarding, and even if he did
manage to find some way out, he couldn't escape their reach for long
thanks to the tracking device.

     Besides, there were a few things Christophe needed to take care of
on his own.

     Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cellular phone and
dialed a number, holding the phone to his ear with one hand and keeping
the car on the road with the other.  The phone rang twice and then it was
answered, a brief burst of static reaching his ear as the line connected.

     "Yes?"  The man managed to make the simple word both a question
and a command.

     "Everything is proceeding according to plan," said Christophe.  "I
have him in my custody."

     "And the girl?"

     "We're searching for her now,"  Christophe replied, wishing that
he had better news to deliver.  "We should know something by morning."

     There was silence on the line, but Christophe was a patient man
and endured the dead air.

     Finally, the man responded. "Time," he said, "is of the essence in
this matter."  He exhaled a long breath of air and Christophe could almost
smell the cigarette smoke through the phone.  "You do understand that."

     "Yes," Christophe answered.  "You'll get what you want.  You have
my word on that."  He paused, then added, "As long as I get what I want."

     "You have *my* word on that," the man replied.  "Find me the girl
and the disk, and then he is yours to dispose of as you see fit."

     The line went dead then, leaving behind the hollow buzz of a dial
tone.  Christophe turned off the phone, tossing it on the seat beside him
and continuing down the road.
 

 
He doesn't believe you just look at his face he thinks you're crazy crazy
like Mulder --

     < YouhavetolistentomesirI'mtellingyouthetruth >

He's turning away you've lost Skinner you've lost everything --

     < AgentScullyyou'vetakenthistoofar, you'renotmakinganysense > --

     < Iammakingsenseyou'rejustnotlisteningtomeIhaveproof > --

     < IfIhavetoputyouonsuspensionIwilldon'ttestmeonthat > --

Forget about it don't even try to make him believe you he's working with
them anyway they're all in league together maybe even Mulder don't trust
any of them just don't you can do this on your own --

     < AmImakingmyselfclear, Scully > --

     < Perfectlyclearsir, Iknowjustwhereyoustand > --

Get out of there get out of there don't waste any more time with him don't
waste any more time with any of them --
 

Scully moaned, soft and low, her mind working overtime even in sleep.
Taking her back down corridors of memory that she had done her best to
seal.  Corridors that had suddenly snapped open, despite her best attempts
to keep them shut.
 

He's going through the door hurry hurry if you really run you'll catch him
dammit it's locked how did he do that?  Down the hall then there must be
another entrance after all this is the center there's got to be another
way in and what is that noise feet pounding behind someone shouting at me
--

     < Scullystopdon'tfollowhimit'satrap > --

     He's grabbing me pulling on my arm  -- <
Letgoletgoletgohe'sgettingaway >

     < LethimgoScullywehavetogetout > --

     Push him shove him get him off me --

     < GetoffmeMulder > --
 

Scully tossed and turned in the bed, her hands clenching at the sheets as
she struggled to fight her own subconscious.
 

     Push him hard and now he's tripping falling how did I do that
never mind keep running you can't let the man get away there's another
door and it's open get inside and slam it shut quick what is this place? a
lab? is this the lab where they discovered it? but where did he go where
is the doctor? pounding on the door behind me --

     < Scullyopenthisdoordammit > --

     Just ignore it --  < Youcan'tstopmeMuldernotnownotnow > --

     Check the walls there must be a hidden exit somewhere I know he's
here where could he have gone what is that sound --

      < Ohmygodohmygod > --
 

And it was then that the dream changed, shifted its course, careening down
in a frightening spiral, illuminating her darkest fears with sharp vivid
clarity.
 

     There's nothing here now it's empty and silent why is it so quiet
open the door and it's a street how did I get so near the street?  I was
just in the compound in the lab not this alley what is that?  on the
ground?  don't go near it don't don't don't just walk away don't look
don't don't don't --

     < MulderMulderMulderohmygod >

     It's a body it's his body oh my god oh my god they cut his throat
and look at his eyes they are so blank so blank and empty his hands so
cold oh my god they killed him and left him here --

     < MulderMulderMuldernonononono >
 

A scream poised on her lips, Scully sat bolt upright, regaining the barest
modicum of composure in the nick of time, enough to reassure her that she
had merely been dreaming, enough to keep her from emitting a wail of pain
and agony loud enough to wake the dead.

     She curled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly
around her legs, seeking a balm and a comfort that was nowhere to be
found.  Her body shook with vicious tremors and she was unable to stop the
tears that spilled down her face, helpless tears of shame and rage and
fear that reduced her to a quivering wreck, threatening to shatter her
from the inside out.

     Struggling for breath, Scully fought to calm herself down, to
banish the nightmare from her thoughts.  Long moments passed during which
she almost gave in, almost succumbed to the panic, until she finally felt
calm enough to raise the edge of the sheet to her face and dry her eyes.

     Dear God, she thought, unable to do more than utter that small
prayer.

     Running a shaky hand through her hair, Scully listened for any
sounds, any indication that she had caused enough of a disturbance to
create alarm.  The house remained still and silent, and for that she was
thankful.   She had no way of knowing what time it was, how late in the
evening or early in the morning, but she was positive that she would be
getting no more sleep that night.

     Suddenly consumed with a need to be outside, away from this
strange room with its unfamiliar furnishings, Scully carefully climbed off
of the bed.  Moving as quietly as she was able, she located the khaki
pants she had discarded and pulled them on, then fumbled for her tennis
shoes and laced them up.  The sweater she'd had on earlier was laying at
the foot of the bed, and she put it back on over the tee shirt she'd worn
to bed.   Raising the sleeve of the sweater to her nose, Scully took a
deep breath, desperately trying to find Mulder's scent amongst the wool
fibers.  It was there, but faint, and did little to assuage her anxiety.

     Dressed at last, Scully reached beneath the pillow where she had
stashed the disk while she slept and slipped it into the pocket of her
pants.  Then she walked towards the door, tensing as a floorboard creaked
beneath her feet.  Finding the doorknob, she made her way out into the
hall, feeling her way along.  Remembering Elliot's earlier instructions,
when she reached the front door at the end of the L she turned left,
entering the kitchen.  Using first the counter and then the table as a
guide, she made her way across the room to the outer door.   Twisting the
knob didn't seem to work until she found the latch and released it,
finally enabling her to swing the door open.

     The rush of air that met her face was cold enough to be shocking,
but there was something about its crisp bite that swept away the remnants
of her terror.   Scully took a deep breath of its clean sweetness and
moved out onto the steps, pulling the door shut behind her.    Crouching
down on the second step, Scully tugged the sleeves of the sweater down and
over her hands, balling them up into fists to keep the material in place.
Wrapping her arms again around her legs, she buried her face against her
knees and tried her best to think, to clear her mind in search of an
answer, a plan that might get her out of this mess.

     But what could she really do?  Although Elliot's suggestion had
seemed almost beautifully simple, Scully knew she could never contact her
mother, out of fear of putting her at risk.  Skinner was no better as an
option;  her nightmare had served at least one purpose, to remind her of
his unwillingness to believe in her when she had so desperately needed his
help.  The Lone Gunmen were a possibility, but Scully was painfully aware
that she had no idea how to contact them.  That had always been Mulder's
bailiwick, and she had never given any thought to the possibility that she
might need to find them on her own.

     All of the avenues seemed to be closed, but Scully knew that she
had to do something.  There were people after the disk that she carried,
people like the man she had encountered in New Orleans, and she knew that
it was only a matter of time before they found her again.  She shivered as
she realized that she didn't even have a weapon, her gun having been
abandoned in that Louisiana alley.

     She was alone, unarmed and virtually defenseless.  Try as she
might, only one thought ricocheted in her head, a name beating a ceaseless
rhythm in time to her pounding heart.

     < MulderMulderMulder >
 
 
 

The man was an early riser and always had been.   He chalked it up to
productivity, but the real truth was that he wasn't much of a sleeper.

     He retrieved the newspaper from outside the door of his apartment
and carried it into the kitchen where he poured a cup of strong black
coffee and sat down to peruse the headlines.   The man was always amused
by the spin that journalists managed to put on their stories, trumpeting
exposes and startling revelations as though they were actually aware of
the events that had transpired.   He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply,
savoring the first nicotine rush of the day, and flipped through the paper
until he reached the end.

     Glancing at the clock, the man wondered idly when he would next
hear from Christophe.  He hoped it would be soon, for he was growing
impatient, and he knew if he was feeling a sense of urgency, the men to
whom he answered would be equally anxious.

     Not for the first time, he debated the wisdom of turning such an
important assignment over to the likes of Christophe.  Yet the man had
proved his worth thus far, retrieving Mulder in time to keep him out of
Skinner's reach.   The man was vexed by Skinner.   He considered Skinner
to be a man of conflicted loyalties, and found it regrettable that he had
ever been placed in charge of the X-Files.   Blevins had been fairly
incompetent, which is why he had been reassigned, but at least Blevins had
been a man who could be controlled.

     A grim smile crossed the man's face as he realized that if things
worked out as planned, Skinner would cease to be a thorn in his side.
After all, with Mulder dead and Scully otherwise engaged, the X-Files
would no longer exist.  Pleased by the thought, the man stubbed out his
cigarette and then headed to his bedroom to dress for work.
 
 

Here endeth part 4... parts 5-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com.
 

X-4
               X-4
 

From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:35:03 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (5/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:35:03 GMT
--------
This is part five of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (5/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97
 
 

"Tucker.... not now, boy."  Cooper rolled over onto his side, hoping that
the dog would get the message.  He wasn't used to sharing a room with
Tucker;  as much as he liked the animal, Tucker was Elliot's dog, and
spent every night in the room that Elliot shared with Rebecca.  The
arrival of their houseguest had changed that pattern, however.  It wasn't
safe to have Tucker sleep in the studio -- though it wouldn't have been a
problem for the dog, Rebecca's photographs and supplies would have been
placed at considerable risk.   And having Tucker share a room with Lisa
hadn't seemed appropriate, leaving Cooper's room as the best alternative,
especially considering the November chill that had settled over Santa Fe.

     Tucker was nothing if not persistent, however, and Cooper's
turning his back only spurred the dog on.  His tail thumping against the
floor, Tucker made his way around to the other side of the bed and nuzzled
his face against Cooper's arm.

     "Tucker...  it's too early.   Too early to go out."  Squinting,
Cooper glanced at the clock that sat on the milk crate by his bed.  The
luminous digital numbers read 5:27, and Cooper groaned.   "Go back to
sleep, boy."

     If Tucker understood him, he gave no sign of it, deciding instead
to leap up onto the bed, his paws dancing in a mad rhythm across the
sheets.  With a low groan, Cooper surrendered to the inevitable.

     "You just aren't gonna give me a minute's peace, are you, boy?"
Cooper sat up and stretched, a huge yawn escaping his lips.  He scratched
his head and regarded the clock again, hoping that the numbers might have
changed dramatically now that he was actually awake.  No luck.   5:28.
Still too damn early.

     "Okay, Tucker,"  Cooper relented.  "You win.   We're going out."
Under his breath, he continued, "Not like I needed sleep or anything like
that."

     Reluctantly, Cooper crawled out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweat
pants and an old crew sweatshirt with a prominent hole in the left
shoulder.  Pushing the dog aside, he dug through the clutter that
surrounded the bed, emerging triumphant with a pair of tennis shoes.
"Hold your horses," he muttered at the anxious dog, wondering just what
had gotten into the animal to rouse him so early.

     His mind filled with the hope of returning to bed for a few more
blessed hours, Cooper followed Tucker down the hallway and into the
kitchen.  Pulling open the door, he was startled to see Lisa sitting on
the steps, curled up against the early morning chill.  She reacted to the
sound of the opening door with a start of surprise, and Cooper hastened to
reassure her.

     "Lisa?  It's just me.... Coop."

     She raised her head at the sound of his voice, sweeping one arm
across her face in what Cooper realized was an attempt to dry her tears.
"Hi," she said, in a tiny voice.

     Unwilling to embarrass her, Cooper decided to ignore the obvious
fact that she'd been crying.  "You're up early."

     Lisa nodded, her dark hair swinging across her shoulders.
"Couldn't sleep."

     "It's hard sometimes," Cooper acknowledged.  "Especially in a
strange place."

     Lisa made no comment, her head tilted as though she was
contemplating the dew-filled yard, but Cooper knew better.   There was
something forlorn about her that tugged at his heart, but though he
yearned to comfort her, he wasn't sure how to do so.

     "Mind if I sit here for a little?"  he asked, ignoring the anxious
circles Tucker was making at the bottom of the stairs.

          Lisa shrugged, so Cooper decided to take yes for an
answer, and settled down on the step next to her.  Sitting so close, he
was acutely aware of how small she was.  Engulfed by the baggy green
sweater she was wearing, she seemed incredibly fragile.

     They sat for awhile together, not speaking, until Cooper finally
felt as though the pall of their silence was more than he could bear.
"Want to talk about it?"

     "About what?"  Her response was faint.

     "Whatever it is that has you up at the crack of dawn."

     At first Cooper thought she would ignore the pathetic attempt at
conversation, and was surprised to see that she was actually considering
his words.  At last, she replied, "I was thinking about taking things for
granted."

     "Like what kind of things?"

     "Everything," she sighed.  "Things happen that you never plan for.
 I mean.... you think you've got it all thought out.  And then everything
changes, and you realize you never planned for any of it at all."

     "I know what you mean," Cooper replied, and meant it.  Lisa turned
her head towards him slightly, and he continued.  "I'm the living example
of that.  I was a design major in school, with a minor in art history.
Took some time off to see the world -- you know, to explore, broaden my
horizons.  And I came back to discover that everyone else had a career.
Not just a job.  And I'd never given it any thought -- I always assumed
things would just fall into place."

     Lisa nodded, weighing his words.  "And did they?"

     "I suppose," he told her.  "I work for the state, in urban
planning.  It's a good enough job, but it's not exactly how I imagined my
life would turn out."

     "I guess I could say the same," she said, wrapping her arms more
tightly around her legs.
 
 

"Really?"  Scully was surprised to hear a hint of amusement in Cooper's
voice.  "Did you throw away your college education too?"

     "No," she replied, hiding a sudden urge to smile.  "I did just
fine with mine."

     "What did you major in?"

     The absurdity of the question made her laugh unexpectedly.

     "What's so funny?"  he asked.

     "Do you have any idea how long it's been since somebody asked me
that?"

     It was Cooper's turn to laugh.  "I can't imagine it's been that
long," he told her.  "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were still in
college."

     The backhanded compliment made her blush unexpectedly.  "Not by a
long shot," she retorted.  "I finished college *and* medical school."

     "Ah.... so you're a doctor, are you?"

     "Yes.  Well... kind of."  Suddenly Scully felt as though she'd
said too much, and turned her head away, hoping that Cooper would pick up
on the silent signal.

     If he did, he gave no indication of it.  After a moment, he asked,
"How did it happen?"

     "What?"  Scully responded, though she knew exactly to what he
referred.

     "Losing your sight.  Was it an accident?"

     "You could say that," Scully replied, unwilling to go any further.
 

     Cooper was not so reluctant.  "Did it happen a long time ago?"

     "No," Scully finally answered.  "Not so long ago."

     Scully heard Cooper sigh, though the sound was almost lost
underneath the sound of Tucker's anxious growls.  "I'm sorry."

     "Me too."

     Tucker barked, apparently bored with their conversation, and she
felt Cooper's body shift on the stair next to hers as he leaned forward to
scratch the dog.

     "I think Tucker's ready to get moving," Cooper remarked.  "Want to
take a walk?"

     The idea was surprising, but not entirely unwelcome, and Scully
considered the offer.  "Depends on how far, and how fast."

     "Not too far -- I'd need coffee before a real hike," Cooper
replied with another laugh.  "I can't speak for Tucker, but it's still
early, so I'm moving pretty slow."

     "Pretty slow I think I can handle," Scully smiled, allowing Cooper
to help her to her feet.  He offered her his arm and she grasped it
firmly.  He was taller than Elliot, and for some reason she found that
comforting, falling easily into step beside him.   She walked with him
across the damp grass, listening to the sound of Tucker's collar jingling
as he ran ahead.
 
 

"...if your life were taken from me
all the trees would freeze in this cold ground
it would be as cruel as the world before Columbus
sail to the edge and I'd be there looking down

those men who lust for land
and for riches strange and new
who love those trinkets of desire
oh they never will have you
and they'll never know the gold
or the copper in your hair
how could they weigh the worth
of you so rare

if your love were taken from me
every light that's bright would soon grow dim
it would be as dark as the world before Columbus
down the waterfall and I'd swim over the brim..."

- suzanne vega
 
 

Consciousness crashed down on him with shattering force and Mulder leapt
out of the chair, instinct causing him to reach for a gun that wasn't
there.   A few frantic seconds passed as he sought his bearings, looking
wildly around the room before he remembered where he was.

     Locked inside a tiny empty room in a private airport hangar.

     A prisoner without a means of escape.

     But it's worse than that, isn't it, Mulder chided himself.  You're
more than a prisoner.  You're a Judas.  You've become the weapon of her
destruction.

     He allowed himself to wallow in these defeatist thoughts for a few
minutes, still shaken from the nightmare he'd been having.   A nightmare
in which he'd found Scully, found her alive and well and took her in his
arms only to watch her literally fade away in his embrace, winking out of
existence as he held her, her sightless eyes still managing to accuse him
as she vanished, blaming him for failing her.   It had seemed so real, so
painfully real, that even now he had a hard time reminding himself that
nothing of the sort had happened.

     If he had his way, nothing of the sort ever would.

     Mulder checked his watch, noting that it was just after eight in
the morning.  Nearly twenty-four hours since he'd last seen her.

     Twenty-four hours.  The very thought made him sick to his stomach.

     Where was she?

     Suddenly, with the clarity that only sleep could bring, a possible
answer swam into his mind as he remembered Elliot, the young man from the
train.

     Could Scully have gone to him for help?

     Mulder weighed the question in his mind, starting to pace again.
It made a certain kind of sense for Scully to have approached him -- after
all, he was the only person on the train with whom they had made any sort
of connection.  And if she had exited the train with Elliot, that might
explain why her departure hadn't been noticed.  After all, they'd been
asking about a woman traveling alone, not about a couple.

     Galvanized by this new train of thought, Mulder realized with some
excitement that it was quite possible Scully was still in El Paso.   She
would have wanted to get away from the train as soon as she could, fearing
that his failure to return signalled that some trouble had befallen him.
She might have convinced Elliot to help her hide... but where?   A motel,
perhaps, somewhere that they could lie low and wait.

     Would they have registered under her name, or his?   Mulder
considered each option carefully.  Scully knew that they had switched
their fake surname to Stewart, yet the ID that she still carried bore the
name of Lisa Wilder.  She might have used either, in the hope that he
would more quickly find her under one of their shared aliases.  But he
quickly discarded the idea -- it would be too dangerous, especially since
she had no idea what had happened to him.   It made more sense for them to
have used Elliot's name.

     Which was... Mulder forced himself to think, calling upon his
eidetic memory to retrieve the answer.   He pictured the jacket of the
hardcover book in his mind, remembering the words printed there.   Elliot
Masters... that was it.   Elliot Masters.

     Just as the name clicked into his brain, Mulder heard the lock
turn in the door of his cell.   He whirled around as the door opened,
revealing Christophe standing there.

     "Time to get back to work," he declared, his dark countenance
grim.

     Clinging tightly to his new shred of hope, Mulder followed
Christophe out of the cell.
 
 

Elliot rolled over on his back, gazing up at Rebecca where she stood by
the edge of the bed, her long dark hair a wild mane cascading over the
flannel shirt she'd pulled on over her pajamas.   "Beck...."  He infused
his words with a generous amount of wheedling charm.  "It's freezing out
there, and it's warm in here.  Especially --"  he pulled back the covers
with a dramatic flourish -- "under here.   So what's the rush?"

     "The rush is, I've got to get those proofs over to the museum by
noon.  And," Rebecca continued, a sparkle in her dark eyes, "if we get
moving, we'll be first in the shower."

     "Did you say we?"

     "Sure did...."

     Suddenly the bed seemed far less appealing.   "Well, I suppose in
the interests of water conservation...." Elliot crawled out to join his
girlfriend, giving her a quick kiss before copying her motions and pulling
on a sweatshirt to ward off the early morning chill.

     "I didn't know you were so concerned with saving the planet,"
Rebecca teased as she kissed him back and then headed for the stairs.

     Following Rebecca down the stairs that connected the loft with the
studio, Elliot thought again about how lucky he was to have her in his
life.   They crossed the yard hand in hand and entered the blessed warmth
of the kitchen.

     "I'm just going to put some coffee on," Rebecca told him with a
warm smile.  "Go ahead -- I'll be there in a minute."

     Elliot nodded his acquiescence and started down the hall.  To his
surprise, Cooper's door was open.  Peeking inside, he found the bed a
disheveled but empty mess.  Walking back towards the kitchen, he called
softly to Rebecca. "Where'd Coop go so early?"

     "He's not in his room?"  A puzzled expression crossed Rebecca's
face.  As she poured coffee into the filter, she hazarded a guess.  "Maybe
he went into the office."

     "Coop?  After working late?  You've got to be kidding."  Elliot
moved to stand behind Rebecca and nuzzled her neck.  "But I could care
less -- so long as he doesn't come back and decide he needs to jump in the
shower right away."

     "Don't make me regret this," she scolded, trying to make her
teasing sound fierce, but Elliot was having none of it.

     "Don't worry.... you won't," he promised, as he continued his slow
seduction by running his lips along the curve of her ear.
 
 

Rebecca leaned back against him as she poured water into the top of the
coffee machine, enjoying the early morning affection.  Amidst the
caresses, she heard Elliot whisper in her ear, "Beck -- look."

     Placing the glass carafe into the appropriate slot, Rebecca
followed his instructions and raised her head to glance out the window.
Her eyes widened in surprise to see three figures approaching from a
distance.  Tucker was easy to spot, familiar as she was with his loping
stride.   It was the other two figures who caught her attention, much as
they had Elliot's.  Their houseguest Lisa was holding onto Cooper's arm
with one hand, and even from so far away, Rebecca could see the smile on
the young woman's face.

     "Guess now we know what got Coop up so early," Rebecca remarked.

     "Yeah," Elliot replied, a slight twinge of guilt in his voice.  "I
should have thought to check on her.  I hope she slept okay."

     Rebecca turned to face him, planting a kiss on his cheek to wipe
away his look of concern.  "She seems just fine to me," she told him.  "I
wouldn't worry.  Now, wasn't there something we were supposed to be
doing?"

     "When you're right, you're right," Elliot answered, taking her by
the hand and leading her towards the bathroom.
 
 

It was the sound of the gate being pushed open that alerted Scully to the
fact that they had finally made it back. "I don't know, Cooper," she
remarked, slightly out of breath.  "That felt a little bit like a hike to
me."

     "It's just because the ground is so hilly," he explained.  "If
we'd gone up behind the house to the north, it's even steeper.   Beck and
I go that way sometimes -- she's really into hiking, and it's pretty cool.
 There are a couple of abandoned mines up there, but we just explore the
hills."

     "I didn't know that there were mines in New Mexico," Scully
remarked.

     "Oh, sure," Cooper replied.  "All different kinds.  Some are
man-made;  there's also a lot of natural cave mining.   You've heard of
Carlsbad Caverns, right?"

     "Of course."

     "Well, those are the biggest caves in the state, but there are
plenty of others.  Saltpeter and other natural minerals, and some are
mined for bat guano."

     She frowned.  "That," she declared, "is disgusting.  What for?"

     "Fertilizer, mostly," he replied with a laugh.

     Scully took another step and then her foot collided with
something, causing her to lose her balance.  Cooper grabbed her arm,
steadying her before she could fall, and then she heard him say, "God,
Lisa, I'm sorry.  We're at the stairs -- I should have warned you."

     "It's okay," she told him, lifting her foot to find the step in
response to his words.

     "I think it's my fault that this walk seemed long," Cooper
groaned.  "I'm obviously not the best escort.  I probably kept tripping
you up."

     "You did just fine," Scully assured him, as they mounted the
stairs and entered the kitchen, reveling in the warmth of the room and the
rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.  "Mmmm," she said, "somebody put the
coffee on."

     "You bet," came Cooper's response.  "We're all java junkies around
here.  Want some?"

     "That would be great."  Scully found the edge of the table and
leaned against it, releasing her grasp of Cooper's arm.  The dog stopped
beside her, and she could hear him panting as she leaned down and patted
him on the back.  "Good boy," she said.  "It sounds like you could use
some water."

     "I just filled his bowl,"  Cooper told her.  "Don't worry -- he
knows where it is."

     Sure enough, Tucker ambled away from her seconds later, and she
heard the sound of his loud slurping mixed with the noises Cooper made as
he rummaged around the kitchen, cabinet doors being opened and closed and
the rattle of cups hitting the counter.  The sound of liquid being poured
reached her ears and she sighed with anticipation.  In the distance, she
heard water running and remarked, "Sounds like everybody's up now."

     "Yeah," Cooper laughed.  "Beck's a morning person, so it doesn't
leave Elliot much of a choice."  He paused, then asked, "How do you take
your coffee?"

     "Just a little bit of milk," she told him.  "No sugar."

     A minute later she felt Cooper pressing something into her hands.
A mug, not a cup, and a big one from the feel of it.  "Be careful," he
told her.  "It's hot."

     Scully nodded, and took a long sip.   Cooper was standing next to
her and she heard the unmistakable sound of paper rustling.  "Newspaper?"
she asked.

     Cooper muttered an affirmative.  "Nothing too exciting in the
headlines.  The usual litany of depression."

     His wry comment brought a grin to her face.  "I know what you
mean."  A thought struck her, and she put words to it.  "Is there anyplace
around here to get newspapers from out of state?"

     "There's an international newsstand in town," Cooper replied.
"They carry papers from most of the major cities, but usually just the
Sunday editions.   Whatever they've got now is probably from last
weekend."  He drew a hesitant breath and then continued.  "Looking for
something in particular?"

     Scully proceeded with caution, her words deliberately vague.
"Maybe," she answered.  "But it would only be in a Texas paper, if at
all."

     "You're looking to see if there's any news on your husband, aren't
you."

     It wasn't really a question, but Scully knew it deserved an honest
response.  "Yes," she admitted quietly.  "If -- if he got into some kind
of trouble, there might be a mention of it."

     "Well," Cooper told her, "there's an easy way to check.  These
days, all of the major papers in the country can be accessed on the
internet.  I've got a little time before I have to get to work, if you
want me to see what I can find."

     Scully felt a rush of warmth at his kindness.  "That would be
great, Cooper.  I'd really appreciate it."

     "Let's go, then," he said.  "My computer's in my room."  He
laughed as he took her arm.  "I have to warn you, though, it's a mess."

     She laughed in response as she carefully set her coffee mug down
on the counter.  "As long as you don't let me trip over anything, I won't
hold it against you."

     "You've got a deal," Cooper said, and they headed out of the
kitchen together.
 
 

Here endeth part 5... parts 6-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com.
__
From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:36:45 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (6/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:36:45 GMT
--------
This is part six of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (6/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97
 
 

Moe and Curly hadn't had any luck tracking down Scully, and Mulder
couldn't help but feel pleased.  Now that he had his own theory about
where she was, Mulder's only concern was ditching his companions long
enough to find her.

     The real problem was figuring out a way to make that happen.
Mulder hadn't been alone for a second since Christophe released him from
his makeshift cell, with the exception of a quick stop in the hangar's
barren bathroom, where he had changed into the fresh shirt Larry handed
him and splashed a bit of water on his face.

     At the moment, the four of them were sitting in a rented sedan
parked on a side street not too far away from the El Paso Amtrak station.
Christophe had driven the car from the private airfield;  when Curly and

Moe exited the station, Curly had slipped behind the wheel and Christophe
had taken the passenger seat, ordering Mulder into the back.  There was no
sign of Larry -- the last Mulder had seen of him was when they had
departed the airport hangar -- but he could have cared less.  As far as he
was concerned, the fewer henchmen the better.

     "We've done the rounds, sir," Curly said, "and she's not
registered at any of the hotels or motels around here."

     "You're certain of that."  Christophe phrased the question as an
ominous statement.

     It was Moe, sitting next to Mulder in the back seat, who answered.
 "Positive.  And we're not the first people to check, either.  Both the
local cops and the Feds have been through here."

     Not looking under 'Masters' they haven't, Mulder thought to
himself.

     As he turned in his seat to face Mulder, Christophe's forehead
wrinkled the tiniest bit, the only outward expression of the stress he was
undoubtedly feeling.  "I find it hard to believe that you and the girl
didn't have some kind of contingency plan arranged in case you were
separated."

     Mulder shrugged, basking in private confidence.  "We're just not
the kind of people to plan ahead, I guess."

     Christophe threw the briefest of glances at Moe and before Mulder
knew what was happening, the business end of Moe's gun was tucked firmly
against his ribs.

     "I have a favorite saying, Mulder," Christophe remarked, his face
again cold as ice.  "That which is not a help is a hindrance.  And I have
no room in my life for any kind of hindrance.  So I suggest you come up
with something to prove your usefulness."

     The gun pressed to his side was a powerful encouragement to think,
and to think fast.  As he did, a new idea fluttered into his head.  Even
if Scully had gone to Elliot for help, she might not have done so in time
to get off of t