From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Sun, 26 Mar 2000 01:24:06 -0600 Subject: Angels by Kailee White Source: direct Reply To: emily_jane99@hotmail.com Title: Angels Author: Kailee White E-mail address: emily_jane99@hotmail.com Disclaimer: They aren't mine, I'm just playing! CC, 1013, 21st Century Fox owns them....yada yada. Distribution Statement: Gossamer yes, Spookys yes, anywhere else ask first, it's a parental thing. You like to know where your babies are! Spoilers: Major major major spoilers for SUZ/Closure. If you haven't seen it, don't read this if you want to remain spoiler free. Rating: PG- nothing bad here! Classification: V, and a little bit of Angst, and partially 3rd person POV Summary: The events of Closure take on a new light, through a third person's perspective. Author's notes: Thanks to all who helped out, I've been toying with this idea for a while, and this is what came out. Let me know what you think of it. Feedback is what keeps us author's going. ********** "Miss Scully?" "Yes, speaking." "This is Arbuttis Ray, you came to see me a few weeks ago about the Jane Doe." "Yes, Mrs. Ray. How may I help you?" "After you all had left, our conversation got the best of me, it got me thinking about her, that little girl. I remembered something that I never told you, that I didn't remember until later." "What did you remember, Mrs. Ray?" "Those men that came looking for her, and the one who smelled of smoke? He made me tell them about my Angel, Jane Doe, about what I saw. But what I remembered, what I forgot to mention to you, was that I wrote it all down, after the men had left, in my journal. I didn't want to forget my Angel. She was something special, Miss Scully. I never forgot her beautiful face, or the face of the dead body I saw that night." "Do you still have it? The journal?" "I found it the other day, in the bookcase in my room. I guess I put it there after a while, after I never saw the girl again." "I know that this may seem like a strange request, but do you think that you could send that to me? Here at the office? It would mean a great deal to me, to my partner." "Of course, it would be no trouble. May I ask, why this is so important?" "The little girl, the Jane Doe, my partner thinks it was his sister, who disappeared years before you saw her. Any information you could give us would be of great assistance." "It would be my pleasure, Miss Scully." ********** Journal of Arbuttis Ray "In my line of work, I see a lot of different things. Gunshot wounds, stroke victims, cancer patients; their suffering is endless. But my job is to make them better, to help them get past their ailments and gain their health and strength and make as much of a recovery as possible. This little girl, though, was different. For those few days, I kept watch over a little angel, an beautiful young woman with long glowing brown hair. She came in as a Jane Doe, no one knew her name. She refused to tell me, or the doctor. But there was something in her eyes, fear, anxiety, a sense of reverence. I called her "my Angel" because I knew that somewhere, someone was looking for her, their angel. I don't know their pain, but I feel a sense of it as I look at her and see the sadness and fright in her expression, while she sleeps. She was so beautiful, my Angel. She had such a face, so radiant, and angelic. But her body was scarred. To think that little girl could be so beautiful and yet so hurt, it frightened me. There were little marks all over her frail body. At first the doctors thought they were the result of the chicken pox as a child. But then they concluded they were self-inflicted. But I knew that my Angel couldn't have done that to herself. It was forced upon her. She didn't tell me about the marks, but I knew, by the way she talked in general. I can't even begin to imagine the torture that she had been exposed to. I remember the first time that she talked to me. Her weak voice came out like a whisper. She had been mute for a few days, suffering from post-traumatic stress, no doubt as a result of her running away from whatever, or whoever, she was afraid of. She called me "Nurse", but I told her to call me Arbuttis. There was something about that little girl, my Angel. She needed someone to trust, someone she could talk to. The doctors thought she had delusions, paranoia, among a variety of other things. I knew differently. I took care of her, bathed her, fed her. She was my Angel, they didn't know what was wrong with her. They were too quick to judge. And in the end, they did nothing to help her. She would often talk of the things that she could remember. There weren't many memories, but my Angel thought that she had a brother once. She told me about "bad men" who would do things to her, things she didn't like. My first instinct was molestation, or some form of sexual abuse. That could have accounted for the markings on her body, a result of some sick man's fetish for harming little children in the throws of passion. But she told me the men weren't trying to hurt her, but rather were trying to help her. That's what they told her. That's why the doctor's called her paranoid. They didn't believe her. But I did. I thought my Angel was telling the truth. Then, that last night, as I was making my last rounds before going home, I stopped by to check on her. Her room was dark, the blinds drawn. A cold wind circled around me as I went to shut the window. I didn't want her to catch pneumonia. I reached for the quilt at the end of the bed that had been brought to her while I was on my break. It was an unusual quilt, with lots of blue and gray patches. It reminds me of her eyes, not the color, but the emotion within. I tucked it all around my Angel, trying to make her warm. Then, I saw it. My Angel was all bruised and lifeless. She looked like someone who had been dead for weeks. I cried out, and reached to her. But when I blinked, she wasn't there, she wasn't dead. She was fast asleep, just as she was when I entered the room. I know I didn't make it up, I didn't imagine it. It wasn't the result of working a long night shift, or the effects of the so-called coffee they serve in the cafeteria. I know what I saw. I went to get the doctor, to have him check on my Angel. He thought I was delirious, and that I needed to get some sleep. But when she turned up missing the next morning, I couldn't keep what I saw to myself. That is why I had to tell the men who came to get her, the men all dressed in black. They asked me where she had gone, and the man who said he was her father, the one with the foul stench of cigarettes, made me tell him what I saw. Then they left, and never came back. I never knew what happened to her, that little girl. She was something special, my Angel. She was different than all the other children that I saw those few days. She was full of light, and grace. I never saw my Angel again." ********** Scully put down the weathered journal that Arbuttis Ray had sent to her. She really cared for that little girl. And whether it really was Samantha will never be known. Mulder has gained his sense of understanding, and has come to reach a sense of closure. "He should read this", she thought. "He would want to know". She put the journal on Mulder's desk, with a note explaining what it was. "He'll read it on Monday", she thought. "It can wait until then. He needs to rest, to get some sleep." "That woman was an Angel of mercy herself, for taking care of that girl, whoever she was. No one will ever know." Scully fingered her gold chain, rethinking that statement. "No, someone knows." **********