From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Sun,  3 Jul 2011 07:53:45 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: From Beyond (1/11) Repost due to formatting errors by bonkersfm
Source: direct

Reply To: bonkersfm@yahoo.com

TITLE: From Beyond
AUTHOR:Bonkersfm
CATEGORY:MSR CASEFILE

SPOILERS: Starts after IWTB
RATING: NC17 sex and violence
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully's relationship is put under strain when a 
casefile leads to some bizarre behaviour on Mulders part
DISCLAIMER: mine? If only!



CHAPTER ONE
(Day one)

"Just sit back and relax. Close your eyes and 
concentrate on your breathing. In . . Out . . 
.In . . .Out . . . In . . ."

"You sit alone in a dark room. Toward the 
front of the room there is a screen. As you 
look closely, words begin to appear on the 
screen. You focus on the words now, nothing 
else matters. The words are blurry but as you 
drift towards them, they begin to clear."
            
"Mulder?" A soft voice accompanied a gentle 
touch to his hand. "Mulder, can you hear me?"
He opened his eyes, taking in the sight of 
the brunette hovering in front of him.

"Do you think it will work?" The other female 
asked, holding a familiar hand against his 
soaked brow.

"Of course it won't work. It's just a bunch 
of mumbo jumbo crap. Monica, what he needs is 
a good dose of scotch before bed and a 
vacation." A male voice with a tinge of 
unintentional hostility could be heard 
retreating into the background.

"Shush. He's coming round now. Mulder, can 
you hear me? Mulder, you need to wake up."  
The brunette's voice seemed commanding, 
without being stern. He did as she asked.
             **************************

Mulder leaned against the sink, his breaths 
coming in short, sharp bursts. Next to him, 
the gentle touch of Dana Scully made him 
shiver all over again. "I guess Monica's 
pretty good then huh?" She talked over the 
noise of the gushing water as he filled the 
glass with the clear liquid, his hand still 
shaking violently.

"What makes you say that?" He snapped at her, 
his breathing becoming a little more regular 
after the first few sips of water. He knew 
Monica had dabbled in hypnotherapy in the 
past and now he had come to her asking for a 
cure for his sleepless nights. He'd not slept 
in five days, a side effect of which seemed 
to be the exasperated feeling that had caused 
him to snap at those closest to him 
frequently over the last week. It had been 
her idea to approach Monica for help, 
although he was sure that she'd try anything 
to bring him back to his former self. He 
didn't blame her.

"Mulder, are you okay?" She followed him as 
he walked back toward the living room, where 
John watched the television. He sat himself 
down, graciously taking the small glass of 
strong smelling liquid from the other man.

"I'm fine, I just. . . I just need to sit 
down." He put a hand to his head. He knew how 
obtuse he sounded, but the truth was he 
couldn't figure out how he felt himself, let 
alone convey his feelings to the others.

"Don't get me wrong," John leaned over to 
him, "I can't imagine how this will work, but 
I don't think you should be feeling like 
this. Man, you look like hell."

"Ha." Mulder sighed, the friendliness 
creeping back into his manner.  The truth was 
he had no recollection of what had happened 
over the last few minutes, save for feeling 
totally exhausted and confused. "I'll be 
okay. We should probably get going." He 
pushed himself onto unsteady feet in search 
of his woman.
********************************

Monica kept an eye out for Mulder through the 
slight opening in the doorway. "So what's 
been going on?" She asked. She hadn't much 
chance to speak with Scully about the minor 
details, but the atmosphere between the 
couple tonight had been far from easy. 

"I wish I could tell you. For the last week 
he hasn't slept. When he does fall asleep 
it's only for an hour or two and when he 
wakes it sounds like someone's being 
murdered. He's irritable all of the time, 
especially with me. I know that it's a side 
effect from the sleep deprivation but it's 
getting worse. Before this I could count on 
one hand the times he's shouted at me. Now we 
must be well into double figures."

"You don't know what triggered it? The sleep 
deprivation, I mean."

"No. Everything's been fine. Better than 
fine. He's not even profiling at the moment, 
so it can't be the stress of any case that's 
causing this. He's had pills and they don't 
work, they just make him feel more tired 
without being able to sleep. I guess I 
thought this would work. I hoped it would."

"It still might," replied Monica, quietening 
her voice as she watched Mulder approach 
them.


CHAPTER 2
She sat up in bed, trying to concentrate on 
the words that she read under her breath, but 
not in her mind. She'd picked the book up so 
that she might have something to do other 
then worry about what they would talk about 
when Mulder came to bed. The noise of the 
shower finally turned off and she anticipated 
his presence, eager for them to talk. She had 
driven them home, his body still exhausted 
and shaking from twenty minutes of someone 
else being inside his head. Now he emerged 
from the bathroom clad in only a towel, his 
hair still wet, sticking up at a hundred 
ludicrous angles. She tried to catch his eye 
as he wandered over, only to find him sitting 
with his back to her and to her utter 
disappointment, lying down in that position 
too, without uttering a word. She couldn't 
sleep while this weighed on her mind. Sliding 
down into a horizontal position, she wrapped 
a leg over his waist and moved her arm under 
his, to wrap around his chest. At first he 
was impassive, but relief swept through her, 
as he responded to her touch, bringing her 
hand up to his lips and resting it there for 
the longest time.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, still with his 
back to her. "You deserve better than this, 
but I can't help it."

"Tell me." She said as he turned over. "Tell 
me how you feel."
Looking down on him she could see the effect 
that the last few days had had on his face. 
His eyes displayed dark circles and the graze 
of stubble had begun to escalate into an 
untidy mess. He sighed, avoiding her eyes 
again, choosing instead to look up at the 
ceiling.

"How can I feel tired and wired all at the 
same time?" he asked mournfully.

"How do you mean?" She kept her voice gentle, 
relieved that he would talk about it now.

"I can't sleep. When I do, it feels like I've 
not even been asleep. I don't feel tired. 
It's like I don't feel tired but I'm 
experiencing all the side effects of being 
tired."
She nodded at that. She had noticed the 
change in his manner. He had become irritable 
and unsociable towards her at night too, 
often leaving their bed and sleeping on the 
sofa. He must have interpreted her silence 
correctly.

"I'm sorry Scully. I can't help it. I know 
that's not what you want to hear." Still he 
avoided her gaze, covering his face with his 
hand. She sighed out heavily, accepting 
defeat tonight. Instead she settled for him 
letting her hold him. Lying against his chest 
and feeling his arms come up around her. They 
lay like this for several minutes, quiet and 
still, neither knowing what to say.
She let her hands wander to where the towel 
no longer existed, feeling the crisp springy 
curls under her fingers. She didn't want to 
push him, but she needed some indication that 
they would be okay, that this problem was not 
bigger than the two of them. When had she 
become so insecure? Why on earth did she 
think that they needed to do this to cement 
what she should already know? She ignored 
that sensible voice, and continued her 
journey south, taking the whole of him in her 
hand, pleased at the hardness of him already. 
She watched his eyes close and his breathing 
labour slightly. Soon she had slipped out of 
his embrace and moved herself lower, under 
the duvet. His body jumped as she took him in 
her mouth, gently applying the pressure but 
doing nothing that would make him think he 
would have to perform later. During the last 
week or so, he had never once done his usual 
trick of waking her up, pressing himself into 
her back until she could be persuaded to 
engage in this type of activity, another side 
effect of his affliction. One that had 
bothered her more then she could have 
imagined. In truth, Mulder made her feel 
wanted, loved, beautiful even.  She had 
missed that, and secretly she knew she craved 
it. She felt his hands in her hair, applying 
no pressure, but gently urging her on, 
telling her how good this felt.  Soon her 
name escaped from his lips, and he began to 
pull her upwards, towards him again. As they 
lay face to face, he begun to dispel any 
concerns she may have about continuing.

"Mulder don't worry, we don't have 
to . . ."

"But I want to," he said, rolling her onto 
her back, positioning himself between her 
legs. In one movement the strappy vest she 
wore had been moved down around her waist, 
the tiny shorts having been kicked down and 
divested as she had rolled onto her back.

It didn't get much better than this. He made 
her feel like the most important woman in the 
world. It was like this was happening only to 
make her happy, to satisfy her. She yelped as 
his mouth latched onto her breast, applying 
almost unbearable pressure. His kisses 
travelled down, reaching the light patch of 
curls that started way below her belly 
button. His tongue slipped between her folds, 
making her jump once before her body relaxed 
into the rhythm. Soon she became rigid in 
concentration, knowing that soon she'd be 
there. Suddenly she pulled her ankles against 
his back, urging him up towards her. After 
two or three hard nudges he finally gave in, 
and as he climbed toward her she saw his eyes 
were dark, his body panting slightly with his 
efforts.

"Why'd you stop me?" He asked, seemingly 
disappointed that she had roused him from his 
task. In a second he had his answer, as she 
pushed against his rear with one hand whilst 
the other guided him toward her entrance. He 
braced himself above her, slowly pushing 
inside, each time retreating a little, before 
pushing a little more.
He set a steady rhythm, accentuating the 
forward strokes, before easing gently back 
again. Soon this wasn't enough for her. She 
pulled her knee up and nudged his ribs, 
offering him a better angle if he were to 
take it. He shook his head, maintaining the 
slow rhythm he had already set. "I won't 
last." He said, half laughing. She could have 
laughed too, at his blatant honesty.

"I don't care." She reassured him, offering 
it to him again. This time he took it, 
realising that this was for him. She was 
doing this for him, for them. He picked up 
the pace, his excitement building not only 
because of the better sensation, but also for 
the sight of the woman underneath him, 
clearly feeling similar gratification. She 
felt his body stiffen, his pace becoming 
erratic and careless, whilst his eyes 
suddenly screwed shut.

"Oh God, Scully." he put his hands in her 
hair, fisting bunches of it as he continued 
to hammer her into the bed. "Scully, I'm 
coming already. Scully . . . " He panted 
breathlessly.

"It's alright." She reached up and stroked 
his hair. "It doesn't matter." She knew he'd 
always been a little conceited in this 
respect. He was well aware of his competence 
in this particular area of their 
relationship. They had spent very little time 
on trial and error in the early part of their 
physical relationship, having discovered a 
serious compatibility more or less straight 
away. Even after such a successful first few 
couplings, they had found improvement as time 
went on and any initial awkwardness faded. He 
seemed to sense, or know, what to do almost 
immediately, and now he rarely failed to 
bring her to climax before himself. He'd only 
laughed at her when she'd once asked if he 
was ever concerned that they might not have 
been physically compatible. He'd told her not 
to ask stupid questions, then relented to 
tell her how many times she'd given him a 
hard on just by opening the mail. She had 
been sure the story was meant as a 
compliment, even if it was an exaggeration.
Now she could feel him holding back, delaying 
his own indulgence for the sake of hers. She 
put a hand on his chest, pushing him away 
from her. The action slowed him, and forced 
him to back off and meet her eyes. She pushed 
again gently, moving from underneath him, 
realising from the disappointment on his face 
that he had no idea of what she was trying to 
achieve. As he rolled off her, she pounced, 
quickly lowering herself onto him, and 
eliciting from him an agonising moan. Soon he 
reached to grip her hips, moving her back and 
forth, and becoming extremely vocal in the 
process. It wasn't long before his body had 
stiffened again, and he began bucking up into 
her, filling her with his seed. He reached 
for her straight after, pulling her down onto 
his chest where she lay quietly. "God, Scully 
. . ." He breathed heavily, moving his hands 
to her hair. "That was amazing. I don't 
deserve you."

"You're right." She pushed up off his chest 
so that they had eye contact. "You don't 
always deserve me. Good job you're stuck with 
me." She moved forward to quickly catch his 
lips, surprised when he took a firm hold, 
pulling her to him in an intense and 
passionate kiss.

"I love you so much Scully. I don't ever want 
to screw this up."

She tutted at him now, at the glimmer of 
insecurity even after all this time. "You 
won't Mulder."

  CHAPTER 3
(Day 2)

He woke with a start, sucking the 
air into his lungs in one huge gasp. 
He immediately stared to his right, 
to Scully who merely stirred in 
reaction to his body's violent 
reaction. He couldn't remember what 
he dreamed, only images of faces 
looking down on him, laughing at 
him. His mind searched for the 
specifics, recalling even less now 
then a moment ago. Carefully he 
extricated himself from the tangled 
sheets, not wanting to wake her. 
There was no point in both of them 
being tired and miserable tomorrow.
 
He crept downstairs, muting the 
television as soon as he switched it 
on. Surfing through the channels, 
his brain worked to quickly decipher 
which images would appeal. Then he 
saw something that really did 
appeal. It seemed a clich? scenario 
from any adult movie, with some 
helpless young brunette running 
naked through the woods, pursued by 
the typical brawn on heat. He sat 
back and considered what Scully 
would think if she caught him. It 
was an issue they had never had to 
tackle head on, as his need to watch 
such material had mostly faded once 
Scully and he had entered a physical 
relationship. There had been the odd 
occasion, when she had been at work 
and he had waited up for her. These 
times he had struggled to find 
fulfilment, knowing that soon the 
real thing would walk through the 
door and be so much better.

He watched intently as the brawn 
soon caught up, wrestling the girl 
to the floor. The subject matter 
seemed pretty bleak, and for a 
moment he went to turn it over. He 
didn't need any more austere 
thoughts right now. He picked up the 
remote and tapped the buttons. The 
channel seemed to change but the 
picture didn't. He pressed harder, 
finding the images on every channel 
to be the same -- but now the picture 
was grey, the only colour being the 
red liquid seeping from her mouth. 
He moved forward now, putting his 
face closer to the screen. Then she 
turned her head.
And looked right at him.
     


*****************


He roused slowly, from what felt 
like a five-minute nap. When he 
looked at the clock he realised it 
may as well have been just that. He 
heard the familiar sounds of the 
kitchen behind him, his stomach 
churning as he saw the television 
still emitting the same type of 
material that it did last night, and 
that Scully must have come down to 
it this morning. He quickly sat up 
and switched it off, getting it 
together enough to pad into the 
kitchen where the clutter from last 
night had been cleared away. 

"Scully . . ." He placed his hands 
on her shoulders as he walked behind 
her. She turned round quickly.

"Mulder, you don't owe me any 
explanations. But just promise me 
you'll see a specialist if Monica's 
methods don't work, before this," 
she motioned to the sofa, "becomes a 
habit."

"Scully, if it's about what was on 
the TV," he followed her as she 
grabbed her coat and medical bag.

"It's not about that, Mulder, it's 
about your health . . . and your 
job. Carter called this morning. 
He's expecting something from you 
soon."

He sighed then, anxious at the 
thought of having to write anything 
in this condition. She picked up on 
this, going toward him and placing 
her free hand on his arm.

"Why don't I give you something to 
knock you out, just for today?"

 He nodded reluctantly, rubbing his 
face in his hands to dispel the 
sleepy feeling that had now become a 
natural state for him.
     

*********************


 Coming to, he bunched the cool 
duvet toward him, feeling refreshed 
and wide-awake for the first time in 
days. He sat up, grabbing his 
wristwatch that sat on the bedside 
table. It read four-thirty. He'd 
been asleep for nearly seven hours, 
no wonder he felt better. He swung 
his legs out of the bed, hitting a 
pair of sneakers with his feet. He 
pulled on a pair of jeans and headed 
out into the living room, noting how 
dark it seemed outside.

As he descended the stairs, he noted 
movement in the doorway of the 
kitchen. His footsteps naturally 
softened; a habit from the old days 
where at least he would have been 
armed with a gun. The movement 
suddenly had a friend, sound, making 
it real.

As the sound grew louder, he 
prepared himself, but even then he 
still jumped as the fox ran out of 
the kitchen and straight into view. 
In its mouth something moved. A 
feathered animal fought and 
struggled, trapped between the jaws 
of the creature. How awful it must 
be, he thought, to be resigned to 
imminent death but being able to do 
nothing about it but wait.

He slowly walked toward the fox, 
hoping it would drop the bird. For a 
second it simply stood, watching 
Mulder, waiting for him to approach. 
At the last moment it fled, down the 
hall toward the office. He chased 
it, jogging down the hall that 
seemed longer then ever, finally 
rounding the corner into his office.

Upon entering, he quickly checked 
himself, the freezing air hitting 
his chest like a shard of glass. 

"Scully?" He ventured forward to the 
figure sitting in his chair, facing 
the wall. It wasn't Scully; the hair 
on the head was longer, darker, like 
rat's tails.  The shoulders were 
broader and she looked wet, blue 
with cold. The chair began to turn 
slowly, revealing more of the 
figure. She faced him now, the girl 
from the TV. 



*************************




His body lifted off the bed, and 
fell with a thud. Pain filled his 
chest as he gulped huge pockets of 
air into his lungs. A dream. He'd 
dreamed it. He sat up now, fumbling 
for the wristwatch he usually left 
on the table at his bedside. Four 
thirty. He'd been asleep for nearly 
seven hours. 

As he swung his legs out onto the 
floor, he swore under his breath as 
he stubbed his toe on a stray 
sneaker. Suddenly, memories of his 
dream flooded back, even more so as 
he heard a rustling sound coming 
from the direction of the stairs. He 
got up and headed out to 
investigate. The sound grew louder, 
and he rushed a little more, half 
knowing what to expect. 

As he reached the bottom of the 
stairs, he changed his mind, heading 
straight to the office. He paused 
before the door, part of him not 
wanting to see. The handle felt cool 
in his palm, but he persisted 
anyway, curious as to whether this 
was still a dream.

"Mulder!" 

He gasped as the voice behind him 
rang sharp in the silence. The hand 
on his shoulder caused his body to 
flinch away, turning quickly. 

"God, Mulder, you scared me. Are you 
okay?" His body settled as Scully 
removed her hand, also frightened by 
his sharp reaction. 

"I'm fine, Scully. You startled me." 
They walked back into the kitchen as 
they talked.

"Sorry, I thought for a moment you 
were sleepwalking."

 "Me too." He said, wiping the sweat 
from his brow. 

"Are you feeling better?" She 
removed his hand and replaced it 
with her own. "You look sick, 
Mulder, did you sleep at all?" 

"Seven hours straight. Although I 
dreamed so much I don't feel rested 
at all."

"What did you dream?" She offered 
him water from a bottle.

"I don't know yet. I haven't worked 
it out -- but I want to go see 
Monica."

"Monica? Why?"

"I want to know what she did to me. 
You were there Scully, tell me what 
she said to me, to make me have 
these dreams."

"Mulder, you had the dreams before 
you saw her."

"No, I didn't have these dreams, 
Scully. I want to know what she 
said. If you won't tell me, I'll go 
see her."

He turned to go back upstairs and 
dress. When he returned, he opened 
the front door, only turning as she 
spoke one last time.

"She said. . ." She hesitated now. 
"It was nothing, Mulder, it hardly 
means a thing."

"What?"

"She told you that whatever was on 
your mind would come to the surface. 
She told you to resolve your 
demons."

He left, grimly noting the dead bird 
outside the front door.


Chapter 4


"Mulder? What are you doing here?" Monica 
looked him up and down, thinking he 
looked even worse then the day before.

"Is this a bad time?" He asked, shivering 
in the cold.

"Of course not, I'm just surprised to see 
you. Are you sick?"

"Possibly." He said, walking around her 
to get inside.
"Okay..." She said to herself, before 
turning to follow.
    
*************


"Hang on, let me get this right. Your 
sleep patterns are worse?" She sat in 
front of him now, in the comfort of the 
living room where John had also taken 
residence.

"Not exactly. I am sleeping now which is 
great, but it's so ...disturbed."

"It was disturbed before." She hadn't 
meant to sound so defensive of her 
methods.

"Not like this." He shook his head. "This 
is different." He looked down 
uncomfortably.

She could sense he was holding back, and 
gave John the signal that they needed 
privacy. He took the hint. 

"Why don't I go and pour you a scotch. 
You're in no position to drive home 
anyway, I'll take you." 

Mulder nodded gratefully, waiting until 
he was well out of earshot.

"There's a girl. I'm seeing her when I 
sleep."
"Thats nothing unusual Fox. Although you 
may want to keep quiet about that."

Again he shook his head. "It's not just 
in my dreams. I'm seeing her when I'm 
awake too, in the house and on the 
television. I know I dream about her more 
then I remember. I can feel it."

"Don't you think it's far more likely 
that some old case has triggered a 
memory? Or that this is a side affect of 
sleep deprivation?"

"It's not like that. I want you to 
hypnotise me again. I want to find out 
who this girl is."





********************







 "Close your eyes, relax. Just 
concentrate on the sound of my voice, and 
on the rhythm of your breathing. You're 
back in the dark room. The screen is in 
front of you and it moves closer. As it 
moves closer you can see words. You focus 
on the words now, nothing else matters. 
The words are blurry but as you drift 
towards them, they begin to clear. What 
do the words say?"

"Ahhh!" He leapt out of the seat, almost 
hitting Monica in the face.

"What did you see?" She had knelt in 
front of him and now looked at him with 
incredulity.

"What do you mean? I saw nothing. I was 
only out for a second." He looked over 
for a clock, needing to gauge the time.

"Mulder, you were out for about twenty 
minutes. You had some kind of event." She 
put a hand to his forehead, feeling his 
skin burn.

"What did I say?" He choked.

"You gave a detailed description." She 
put a pad in his lap. "I started writing 
things down after the first few minutes."

He took the pad in shaky hands. The words 
were random and disconnected. As he tried 
to make them into some kind of sentence, 
the knocking at the front door distracted 
him.

"I called you a ride home." John said, 
moving past them both and pulling open 
the door to reveal Scully standing, 
seeking shelter from the rain.



***********************




 She was sure it was a case of d?j? vu, 
with her propped up in bed reading, and 
him taking forever in the shower. It 
wasn't light reading she was into 
tonight, however, but the scrap of paper 
that she'd pulled out of his jeans. 
Random words noted down in a hurry that 
made little sense to her. The first few 
lines were a description of sorts, words 
such as 'dark', 'wet', 'cold' figured 
prominently, whilst the other words 
seemed to be part of a conversation. As 
the door opened, she didn't go to put the 
paper back, making sure he could see her 
with it, almost challenging him to become 
secretive again. He surprised her 
however, getting into bed and lying on 
his side facing her, wrapping an arm 
around her waist. 

"You wanna tell me about this?" She 
asked, holding the paper up.

"Nothing to tell." He answered, pulling 
down the back of the vest she wore and 
planting a kiss on her back. 
"I don't remember saying any of                                        
that."

"Do you feel any better?" She asked 
hopefully, needing at least one night of 
uninterrupted sleep.

"I feel . . .like a weight's been lifted. 
But I don't know how long it will last." 
He pulled at her waist, turning her 
around to lie on her back. He wrapped his 
leg over hers and pushed the straps of 
her vest down over her shoulders. 

He planted open-mouthed kisses on her 
shoulder, pulling her closer to him as 
her hands worked to push against his 
chest. Finally he retreated, nodding in 
acceptance. He was good for nothing in 
his present state, feeling tired and 
emotional. He settled for one last kiss, 
before he rolled onto his back, pulling 
her closer into his side.





**************************





It was the first time he'd seen her face 
properly. He studied it, noting the large 
eyes and gaunt features. Part of him 
wanted her, even though her false beauty 
did nothing for him. He found himself 
pulling at her skirt, shoving her hands 
away as she protested. Her skin glowed 
blue, and she blinked at him repeatedly, 
mouthing words at him that disturbed him. 
Rage consumed him and he put a hand on 
her throat and used the other to tear the 
necklace from around her neck. Both hands 
now went to her throat as the pressure he 
applied reached a maximum, crushing at 
her larynx. 


               -x-

She'd woken to the heavy weight on top of 
her and had thought nothing of it, until 
his hands had gone to her throat. It was 
only when she saw that his eyes were 
closed that she panicked. 



"Mulder!" She clawed at him now, drawing 
blood from his left bicep. She kicked 
hard, hitting him on the stomach two or 
three times but with no real effect. 
Finally she began to scream, because it 
seemed the only thing left to do. 


After a few more terrifying seconds, the 
screams stopped. "She was going to tell."


    -x-

"She was going to tell." It was all he 
managed to stutter, as he fixed his eyes 
on hers. In a moment his face changed, 
conveying all the horror that had been 
mirrored back to him. As he sat up and 
jumped away from her, she remained still, 
unsure of what to say or do.

When he reached toward her again, she 
pulled the duvet toward her, putting 
distance between them. She knew it hadn't 
been him doing those things and she felt 
angry at herself for feeling angry with 
him. But he had frightened her. For a 
moment she had thought he might never let 
go of her. 


She rolled out of bed, making her way to 
the bathroom. She lifted her chin and 
examined her throat, anxious that he had 
not left any marks that would be 
recognisable when she went to work. As 
she turned her head one way, then the 
next his image appeared in the mirror.

"Did it leave a mark?" he asked. It? She 
thought. She turned to him now.
 
"No." She replied. "You didn't leave a 
mark." She watched as he looked down at 
the floor. "You want to tell me about 
it?" She asked, putting a hand on the 
bicep that she had scratched deeply with 
her nails.

"I can't." He said, and she turned away 
in anger. He could have throttled her in 
his sleep but he couldn't talk about some 
dumb dream? 

He followed her, picking up on her 
attitude and needing to set her straight.
"I can't tell you because I don't know. I 
can't remember what I dream. I don't know 
what made me do that." He had caught her 
up now, taking a seat beside her on the 
bed. "I need to see Monica again. I need 
her to hypnotise me again, to make me 
remember."

"Mulder, you need to get some 
professional help. I know you don't want 
this but if you had some kind of 
medication . . ."

"I don't want medication!" He snapped. "I 
don't want this to go away."
 
"You think this is more then a dream?" 
She asked incredulously.

"I don't know what it is. Whatever it is, 
this girl has shown herself to me in this 
house. She wants me to know something."

She went quiet, recognising his resolve 
and understanding that she would get no 
other response from him tonight except 
for the defensive banter that had begun 
already. She put a hand on his knee for a 
moment, in an attempt to be supportive, 
and then she stood up and headed for the 
stairs.

"Where are you going?" He asked, watching 
her pick up the pillows from her side of 
the bed.
 
"I'll sleep on the sofa tonight.  I'll 
see you tomorrow."

No, he thought, this was not what he 
wanted. He couldn't blame her though, not 
after what he'd done. He'd give her some 
time to calm down then go down there and 
sort things out.

As he approached the sofa from the side, 
he could already tell that she was 
sleeping. The familiar sight of her body 
lying without tension or worry was 
actually a welcome sight. He wouldn't 
wake her from it now, even though he 
wanted to. Instead, he went to his 
office. He would try to justify later 
that it was to do work, but in truth he 
wanted to see her again. She'd appeared 
in his office before, and he hadn't been 
back there since. 

As he walked through the door he felt 
almost disappointment, as the climate 
remained unaltered. No freezing chill. No 
strange person sitting in his chair. He 
took a seat and turned on the computer, 
waiting as the machine made the familiar 
warm up noises. Suddenly, for the first 
time in weeks, fatigue over took him and 
he set his head down on the desk, falling 
willingly asleep. 



She stirred, quickly easing her neck out 
from its uncomfortable position. Why 
hadn't she gone to one of the spare 
rooms? She knew why. Deep down she wanted 
Mulder to follow her downstairs and open 
up to her. She'd hoped she'd put him in a 
position where he would want to, even if 
it were only to reassure her, and to gain 
her trust. 

Now a noise caused her to sit up and pay 
attention. "Mulder?" She squinted, 
rationalising to herself that the shadowy 
figure had to be him. 

As he came closer, she noticed the sweat 
that poured from his chest and face as it 
glistened against the moonlight coming 
from the window. He wandered closer, not 
seeming to notice her. As he approached 
she noticed the dark liquid spreading 
down his arm, covering his wrist.

 From her position, kneeling on the sofa, 
she grabbed him to look closer, to 
ascertain where it had poured. He stood 
still while she felt his wrist, finding 
with relief that the wound was further 
up. 

"Mulder, what did you do?" Her hand slid 
upward, stopping as she felt the coolness 
of a metal object. Swiftly she moved to 
the small table beside the sofa and 
switched on the lamp.

 The light seemed to dazzle him, and he 
brought his right hand to his left 
shoulder, his mouth widening in horror as 
he saw what Scully saw. He retreated, 
confused as to how this could have 
happened. 

Scully sensed his own confusion and 
walked toward him, raising her hands to 
his chest to reassure him. He found no 
reassurance however, as he carefully 
plucked the shard of glass out of his 
shoulder.

Chapter 5



Fighting his instinct to flinch away 
from the pain, he winced as her 
fingers mooched and prodded into the 
gape in his shoulder. Pushing skin 
and tissue, she carefully examined 
the flesh for more traces of the 
glass that he had, only minutes ago, 
plucked from his shoulder. He didn't 
look at her, keeping his eyes 
straight ahead, grimacing as she 
pulled at the skin below the wound.

"Mulder, we need to go to the 
hospital. I wish you hadn't pulled 
at it the way you did, I think the 
bottom part of it is still in here."

 He said nothing. He had remained 
silent throughout, as shocked as she 
had been to find what he had done. 
Somewhere in his office a work of 
art lay on the floor surrounded by 
the glass that he hadn't perforated 
into himself. 

She dabbed at it one last time, 
relieved that the blood had clotted 
on its own even though she was 
pretty sure he had pushed the glass 
deeper than she could see. If he'd 
nicked an artery he certainly 
wouldn't be sitting here with her 
now. She taped the clean white gauze 
over the top, leaving him only for a 
minute whilst she found a loose 
fitting shirt to go over him.

"What were you doing in there, 
Mulder?"

He remained silent, failing to even 
acknowledge her. "Mulder, please 
talk to me. You're scaring me; I 
want to know what's going on in your 
head. I mean," she paused, careful 
not to provoke a reaction that might 
cause him to move quickly or lose 
his temper. She sat back, forcing 
him to make eye contact. "I'm 
afraid, Mulder. I'm afraid for you, 
I'm afraid of you." She looked away 
then, knowing those last words would 
come sharp to him.

"I'm okay, Scully." He rubbed his 
face, wincing as the motion made his 
shoulder ache again.

"Are you, Mulder? Look what you did 
to yourself tonight! You're hardly 
sleeping and when you do sleep 
you're hurting yourself or you're 
hurting me."

He reached out and grabbed her hand 
then.

"You don't know how sorry I am for 
what happened before." 

She watched him carefully, realising 
that he was finally beginning to 
process what had happened. Upstairs 
when he had held back from her, it 
hadn't been him. Not wholly anyway. 
He put a hand to his face and she 
could tell he was trying to mask the 
emotions running through him. She 
moved closer again, pulling his hand 
away and putting her arms around his 
neck, moving deeper into him. He 
accepted willingly, burying his face 
into her hair and pulling her closer 
with his good arm. 

They stayed like that for a long 
time, feeling comforted. She pulled 
away and looked at the clock, 
relieved that it would only be 
Saturday in a few hours, not a 
workday. She got up, taking his hand 
in hers and leading him towards the 
sofa. 

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"You're gonna sit here and wait for 
me to get dressed. We're going to 
the ER to get this looked at 
properly. We're gonna come home and 
sleep. Then we're going to a 
specialist and get this sorted once 
and for all."

 -x-

He watched, wide-awake now, as the 
busy life of the ER played out in 
front of him. So far they'd seen 
three shootings, two heart attacks 
and a drunk driver rush past them, 
all before six o'clock. He saw her 
yawn, and waited for the soft weight 
of her against his shoulder. He'd 
felt it at home too. Now he wanted 
to allow her to sleep, feeling safe 
that whilst he was awake he would be 
aware of his actions. 

Soon they were called over, and a 
female nurse greeted them in the 
small triage room. She took one look 
at it, and immediately asked what 
had happened.

 "I did it to myself." Mulder 
answered, not realising how absurd 
he sounded. She considered him for a 
moment, and then couldn't help 
herself but to glance across at 
Scully.
"You're kidding me, right?" Mulder 
laughed, seeing a flash of 
irritation cross the nurse's face. 
"She's a doctor, if she were gonna 
hurt me she'd do a better job then 
this." He kept it light, not wanting 
to give anyone a chance to become 
offended. He sat still as she began 
to stitch the wound, not glancing up 
when she asked Scully to step 
outside to sort out an insurance 
form on his behalf. 

Scully nodded. "Just don't tell her 
about the time I shot you." She 
said, leaving Mulder with a lopsided 
grin on his face.

 She waited patiently enough at 
reception, understanding how 
annoying queue jumpers could be when 
trying to assess priority among the 
wounded. She had hated the thought 
of sleeping without him that night. 
Her stomach turned a little at the 
thought of tonight too. After all 
those years sleeping alone, one 
night with Mulder had transformed 
everything. Even though their 
couplings were at first as 
occasional as once a week, the 
nights they spent together made her 
want him there more often. Theirs 
was not a relationship based on 
clinginess and convenience, but they 
did need each other; desperately. 

That very emotion, need, had sent 
her fleeing from his bed the first 
two or three times, guarding her 
feelings at the expense of Mulder's. 
But that had always been the 
difference. For all the hurt that he 
had endured, Mulder remained a 
sensitive person, comfortable with 
the emotions that could lead to hurt 
all over again.

 He'd been free with the phrase 'I 
love you' near enough from the 
start, even though she had still 
stumbled over the words right up 
until his abduction. Now she didn't 
want to contemplate life without 
him. 

"Can I help you ma'am?" The 
receptionist's voice startled her 
from her thoughts.

"Yeah, I need to fill in a claim 
form for my . . . husband." she had 
paused, reluctant to call Mulder her 
boyfriend seeing as though they were 
both past forty. 

"Oh," the woman disappeared under 
the desk. "Gee, that might take a 
minute or two, we just moved 
everything around yesterday. Wait 
there please." 

Great, she thought. At this rate 
bedtime wouldn't be a problem -- they 
would both be spending the night 
here.

 He winced as she pulled the last 
stitch. She had questioned him a 
little, as Scully had subtly hinted 
she might. He couldn't blame for 
being dubious of his excuse, the 
wound had been deeper then it first 
appeared and she had suggested that 
it would have taken considerable 
force to deliver. Never-the-less he 
had successfully allayed her 
concerns, and promised to be more 
careful in the future. 

He got up, going in search of 
Scully. A strange noise hit his 
ears, distracting him for a moment. 
A voice shook him. He spun, watching 
as the dark shadow disappeared 
around the corner at the bottom of 
the hall. He followed without 
hesitation; feeling captivated by 
whatever was teasing him, coaxing 
him onward. 

As he turned the corner, he half 
dreaded that it might be there, 
waiting. But he saw nothing. He 
walked faster now, faster and faster 
until suddenly he was walking into 
it. He walked straight into the pale 
green curtain, pulling at it, ready; 
hungry to see what he might unveil. 

"Sir, can I help you?" A fresh-faced 
young man in a white coat confronted 
him. "Sir, you aren't supposed to be 
back here." 

Mulder simply stood and stared at 
what he could only guess was a 
student doctor. 

"Sir?" The young man asked again, 
this time with annoyance.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, and 
he turned to see Scully's small 
stature standing in front of him. 
The light seemed to shift as he 
viewed her in bright colour, not the 
dumb grey that had overtaken him 
without him realising it. 

"Mulder, what are you doing back 
here?" She asked, piercing him with 
her eyes, holding his gaze upon 
hers.

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

"Come on," she moved her hand from 
his shoulder to his elbow, "let's go 
home."


CH6

Morning -- day 3

They arrived home at seven thirty, 
neither feeling they had the stomach 
for breakfast after the parade of 
gore they'd witnessed that morning.
 
"Why don't you go back to bed for a 
while?" Mulder suggested, watching 
her as she tried to disguise her 
fatigue. She gave him a scrutinised 
look, trying to figure out what he 
was thinking. 
"You shouldn't be driving Mulder. 
You've already had a near miss 
today."

"I'll get Skinner to come get me. Go 
ahead, try and salvage part of your 
Saturday off."
Relenting, she placed a kiss on his 
lips, caught by surprise when his 
hand snaked around her waist and he 
held her there for longer than she 
expected.


************************************
*
 "Mulder? What are you doing here?" 
Monica opened the front door. He 
pushed his way inside, standing 
awkwardly in the hallway. He said 
nothing, so she pried a little more.
"Where's Dana?" 

"I didn't want to worry her . . . 
are we alone?" He had lied to 
Scully. Not something he did often 
and only ever for her safety.
She nodded that they had privacy and 
he wandered into the living room, 
feeling her presence behind him. 


            She sat quietly as he 
explained the events of the last 
twenty-four hours. He described from 
waking up with his hands on Scully, 
up until his wanderings at the 
hospital. He finished by begging her 
to hypnotise him again, this time to 
push him further -- to get details. 
She shook her head.

"I'm not going to a specialist, 
Monica; I know they'll sedate me. 
This means something to me and I 
don't want it to go away." He sat 
back, rubbing his face as he willed 
his pulse to return from its frantic 
pace. 

"I'm not experienced enough to do 
this, Mulder. I don't understand why 
this is happening . . . except . . 
."

"Except what? Don't hide things from 
me, Monica. God damn it, last night 
I stabbed myself. Tomorrow it could 
be Scully. It nearly was the other 
night; I know that much!" Again the 
volume of his voice made him sound 
ferocious. 

"Okay," she paused, carefully 
choosing her next words, "there are 
some people who believe that when 
certain, highly susceptible 
individuals undergo hypnosis, that 
they are exposed to a window."

"A window?" He knew he sounded 
impatient now, as if he wanted a 
quick fix to this complex problem.

"Yeah, a window of vulnerability."

"Vulnerability to what?" He asked a 
little nervously.

 "To other influences." She answered 
and watched him sit back, closing 
his eyes and nodding. He'd heard of 
the phenomena before, but had never 
been able to find the proof to 
convince others, including Scully. 
She didn't need to know about this 
though, not yet. She'd be pissed if 
she knew he was pursuing the very 
experience that had caused his 
violent behaviour of late.
Monica continued. "These other 
'influences' are usually seeking 
something from their host. Some 
people say that they choose their 
host, others say that it's pure 
coincidence."
 
"Dumb luck." He looked up at her, 
half laughing. "Okay so if that is 
what 'this' is, how do I find out 
what she wants?"

"You pay attention. From what you 
say she's given you plenty of 
clues."

"Clues?"

"Yes. The strangulation, the wound, 
your ramblings from our last 
meeting, the words you said when you 
woke up? That she was 'going to 
tell'? You say you were led to a 
room in the hospital, too. The 
amazing thing is that you seem clear 
on what she looks like. Maybe there 
is the place to start?"

"All the same, I'd like to go under 
again. You can ask me specific 
questions and note down the 
answers." He noticed her reluctance. 
"Please, Monica. I need to find out 
what's going on, I feel like my 
life's on hold because of it."

 


              -x-

The light blinded him, although he 
was sure it was meant to be his 
friend, not a threat. He held his 
face to it, basking in it and 
enjoying the heat as it penetrated 
within him. His abdomen felt heavy 
and swollen, a sensation he 
recognised even though it was 
something he would never experience 
in his reality. The life inside him 
moved, making his right side sag 
with the weight of it. 
Soon the sun disappeared, leaving 
him vulnerable in the darkness. A 
strange pressure pushed at him, 
knocking him over onto the floor and 
rendering him paralysed. He screamed 
out, helpless as they pushed at his 
chest and stomach, stilling the 
moving life inside him. Tear's 
streamed down his face as it 
disappeared, leaving an empty void 
that would not be filled again.
He lay still, hearing the voices as 
two shadows hovered above him.  One 
voice began to penetrate them, and 
he strained to listen hoping it 
would not go away, and leave him in 
this dark, nasty place.

           -x-
 When he came to, he was not in his 
usual seated position. Instead he 
was lying on the sofa, his blurry 
vision clearing to show Monica and 
John hovering above him. 

"We should call Dana, this is never 
right." He heard John mumble.

"No, he said not to. He doesn't want 
to worry her." Monica answered. 
Mulder pushed himself up, glancing 
around for something to quench the 
unimaginable thirst that had 
gathered in his mouth and throat. 
John handed him the glass of water 
and went to sit in the armchair 
adjacent to him.
 
"What happened?" Mulder croaked out, 
closing his eyes against the head 
rush he had caused himself.  
"You had some dream." John answered 
him. "You were out for hours." 
"Hours?" He looked at the clock. It 
was past four. "Shit. I was supposed 
to meet Scully at noon." He knew 
she'd be worried and he hadn't 
bought his cell phone in from the 
car. "Did you ask my questions?" He 
asked Monica.

"I couldn't, Mulder. You were really 
out. In fact you hardly said 
anything coherent at all. You were 
totally oblivious to any 
interference by us. Do you remember 
anything?" 

"Yeah, I was. . .I was pregnant. I 
mean she, she was pregnant." He rose 
quickly, scanning the room for his 
coat. He knew what he had to do 
next.


***********************************
"Scully?" He called out, edging 
through the door, careful not to let 
the greasy takeout touch his 
clothes. "Scully!" He called out 
again. He wandered through to the 
kitchen and then back to the living 
room without success. Finally, he 
heard a voice from down the hall 
shouting back. He walked toward the 
office, unsure of what she would be 
doing back there. It wasn't that she 
couldn't go back there, but much of 
the time she chose not to. She was 
seated in his chair, facing the 
computer, acknowledging his presence 
with a sigh, never turning round. 

"Scully, I'm so sorry. I brought 
dinner back with me; I wanted to 
talk to you about where I've been, 
actually." 
As he moved around to lean next to 
the computer he noticed how 
flustered she had become. "Scully? 
Are you okay?" She said nothing, 
only pushed backward so that he 
might see what she saw. 
                    

Ch 7
Evening -- day3
She turned and stared at him for a 
moment. "I came in here to check my 
email; my lap top isn't working." 
Her voice shook, as did her hands as 
she moved the mouse to tap on the 
toolbar at the bottom, bringing the 
image files up into full view. "Who 
is she?" 
Mulder squinted at the screen as 
nearly thirty images appeared of a 
young girl. It was the girl in his 
dreams, clad in some of the images, 
but naked in most. The images looked 
like some kind of amateur 
pornography, nothing sinister at 
all. Distasteful they may be, cheap 
certainly, but they were nothing as 
malevolent as the images in his 
dreams.
"I don't know who she is. Should I?"
"Mulder there are about a hundred 
pictures of her stored on your 
computer. I could stomach this if 
they were crime scene photos, hell 
I'd feel better if they weren't all 
the same woman."
 "Scully what are you saying? 
Honestly I don't know how these 
images got here; I've never even 
seen her before. Are you sure they 
didn't download by themselves?" He 
knew how absurd that sounded, but 
continued to plead his case, even 
when she arched her eyebrow at his 
response. "Come on Scully, you get 
this type of thing all the time. You 
click on a link and get free 
advertising. That's all it is."
"Then, why," she moved the mouse now 
to a different application, "has she 
replied to your email?"

"Email? Scully what are you . . ."
But there it was, as plain as day; 
an email from this woman. Well, not 
a personal email, an automatic 
message declaring a failure to 
deliver. At the bottom of it 
however, Mulder's original message 
read,
 'I need to see you. You're going to 
be hurt. Can we meet?'
He stared blankly. "Scully this 
isn't from me." He scanned down; 
trying to find the time and date 
that the email was sent. 
"Mulder this was sent the night that 
you hurt yourself. An hour after you 
sent this is when you wandered in 
with the shard of glass in your 
shoulder. Look, I believe that you 
don't remember contacting this 
woman, but the fact remains that you 
did. Looking at your outbox, you 
also sent this to three other 
contacts, a T Sweetn, G Abercrombie 
and someone called PS517"
"Then why don't I remember?"
"The same reason you don't remember 
stabbing yourself or . . . other 
things."
He didn't like the hesitation in her 
voice. "What other things?" He 
asked, taking her elbow in his hand.

"It doesn't matter Mulder, it's 
nothing." She got up now, moving 
closer as if to reassure him. His 
stomach churned at the thought of 
him hurting her that night.

"Tell me." The volume in his voice 
made her step back for a moment. She 
quickly turned and retreated through 
the living room and into the 
kitchen. He followed closely, 
wanting to grab her and shake the 
truth from her.
          "Mulder I told you it's 
nothing . . .it's . . ." She knew 
he'd never let it go. Like a dog 
with a bone, was Mulder, when it 
came to the truth. She reached into 
the fridge and retrieved two beers, 
handing one to him. He stared at her 
hard before taking it. "It's okay, 
one won't hurt."
He took it from her, mirroring her 
actions by taking a seat at the 
table.
"That night . . ." She began. "I 
woke up and you were on top of me. 
You were pulling at my clothes and I 
didn't stop you, because sometimes 
it's what you do . . ."
Suddenly he knew where this was 
going. He put his head in his hands 
and she instinctively reached over 
to him. "What happened?" His voice 
had become muffled.
"It happened. It was okay at first, 
but then it changed. You changed. It 
wasn't you. If I'd closed my eyes 
there's no way it would have been 
you. When I tried to stop you, 
that's when you attacked me."
He felt sick. Tears threatened to 
fall and his eyes burned as he 
imagined what it must have been 
like. He'd always been the same. She 
was the person he wanted to protect 
from everything, and yet he'd hurt 
her. 
"Mulder, please don't be upset. 
Please listen to me. I honestly 
think you need to look elsewhere for 
the answer to this. Now will you go 
and see someone? I agree that drugs 
will treat the symptoms not the 
cause. I agree it's not the answer, 
but neither is hypnosis."
He nodded and from his seat beside 
her now, reached over and squeezed 
her hand as it joined to his. She 
stood, putting a hand through his 
tousled hair and pulling him closer 
to her. 
"Okay." She sighed loudly. "Now, 
where's dinner?" She tried to make 
her voice sound optimistic. Her 
shaking hands betrayed her.
    

************************************
*

He slept on the sofa, at his own 
insistence. His sleep had been 
disturbed to say the least, fraught 
with vivid dreams and malevolent 
images. Eventually he had turned the 
television on, partially for 
background noise, but with the 
ulterior wish that the girl might 
appear to him again. She hadn't, but 
Gail Abercombe had.

"Scully!" He shouted. "Scully come 
down here!" It was nearly six in the 
morning, and he had woken to the 
sight of Gail's face splashed across 
the television. Not in the form of 
some cheap film as the other girl, 
but on the morning news. He heard 
the light padding upstairs and 
waited for Scully to join him. 
"What is it?"
"Just listen to this."
 He turned up the volume and 
listened as the reporter told the 
tail of how Gail Abercombe's body 
had been found a mile from her car, 
raped and strangled to death. He 
watched carefully for Scully's 
reaction. 
 "Mulder, the photographs on your 
computer are not of this girl. I 
don't understand...I..."  As realisation 
dawned that this was one of his 
contacts, they were alerted by a 
knocking at the front door.
"Open up." An authoritative voice 
called out. "Police, please open the 
door." 
Scully rose quickly, signalling for 
Mulder to stay where he was. She 
opened the door to a man dressed in 
a suit accompanied by a policeman in 
uniform. 
"Can I help you?" She asked
"Yes we're looking for Fox Mulder. 
We were told we might reach him 
here."
Before she had time to stall them, a 
shadow fell over her shoulder, and 
Mulder opened the door further to 
let them in.


          -x-

"So, you can confirm your 
whereabouts last night Mr Mulder?"
"I was here, asleep." He answered 
truthfully.
"And can anyone confirm this?"
"I can." Scully butted in, 
confidently. "He was in bed with 
me."
          "Can you be sure he was 
with you all night? This incident 
took place less then ten miles from 
your house."
"Yes I can." She answered, defying 
anyone to tell her otherwise.
"How?"
"Well, we didn't go to bed until 
after midnight. We were awake until 
two in the morning and I got up at 
four to use the bathroom, then we 
had were awake until five again. 
Would you like to know anything 
else?"
Everybody fell silent, a little 
uncomfortable at what Scully was 
insinuating. Mulder loved her 
attempts at refinement even now.
"No not at the moment." The 
detective seemed disgruntled at such 
a crude alibi. Mr Mulder, your name 
and address were attached to the 
last email that Miss Abercombe 
received. You said that you wanted 
to meet her. Did you?"
"No I didn't. I didn't email her 
either, someone has hacked into my 
computer."
"Then you won't mind us taking your 
computer, to examine it for 
tampering, or other . . . 
abnormalities.  "
They exchanged nervous glances that 
were not lost on the detective. 
Scully acted quickly. 
 "I'm a physician. Some of the files 
on that computer are extremely 
sensitive."
"We won't tell." The detective got 
up now, waiting to be shown the way. 
Mulder took them to the office as 
Scully went into the kitchen and 
sat. And thought.


When the detective and his sidekick 
left, Mulder went in search of 
Scully, finding her wiping the 
surfaces of the kitchen down. He 
went behind her, his arms encircling 
her waist.
"Two hours Scully? If you'd wanted 
them to believe you then you should 
have made up a more plausible 
story."
"Mulder how can you joke about this? 
They're going to find those photos."
"And what then? They wont have any 
evidence to tie me to the scene. All 
they have is that email and those 
photos, which could easily have been 
planted by someone else. I think the 
real question we need to be asking 
is how I knew to contact that woman. 
She must be tied to the other girl."
Scully turned in his arms, looking 
at the floor.
"Mulder I thought we agreed that 
this girl was just a side affect of 
you not sleeping..."
"No, you agreed that. How do you 
explain me contacting that girl the 
night before she died?"
"You said yourself you didn't 
contact Ambercombe. Your reaching 
Mulder."

"So how do you explain it?"
"Co-incidence." She said weakly, 
knowing how much it would annoy him 
that she wouldn't make this kind of 
leap with him. He turned and left 
the kitchen heading up the stairs 
and returning within minutes clad in 
shoes and jacket.
"Where are you going?" She asked.
"To find out more about this 
coincidence." He answered. 


CHAPTER 8
He wasted no time in getting to Washington, 
calling Skinner en route to ensure he had 
adequate security clearance. He knew that 
soon the detective would be back with 
evidence from his computer. Not enough to 
arrest but enough to give them reason to 
watch him closely. He planned to make use of 
his freedom, by tracking the girl. 

It was difficult to know where to start 
without a name or date of birth. Skinner had 
thought it absurd, and had told him as much. 
She had to be somewhere in a database, 
possibly as a Jane Doe, yet to be identified. 

Firstly he'd skipped through photos of Jane 
Does from the last few days and weeks. If 
Monica was correct, then the girl's death 
should have coincided with his hypnotism. 
Monica could have been wrong of course, but 
it would make more sense if she were correct, 
and that the girl's spirit had been trapped 
in the crossfire. 

Now he tried missing persons, thinking it 
might be worth a shot before he trawled 
through more Jane Does. Bingo! There she was. 
Della Greenberg. Reported missing only 
yesterday by her mother after she failed to 
come home that night. 
However, the girl in the dream looked a great 
deal more dishevelled then the girl on the 
photo. The girl in his dreams did not wear 
make up, and her skin always seemed greyed 
and swollen. The girl in his dreams looked 
desperately sad; the girl in the photo had 
not a care in the world. He copied down the 
name and address of the mother. Even though 
it would be far too late to visit now, he 
could make arrangements for tomorrow.
       -x-


"Scully?" He pushed at the front door. With 
no sign of her in the living room, he 
wandered into the kitchen where he found her 
sitting quietly at the table. "Scully, I know 
what time it is and I'm sorry. I'm going to 
tell you where I've been but I just need you 
to listen to . . ." He trailed off.  The 
detective had taken residence in the kitchen, 
several photographs spread in front of him. 
Mulder didn't need to see them to know what 
they were.

"Mr. Mulder, glad you could join us.
I 'd like to discuss a few things with you." 

Taking a seat, Mulder looked across at 
Scully, noticing the pained look across her 
face. 

"Now, tell me this." The detective continued. 
"How is it that you came to have these 
photographs stored on your computer?"

"I can't tell you."

"You can't tell me or you won't tell me?"

"I can't tell you. Someone must have put them 
there, or they came through with the reply 
email. I can tell you I did not murder that 
woman."

"Then you won't mind giving us a DNA sample?"

"No I don't mind." He looked across at Scully 
trying to catch her eye but failing. "I can 
do that right now."

    -x-
He had told Scully to stay home, that he 
would be no longer then an hour. They had 
taken a saliva sample and he had gladly 
helped them, knowing that there was no way he 
could have been connected with the crime. Had 
he slept, he may have worried that he had 
been at the scene in his sleep, but he knew 
that had not been possible. He had however, 
been warned by the detective that they knew 
all about his recent hospital admission and 
that just because he couldn't be placed at 
the crime scene did not rule him out 
entirely. 

He walked into the living room now, and 
failing to find her, sought her company in 
the kitchen. She sat very still at the table.

 As he had taken the seat opposite her, the 
mass of strawberry blonde had ceased to hide 
the look of anxiety on her face. "What? What 
is it?"

"Bill had a stroke. He was driving Daniel 
home from school at the time. I have to go to 
San Diego." 

He reached out and put an arm around her 
shoulders. She didn't shrink away, but at the 
same time she didn't respond with any kind of 
warmth. 

"Bill's main injuries are from the stroke 
itself, he came out of the wreck virtually 
unscathed. Daniel's in the IC unit and it 
doesn't look good." Her manner had seemed 
cold and clinical, but he knew the raw 
emotion that surged beneath the exterior. She 
loved that kid.

"When did you find out?" He asked, deciding 
to ignore her signals and move even closer. 

"Couple hours ago."

"Then I'll go with you. . ." He started.

"No. I'm waiting for Mom to call me back, and 
then I'm going to meet her. She doesn't want 
to drive."
 
"Then I'll drive you both. . ."

"No." She said again. She could tell she'd 
hurt him. The truth was that during the worst 
times in her life he had been a rock of 
support and it was a role that he fulfilled 
willingly. She sighed, thoughtfully choosing 
how to explain her feelings. 

"Mulder, I can't deal with everything at 
once. Not at the moment. Anyway, you know you 
can't go anywhere at the moment; they're 
watching you. I'm going to pack; I'll be back 
in a while." 

She got up and left.
He remained at the table, his brain mulling 
over how little contact she'd had with her 
family over the last few years. She didn't 
want him to go with her, not that he blamed 
her.

He knew her reason for not wanting him there 
was not simply about his relationship with 
her family over the last few years. He'd had 
a few warm exchanges with her mother and 
fewer less comfortable instances with her 
brothers. She said she had known Bill would 
never change, but she'd felt disappointed 
that Charlie had seemed happy to disappear 
from her life altogether, save for a phone 
call every few months.

 No, it wasn't just that. He knew that she 
was finding his current predicament a 
struggle and the humiliation of today had 
made things worse. He thanked God for her 
good grace and endless patience that had 
stopped her reacting like another woman 
might. Maybe she needed the time away from 
him; he only hoped she'd be ready to come 
back to him and that she wouldn't rediscover 
the comfort of a large family who lived a 
normal life -- whatever that was. 


 

           -x-

He could count on one hand the nights he had 
spent in this house without her. Sometimes 
she would have to take her turn on night 
shift at the hospital, but he would usually 
wait up for her, dozing off occasionally in 
front of the television, then following her 
to bed for a few hours when she returned. 
Tonight was very different, however.

 She was hundreds of miles away, visiting the 
brother that she fought with and the nephew 
that she hardly knew.

 And the mother. 

The mother who had doted on her. The mother 
that she had left behind to start this new 
life with him. What if she decided to stay? 
What if she realised what she was missing out 
on? It hadn't exactly been easy over the last 
week or so for either of them.

He was sure she'd stand by him through 
anything, even at the expense of her own 
happiness. That was what he dreaded 
sometimes; that she wasn't happy. Maybe 
they'd had it too easy for too long?  The 
nature of her work would mean that she seldom 
came home elated, but it rarely made her 
miserable. They lived a relatively 
uncomplicated life, both willing to make 
sacrifices for the other. In truth, they 
lived much the same as they had worked, with 
the same occasional bickering, but without 
the boredom and resentment that could seep 
into the closest of marriages. 

He grabbed for the phone as it began to ring.

"Scully?" He sounded desperate.

"Mulder, I'm so sorry. When we got to the 
hospital I meant to come out and ring you but 
. . ." She trailed off quietly. He 
understood.

"How are they?" He asked gently.

"Bill looks awful. The stroke paralysed his 
left side and he's finding it near impossible 
to speak. Daniel is looking better today. The 
swelling on his brain has subsided; they 
might even move him from ICU tomorrow."

"Good, that's good. You okay Scully?"

 "I'm fine . . ." she began before going 
quiet. He could hear the shaking of her 
breath.

"Scully?" He waited for her to speak again, 
hating how sad she seemed.

"It's alright, Mulder. Its weird being here, 
that's all. I haven't seen anyone in so long, 
I feel like an outsider."

"You've always said that. That's how you felt 
when you were a kid." He said.

"I know." She half laughed, astounded that he 
could recall the most far back conversations. 
"It's different now."

"Well, maybe it's good that you're there now. 
How's your mother?"  

"She's okay. I mean, I need a little more 
time with her, but I think she's coming 
round." He knew that Scully and her mother 
hadn't fallen out, but they hadn't stayed 
close either.

"How did it go with detective Rollinson?" She 
asked, breaking the silence.

"He basically told me I did it. Look Scully,I 
know I never said this before but, you didn't 
have to lie about my whereabouts -- I didn't 
do it."

"That's why I lied,Mulder." 

They both fell silent, feeling in that 
moment, the bond between them more then ever.

"I love you, Scully."

"I know." She answered. "What are you doing 
tonight?"

"I'm going to Monica one last time. I just 
need one more time to try and understand 
this."

"Mulder . . ." She started, before giving a 
lengthy pause as she tried to put her words 
into place. "I think you should come up here 
with me."

"I thought you didn't want me there."

"I'm afraid that you're alone. Do me a 
favour, stay with Monica and John. At least 
that way you can't come to any harm."

His silence told her that he thought the idea 
to be a bad one.

"Mulder, please promise me."

"Okay." He agreed. "I'll come up tomorrow, if 
it's okay with your mother."

"It will be." He could hear her smiling on 
the other end of the phone. "She's mad with 
me, not you. She still thinks the sun shines 
out of your ass."

He grinned as he replaced the receiver, 
letting the negative thoughts drift out of 
his head. 
He then began to dial a different number.

Chapter 9

"I'm sorry it didn't work." Monica rose from 
her knees and extended a hand to help him up. 
She felt disappointed for him, knowing how 
badly he wanted this to all go away. 

He'd come to her for one last attempt, hoping 
to clarify what was going on in his mind.

"Don't worry." Mulder replied, feeling in his 
pockets for his keys.

"I'm under strict instructions not to let you 
leave." Monica smiled. Scully had obviously 
contacted her. "Come on, John's watching the 
game." She disappeared into the other room, 
leaving him no choice but to follow.

          -X-


"What was that?" She sat bolt upright in bed, 
shoving John until he also stirred.

"What was what?"

"What was that noise?"

"There's no noise."

"There was a noise. Go have a look." 
He didn't need to go very far before he 
pinpointed the source.

"Monica, when you hid Mulder's keys, what did 
you do with mine?" He watched helplessly as 
Mulder swung the car off the drive and 
screeched away into the night. 
 
      -X-

"He did what?" 

Mrs Scully looked away, pretending not to 
listen to her daughter's phone call.

"Okay, okay. No, I don't know where he could 
have gone. Well if he's asleep then he won't 
answer his phone, will he? Yeah, I'll be 
there as soon as I can."

"What's the matter?" Maggie continued to chop 
carrots, pretending to be oblivious to the 
conversation that she knew she and her 
daughter were about to have. Over the last 
eight years she'd seen her daughter no more 
than once a year and at first much more 
seldom then that.

 Although this would be a sad reason for a 
family reunion, part of her had tried to draw 
some sort of positive from it. The positive 
would be that she could talk to her daughter 
without hordes of other family members around 
her. She could make sure she was happy, 
contented.

 "Is it Fox?" She waited to be chastised for 
using his first name. When she received no 
answer she prodded further. "You know you can 
talk about him. I don't blame him for this -- 
I know you have your own mind."

Still she stayed quiet, contemplating 
carefully what she might say, not wanting to 
give her mother the wrong impression. When 
the silence became lengthy she blurted out 
the only thing she could think of.

"It'll be okay in the end."

She saw her mother's confused expression. 
"Come on," Maggie said, "you can tell me all 
about it while we drive."
 

         -x-

He threw himself down onto the ground, the 
urge to dig overwhelming him. It was here, he 
knew it, and he'd seen it. He felt it.



      -x-

"Don't you think you might be overreacting, 
sweetie? I mean, what if he's just gone 
home." Margaret Scully put her foot down on 
the accelerator at her daughter's urging. 

"He isn't home -- I know it."

"Where else would you have us look?"

"I don't know."

"Home it is then." 

                           -x-
He lay on the ground, patiently waiting for 
his bearings to return to him. He didn't know 
what had made him come to this place. For 
certain it had not been the scenery. He could 
see the remnants of the old railway track, 
now broken into smaller pieces but still 
embedded into the ground. In the distance a 
medium sized wooden hut, ready to fall to 
pieces on the next person who dared disturb 
the hanging door. He walked toward it, his 
breaths becoming shorter as he felt a 
presence begin to clutch at the very core of 
him. 
                -x- 

Skinner didn't seem surprised to hear from 
her.
"Scully, I was just about to call you. I need 
to get in touch with Mulder."

"Join the club." She answered, feeling more 
and more as if she would be facing more 
questions than answers soon.

"Well, when you see him, he needs to call me. 
He seems to have ruffled a few feathers 
here."

"Where's here?"

"The Bureau. Seems he used his security code 
to hack into a missing person file that's 
already under investigation. . ."

 "Della Greenberg." She finished.

"Yeah. Look, for all the help he gives us, 
I've got no problem with him accessing files, 
but he's getting sloppy. Once he breached 
security he took no precautions. These files 
could have been accessed by anyone with a 
computer. Do me a favour, get him to call me, 
okay?"

Suddenly everything became a lot more 
complicated.


CHAPTER 10


He had to wrench the door open, immediately 
stepping back into the fresh air as the foul 
stench of rotten wood overpowered him.

 It was more then that. The smell was in his 
lungs now, and he gagged uncontrollably in 
reflex. Re-entering, he headed straight 
through the first door, noting the plain 
furnishings of a table and chair standing on 
a dark red rug. Instinct told him to dig. Dig 
where? As he walked toward the table, the 
floorboards spoke to him, moaning and 
groaning of neglect. No floorboards under the 
rug, though.


        -X-
 She almost left her mother behind, flying 
out of the passenger seat and heading for the 
house. She knew to go straight to his office, 
hoping she could boot the computer and get 
rid of any indecent images before her mother 
found her.

          "Dana?" She called out from the 
living room.

"I'm in here, Mom!" She took a seat at the 
computer, clicking on the Internet browser 
and scrolling through his history. The 
content of his recent interests were listed 
in dated order along the left hand side of 
the page. 

"It's okay, Mom," she felt herself blushing. 
"It's not what you think."

 She scanned quickly for more references to 
Della Greenberg or Gail Abercombe, but 
without success.

"There's nothing here. I don't know where to 
begin."

"What's this one?" Her mother pointed to the 
site listed at the top. After the material 
she had previously found,'Landmarks of 
Virginia' seemed too mundane to be useful. 
Why had he been looking at this?   

           -X-

He had knocked over the table and pulled the 
rug across the floor. Underneath a hatch had 
opened up to a tunnel of darkness that 
beckoned him in. There it was. The reason for 
the foul smell had not been the wood. 
Suddenly he felt his legs give way, and he 
fell to his knees, closing his eyes...

   -x-
This time he saw. He really saw. 

She was so pretty. For the first time he saw 
her as pretty, not some walking corpse 
wanting to horrify him. She sat in the car, 
talking to a young man. He'd seen the young 
man before. They sat and talked for what 
seemed like hours. Suddenly she leaves the 
car, angry. The boy pleads with her, begs 
her. He takes her in his arms and tries to 
show her. 

She screams. She spits. She begins to fist 
into his chest.  She yells the magic words, 
and all the boy can do is extend an arm and 
make contact. She falls to the floor, hitting 
her head against the bonnet of the car on the 
way down. She begins to fit uncontrollably. 
The boy knows not what to do. But another man 
does. He leaves his comfortable place 
watching from afar, and finishes the job.
             

Opening his eyes, he now understood. The 
body. She lay face down, but he knew it was 
she. Her horrific story had played through 
his mind from start to finish and now the 
hell he'd endured over the last few days 
began to make sense. He stood now, clutching 
himself. 

"We had to do it." A voice came from behind 
him. Mulder turned to come face to face with 
an older man. "She would have ruined him." 
The man knelt at the side of the body. "He 
was a good boy, my Josh. He had a future, in 
medicine. She would have ruined that."

"You did this." Mulder stated, suddenly 
feeling vulnerable in such a small space. 

"I did what I had to do. He'd have gone to 
prison for her. She was only fourteen!" He 
raised his voice, balling his fists in an 
attempt to dispel some of his hatred. "She 
was pregnant. Stupid bitch got herself 
pregnant. There was no way he could deny what 
they had done." 

He walked around now, standing over her. 

"This is where they used to meet; God knows 
his mother would have had a fit if he had 
brought her to the house. It didn't seem 
right. It didn't seem right that he would 
lose everything for that stupid little bitch. 
She'd have ruined us too, with those 
pictures. Everyone would have seen those 
nasty pictures of her. She was no loss to 
anyone."

 He turned to Mulder now. "And neither are 
you."  He put his hand in his pocket, drawing 
a familiar looking weapon. A weapon issued to 
those in law enforcement. When Mulder opened 
his mouth to ask, the stranger answered his 
question. 

"Recruited from Utah three years ago. How did 
you think I knew where to find you? I knew 
you were accessing those files; I came here 
to get rid of her, before you figured it out. 
No one else would, but I know things about 
you, Fox Mulder. I know . . ." 

He lunged forward, hitting the ground in a 
heap. Mulder jumped, unable to see in the 
darkness what had rendered the man 
unconscious. His question was answered in one 
word.
Word spoken in a familiar soft voice.


"Mulder?"


       -x-
They stood together; watching the 
professionals go about their work, taking 
samples from every area of the crime scene, 
ensuring they missed nothing. Scully let her 
fingers move down his arm and into his hand, 
where he gripped her tightly.

"How did you know, Mulder? How did you know 
she'd be here?"

"I didn't. I don't even remember looking for 
this place. I just . . arrived. How did you 
find me?"

"Your computer." She looked into his eyes. 
"You know this explanation won't satisfy the 
bureau don't, you?"

"I don't care. They won't find anything to 
link me to this murder, or to Della 
Greenberg. I don't understand the link 
between the two, unless they carried out both 
attacks. Maybe there's a link between the two 
girls. Maybe Della knew their secret."

 They watched as a different car pulled up, 
driven by a woman and accompanied by a 
younger man. As he jumped out of the car and 
ran to where the paramedics treated the older 
man, both Mulder and Scully recognised him 
immediately. It was the doctor that Mulder 
had walked into at the hospital.

"Mulder . . . that's . . ." 

"I know." He said. 

"I guess your visions were right. I mean, I 
don't how to explain the accuracy of what you 
dreamed, what you said."

"Not everything was right, Scully. Lots of 
things were wrong. The initial findings on 
the body show no sign of sexual assault or 
asphyxiation."

"There were in Della Greenberg though. Maybe 
that's the connection."

"Maybe." He said.

"Come on , Mulder, let's go home. My Mom's 
cooking you dinner."

      -x-


At dinner, Margaret Scully was careful not to 
ask about the night's events. Instead she 
commented on Mulder's writing, saying that 
she had friends that had read some of what he 
wrote. He didn't ask why she herself had not 
read any. She was probably happier not 
knowing half of what her daughter had seen 
and done during her nine years in the bureau. 


When it came to say goodbye, Mulder offered 
to drive them home. 

"You need to rest. You look awful! A good 
night's sleep is what you need." Maggie had 
said. "And anyway, we want to talk about you 
on the way home." 

With that they'd said their goodbyes, Scully 
promising to call as soon as she was leaving 
to come home and that the whole journey would 
have her back before midnight. He closed the 
door and flopped down on the couch, settled 
for dreamless sleep. He could not however, 
shake the memory of Della Greenberg and he 
continued to think about her as he drifted 
off.

It was the telephone that woke him. 

"Mulder, it's Skinner. I was going wait but 
Scully told me you'd want to know."

"Know what?" 

"There's no DNA evidence to match Agent 
Sniper or his son to Della Greenberg. I have 
to tell you, it looks like two completely 
different incidences. Why would you think 
they were connected?"

 "Ah . . . a hunch I guess." It was all he 
could come up with.

 "The same hunch that made you contact Della 
before she was killed?"

"I don't know what to say about that. Is 
there any evidence at all from the scene?"

"Not really. Violent sexual assault with no 
evidence left at the scene, I told Scully 
earlier. Bruising around the larynx suggests 
strangulation. We know more about her car's 
demise then her own."

"What do you mean?"

"Turns out her car had an enormous amount of 
salt poured into the gas tank. Whoever killed 
her must have taken advantage of the fact 
that her car had to be taken off the road. We 
might know more once we've interviewed folks 
at the local gas station."

A gentle beeping told him that another call 
demanded his attention. He said goodnight to 
Skinner and prepared to talk to Scully.

"Are you only just setting off, Scully? I 
thought you'd be home now."

 "I am nearly home Mulder, but I think you 
need to come get me."

"What's up?" 

"My car died, I think. I'm on the straight 
road back into town now and I can't see any 
lights on anywhere. Think you can find me if 
I put my side lights on?"

"You sure you're not just out of gas?"

"No, I filled up about half a mile back. I 
managed to steer it off the road though. I'm 
about an hour away, in Berkenside."

His stomach churned. Berkenside wasn't five 
miles from where Della's car had been found. 
"Scully, I'm coming to get you. Don't put any 
lights on. Just sit quietly and lock the 
doors. You sure there's no sign of life 
anywhere? Nowhere you can wait?"

"No Mulder, what's wrong? Hang on . . 
.someone's coming . . ."

The window smashing rang in his ears, almost 
drowning out the sound of her screams.


Chapter 11

The car grunted in complaint as Mulder pushed it to eighty. He 
knew it would be at least ten minutes until he turned onto the 
road to Berkenside, he just prayed that Scully could either get 
away or fend off the monster that had already taken so many 
lives.  As he approached the town, he considered the events 
over the last twenty four hours. He had been convinced that 
Della Greenburg had been linked to the other murders, 
but now that looked highly unlikely. Sniper and his son were no 
serial killers, although they weren't much better either in his 
book. Seeing the signpost for the turning onto the road to 
Berkenside, he put his foot down once more.


 Scully moved over onto the passenger seat as two long arms 
reached into the window, a hand feeling around for the lock on 
the inside of the door. She carefully felt for a suitable piece of 
glass on the driver's seat, keeping as far away as possible as the 
stranger came awfully close to the lock. In a swift movement she 
plunged the glass across his hand, dragging it deeply into the 
flesh. He cried out and temporarily snatched his hand away. 
Seconds later he pulled open the door and launched himself 
toward her. She almost made it out of the car on the passenger 
side, when two rough hands grabbed at her waist and hauled 
her the other way. As her body was dragged through the car, 
she managed to grab onto the steering wheel with one hand, 
smashing the other hand against the horn, desperate for anyone 
to hear it. Suddenly her body hit the concrete road, and the 
moonlight disappeared behind a threatening shadow.


She should be here, Mulder thought as the full beams of the car 
lit up the road infront of him. Skinner shouldn't be far behind. He 
just needed to get there.

She couldn't let this happen to her. She had things to do, things 
to finish. She had Mulder. They hadn't had long enough in this 
new life yet. Now he had pinned her arms above her head with 
one large hand, pulling out a white cloth with the other. She 
knew that smell. Chloroform. In one swift movement she pulled 
a knee sharply up between his legs. As soon as he moved his 
body away from her, she bought her other knee up and began 
to kick at him, pushing him backwards. Pushing up onto her 
knee's she began to crawl away into the road. As she raised her 
head, she saw a figure standing on the grass on the other side of 
the road. She could sense him getting up behind her. She 
needed to move.  She clambered onto her feet and lunged 
across the road. She didn't see the white lights of the car and 
neither did he.


Where was she? Mulder knew he was coming to the end of this 
stretch of road. It had been so dark, had he missed her?  He 
reached over to the passenger seat for his mobile phone. Shit, it 
had fallen onto the floor. As he leaned down to retrieve it, he 
realised too late that whatever he hit had bounced off the 
bonnet and rolled down the car behind him.




Continued in epilogue


Profound apologies for the late posting of this chapter for those 
who were following the story
EPILOGUE

For the second time that night, Mulder and Scully walked away 
from the sirens. Scully had successfully fought away paramedics, 
at Mulders chagrin. Now he stood on the opposite side of the 
road to the car, which would be towed as evidence soon. 
"Mulder?" Scully walked up behind him, his coat wrapped 
around her. "What are you doing?" 
He jumped at her voice. "Is he dead?" He asked, turning to face 
her.
"Not quite. He has internal bleeding and serious head injuries. 
They're taking him now." She paused. "Are you ready to go 
home?"
"Are you?" He asked, pulling a lump of glass from her hair.
"I'm fine." She gave a small smile and put a hand on his arm. 
"Your timing is impeccable Mulder."
"Yeah." He huffed. "What if it hadn't been? You said that you 
saw someone in the woods?"
"Well, I thought I did. A woman. Although Skinner's men haven't 
found anybody."
"Is that what made you move across the road?" He asked.
She went quiet for a moment. She could hear the cogs moving 
around in his mind. "What is it Mulder?"
"At first I couldn't understand the link between Della's death and 
the other girls. But what if Della knew what was going to 
happen? What if she were contacting me because she wanted 
me to change things?"
"You mean what if she was helping you to change things for the 
other women? To keep them safe from the killer?"
He huffed. "Yeah, great job I did. I didn't manage to save them."
"But you saved me, and anyone else that he would have 
targeted. You found Della too. Maybe now she can rest."
Now he was stunned. She had become more open minded over 
the years they worked together, but he knew she still held a 
certain amount scepticism over this type of phenomenon. He 
could tell by the softness of her voice that she empathised with 
him. It was part of both their jobs. You couldn't save everyone. 
"Come on." She moved her hand down his arm and into his own 
hand. "Let's go home." 
He smiled, and began to follow, before turning back one last 
time, catching sight of something in the trees. He'd sleep 
tonight.