=================================== Illaqueate by Shannon Disclaimer (See Introduction, Part 4/8) Part 5/8 *** "I'm sorry, sir. There are no more doubles. There are several conventions going on right now and..." the hotel manager shrugged. Mulder worked to keep his temper under control. "Fine. Forget a double room. I don't need a bed. My sister can have the bed." The manager coughed nervously. "Well...even without the bed, with an additional person in the room we'll still have to charge you for a double room." Mulder glared at the man. "Whatever." He didn't really care. After all, the Bureau was footing the bill. Samantha followed him to their room. She was quiet. Her silence made Mulder nervous. "You don't mind sharing a room do you? Look, I'll sleep on the bathroom floor if it will make you feel any better." Sam shook her head. "It's fine." She did not look at him. When he unlocked the door she lingered in the hallway. "Is something wrong?" he asked her. Not answering, she entered the room and set the small plastic bag from the hospital on the bed. She went to the window and stared outside. Mulder bit his lip. What was he supposed to do? How could he make this easier for her? "Are you hungry?" She shook her head. Mulder felt himself slipping toward panic. "Do you want to take a nap?" Not even a head shake this time. Mulder sank down into a chair. "Please talk to me, Samantha," he said, his voice soft, eyes imploring. Samantha turned to him. Her face was blank. She looked wan and tired. "About what?" "About anything! I'm your brother! I--I want to get to know you again." Sam shut her eyes. "I don't know if I'm worth knowing anymore." "Of course you are! Don't say that!" "I don't know what to say to you," she faltered. "I feel so...strange. I'm lost. I don't know who I am. I can't...I can't do it. I look at you and I feel...love for you. But then I hear myself screaming again...and you don't come." Mulder dropped his head into his hands. What could he say? Sorry was so inadequate. "Do you love me?" she continued. Mulder raised his head. His love was proclaimed every time he and Scully opened an X- File. His search for the truth was synonymous with his search for her. Samantha *was* the truth. He went to her and put his arms around her. She sat rigidly through his embrace. "Yes," he whispered. Gradually he felt her body relax and she rested her head on his shoulder. A soft knock on the door made him pull away. He moved behind her and put a protective hand on her arm. "Come in." Scully entered their room. Mulder noticed she carried her travel bag and brief case. His heart quickened. "Where are you going?" "I have to go back to Washington, Mulder. I'm sorry." Her distress was obvious. "Skinner called. A cadet at Quantico was found dead this morning. They want me to do the autopsy." Mulder nodded slowly. "Okay." He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "What did you tell him about the case?" "I told him we had more questions than answers. I also told him you'd be staying here a few more days to, ah, try and wrap things up." Scully's conscience was clear, everything she'd told Skinner was true. He ran a hand through his hair. "Will you be back?" "I don't know Mulder." He sighed. "Well...have fun." Scully snorted. "Right." She watched Samantha get up and go into the bathroom. She exhaled in relief. She had been waiting to talk to Mulder alone! She dropped her bag and briefcase next to the bed and nodded toward the hall. Mulder followed her into the corridor. "How's it going so far?" she asked. Mulder avoided her eyes. "Fine." He sighed. "It could be better." The phone in Scully's room next door began to ring. She frowned. "Great! I already locked the door." She dug the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. She ran to the phone. "Hello?" She made a face and slammed the receiver back into its cradle. "What?" "They hung up in my ear." He started out of her room, not wanting to leave Samantha alone for long. "Mulder...wait. What are you planning to do? How do you explain Samantha's...reappearance?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't." Sara Vincent's bruised face flickered in his mind. "I might try to talk to Mrs. Vincent again, though." Scully nodded. She scuffed the toe of her tan pump against the carpet. She didn't want to leave him. When she looked up again Mulder was smiling at her. "It's okay, Scully. I know you don't want to go. It's not your fault. Go. Get out of here. Before Skinner puts your butt in the sling that's already reserved for me." Scully laughed. "Good luck Mulder. I'll call you." "You better." They returned to Mulder's room. Samantha was lying on the bed, facing away from them. Scully picked up her baggage and approached the bed. "Goodbye Samantha," she paused, unsure what she really wanted to say. "I hope to see you again soon." Her partner gave her a grateful smile. "See you later, Mulder," she said. She leaned close and whispered: "Don't get into too much trouble." "Who me?" He wiggled his fingers at her in a quick wave and shut the door behind her. He momentarily leaned his head against the door. Of all the times to be called away, why now? End Part 5/8 ================================== Illaqueate by Shannon Disclaimer (see Introduction, Part 4/8) Part 6/8 *** After much persuading, Mulder was able to get Samantha to eat half a chicken sandwich. The room service tray sat on the table, mostly untouched. He really couldn't blame her, his stomach wasn't particularly interested in food either. They had been talking quietly, on and off, for almost an hour. The room was dark and the television was on very low. It cast a pale blue light over his sister's face. "Where are mom and dad?" she asked. Mulder felt his stomach cramp. How he had dreaded this question! He felt the pain of his father's murder all over again. Mulder shook his head, trying to shut out guilt's voice. "Dad died over a year ago, Sam." She was so quiet Mulder thought she hadn't heard him. A few second passed before she asked: "How?" Mulder rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "He was murdered. The...killer was never caught." He prayed fervently that when Krycek threw himself out of the back of the truck in Tunguska he had landed in hell. "What about Mom?" Mulder could still see his mother's waxen face as she lay helpless in the hospital bed. The thought of Cancer Man being anywhere near her still made his skin crawl. "She's...doing fine. She was sick a few months ago...but she's doing better." He couldn't bring himself to tell her anything more. Samantha bowed her head. Mulder was afraid she was crying, but when she spoke again her voice was steady. "Did they miss me?" "We *all* missed you, Samantha!" He was going to say more but her sudden cry of pain knocked the words out of his mouth. She curled herself into a tight ball on the floor and moaned. "Not again...not again!" she cried. Mulder clenched his fists in helpless agony. He wanted to scream. Why did she have to go through this? Hadn't she gone through enough already? He crawled to her side and put a hand on her back. "Is there...anything I can do?" he asked. She whispered something, but her words were smothered by pain. "Listen to me Samantha. On the count of three I'm going to help you to stand. I'm taking you back to the hospital. Okay? One...Two..." "No!" Samantha rolled away from him. "No more hospital! I've had enough! No more tests! No more needles! I can't do it anymore!" her voice had risen to a shriek. Mulder stroked her head gently, trying to undo the damage he had done. He pushed damp tendrils of hair off her forehead. "Okay. We'll stay here. It's okay. Shh. Shh." He whispered soothingly in her ear. "They should have killed me before," Samantha whimpered. "Why did they let me live this long? What was the point?" "Stop it!" Mulder hissed. "We'll get through this. I'm here. There *is* a point--you're back with me." Sam reached out and took his hand. "Oh Fox," she cried. "Fox..." Mulder pulled his sister close. "I wish I were dead," she sobbed. Fox Mulder squeezed Samantha's hand and began to cry. *** He sat up, instantly awake. What was that noise? He was in a dark, unfamiliar place. Slowly, he recognized his surroundings. The hotel. Samantha. The bed was empty. Where was she? The digital clock glowed 11:21. That sound again. It was so familiar...like the sound of-- Mulder leaped out of his chair, his heart hammering so hard he thought his ribs would crack. He ran a hand over the table and cursed. It wasn't there! God *no*! He saw the thread of light beneath the bathroom door and checked the knob with a shaking hand. It was locked. "Samantha?" he called, his voice betraying the terror he felt. "Unlock the door." *Click.* No answer. Silence dragged on forever. And then again: *click*. The sound of the safety on his gun being turned off and on. He knelt down by the door. "Samantha. Please. Let me in. What are you doing?" A muffled reply: "Go away." "Open the door." *Click.* "I can't do this, Fox. It's too late. I lost my chance. It's better this way. Let me go. You let me go once, you can do it again." Mulder fought against the pain her words caused and pounded his fist against the door. "Open the door! NOW!" For a moment he considered breaking the door down, but he was terrified she'd pull the trigger before he could reach her. He couldn't think. Why had he left the gun where she could see it? How could he have been so stupid? If she killed herself it would be his fault. "Samantha..." he pleaded with her. "Don't do this. I can help you. We can get through this." His words were spilling out too fast, but he couldn't stop. He could feel himself drowning. "A therapist can help you deal with what you've been through. I know some people who--" "I don't *want* to deal with what happened to me! I just want it to go away. I want *you* to go away. I want everything to go away!" Her sobs tore at his heart. He strained his ears listening for the sound of the safety to go back on, but it didn't come. Dread pervaded every pore in his body. Each second lasted a year. Nausea twisted his stomach; fear's heavy hand was clenched tightly around his gut. He whispered Samantha's name again and again but she would not respond. She had finally stopped crying but the silence seemed somehow worse. He prayed it wouldn't be broken by the sound of a gunshot. "Please give me the gun," Mulder whispered. "It won't solve your problems." "The hell it won't," her voice was bitter. "Samantha...what do I have to do to get you to come out?" Mulder closed his eyes. "Tell me and I'll do it." "There is nothing you can do, Fox. Not anymore." He had to press his ear to the door to hear her. "You had your chance." Mulder put his hands to his head. God! How could he bear the blame in her voice? All the self-recrimination in the world was nothing compared to the fact *she* blamed him. Any doubts that what had happened to her was beyond his control were gone. This was his penance. Mulder rocked back on his heels, trying to shut out the insidious thought. *Click*. Mulder's attention snapped back to door. Had she just turned the safety back on...or off? He couldn't remember. "I'm sorry Samantha!" he told her, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Give me another chance." "Then make it the way it was!" Her voice wavered like a child's. "I want the past." A nervous tic started below Mulder's right eye. At least she was talking. He had to keep her talking. "What do you mean, Sam? Tell me, so I can make it happen." "I want it to be you and me again. The way things used to be. When we were together. Happy." Mulder rubbed a hand across his face. What he wouldn't give to be able to do that! "I want that too," he told her. "Why don't you open the door and we'll talk about it." He waited for a response. Oppressive silence. The only sound was the steady roar of his heart in his ears. Time stood still and laughed at him. And then he heard it--the doorknob turned and the lock opened. He pulled the door open. Samantha was kneeling beside the tub. The gun was on the floor in front of her. Mulder reached down and snatched it away, putting it firmly into his holster. Samantha kept her eyes focused on the ivory fiberglass. "We can talk?" she asked tentatively. Mulder didn't trust himself to speak, but he managed to nod his head. "Let's go away. Far away. Together. Take a trip. You don't need your job. I'm begging you, Fox. That's what I want. I have a little time left," her voice broke. "Can't I spend it with you?" Mulder pulled her close and rested his head on top of hers. He was so thankful she was alive her words barely registered. And then the full weight of her request bore down on him: quit the X-Files and take her somewhere the demons couldn't reach her. He closed his eyes, fighting to keep the hot tears back. He did not want to choose. But as he rocked his sister gently, he realized he already had. *** She preferred to fly with Mulder. A little of his confidence always seemed to rub off on her. But with all the cross-country traveling they had done in the past four years, flying did not hold the same fear it once had. Scully sighed. Of all the times to be called away. She reached for her brief case. Maybe she'd look over her notes one last time, she wanted to write the report as soon as she was back in D.C. She smiled ruefully. Not everyone was blessed with a photographic memory... The minute she opened the case she knew someone had gone through it. Her notes documenting their meetings with Mrs. Vincent and Billy Preston were out of order. Miscellaneous papers were shuffled. Scully kept her work in scrupulous order. Unlike Mulder's constant state of chaos, Scully preferred control and organization. Her reports were always filed promptly and accurately. Her notes were in order. Her medical journals were kept on the book shelf, not thrown beneath her desk like *other people's* reading material. She stared at the slight disarray of her briefcase. Nothing seemed to be missing. The case had only been out of her site once today. Scully frowned. Why would Samantha Mulder search her briefcase? *** Scully donned her apron and glanced at one of the faxed pages from Quantico. Senator Thomas Johannson's daughter had been found dead this morning, a probable suicide. Senator Johannson was a close friend of one of the instructor's at Quantico who happened to be a close friend of Skinner's...who happened to call her home from Crystal Falls. Now she understood why she had been asked to do the autopsy. She desperately wanted to find out how Mulder was doing, but he hated it when she played the part of Mother Hen. Knowing Mulder he'd think she was overreacting. But the image of his face, drawn and pale in The Clothes Line told her she wasn't. She pulled off her bloodied gloves and dropped them into the biohazard container. Scully pressed the record button of the hand-held tape recorder and began dictating: "It is my opinion that Stephanie Johannson, a 25 year old female, died from a drug overdose. The toxicology report has not come back yet, but I suspect the residue found in her stomach was tofranil, a tricyclic antidepressant. The cause of death was a drug overdose which corresponds with the empty prescription bottle found in Stephanie's dorm room. The mechanism of death was cardiovascular failure. The manner of death was suicide." Scully turned the machine off and shook her head sadly. The only benefit that could come from the young woman's death was the fact she had discovered something during the examination that might help Samantha. While examining Stephanie's stomach and intestines she noticed a duodenal ulcer. Shotton had checked Samantha for appendicitis, but not an ulcer. Symptoms of duodenal ulcers included gnawing abdominal pain or back pain. Persisting scarring from an ulcer could lead to a bowel obstruction. Symptoms of a bowel obstruction included cramp-like pains and nausea or vomiting. If Samantha was still having pain, Scully wanted Shotton to check her out immediately for a possible bowel obstruction. If she didn't know better, Samantha could easily mistake the frequent pains for something life-threatening. Especially if her abductors had planted the idea in her head that she was dying. Scully knew there were many people in Washington who thrived on handing out misinformation. Scully removed her apron and put the tools she had used back in their proper locations. She left the tape of her report on Skinner's desk and hurried down to their basement office. It was 10:45. Now or never. She dialed Mulder's cell phone number. It rang four times...five...six. She was ready to hang up when she heard him answer. "Hi Mulder. I was just calling to see if you missed me yet." He didn't answer. His silence told her something was very wrong. She twisted the phone cord around her fingers in apprehension. "Mulder? Is everything okay?" "Scully..." Silence. After a moment: "We're fine. Just tired." He sounded more than tired. He sounded exhausted. She knew he was lying but experience told her it wouldn't do any good to push. "I just wanted to ask you if Samantha had more pains tonight." Mulder's voice seemed to be drifting further away. She wondered if there was something wrong with her phone. "Yeah. It was pretty bad but she wouldn't let me take her to the hospital." "Well you might have to take her. I've been doing some thinking; her pain could be caused by a bowel obstruction. According to her chart she wasn't suffering from constipation, but I'm going to call Dr. Shotton in the morning anyway. I don't think he checked for ulcers or blockage. It's a stretch, but it's worth a try." There was a long pause. "Thank you Scully. I...appreciate your help. I appreciate...everything...you've done for me." "Your welcome Mulder. Are you okay? Do you want me to come back out there?" "No!" he softened his tone a little. "I mean, there's no reason to. Do something nice for yourself, Scully. Enjoy your time away from me." "Mulder! You know--" He interrupted her. "I've got to go, Scully. I'll call you later." "Wait--" But she was already talking to the dial tone. *** Mulder threw his phone onto the floor. He didn't have the strength to pretend things were all right. He should have contacted a therapist. Hell, if Riley had his way he'd be going with Samantha. Which no longer seemed like such a bad idea. Maybe they could get a two for the price of one discount. Mulder rubbed his chin. But back to the main point: what was he going to do without Scully? How many cases had he and Scully solved? How many things had they witnessed that couldn't be explained? Sites that only drew them closer and spurred them toward that elusive whisper of truth? He saw himself standing on the precipice of his life. He stared down into an abyss darker than Cancer Man's soul. He knew if he left the X-Files, if he left Scully, that abyss would be his future. The X-Files had given him focus, a necessary outlet for his passion and energy. They were his small way of searching for answers, for bettering mankind, his barely significant attempt at justice. Now there was Samantha. Once Scully had called Samantha his holy grail. Mulder put his hands to his head. If he squeezed hard enough could he rid his mind of these traiterous thoughts? "I'm thirsty." She was in bed, the covers hiding her face. Mulder had pulled the chair over and was sitting beside her. The bedside lamp was on. His gun was safely in his holster and he fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair. He knew better than to hope for any more sleep tonight. "Do you want me to get you some water?" "I haven't had apple juice in so long..." She sounded plaintive again, childish. Why hadn't he thought ahead to prepare for this kind of situation? He had always assumed Samantha would come back...mentally unscathed. Like Scully. He clenched his jaw. He remembered that voice promising Sam would not be harmed. *This* was unharmed? If only he could remember what had really happened. The hypnotic regression tapes described something completely different from his dreams. But both versions told of Samantha's screams for help. And his failure to move in time to save her. His memory had helped him solve hundreds of cases, but now, when he needed it most, it failed him. "Please, Fox?" Mulder got to his feet. God he was tired. Three hours of sleep over the past two days was not going to cut it. But what had Samantha asked for so far? Mulder grimaced. He also owed Scully. He owed her his life. His trust. His friendship. His respect. He owed her more than he could possibly give. Mulder swallowed. A thousand doubts flapped through his head, their wings so loud he could barely think. He focused on Sam's request. She wanted apple juice. He had a pocketful of change. Finally, something tangible he could do for her. Something easy. "Stay in bed Sam. I'll get you some apple juice, okay?" He bent and brushed the top of her head with his lips. "Be back in a minute." He locked the door behind him and looked up and down the corridor. A sign posted to his left read: Vending Machines Second Floor. He followed the arrows and came upon a small room that housed four vending machines. Two held snacks pickin's> and two held drinks. Mulder stared at the square, colored buttons. Soda...soda...soda...soda...juice! Apple juice! He fed the required change into the machine and caught the chilled can. He started back to the room. His legs seemed to be made of rubber. He felt lethargic. Each step was an effort. Like he was walking underwater. he prayed. Maybe Scully was right. Maybe Samantha's pains were caused by a bowel obstruction. With any luck she'd be going back to see Shotton tomorrow and they could find out for certain. He smiled sadly. Even now, back at home, Scully was still trying to help him. He did not deserve her. He was on their floor now. He'd been gone five minutes, max. Maybe she'd be asleep. He was digging in his pocket for the key when he noticed one of the doors standing open. He moved faster, lethargy gone. he thought. He stopped in front of the open door. But it *was* their room. He could see the bed was empty. he told himself. But he checked the darkened bathroom anyway. Looked in the shower. Under the bed. In the closet. Behind the door. The can dropped on the floor with a dull *thud*. It rolled under the chair. He sprinted out the door, toward the lobby. He repeated the litany while he leapt down the steps three at a time. The lobby was deserted. No one sat behind the reception desk. The panic was rushing at him now, claws out. He couldn't breath. Mulder ran outside and screamed into the darkness. "Samantha! Samantha!" He ran to the street, searching wildly for any sign of movement. The moon was full and accusing. He dropped to his knees and vomited into the gutter. When he was done he wiped his face with his sleave. Desparate, he called her name again. No answer. He got down on his belly and peered under the handful of cars in the parking lot. Nothing. He staggered back inside the building. A teenage girl sat behind the desk now, chewing gum and leafing through a magazine. She glanced at him, did a double take when she saw his face. "My name is Fox Mulder. I'm staying in room 1013 with my sister. You didn't happen to see her come by here recently, did you? She's fairly tall, thin, with long dark hair." Curiosity furrowed the girl's brow. "A woman walked outside about five minutes ago." Mulder struggled not to punch a hole in the desk. "Do you know where she went?" "I saw a car drive by real slow...but I don't know if the ride was for her or somebody turning around. Nobody's checked in for the past hour." "You didn't happen to get a license plate did you?" She shook her head. Mulder went back to the room, tempted to call Scully. Mulder held the phone in his hand, debating. If only he knew what had happened! Had Samantha left of her own volition? Was she okay? Could she have gone back to the hosptial? Was she just wandering aimlessly in the cold, running from nameless memories? His stomach heaved and he ran to the bathroom but he had nothing left to throw up. His body shuddered through an eternity of dry heaves. When he was able to raise his head he rested it against the side of the toilet. Samantha had been locked in this room only a few hours earlier. He shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was 12 years old again. < had taken her away. His father's gun lay on the floor, unfired. A reminder of his failure. He was supposed to be watching her! He was supposed to take care of her. He *always* took care of her. Fox didn't know what to do. Call the police? Or get his parents from the neighbors'? Hot tears stung his eyes. What would his parents say? He could already see the look on his father's face. The disbelief, the fear. And the blame. He sank down in a corner of the living room. The board game they had been playing was on the floor. Fox stared at the blue and red pieces. In his mind he could still hear Samantha's screams. He covered his face with his hands and cried. He was still in the corner, paralyzed by fear, when his parents returned. He tried to tell them what happened, but he couldn't seem to stop crying. His father knelt down and slapped him across the face, a stunning blow. Fox gasped. He took a shuddering breath and told what little he knew in a halting voice. His mother was strangely quiet. She spent the night searching the house, retracing her son's earlier efforts. As if Samantha might actually be hiding in a cupboard or behind the winter coats. His father seemed to shrink and wither before his eyes. His lined face turned a sickly gray. He stared down at his son's shaking form. "Go to bed, Fox," he whispered, and walked off to his study, shoulders slumped. Fox pushed himself up from the wall and dragged himself upstairs. He felt as if he were dreaming. Any second he would wake up. Any second Samantha would come skipping through the door, laughing at the great joke she had pulled on her brother. Any second his parents would explain what had happened. Any second he would understand why neither of them seemed particulary surprised their daughter was gone. Stunned, broken-hearted, yes, but not surprised. Any second.>> Sitting in the mustard yellow bathroom at the NicePrice Hotel, Mulder could feel himself in that corner again. End Part 6/8 ======================= From: "Stephen J. Bryan" Subject: *new* Illaqueate by Shannon (PG) Parts 7&8 Date: 21 Jan 1997 05:15:30 GMT Disclaimer: The characters of Scully, Mulder, Skinner, CSM, et. al. belong to Chris Carter's wonderful imagination, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. I have used these wonderful people without permission and no infringement is intended. All other characters belong to me. Subliminal reads: Please don't sue me! Title: Illaqueate Author: Shannon (sjbryan@athenet.net) Rating: Probably PG Classification: X-File (if you turn your head just right and squint you *might* see a plot) Also: Barrels o' Mulderangst! Summary: An investigation in Crystal Falls, Wisconsin leads Mulder to his sister. But their reunion does not go as he expected...can Scully help him before it's too late? Part 7/8 *** She saw the car circle the lot. She almost lost her nerve, but several deep, calming breaths helped steady her. She slid through the glass doors and crouched beside a mini-van. The car began another circle. She didn't have to look to know who was driving. She crawled between the parked cars. By the time the driver saw her, she was across the street. She ran for the safety of the nearest backyard. A dozen pains coursed through her body. By now Fox knew she was gone. She tried to imagine his reaction, but couldn't. Another burst of pain pushed him out of her mind. She kept running. *** A soft knock roused Margaret Scully from sleep. She rolled over in bed and peered at the clock, still groggy. "Mom?" Dana's hushed voice filtered through the door. Margaret threw back the quilt, wrapped her robe around her, and padded to the front door. She unlocked the door and held out her arms to her daughter. She did not question the late hour of Dana's visit. She knew her daughter had a good reason to be here. The nagging sense of dread she had felt for the past few days told her a change was coming as surely as the ache in her knee warned her of cold weather. Maragaret was just glad for the opportunity to put her arms around her beautiful girl. "Hi honey. Come in. Can I get you some coffee? Hot chocolate? Are you hungry?" Dana offered her mother a weak smile. "No thanks, Mom." She walked into the living room and dropped onto the couch, still wearing her coat. Margaret came and sat beside her daughter. After a moment she put her hand on Dana's arm. "What's wrong?" Scully sighed. Margaret's hand tightened on Scully. "Are you...feeling all right?" Ever since Dana had told her about the implant and the women at MUFON she was worried about her health. Dana shook her head. "No...I'm fine, Mom. It's..." She looked up and met her mother's clear blue gaze. Her voice shook and she struggled to keep it under control. "It's Mulder. It looks like he found...Samantha." Margaret opened her mouth in shock. She was aware that Fox had been searching for his missing sister for years. She knew that the X-Files whole existence was due in part to his long-standing quest. But her joy was short-lived when she realized that Dana did not share her happiness. "But Dana, that's *good* news!" Scully stared at the floor. "Yes it is..." "But?" She closed her eyes. "She seems to blame Mulder for...for not protecting her. For being abducted." Margaret swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat. Over the years she had come to know and love her daughter's partner. She knew Fox had saved her daughter's life on numerous occasions. More importantly, he had not given up when Dana was missing. "How is he?" she asked. Scully's lip trembled and she fought back tears. "Not very good. I know he's happy to have her back, but it's so different from what I thought it would be like. What *he* thought it would be like." "Can you tell me about it? How did you find her?" "We didn't find her! A few nights ago a naked woman was found screaming in a field in Crystal Falls, Wisconsin. Somone heard her and brought her to the hosptial. She was completely unresponsive, almost psychotic according to the police report and her chart. She wouldn't talk to anyone, just screamed or cried. About the only thing anyone could understand was the name she kept screaming." She looked at her mother. "She was screaming the word Fox'." Margaret nodded, encouraging her daughter to continue. "We were supposed to investigate how she got there. Some of the locals mentioned seeing bright lights in the area she appeared. Well you know Mulder. He trotted out his alien abduction theory, dusted it off, and away we went. Didn't get anywhere with it, but it doesn't seem to matter, because the woman in the hospital is Samantha." "Are you sure?" "Mulder is. I guess I am. If you could have seen her, Mom. She's...she's broken. She's got all these scars, the things she said..." Scully shut her eyes. She was suddenly thankful she couldn't remember much about her...absence. She took a deep breath and collected herself. "Her doctor showed me the test results. She shared several memories that were obviously true, and she was wearing a ring that Mulder gave her for her eighth birthday." "But where has she been all this time? How did she get to Wisconsin?" Scully got to her feet. "That's the big question, Mom. We don't know. She said she can't remember. There were three witnesses who saw the light that night. One is dead, one won't talk and the other doesn't know what he saw. So. As usual, no answers." "Where's Fox now?" "He wanted to stay in Crystal Falls for a few more days. Try to get to know Samantha a little better before bringing her to his mother's." She began pacing. "I was supposed to stay with them, but Skinner called me back here this morning to do an autopsy. I don't even know why! It was totally cut and dried, nothing out of the ordinary. It's like I was called back for the sole purpose of leaving Mulder when he needed me!" The impact of Scully's words hit her and she stared at her mother, open-mouthed. "Oh no!" she breathed. "What?" "Maybe that's it. Maybe they're jerking Skinner's chains again. They jerk him, he jerks me, and we all dance the tune." Margaret frowned, "Dana..." Scully sighed. "I know, I know. The longer I'm with Mulder, the more I sound like him. But God, Mom, I called him a while ago and he sounded terrible. This is supposed to be a *happy* occasion! He sounded so...so lost." She tried, but she couldn't keep the tears back this time. "He always takes things so personally. I can hear the pain in his voice and I can't do anything about it." Margaret Scully caught Dana's hand and gave it a little squeeze. "Sometimes all you can do is listen, honey. And you're good at that. Fox knows you care." Scully sighed. Of course she cared! But that wasn't enough. She wanted to help him! "Where do *you* think Samantha has been all this time?" "I don't know. I never expected to find her..." she lowered her voice, ashamed, "to find her alive. I think the same people who took me probably took her. Only they kept her a hell of a lot longer." Her eyes blazed. "And besides her physical torture, her captors abused her emotionally. They told her she's dying and Mulder believes her." "You don't?" "None of the tests gives evidence to her claim. No signs of cancer, tumors, nothing. But she still seems to have periods of intense pain." Scully's face twisted in concentration. "*Something* has got to be causing her pain, but I don't know what." She recalled Dr. Shotton's statement that it might to psycosamatic. She was not sure she agreed. At least not until she could ask him if he had checked Samantha for a bowel obstruction. Why hadn't she considered that possibility sooner? Scully lowered herself back onto the couch. "I guess what scares me the most is...now that Mulder's found her, will he still need me?" Margaret smiled. She remembered Fox's certainty in the face of her despair during Dana's absence. He had faith that Dana would be found. Even then she could see how much Fox cared for her daughter. She had a mother's faith in Fox Mulder. "Of course he will," she said. *** He hadn't taken his coat. The heater in the rental car did little to assuage the cold that crept up his arms and legs. The cold he felt was not caused by the weather. Mulder had driven past the police station and the hospital. He felt like he'd gone down every road in Crystal Falls at least twice, but he hadn't found a trace of her. He finally drove back to the hotel, defeated. He sat in the car, engine idling, and rested his head on the steering wheel. Where was she? Mulder raised his head. Maybe she had gone back to the field where Greg Vincent found her. Maybe she was trying to go back to..wherever she had been. Mulder's shoulders sagged. That was ludicrous. Beyond ludicrous. After what they had done to her? He had lost her. Again. He barely had the energy to shut the engine off and open the car door. He was so tired. He couldn't think. If only Scully were here... Mulder found himself in their hotel room. He had no memory of how he gotten there. He fell face-down on the bed. He was too tired to cry. Too tired to think. Mulder slept. *** "Hello. This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. My badge number is 2317-616. I'm investigating a case involving a woman who was admitted to St. Anne's this past Sunday. The patient's name was Samantha Mulder and her attending physician was Dr. Peter Shotton. May I speak with him please?" "I'm sorry Agent Scully, but that won't be possible." Scully bit back her annoyance. "May I ask why not?" The receptionist sighed. "Dr. Shotton left yesterday afternoon at 3:30 and hasn't been back since. There's a whole line of people who want to talk to him, Agent Scully. You'll have to take a number." "Well, is there someone who can get me Samantha Mulder's file? I'm also a medical doctor and need to check something about her treatment." "Can you hold, please?" Scully had little choice. She was listening to a tinny rendition of "Yesterday" before she had a chance to reply. She drummed her fingers against her desk impatiently. "Agent Scully? I'm sorry, but there's no record of a Samantha Mulder having been here. When did you say she was admitted?" Scully's heart quickened. "She was admitted Sunday, January 23, shortly before midnight." "Hmm. Sorry. No one hear by that name." "What about a Jane Doe for that same night?" "Let's see...Nope. We've got a John Doe, a drunk suffering from hypothermia. That's it." Scully scrambled for her notebook. She flipped pages with stiff fingers, searching for a name. "Okay...may I talk to Nurse Stevens?" "Nurse who?" Scully raised her voice. "Carol Stevens! Is she available?" But she was afraid she already knew the answer. The receptionist was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure what's going on, Agent Scully, but there is no one by that name who works in this hospital." Scully closed her eyes. "Okay. Can you give me Dr. Shotton's home telephone number? It's imperative I get in touch with him." "I'm sorry, but we normally don't give out that information, Agent Scully." Scully's eyes narrowed. Time for scare tactics. "You wouldn't want to be responsible for impeding a federal investigation, would you?" A brief moment of silence. Scully could almost see the young woman's eyes bulge. "His number is 555-1127." Scully doubted anything would come of the number but she thanked the woman anyway and hung up. She took a deep breath and punched in the correct area code and Shotton's number. It rang four times before she heard a recorded message: "We're sorry...but the number you are calling...555-1127...has been disconnected." She stared at the wall. Dread surged through her stomach. She no longer doubted Cancer Man had been in the hallway yesterday. The implications were enormous. Was the entire investigation a fraud? Some kind of elaborate hoax? The test results...the X-rays...had everything had been faked. Scully clutched the edge of the desk. The nurse had been an imposter...Shotton was probably a fraud as well... What did that make Samantha Mulder? Or rather: who? She reached for the phone a third time. She had to warn Mulder. She hesitated. Warn him of *what*? She had no proof. He already believed the woman was his sister. Maybe Shotton and Stevens were merely Cancer Man's minions sent to spy on Samantha. Scully's eyes strayed to her briefcase. She dug through one of her desk drawers, looking for a spare pair of evidence gloves. She pulled one on and gingerly picked up the case. Maybe she could find some answers after all. * * * Muted sunlight streamed through a gap in the purple drapes. Mulder watched a million specks of dust float above the heating vent. She was gone. He found it difficult to move. Gritting his teeth, he slid off the bed. He had to call Scully and tell her what happened. He could amost see her reproachful gaze, feel the quiet blame right through the phone. But there was no answer at her apartment. He tried the office. Not there. Finally, he tried her cell phone. No answer. He debated whether he should leave a message on her machine. Not yet. He'd try again later. He stopped in the bathroom briefly and made a half-hearted attempt to make himself look human. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot. His stubbled face was gray with fatigue. It didn't really matter. The woman he was going to see looked even worse. *** Sara Vincent did not answer his knock. Mulder tried the door and found he wasn't really surprised to find it unlocked. "Mrs. Vincent? Are you--" the words died in his throat when he stepped into the living room. The place was in shambles. Drawers were opened or overturned. Furniture was broken. His heart clenched in his chest. "Mrs. Vincent? Sara?" He ran upstairs. Her bedroom was also disheveled. Standing next to the unmade bed he surveyed the room. The closet door stood open. Clothes were strewn on the floor. Clothing hung out of several dresser drawers. It didn't look like someone trashed the place as much as it looked like someone had left in a hurry. A huge hurry. He went to the nursery and his suspicions were confirmed. More drawers pulled open. The closet light was still on. Mulder went back downstairs. The wind-up swing that had stood in the corner the day before was gone. He knew he should feel frustrated, or even angry at Sara's departure, but he didn't. He felt empty. Hollowed out. That left him only one choice: Billy Preston. *** Jeannie Hollander looked up when Scully entered the room. The blond technician smiled. "You're in luck. A little tricky, but we found one full and one partial print." Scully nodded. She had no time for small talk. "Show me," she said. Jeannie hit the tab key on her computer and a new screen appeared. Scully stared at the image. She had to read the name and statistics several times before they sunk in. She bit back the urge to scream. Instead she gave Jeannie a brief nod. "Can I get a print out of that?" "Yeah. One second." Jeannie pressed another key and the printer started buzzing across the room. Jeannie walked over and tore off the sheet. "Here you go, Agent Scully." Scully managed a tight smile. "Thanks very much. If there's anything I can ever do...just let me know." Jeannie watched the special agent hurry down the hallway. She couldn't help laughing. What could the X-Files possibly do for her? *** Skinner chewed on the inside of his cheek. When he finished reading the sheet on his desk he removed his glasses and sighed. He rubbed the bridge of nose. "Have you told him of your suspicions?" he asked. "I haven't been able to reach him, sir. I suspect his cell phone is either turned off, or he doesn't have it with him." She was afraid to admit what else she was thinking: maybe he *can't* answer. Skinner was silent for an interminable length of time. When henally spoke his voice was granite. "Then I suggest you *find* a way of getting this information to him, Agent Scully." "Yes sir." Her flight was leaving in 45 minutes. Skinner stared at his copy of the print out a few more minutes after the agent left his office. He cursed under his breath, crumpled the page and through it against the far wall. He had told Scully from the beginning this case smelled bad. He just hadn't realized it smelled like...cigarette smoke. How long was this cat and mouse game going to go on? Until they forced Mulder out of the Bureau? Until they drove him crazy? Why not just kill him and get it over with? The answer he came up with made Skinner's stomach turn. He felt great respect for these two agents. And a strong sense of responsibility. Skinner looked at the clock. "Hurry up Scully," he whispered. End Part 7/8 ========================= Illaqueate by Shannon Disclaimer (See Introduction, Part 7/8) Part 8/8 *** Billy shook his head, disgusted. "They're going to kill you." She stood with her back to him, stuffing clothes into a duffle bag. She thought of the pain that ripped through her regularly. One of these times it was going to finish her. She hadn't lied to Fox about that at least. "I'm already dead." He swore. "Dammit...you shouldn't have left. Now the whole plan has gone to hell." He sighed, exasperated. "He'll come here, you know. I'm surprised you didn't leave a trail of bread crumbs." She shrugged, too tired to let his sarcasm bother her. "Then let's leave." She turned to him and held up the bag. "I'm ready." Billy stood his ground, his eyes inscrutible. "I have a job to finish." She nodded. She felt no sadness. She didn't love Billy and she knew he didn't love her. They had served a purpose for each other, and that was all. "Then *I'm* going." The pain shot through her abdomen and up to her chest. Her knees buckled and she leaned against the bed for support. Billy's voice turned gentle. "You can go back. Finish. They'll help you." She gave him a bitter smile eyes dark with suffering. "They'll help me right into the ground, Billy. I was a fool to get involved. Now I'm paying." "You'll die anyway." The pain had passed. She took an experimental breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. Thank God. She made her way carefully down the steps. She heard Billy's footsteps behind her. "I told you, before, Billy. I'm *already* dead." With what she had seen in her life, the things she had done, and her part in the events of the last week, it was just as well. She'd made it this far without being troubled by guilt. She wasn't about to let it catch up to her now. She would do what she always did: run. And wait for the pain to catch her. Billy watched her go out to the car. She walked slowly, as if she had swallowed glass and it ground her insides as she moved. She moved as if she were a hundred years old. He knew what he had to do of course, but the image of her in his arms, her hair across his face sparked faint regret. Oh well. Life goes on. He sighed. For him at least. *** Mulder drove down County Road NN. He kept his eyes on the road, trying very hard not to think about anything. The shrill cry of his cell phone nearly made him vear off the road. He considered letting it ring, but he still felt guilty about how he had treated Scully last night. She was worried about him. He could count the number of people who cared about him on one hand. He grabbed the phone. "Yeah." "Mulder!" Her voice betrayed a hundred emotions: anger, worry, relief. He closed his eyes briefly. "Hi Scully." "Mulder, listen to me!" she sounded urgent. "Just hear me through, okay?" she paused. "Are you alone? Is...Samantha there?" He opened his mouth, a lie poised on the tip of his tongue. He should never have left her alone...Scully had told him a million times that he didn't think before he acted. He shouldn't have listened to Roche. He shouldn't have stayed in the pharmacy that day, leaving Scully to walk right into Jerry Schnauze's trap. He should have gotten to Ephesian's compound sooner. He could still hear Scully's voice telling him: Mulder, you are not responsible for 50 lives. You are only responsible for yourself. But he should have *known*. He should have known Samantha was too fragile to leave by herself. He heard Scully's voice. In his ear. Calling his name. Mulder blinked and pulled over to the side of the road. He had nearly crossed the center line. "--are you there? Mulder? Mulder!" The words caught in his throat. It took his last ounce of self control to drag them up and spit them out. "I'm...I'm alone Scully. Samantha's gone. I...I lost her. Again." Not even Scully, *his* Scully, would stand up for him now. He could see the shock and disgust in her eyes right through the phone. He waited for her condemnation. "God, Mulder! It's not her! That woman is not Samantha! Listen to me: Dr. Shotton left the hospital yesterday afternoon and never came back. His phone number has been disconnected. I did some research. Peter Shotton's medical license was revoked in 1980 after several malpractice suits were leveled at him. Peter Shotton *died* from a heart attack in 1982, Mulder. "The nurse we spoke to? Carol Stevens? St. Anne's has no record of her as being on staff. They have *no* records for Samantha Mulder or a Jane Doe the night she was brought in. Do you hear me, Mulder?" "Yes." The word was little more than a whisper. "When I was on the plane, flying back to D.C. I realized that someone had looked through my briefcase. The only place I set it down was in your room. The only person who was alone with it was your sister. Correction: the woman who *pretended* to be your sister." Mulder shook his head. "No, Scully. She knows too much. Not just memories from that night, memories from--from birthdays! Trips we took! The beach house! The ring..." She *was* his sister. "Mulder, there are ways of finding out that information...you've told me that Cancer Man said Samantha was still alive. They could get information from her." He stared at the phone as if it had just come alive in his hand. "They could have searched your old house and found a diary...or letters...anything. You saw the pictures of Cancer Man with your mother. How do you know he hasn't been at the other houses?" Mulder shut down that train of thought. That wasn't something he could bear to consider right now. "Please, Mulder. Listen. I had the briefcase checked for fingerprints. We found two prints and ran them through the database." He rested his head on the steering wheel, afraid to hear Scully's next words. "We found a match." She paused briefly. "A 29 year old woman named Bonnie Davis. The picture is a little old, but I'm sure it's her. She grew up bouncing between foster homes, did some time for prostitution and drug possession. I found out that at least two of her ex-boyfriends beat her badly enough to land her in the hospital. "There were no tests, Mulder. No probes, no implants. Every X-ray and test result I saw came directly from Shotton. They're worthless. Some one has gone to a lot of trouble to make you--us--believe that that woman is your sister." Mulder closed his eyes. God, no. More lies. Lies upon lies upon lies. It never stopped. He found himself wishing that the men who had erased his memory at Ellens Air Force base had just blanked out everything and been done with it. He pictured Samantha--Bonnie?--on the floor of the hotel room, gasping in pain. Had it all been an act? He could see himself, head pressed against the bathroom door begging her not to pull the trigger. An *act*? Not again...more false hope. More roads that led nowhere. "Mulder? Are you there?" He found his voice. "Yes." The word sounded odd in his ears. "Just a minute Scully...I'll call you right back." "What? No--" He hung up. Got out of the car. His eyes burned. His head ached. So. If he was to believe Scully, he had not just spent the past two days with his sister. He'd been treading guilt for the past two days over some junkie/hooker. *If* he believed Scully. <...that they were manipulating me... <...like a damn piece of clay! And I played right into their hands!> The stress of the past few days, make that months, burst out of him. The guilt, the fear, the anger at himself, his father, at Samantha for not being who he wanted her to be. The thought that some stranger--an imposter, a *liar*--had made him actually consider leaving the X-Files and Scully, his partner, his best friend, the one good, true thing in his life made him want to scream. So he did. He pounded out his rage and betrayal on the hood of the Ford Taurus until his hand screamed in unison with his heart. How *dare* they try to get rid of him! How *dare* they threaten his partnership with Scully! He pounded again. And Again. Until he was screaming over his fist and not the lies. *** "Scully?" "Dammit Mulder! If you hang up on me one more time I'm going to hit you upside the head with that cell phone. Do you hear me? What were you doing?" He didn't think it was wise to tell her he may have broken his hand. "I had to...to think about what you said." His voice was noticeably hoarse. "Tell me Scully, do you honestly believe that the woman from the hospital is really Bonnie Davis?" There was no hesitation. "I do, Mulder. When I show you the print-out, you'll see for yourself. And at the rate I'm going, I should be there in about ten minutes." "Be where?" "At the hotel." "What? Are you in Crystal Falls, Scully?" "When I couldn't get in touch with you all last night I got worried...and when I found out about Bonnie...I just thought it would be best if I came back. I even have Skinner's blessing." Mulder closed his eyes, fighting tears. He heard the subliminals in Scully's message loud and clear: she thought he needed her. She was right. "Thank you." The words were a whisper. "But I'm not at the hotel. I'm on my way to Preston's." "Why?" "Originally I was trying to find out where Samantha was...but I found out Sara Vincent cleared out sometime last night. I wanted to ask him if he knows anything. It would be nice to go home with *one* question answered." He started the car, checked the rearview, and pulled out onto the road. His hand throbbed, but he was able to grip the steering wheel. Probably just a sprain. If that. "Do you want me to meet you there?" "I don't know how long I'll be, he might not even be home." Billy Preston's small white house came into view. He could see Preston putting a bag into the silver Dodge Airies parked in the driveway. Wait--it wasn't Preston, it was-- "Scully! She's here. Now I *will* get some answers. I'm going to get the truth, Scully," he told her grimly. "Be careful, Mulder. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?" "Hurry, Scully." He hung up. *** Bonnie heard the car pull into the driveway. Without looking up, she knew it was him. She leaned against the Dodge and waited. She wasn't scared. Only a little tired. A car door slammed and the gravel crunched beneath his feet. She wondered if Preston knew he was here. She looked up. Fox Mulder stood in front of her. He looked terrible. A soft whisper of guilt told her it was her fault the FBI agent looked like he hadn't slept in a month, but she ignored the voice. She had parted ways with her concsience a long time ago. "Hello Bonnie," he said. His voice was controlled, but his eyes were bright with fury. She could almost see the sparks. She smiled. "So the game's up already? How did you find out?" Mulder ignored her question and levied his own. "Why?" he demanded. Bonnie considered telling him the truth. She settled for something slightly less than the truth but more than a lie. "The plan was to direct your attention away from the X-Files." "Who hired you?" "I don't know their names. Billy was the one who gave me instructions." Her eyes narrowed. "And Shotton." "Where is Shotton?" Bonnie's eyes flickered. Mulder detected a hint of surprise. "What do you mean?" "You expect me to believe you didn't know he left town?" Bonnie threw back her head and laughed. Mulder stared at her. After a few seconds she composed herself and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I should have known," she said. "I'm just a supporting actress at heart, and they gave me the starring role." She shook her head. "I should have known," she repeated. "Known what?" Bonnie turned on him. "Do you think I *wanted* to do this? It wasn't my idea, believe me. Once I got involved with Billy..." she shrugged. "He was very convincing. Besides, I made the mistake of wanting more money. I mean, if they wanted an Oscar winning performance, I should be paid for one." Her anger ebbed. "I just didn't realize they were going to pay me with a needle," she said quietly. "What do you mean?" Bonnie closed her eyes. "Shotton gave me an injection of something. When I did my job and lured you away from your precious basement I was supposed to get another injection. An antedote." Fox was nonplussed. "Antedote for what?" "That's the $64,000 question, isn't it?" Bonnie stared off in the distance, at some fixed point beyond Mulder's shoulder. "It doesn't really matter. I'm not stupid. I haven't been to college but I still know two plus two is four. I'm not getting the antedote. Hell, there probably isn't one. I'm just a bonus. You were supposed to crawl after Samantha, I would have died, and the men in black would be watching from the wings." "So...you *are* sick?" "For being an FBI agent, you're a little slow on the uptake, Agent Mulder." Mulder's face turned an ugly shade and he put a hand on his gun. "Don't even start," he hissed. "I've had it up to here with you--" he jabbed at the air above his head--" and my patience is long gone." Bonnie's eyes flicked to his gun. "Go ahead," she said. "They killed me the day I told them yes." She closed her eyes. "My body just hasn't caught up yet." Mulder managed to push his anger back. "How did you know those things about me? About my sister?" Bonnie cast a quick glance toward the house. She was wasting too much time. "Your sister *is* alive. I just have the unfortunate luck not to be her." "Those things that you said..." he used the anger to keep his voice steady, "the scars..." Bonnie smiled. "That was in the script, Fox. My broken bones came from human monsters, not aliens." Mulder glared. "Don't call me Fox." He ran a hand threw his hair. "What happened Sunday night? What was the light?" "I don't know. I *do* know some kind of reconaissance team checked out that field before you and Scully got here. I heard Billy talking about it." Mulder thought back to the muddy tracks. "What happened to Greg Vincent after he brought you to the hospital?" Bonnie frowned. "He didn't take me to the hospital. Jane brought me in after...after..." she paused. "Look, I have to leave. Either I'm going to get a bullet in the brain or I'm going to pass out right here. My time is limited. If you want to ask questions, get in the car." "What about Preston? I came to ask him about Sara Vincent." "He won't tell you anything, Mulder. You have a choice. My answers or none at all." Mulder rubbed his head. His head ached. His hand hurt. He didn't trust this woman as far as he could throw her. But he didn't see much choice. Maybe he could call Scully and she could meet them at-- Bonnie made a choking noise and her body jerked backwards. Mulder stared at the small circle of blood that blossomed on her chest. "No!" He grabbed Bonnie and eased her to the ground. He hadn't heard any noise. Preston must have a silencer. He crawled along the length of the car and carefully peered out past the front tire. The dirt jumped a few inches from his nose. He scrambled backwards. Breathing hard, he checked Bonnie's pulse. Still there, but thready. What if Scully showed up without realizing what was going on? What if *she* was shot? Mulder chose not to think about that. His ears, heightened by adrenline, heard the faint creak of the screen door. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he took a deep breath and crawled forward again. If Preston was on or near the porch, maybe he could squeeze off a shot. "Drop it." The voice came from behind him. Mulder stared down at the dirt and gravel, desparately trying to think of a way out. He heard the gunshot this time. A soft *zipp* that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He waited for the impact, then the numbness, but there was nothing. Then he realized the bullet had been for Bonnie. Slowly Mulder pushed himself to his feet. "I *said* drop the gun." Mulder gently lowered the Smith and Wesson to the ground. He started to turn but Preston's voice stopped him. "Stay where you are. My orders were to kill her, not you. But that presents a problem seeing how Bonnie's mouth tends to run off at times. I'm not supposed to kill you...but they didn't say anything about a nice, long-term vegetative state. Do you have a living will, Agent Mulder?" Mulder could hear the smile in the man's voice. "Who are *they*?" "Come on, Mr. Mulder. You're smarter than that." Mulder felt cool metal press against the back of his head. Preston prodded him forward. Mulder fought the nausea that coiled in his stomach. He closed his eyes. There were so many regrets. Samantha was still out there somewhere, beyond his reach. And Scully...if only he could have told her goodbye. The shot rang out. Mulder blinked. He turned to see Preston drop to his knees and tumble sideways into the snow. Scully stood several yards away, her gun still aimed where Preston had been standing. They stared at each other, eyes wide. Mulder had intended to run to her but his body didn't seem to be responding. He slid to the ground, his back against the car and covered his face with his good hand. Scully stepped past Bonnie's body and sat next to her partner. She put an arm around his shoulders. No words were needed. *** Scully studied her hazy reflection in the computer screen, trying to organize her thoughts. She began typing. Case File X-33915 Agent Mulder and I have determined the identity of the mysterious woman found in Sara and Greg Vincent's field to be that of Bonnie Davis, deceased. Although Sara Vincent alluded that her husband was murdered for something he witnessed on the night of January 23, there is no evidence to substantiate this theory, especially since Sara has left the area. When we interviwed the police, they stated nothing out of the ordinary occurred during Bonnie's admittance to the hospital. However, St. Anne's Hospital has no records of admittance or treatment for Samantha Mulder, Bonnie Davis, or Jane Doe. The EMTs who answered Sara Vincent's 911 call told us there was nothing suspicious at the scene of her husband's death. I reviewed the coronor's notes on Greg's autopsy and concur that his death was caused by suffocation (by hanging). The manner of death was suicide. It is my opinion that this entire case was prefabricated by person(s) unknown as an attempt force Agent Mulder out of the X-Files for an indefinite amount of time. Using misinformation and fabricated test results, person(s) unkown attempted to convince Agent Mulder and myself that Bonnie Davis was Samantha Mulder. Dr. Peter Shotton's real name and current whereabouts are unknown. Nurse Carol Stevens' real name and current whereabouts are unknown. When I performed Bonnie Davis's autopsy, I found that her internal organs seemed to be deteriorating due to some unknown agent. Her toxicological results came back negative, but I will double check the results myself. Whatever she was injected with caused a massive and unusually rapid auto-immune attack. If she had not been shot, she would have died from either kidney failure, breakdown of the intestine (Ileus), cardiac arrest, or a combination of theses in a matter of weeks (possibly days). I have sent her heart, lungs, pelvic organs, and abdominal organs to the lab for futher analysis. The condition of her body upon death was highly unusual and I believe she was telling Agent Mulder the truth. I have never seen such severe multiple organ breakdown during my medical training or forensic career. I cannot offer further explanation at this time. The man I shot in Billy Jay Preston's driveway remains unidentfied. His fingerprints are not on record. There was no identification among his belongings. The remains of the real Billy Preston were found inside a large garbage bag in the basement of his house. Although we do not know the identity of those responsible for this deceit against Agent Mulder, we will continue to search for answers. The X-Files remain open. *** The tall man lit another cigarette. He finished reading the report. Sighing, he touched the glowing tip of his cigarette to the paper until a thin tendril of orange flame curled up one edge. He dropped the burning page into a metal garbage can and returned his attention to the two-way mirror. "Excuse me, sir. She's asking to see you." The tall man nodded curtly at the messenger and reached for a stack of books on the table. She looked up when he entered the room. Her face was calm, but pale. Her long hair had been cut to shoulder length after her initial examination. She smiled wanly. "Did you bring the books?" He placed them on the sterile desktop. She moved to examine them. Her steps were awkward. Clumsy. "It's been so long since I've read something new." The video camera anchored to the ceiling followed her movement. He closed his eyes for a moment. What an utter waste of time the last week had been. He should have known better than to listen to his associates. They constantly underestimated the two FBI agents. If they weren't careful, Fox could topple them all some day. He took another drag on the cigarette while the woman paged through the heavy tome on modern art. They kept pressing him to kill the young agent, but he refused, unnerving them with words like "martyr". As long as he had a say, he wanted Bill's son alive. It had come too close this time. She had been dropped off early--the special forces unit hadn't arrived until *after* Greg Vincent found her in the field. The idiot had called the police and organized a nice little parade all the way to the hospital. The surveillance equipment told them where she was, and steps were taken to right the situation. But Greg Vincent had returned to check on her. He lit another cigarette with his silver lighter and smiled. What had Vincent thought when he saw a *different* woman lying in that hospital room? No one would ever know. "How are you feeling?" he finally asked her. She glanced up from her book. "Tired." He wasn't surprised. She was on a complex diet of drugs to regulate her sleep, her emotions...her memories. She bowed her head. "Can I see Fox soon?" she asked. He smiled. "Soon." The lie came easy. Samantha nodded and went back to her book. THE END! ======================= Is anybody still awake out there? If so, I'd *love* to get some feedback! Did you find it mildly entertaining? Did you yawn so much your jaw came unhinged? Did you print it off and make paper airplanes all night long? Please let me know! :-) Illaqueate=to trap or ensnare; deceive sjbryan@athenet.net