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By Patti Murphy, b1592@freenet2.carleton.ca
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I know the posting moratorium isn't offically over but...

I'm back from holidays and struggling with my next story and I really need
some encouragement/feedback, so I decided to post this one for people to read.


I REALLY, REALLY want your feedback on this story: the content, the style,
etc. so please e-mail me and let me know what you think.


NB:  This story takes place shortly after the events of "One
Breath" and looks at how all the stress and trauma could
finally take its toll on the unflappable Dana Scully.
It's less of an X-file than a character study.

All the usual disclaimers apply..the characters are borrowed,
Chris Carter, Ten thirteen productions, blah, blah, blah.

Happy reading.




                        The Only Way Out
                        *****************


	The afternoon sun made the surface of the lake sparkle brilliantly
and Dana had to shade her eyes against the brightness of it.  She could
see three children, two boys and a girl, playing at the water's edge and
she scanned the shore for their parents once again, but the lake was
deserted.  Squeals and shouts echoed around the lake as the children
chased each other and played.  Dana smiled at the sound of their
laughter.

	She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, basking in 
the soothing rays.  She was tired.  She'd been working hard lately.  Maybe
too hard, but she would only grudginly admit that to herself and certainly
not to anybody else.  It had been a good idea to take a few days off --
even Mulder had encouraged her to take some time.  It seemed strange coming
to the lake without her Dad though.

	Loud splashed and peals of laughter from the children.

	She missed her Dad.  She still picked up the phone to call him,
sometimes, and the realization that he wasn't there any more would hit
her like a slap.  They had sat together on this very spot, looking up at
the stars, learning the constellations, listening to the sleeping lake. 
Dana remembered the familiar feel of her father's arm around her.

	Suddenly, frantic screams jolted her out of her reverie.

	Startled, she looked over at the spot where the children had been
playing.  Empty beach.  She scrambled to her feet and scanned the area,
squinting against the sunlight.  Out beyond the end of the dock, she was
bobbing heads and furious splashing.

	"Lady!  Help!" a frantic little voice wailed.

	Dana was already sprinting down the hill to the beach.  She willed
herself to move faster, tried to push herself more, but the sand slowed
her down.  The beach seemed endless and with each stride she felt like she
was losing speed.  Finally she reached the dock and ran full out to the
end, pausing long enough to determine that there were only two heads
visible above the water before she dove into the lake.

	The water was cold but she didn't notice.  It was the silence that
startled her.  She could see everything with an eerie clarity:  the rays
of light shimmering down through the water, the two boys up near the
surface, their legs kicking in slow motion and the little girl, suspended,
motionless ahead of her.

	Dana fought her way through the water, her limbs heavy and
awkward.  It felt like there was a current pushing her away from the limp
form.  She kicked furiously, trying to reach her, stretched out her arms,
straining to move forward, her heart beating harder and harder against her
ribs.  Gradually she became aware of something pulling her deeper into the
lake.  The streaks of sunlight were growing dimmer and the surface was
slowly moving away.  She twisted and kicked, struggling to free herself. 
Her lungs were burning now, and her whole body screamed for her to breathe.

	Dana sat up abruptly, gasping for air.  It was dark and she felt
dizzy with sleep and disorientation.  Her heart pounded loudly in her ears.

	She lunged at the lamp on the bedside table, knocking the alarm
clock onto the floor before she was able to turn on the light.  She looked
around her bedroom, expecting to see the lifeless body of the little girl 
She was alone.

	Dana sank back into the pillows, breathing hard.

                               
FBI Headquarters
Novermber 21, 1994
8:15 a.m.

	Mulder was already at his desk, jacket off and sleeves rolled up,
poring over some papers when Dana arrived.
	"Morning," she said, as she entered.
	Mulder did not lift his eyes from the report he was reading.  "Hey,
Scully, have you ever heard of Treadway, North Carolina?"
	"No.  Should I have?"
	"How about the Church of the Glorious Ascension?"
	"Afraid not," she said, putting her briefcase on her desk.  "Mulder,
are you going to tell me what we're talking about?"
	Mulder took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair.  "This
just came in this morning.  A 20 year old woman, from Raleigh, North
Carolina was reported missing by her mother, six days ago.  It's hard to
say how long she's really been gone, though."
	"Why is that?"
	"The woman, Rachel Jameson, had been living for the past couple of
months on a farm belonging to a group calling themselves the Church of the
Glorious Ascension.  The farm is outside of Treadway, population 500 souls
and a few good hunting dogs.  It seems her mother had been trying to
contact her for three weeks before she reported her missing.  The good
church people gave her the run-around until she showed up on their
doorstep with the county sheriff, whereupon they informed the police that
Rachel was gone."
	"It sounds suspicious Mulder, but it doesn't sound like an X-file."
	"Oooh, but wait!  Here's the good part.  During questioning by the
local authorities, one of the church members admitted that he knew what
had happened to Rachel."
	"Let me guess.  She was abducted by a UFO," Scully said.
	Mulder grinned.  "You sound sceptical, Scully."
	She leaned against her desk, arms crossed.
	He continued, undaunted.  "Both NICAP and the Center for UFO
Studies in Illinois have recorded an unusually high number of sightings
over the western part of North Carolina in the last three weeks."
	"Mulder, you don't honestly believe..."
	"I won't know what to believe until we check it out for
ourselves," he said.
	She looked at him sitting there, a hint of a smile on his lips,
waiting for her verdict.
	"All right," she sighed.  "I guess it wouldn't hurt to check it out."
	Mulder was already dialling the phone.  "You go pack, I'll get us
a flight."



Treadwy, North Carolina
County Sheriff's Office
4.30 p.m.

	Mulder and Scully waited in the tiny cluttered office of Sheriff
James J.  Toler.  A very young deputy had shown them to the room and told
them that the sheriff would be along shortly.  Mulder read the various
plaques and certificates that adorned the wall and shelled sunflower seeds.
	"Popular guy," he said to Scully.
	Fifteen minutes passed before a huge man with a greying brush cut
lumbered through the door.
	"I'm sorry to keep y'all waiting," he said as he entered the room.
"My deputy says you're with the FBI."
	Mulder flashed his badge.  "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder and this
is Special Agent Dana Scully."
	Toler pumped Mulder's hand, then Dana's.
	"It's a pleasure to meet you son, ma'am," he said.  "Can I get
y'all some coffee?  It's not very good, but it is free."
	Scully shook her head.  Mulder said "No, thanks, we're fine."
	Toler settled his large frame into the tiny desk chair, the
buttons on his uniform shirt straining a bit at the belly as he sat.
	"What can I do for y'all, today?"
	"We wanted to ask some questions about the Rachel Jameson case,"
Mulder said, getting out his note pad.
	"I don't know as I'd go calling it a case, son," Toler replied.
	"Why is that?" Mulder asked.
	"It's not too hard to figure out what's happened," he said.  "The
girl took up with those church people out on that farm and then decided
she didn't was any more to do with them, so she up and left."
	"But the missing person report says that her mother hasn't been
able to contact her for almost four week," Scully said.  "She has no idea
where Rachel is."
	"Does that report there tell you that this young girl ran away
from home three times when she was a teenager and that she has a history
of drug use?  I don't think she's missing, ma'am, I think it might just be
that Rachel doesn't want to talk to her mam just now and as far as I know,
that is not a crime in the state of North Carolina."
	Scully's annoyance was evident.
	"What can you tell us about the Church of the Glorious Ascension?"
Mulder asked quickly, before his partner could speak.
	"Well, they're a little strange but mostly they keep to
themselves.  They come into town fairly regularly, buy themselves some
supplies and then go back to their farm.  They're a pretty harmless bunch
of nuts.  A litle too religious for my tastes, you understand, but it's a
free country."
	"I understand that you accompanied Mrs. Jameson out to their farm
when she was looking for Rachel," Mulder said.
	"That's right.  She was pretty upset when she got here and I
thought it was best that I go along and help smooth things over a bit, you
know.  Kep everybody from getting hot under the collar."
	"Was there any problem?" Scully asked.
	"No, ma'am, the church people were very friendly and helpful. 
Even offered to help us search around the woods near the farm."
	"Your report doesn't mention that you conducted a search," Dana said.
	"That's because there was no need," he replied.
	"So your conclusion is that Rachel just decided that it was time
to mvoe on," Scully said.  "And that's it?  That's all you're going to do?"
	Toler gave her a pinched smile.  "Probably not as exciting as most
of your FBI investigation, ma'am, but y'all have to understand, this here
is Treadway, not Washington, D.C.."
	"What did the church people say happened to Rachel?" Mulder asked.
	"Well, Rev. Hillier, who is their pastor, he said that Rachel had
decided that she wasn't interested in being part of their community
anymore and that she had made her mind up to go do some travelling.  He
drove her into Treadway so that she could hitch a ride and that's pretty
much the last anybody heard of her."
	"What about the claim that Rachel was abducted by a UFO?" Mulder
asked. 
	Toler chuckled.  "Oh, that was that Lawrence fellow up at the farm
that said that.  I don't know why my deputy even wrote that down.  The
poor kid is a retard of some sort, you understand.  Can't believe a thing
he says."
	"I take it you don't believe in UFO's, Sheriff," Mulder said.
	The sheriff shook his head, still chuckling.  "My mama didn't
raise no fools, son.  Personally, I think it's all a load of hog shit...
pardon the expresion, ma'am."
	"What exactly did he say?" Mulder asked.
	"Oh, some damn thing about a space ship and bright lights and all.
 It's all tied up with this here ascension thing of theirs, you see. 
Moving up to heaven or something."  He shook his head again. "Craziness."
	"Sheriff, UFO's aside, you still have a missing person," Scully said.
	"Yes, ma'am, I am aware of that.  But outside of circulating a
picture of Miss Jameson around the state, I'm not sure what else I can do
about that."
	"Her mother thinks that something happened to her at that farm,"
Scully said.
	"Well, her mother can believe whatever she wants, ma'am, but until
there is evidence that a crime has been committed, there is nothing for me
to do."  He got to his feet to indicate that the meeting was over.
	"Now is there anything else I can do for y'all today?"


	Mulder had to jog to keep up with Scully as they crossed the
sleepy Main street of the little town.  She hadn't said a word since they
had walked out of Toler's cramped office, but Mulder could tell from her
stride and her expression that she was angry. 
	"I'm glad that you two hit it off," he said to her when they
reached their rental car.
	"That man didn't bother to investigate this girl's disappearance
at all, Mulder," she said.  "He didn't even search the woods around the farm."
	"All right.  Then we'll do a bit of poking around," he said,
starting the engine.  "First thing tomorrow, we'll pay a little visit to
the Rev. Hillier and the good church people."
	"Why not now?" Scully asked.
	"The deputy told me that it's over an hour's drive to the farm,
mostly on unmarked gravel roads and it's almost dark now.  I think we
should check in someplace and head out there in the morning.  Besides, he
also told me that there's line dancing at the Hopalong Roadhouse on Monday
nights.  Wouldn't want to miss that."
	Scully rolled her eyes and sighed.


Sleep E-Z Motel
Treadway, North Carolina
November 22
1.22 a.m.

	Dana watched the glowing numbers change on the digital clock
beside the bed and tried to remember the last time she'd had a good
night's sleep.  Between the insomnia and the nightmares, she woke up every
morning feeling more exhausted then when she had laid her head on the
pillow.  For weeks now, she had been dragging herself through each day,
numb with exhaustion and haunted by images from her dreams.  She's tried
to shrug it off, to just forget about the whole thing, but then she would
find herself at her desk, or in an elevator, staring into space, reliving
the run across the beach and the plunge into the water.

	Maybe she should have taken some time off, but she had been so
anxious to get back to work after she'd been released from the hospital. 
She had hoped that somehow the demands of work would help her put it all
behind her.  Get right back up on the horse, her father would have said. 
Don't give in to your fears or they will rule you.  Be strong.  You can do
it, Starbuck.

	Dana was thankful that her father had been spared the ordeal of
her disappearance.  It had been hard for her mother, though.  Dana could
see the weariness and fear that still clouded her mother's eys when she
didn't think anyone was watching.  Seventy four days of waiting for the
phone to ring, but dreading the news that might come, seventy four days of
worrying and praying, not knowing whether her daughter was alive or dead.

	Seventy four days.

	The image of Duane Barry flashed through her mind and she felt her
stomach knot.

	He's dead, Dana, she thought, trying to calm the panic swelling
within her.  He's dead and you're safe and everything is O.K. now.  You
can handle this.

	She lay there in the darkness for a long time, willing her body to
relax, listening to the faint sound of the television from Mulder's room
next door.

	She slid her hand under the pillow next to her and ran her hand
over the reassuring cold steel of her gun.  Then she rolled over and
pulled the blankets up to her chin.

	Be strong, Starbuck


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

County Road 26
40 miles west of Treadway
10:35 a.m.

	Scully yawned as she watched the landscape slide by the car
window.  The sky was a dreary grey that promised rain.  The highway they
had followed from Treadway had turned into a two lane road over an hour
ago and looked as if it would become a gravel road any minute.  There were
patches of woods on each side which gave way occasionally to rolling
fields.  The farm houses they passed were set a long way back from the
road and Dana tried to remember how long it had been since the last one.
	
	"Pretty isolated out here," she said.
	"Good place for a cult.  No neighbours to complain about the
chanting," Mulder said.
	Scully yawned again.
	"Did you sleep all right?" he asked.
	"Yes.  Why?"
	"You seem tired."
	"I'm fine," she replied, reaching for her briefcase.
	Mulder glanced over at her and watched her pull out a file folder.
 She began flipping through the contents while he shelled another
sunflower seed.
	"Were you able to find out anything about Rev.  Hillier?" he asked.
	"Well, for one thing, if he really is aminister, there's no bible
college or divinity school in this country that has ever heard of him,"
Scully replied.  "Unless he used one of those mail order places like you
see in the back of magazines."
	"Not in the magazines I read," Mulder said.
	"I've seen the magazines you read, Mulder.  They're mostly pictures."
	"Actually, I only buy them for the articles..."
	Scully was busy reading the next page.  "This is interesting...
William Robert Hillier, age 47, born in Los Angeles County.  According to
this, he's served time in a couple of state penitentiaries for cheque
fraud and for assaulting his wife."
	"Interesting C.V. for a minister," Mulder said as he slowed the car.

	Off to the right, a dirt lane left the main road and disappeared
into a thicket of pine trees.  A handpainted sign nailed to one of the
trees announced "Church of the Glorious Ascension.  NO Trespassing."
	Mulder eased the car into the lane and a few minutes later, they
emerged from the woods into a clearing.
	
	Directly ahead was a two storey stone farm house with a porch that
was in need of repair.  A huge barn loomed behind the house and off to one
side there was a cluster of old trailers.  Judging by the mix of colours
on some of the trailers, someone had tried to paint over the rust areas,
but the rust was steadily reclaiming its territory.  A feeling of decay
hung in the air like a mist.

	Mulder pulled the car up beside a weary looking pickup truck and a
late model van.  As he got out of the car, henoticed a rectangular patch
of grass beside the truck, that was shorter than the surrounding grass and
was spoted with oil marks.  He bent down to examine it.
	Several children were chasing each other in the long grass in
front of the house.  They stopped and looked at the car when Mulder and
Scully got out.

	"Hi," Scully said, as she started towards them.
	The children watched her with wide eyes.
	"We're looking for Rev. Hillier,' she said.  "Is he here?"
	The tallest of the children, a girl no more than eight or nine
herself, suddenly stepped in front of the younger children, shielding them
with her body.  She glared at Dana.
	Scully stopped.  The little girl was painfully thin and had a
dirty face.  She tried to look bold, daring Dana to step closer.
	"You're not taking them away," the little girl said fiercely.  "I
won't let you."  Behind her, three sets of frightened eyes watched.
	Scully was speechless.  She looked back at Mulder, for help.  He
was still standing by the car, examining the ground.

	"We're no here to take anybody away," she said.  "My name is Dana
and that's Mulder.  We're here to talk to Rev.  Hillier about Rachel Jameson.
Her mother doesn't know where she is and she's worried about her.  We're
trying to find her."
	The little girl held her ground.  "So, you're not from the welfare
office?"
	Scully shook her head.  "Nope.  We're from the FBI.  I could show
you my badge to prove it."
	The girl edged closer as Scully pulled out her identification. 
She looked at the picture, then at Scully.  The three smaller children
silently crowded around, craning to get a look.  Scully noticed that
despite the chill, none of them wore shoes.  Apparently satisfied with the
explanation, the girl relaxed slightly.
	"So how come Rachel's mama doesn't know where she is?" she asked.
	"Nobody seems to know what happened to Rachel after she left here.
 That's why we need to talk to Rev.  Hillier."
	The little girl thought for a moment.  "Rachel was real nice to
us," she said finally.
	"Was she?"
	"Yup.  She played with us and told us stories and treated us real
good."  There was a silent chorus of nods from the smaller children.
	"You must have been sad when she decided to leave."
	There was a flicker of hesitation in the girl's eyes, but Dana saw it.
	"What's your name?" Scully asked.
	"Alicia."
	"That's a pretty name."
	
	The front door of the farm house swung open and a man stepped out
onto the rickety porch.
	"You kids go on now!" he hollered as he descended the steps.  "Go
on!  Get!"
	The three little ones were out of sight before he reached the
bottom stair.  Alicia took a few steps, then turned and looked at Scully
again, studying her.
	"Go on Alicia!  You heard what I said!" the man shouted.
	She turned and ran off after the others.
	The man was thin, but muscular with dark hair and dark eyes.  He
wore a flannel shirt, jeans and work boots.  He hadn't shaved and years of
frowning had etched deep lines in his forehead.
	"Did you see the sign at the road?  It says no trespassing," he said.
	Mulder had walked over to where Scully stood.  "We're with the
FBI," he said, pulling out his badge.  "I'm Special AGent..."
	The man cut him off.  "I don't give a rat's ass who you are, it
doesn't give you the right to trespass on private property."
	"We're here because we want to ask Rev. Hillier a few questions
about Rachel Jameson," Scully said.  "It will just take a few minutes."
	"We've already answered questions about that to the local sheriff.
 Why don't you talk to him?"
	"We already did."  Mulder took out his note pad and a pen.  "Could
I have your name, sir?"
	The man glared at him.  "Wayling.  Andrew Wayling."
	"Mr. Wayling, we're not accusing anybody of anything.  We're just
trying to find out what happened to Rachel and Rev. Hillier was the last
person to see her."
	Wayling looked at Mulder, then at Scully.  "Listen, he said, "we
keep to ourselves, we don't bother anybody.  That Jameson woman left, we
don't know where she was going to, or where she is now.  We've done
everything we can to help the police find her.  All we know is that she's
gone."
	"Then you won't mind if we take a look around," Mulder said. 
Mulder took one step before Wayling grabbed him by the arm.
	"Have you got a warrant, Mr.  FBI?" he asked.
	Mulder shook off the man's hand.  "No, I haven't."
	"Then I think you should leave."
	"Sir, we are conducting an investigation," Scully said in an even
voice, "and we have to talk to Rev. Hillier.  We can either talk to him
here, or we can do the paperwork and request that the sheriff bring him
into Treadway for questionin.  I think it would be easier for the reverend
if we just talk to him here.  Don't you?"
	"Revered Hillier is away on church business," Wayling said.
	"When do you expect him back?" Dana asked.
	"Hard to say."
	"I don't suppose it would be posible to speak to Edward Lawrence,
either," Mulder said.
	"What do you want to talk to Eddie about?" Wayling asked, frowning
even more deeply.
	"He told the local deputy that Rachel was abducted by a UFO.  I'd
like to check that out.  Can I see him?"
	Wayling shook his head.  "I'm sorry, that's not possible."
	"Don't tell me.  He's with Rev.  Hillier," Mulder said.
	"That's right."
	"Look, sir," Scully said, "we'll be staying at Treadway until we
can wrap up this investigation.  Here's a number where we can be reached
at any time of day.  Would you have Rev. Hillier call us when he gets back?"
	"I really don't know when that will be," he said, fingering the card.
	"That's all right.  We'll keep checking back," she said.  "Thank
you for your time."  She turned and started for the car.
	Mulder smiled at the man.  "Have a nice day," he said, then
followed Scully.



	Mulder backed the car away from the pickup truck.  "You know, it's
true what they say about small towns... everyone is so friendly."
	"Mulder, did you see those kids?  They were terrified that we were
there to take them into custody," Scully said.
	"Call me paranoid, Scully, but I don't think Mr. Wayling was
telling us the whole truth and nothing but."
	"They're hiding something, but frankly, we don't have much to go
on," she agreed.
	"Maybe if we put the pressure on the..."
	Scully cut him off.  "Mulder, stop for a second!"
	Mulder braked the car.  They were still several hundred yards from
the road, in the middle of the pines.
	"What is it?" Mulder asked.
	Scully was studying the woods to their left.  "Over there."  She
pointed.  "Did you see that?"
	Mulder looked.  "See what?"
	They both watched the trees.  A moment later, a little face peeked
around a tree trunk, not far from the car.
	"Alicia," Scully said, peeling off her seatbelt.
	By the time they were out of the car, the little girl had vanished
again.  Scully looked around them, then called her name.
	There was no reply.
	"Alicia... it's O.K., you can come out.  You can talk to us if you want."
	
	There was a rustle and the little girl stepped out from behind a
tree.  She glanced in the direction of the farm house, a worried look on
her face.
	"Are you scared that Mr. Wayling would be angry if he saw you
talking to us?" Scully asked as she walked over to where the girl stood. 
Alicia nodded.  "Weel, it's O.K., because I don't think that he can see
down the road this far."
	Scully crouched down in front of her, brought her face closer to
the little girl's.  "You want to tell us something."
	Alicia looked at Mulder, who was leaning on the car.
	"That's Mr. Mulder.  He's my friend," Dana said.  "And you know what?"
	Alicia shook her head.
	"His first name is Fox," Scully said, smiling.
	"Really?" Alicia giggled.
	Scully nodded.
	Mulder smiled and waved at the girl, making amental note to thank
Scully later.
	"What do you want to tell us, sweetheart?" Dana asked.
	Alicia looked down at her bare feet.  "Rachel was a real nice person."
	"Did she take care of you?"
	Alicia nodded.  "And she was real pretty, like you,"
	Scully smiled.
	"I'm scared that something bad happened to her," Alicia said. 
"Rev. Hillier said that she was a bad person, that she had Satan in her
and that she was going to burn in hell for ever and ever."
	"Is that why she left?  Because Rev. Hillier said that she was a
bad person?"
	"I think so."  Her lower lip started to tremble and she shot a
nervous glance at the farm house.
	"It's O.K.," Scully said.  She took one of Alicia's hands and held
it.  "Alicia, why do you think that something bad has happened to Rachel?"
	A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it with a dirty hand. 
"She really loved us, I know she did.  And she wouldn't have left without
telling us where she was going or at least saying goodbye."
	"She didn't tell you that she was leaving?" Scully asked.
	"No.  We just go up one morning and she wasn't there anymore."
	"Did she tell Rev. hillier where she was going?"
	"He said that she was bad and that it wasn't any of our business
where she went."  She sniffed.  "I miss her."
	"How long has it been since she left, Alicia?"
	The little girl shrugged.  "A long time, I think."
	Mulder walked over to them.
	"Alicia, do you know the spot up at the farm house where the
trucks are?" he asked.
	She nodded.
	"Right beside the trucks, there's a spot where the grass is
shorter.  It looks like there used to be a car parked there.  Do you
remember it?"
	"Yup.  It was a big black car.  With a roof that came off."
	"You mean  a convertible?" he aske.d
	She nodded.
	"Do you know where the car is now?  Is somebody using it today to
go to Treadway?"
	"I don't think so.  It's been gone for a while now.  I can't
remember when."
	"That's O.K.," Mulder said.  "You've got a good memory."
	Alicia smiled at him.  "Is your name really Fox?"
	He nodded, returning her smile.  "It really is."
	"That's a funny name."
	"Thanks," he said.  She giggled again.
	"Alicia," Scully said, "when we first got here, you were afraid
that we were from the welfare office.  Why did you think that someone was
coming to take you away?"
	Fear washed over the little girl's face.  "I have to go now," she
said, quickly.  She pulled her hand away from Scully.
	"Alicia, wait!  It's O.K..  You can tell us," Scully said.
	Alicia backed away from them, like a cornered animal.
	"I really have to go," she said.  She turned and ran off through
the trees, towards the farm house.
	Scully and Mulder stood helplessly, watching her.

Interstate Highway
12 miles north of Treadway
3:15 p.m.

	Mulder sat at a window table at Bea's Diner, reading over Sheriff
Toler's report.  Outside on the interstate, monstrous tractor trailers
rumbled by in a steady stream, cruising well above the speed limit.
	Inside, it was noisy.  Truck drivers sat on stools at the counter,
talking and laughing together.  Most of the tables were occupied by
locals, drinking coffee and debating the chances of an early winter.  The
din was punctuated by shouts from the kitchen and the sound of food frying
on a hot grill.  There wasn't a single empty table at Bea's Diner and that
was mainly because when the food arrived at the table, it was hot, greasy
and plentiful.

	Mulder saw Scully returning from the pay phone.  He put the police
report away.
	"What did you find out?" he asked as she sat down.
	"Well, the school board confirmed that none of the children from
the church go to school in Treadway," she said.  "There are nine school
age children living out there, and they are all on home schooling
programs.  Basically, that means that once every couple of months, an
inspector from the school board drops by to check up on them."
	Mulder watched Scully's expression carefully.  "What's the matter
Scully?  You look like there's something that doesn't fit."
	Scully sighed.  "It's just that, if a child is being abused, it's
usually a doctor, or a teacher, or another parent who notices that
something's not right.  Those kids are so isolated out on that farm..."
	"So you're saying that you think someone is abusing them?"
	She shrugged.  "I don't know.  Something just doesn't feel right."
	The waitress interrupted them.  She looked to be in her late
fifties, with hair that was an unlikely shade of red.  The nametag pinned
to her polyester uniform declared her to be Louise.
	"All right, hon, what'll it be?" she said to Mulder.
	"How's the pie?" he asked.
	"Hot and fresh, just like me," she said, giving him a wink.
	Mulder chuckled.  "Well, how can I resist that?" he said.  "I'll
have slide of apple pie and a coffee."
	"How 'bout you, hon?" she asked Scully.
	"Just a coffee, please," Scully said.  "Decaf, if you have it."
	"Coming right up," Louise said.
	
	"When did you start drinking decaffeinated?" Mulder asked, when
the waitress had left.  "You never order decaf."
	"Mulder, for heaven's sake, it's just a coffee," she said.
	He held up his hands in a mock truce.  "Sorry.  I didn't realize
it was such a sensitive subject."
	"No, I'm sorry," Scully said.  She looked out the window.  "I'm
just a little tired."
	"It's O.K.," Mulder said.  "I'm a lot tougher than I look."
	Scully smiled.
	"So, did you talk to someone at the Child Welfare office?"
he asked.
	"I did.  Turns out there was nothing on the record about any of
the church kids, which means that no one has reported any suspicions of
abuse."
	"But like you said, there might not be anyone in contact with them
to suspect that they're being abused."
	"Right, which is why this is so strange.  The person I talked to
at the Child Welfare office said that although there had been no official
reports of suspected abuse, a woman had phoned them a couple of weeks ago
to make a report."
	Mulder raised an eyebrow "A woman?"
	Scully nodded.  "The man I talked to took the call himself.  He
said it was a woman and that she sounded very nervous."
	"Why wasn't there an official report?"
	"Apparently she changed her mind part way through and just hung up."
	"Are you thinking that it might have been Rachel Jameson who
phoned them?" Mulder asked.
	Scully leaned forward.  "Mulder, what if Rachel found out that
someone was doing something to those kids and she decided to blow the
whistle?"
	
	Louise arrived just then with two cups of coffee and two slices of
pie.  She put the food down on the table.
	"There you go, now," she said.
	Scully looked at the huge piece of pie that Louise slid in front
of her.  "I think you made a mistake, I didn't order pie."
	"No mistake, hon.  It's on the house," she said, placing forks
beside the plates.  "You look like you could use a little home cooking. 
And I always say, there aren't any problems in this world that a slice of
hot apple pie can't fix.  Bon appetit, now."
	Mulder was shovelling a forkful of pie into his mouth before
Louise was gone.
	"So what now?" he said between bites.
	Scully played with her fork.  "I'd really like to take a look
around that farm tonight."
	Mulder stopped chewing and looked at her in feigned disbelief. 
"That would be a highly irregular procedure, Agent Scully," he said, after
he swallowed.  "Not at all by the book."
	"I won't tell if you won't," she said.



County Road 26
10:39 p.m.

	Mulder pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the road and
turned off the engine.  The nearest farm was several miles away and a
heavy blanket of clouds blocked the moonlight.
	"I hope you're not afraid of the dark," Mulder said, as he groped
around under the car seat for a flashlight.
	"In such a safe neighbourhood?" Scully replied, as she got out of
the car.
	She flipped the collar of her jacket up and slipped on her gloves
as they set off towards the farm.  They walked for a few minutes without
speaking, the only sound the rhythmic crunching of their sneakers on the
gravel road.

	"Penny for your thoughts," Mulder said after a while.
	"Oh, just thinking about all the years I spent in medical school,
cramming and pulling all nighters.  Somehow this wasn't what I pictured
myself doing at this point in my life," she said.
	"Do you mean working at the Bureau or sneaking around country
roads in the dark?"
	Scully had to laugh.  "Both, actually."
	"You know, SCully, you've really changed since I met you."
	"Oh yeah?"  She looked up at him, to see his expression, but could
only make out his profile in the darkness.  "Changed for the better I hope?"
	"I guess that depends on your point of view." he said.  "I'm
thinking about how you would have reacted a year ago if I had suggested we
improvise a bit on official procedure.  And now here you are dragging me
on an off-the-record surveillance."
	Scully said nothing.
	"You're really worried about that little girl," Mulder said.  "She
really got to you, didn't she?"
	Scully nodded.  "Everything about this seems to be getting to me."
	They reached the lane where the no trespassing sign wasposted. 
The scent of evergreens mingled with the faint smell of approaching rain. 
They followed the lane until they reached the clearing where the farmhouse
and trailers were, staying back from the tree line to surbey the area.
	
	"That car wasn't here this morning," Mulder whispered, pointing to
a big, dark coloured car parked near the farmhouse.
	"Maybe the reverend is back," Scully said.
	Most of the trailers were dark, but weak light shone through the
windows of a few.  There were lights on in several rooms of the farm house.
	Mulder and Scully waited, listening and watching.  Satisfied that
they could approach the farm house undetected, they left the relative
safety of the trees and hurried across the clearing.  Mulder led the way,
circling around the back.
	At the rear of the farm house, there were two windows on the
ground floor, separated by a fieldstone chimney.  Beside one window was a
door with three wooden steps leading up to it.  Mulder and Scully crept
soundlessly along the wall and crouched beneath one of the windows.  They
slowly stood up until their eyes were just above the level of the sill.
	"Well, look who's dropped in for a chat," Mulder whispere.
	Hillier, Wayling and Sheriff James J. Toler were seated around the
kitchen table.  Several empty beer cans sat on the table and a heated
discussion appeared to be taking place.
	Mulder and Scully crouched down again.
	"I want to go take a look around the barn," Mulder said.
	"I'll stay and watch them," she replied.
	He nodded and then sprinted off in the direction of the barn.
	Scully leaned against the farm house.  At least they knew that the
sheriff couldn't be trusted.  She wanted to laugh.  Mulder was right
again.  Trust no one.  It's not paranoia if people really are out to get
you.

	She was startled by the sound of the back door opening.

	Before she could move, Toler stepped out onto the top of the
wooden steps and unzipped his fly.  Scully pressed herself against the
house and held her breath as the sheriff proceeded to relieve himself. 
she was no more than six feet from the door, and she prayed that the
darkness would conceal her.  She could clearly hear the conversation from
the kitchen.
	"I don't think that we need to be worrying about the money right
now," Wayling said.
	"Well, now, i beg to differ, Andy," Toler said, as he urinated
onto the grass.  "That's mainly what I'm worried about."
	"You'll get what's owed you, Jimmy," Hillier said.
	"You're damn right I will, boys, because if I don't, you can kiss
your ass goodbye.  I'll arrest you myself and probably get a commendation
in the process," Toler said.
	Scully closed her eyes, listening to the unending stream of urine
hit the grass.
	"That sounds like a threat, Jimmy," Hillier said.
	"You are a perceptive fellow," Toler replied.
	"Look, we can worry about the money later," Wayling interrupted,
his voice almost frantic.  "What the hell are we going to do about that girl?"
	Toler finished urinating and zipped up his fly before he spoke. 
"You know Andy, you're really starting to get on my nerves, son."  He
stepped back into the house and shut the door.
	Scully let out her held breath.
	A few moments later, she saw Mulder's silhouette moving toward her.
	"The barn looks like some kind of community hall or something," he
said.  "I think there are some people on the second floor so I didn't want
to risk going in."
	"Let's get out of here before Toler decides to leave," Scully
said.  "I don't want him to spot out car down the road."
	"Good idea.  Right now all we have in our favour is the element of surprise."

	They hurried back across the clearing and retraced their steps
through the trees to the main road.  Neither of them spoke until they were
a fair distance from the farm.  Scully told Mulder about the bit of
conversation that she had overheard.
	"It still doesn't give us any idea what's happened to Rachel,"
Mulder said.
	"It's all so..." She searched for the precise word.
	"Were you going to say incestuous?" Mulder asked.
	"No, but that fits the bill," she said.  "Mulder, you don't still
think that there was a UFO abduction here, do you?"
	"Probably not, but as you said to the sheriff, UFO's aside,
there's still a person missing."

Sleep E-Z Motel
1:50 a.m.

	Dana lay in bed, hovering between sleep and wakefulness, plodding
through the facts of the case one more time.  There were too many holes,
too much that they didn't know.  She did know that something was happening
to those kids, though.  Despite the lack of concrete proof, she could
sense it.

	She chuckled out loud.  Great, she thought, I'm turning into Mulder.

	She rolled over restlessly, remembering the look of fear on
Alicia's face and the feel of the little girl's hand in hers.  She
wondered where Rachel Jameson was tonight.  She wondered if she was alive...
	
	...Dana dove into the water, the boys' screams ringing in her
ears.  She looked about frantically, searching for the little girl. 
Through the murky darkness she spotted the hazy form of a child.  Dana
fought her way through the water towards her, kicking furiously.
	The little girl floated as if suspended from above, her limbs
still, her features peaceful.  A few more strokes and Dana wrapped her
arms around the child, then headed for the surface, aching to breathe. 
They burst through the surface of the lake and Dana took in great lungfuls
of air.  She started the long trip back to the shore, her arms and legs
feeling heavy and tired.  She stroked steadily towards the beach, dragging
the girl with her.  When the water was shallow enough, Dana carried her,
stumbling the rest of the way to the shore.

	She laid the girl down carefully on the sand, then fell to her
knees beside her.  Her skin was slightly blue and Dana wondered how long
it had been since she stopped breathing.  She felt her neck with shaking
hands and found no pulse.

	Automatically, she tilted the girl's head back and checked her
mouth for any obstructions, then sealed the child's mouth with her own and
blew four quick puffs of air into her lungs.  She watched the chest rise
and fall with each breath.  Her own heart pounded with fear as she
switched to compressing the little girl's sternum with steady, controlled
pressure.
	
	"Come on sweetheart, breathe for me!" she said as she pushed on
the girl's chest.  The face of the child was somehow familiar, and yet
Dana couldn't remember who she was.
	Dana didn't know whether minutes or hours crept by as she fought
to revive the child.  Her arms and back started to ache, but she persisted.
	"Just one breath.  You can do it."
	
	And then she sensed that someone was standing behind her.
	"Go call an ambulance!" she shouted at them.
	There was no reply.
	"Do it now!  I'm long her!" she yelled.
	"It's no use, Dana.  She's dead."

	Dana fought the urge to turn around.  "God damn it, I said to call
an ambulance!"  She continued to push on the little girl's chest.
	"She's dead and it's your fault.  You couldn't save her."
	Dana whirled around and saw her father standing behind her, with
Duane Barry and the Smoking Man.
	"I did everything I could," she said, struggling to her feet.
	"It wasn't enough to save her, though, was it?" the Smoking Man said.
	Dana looked at her father for support.  He shook his head sadly,
then turned and walked away.
	"Dad?" she said, nearly hysterical.  "Dad, I tried.  I just
couldn't bring her back."
	William Scully continued walking.
	Dana looked down at the lifeless body at her feet and suddenly
wanted to cry.

	"O.K., you can have her now," the Smoking Man said to Duane Barry.
 Barry leaned over and picked up the little girl and started down the
beach with her in his arms.
	"No!  Wait!  What are you doing?" Dana demanded.  "You can't do this!"
	The Smoking Man took a slow drag on his cigarette and watched
Barry walk away.
	Dana grabbed his sleeve.  "What are you going to do to her?"
	He chuckled and blew out a cloud of smoke.  "You'll never know,
will you?"



	Dana sat up and turned on the light.  A moment later, she sprang
out of bed and began pulling sweat pants over her pyjamas.  She threw on a
sweater and jammed he feet into her sneakers, grabbed her room key and
hurried out into the hall.  She locked the door with trembling hands. 
Mulder's room was next to hers and she was standing in front of his door
about to knock when she suddenly stopped.  She stood there, shaking and
breathing hard, trying to think clearly.

	What was she going to say?  That she'd had a bad dream about the
Smoking Man?  Mulder was her partner, not her big brother.  It wasn't his
job to hold her hand whenever she had a nightmare.  Besides, she should be
able to handle this on her own.  She was overreaction, it was just a
dream, after all.  Mulder would probably laugh if she told him.

	She stood there outside his door, felling sheepish, for a little
while longer, then she returned to her own room.  She locked the door and
looked around, trying to decide what she should do.  Her gaze fell on her
briefcase.  She rummaged through it, extracting some files, a note pad and
a pen.  She propped the pillows up against the headboard and sat on the
bed, spreading her work out across the sheets.  She was glad she hadn't
bothered Mulder, after all.  She would be fine.



Bea's Diner
November 23
8:07 a.m.

	Mulder wiped his mouth with his napkin and watched Scully stare
out the window.  "You know, you'd better eat something or Louise is going
to come over here and force feed you a stack of pancakes," he said.
	Scully looked at him with a blank expression.  "I'm sorry, Mulder,
what did you say?"
	He shook his head, smiling.  "It's not important."
	All the tables in the diner were filled and the waitresses hurried
back and forth, pausing only long enough to trade wise cracks with the
regulars and to refill coffee cups.  Outside, the sky was bleak and a cold
rain fell steadily.
	Scully picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, still looking
distracted.  Mulder noticed how pale she looked this morning.

	"Are you felling all right, Scully?  You don't look so hot," he said.
	She shrugged.  "I'm fine.  Just tired."  She ran her finger along
the rim of her cup and studied the contents carefully.  "Mulder, can I ask
you a personal question?"
	Mulder put down his fork.  "That sounds ominous."
	She hesitated.  "On second thought, never mind."
	"What?"
	"No, forget it."
	"Ask me the question," he said.
	She looked at him for amoment, trying to decide.  "After your
sister disappeared, did you have nightmares about it?" she asked finally.
	
	Mulder crumpled his napkin and put it on the table.  "yeah,
terrible ones, for years after.  I still have them sometimes."
	"What are they like?"
	"There are all sorts of different ones, but mostly, Samantha is
screaming for me to help her and I'm frozen.  I can't move or do anything."
	Scully watched him talk, saw the pain in his face.
	"You know what the worst part is?  There's this couple of seconds
when I first wake up, before I realize that it was a dream... and it feels
like I'm twelve years old and it's just happened all over again."
	Scully reached over and squeezed his hand.  "Mmulder, I'm sorry. 
I shouldn't have brought it up."
	He shrugged.  "It's all right."
	His cellular phone rang.  He answered it on the second ring. 
	"Mulder," he said, then listened carefully.  "Where?... Thanks,
we're on our way."
	"What is it?" Scully asked.
	Mulder was on his feet, putting on his trenchcoat.
	"The police just found a black convertible in a parking lot at a
state park.  There's a body."

Jackson Lake State Park
9:20 a.m.

	By the time they reached the entrance of the park, the rain had
slowed to a drizzle.  A half hour later, they pulled into a parking lot
that was completely surounded by thick forest.  A sign indicated that
several hiking trails began here and that overnight parking required a
permit.  There were three state police cruisers parked a short distance
from a black convertible.  Several men in uniforms stood around the car. 
One of them spotted Mulder and Scully and walked over to them.

	"You the FBI guy?" the trooper asked.  He was a big man with dark
hair and a big, round face.
	"Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully," Mulder said, as they
both showed their badges.
	"Bob Conroy, state police," he said.  "Good to meet you."
	"When did you find the car?" Mulder asked.
	"A couple of park rangers found it this morning," he said. 
"Park's closed at this time of year, but the rangers were doing some sort
of animal census, counting rabbits or something.  They were going to leave
their truck here and follow one of the hiking trails in."  He smiled
sheepishly and looked at his fee.  "I must admit that I laughed when you
called me yesterday, Agent Mulder.  'Big, black converitble' isn't much of
a description to go on, but I think this is the car you're looking for."
	"Any idea who owns it?" Mulder asked.
	Conroy pulled out a small note pad.  "Yeah, we traced the serial
number to a lawyer in Raleigh, who reported it stolen a year and a half
ago.  The plates were stolen off a car in a shopping center, also in
Raleigh, about the same time."
	"Have you got a positive I.D. on the body?" Scully asked.
	"The woman wasn't carrying any identification, but to tell you the
truth, ma'am, we don't want to disturb the body too much until the medical
examiner gets here."  He flipped his collar up against the rain.  "As it
is, I'm worried that we're losing trace evidence with this damn rain."

	"Agent Scully is a forensic pathologist," Mulder said.  "Would it
be all right if she took a look now?"
	Conroy nodded eagerly.  "That would be just fine."
	"Scully?" Mulder asked.  She was staring at the convertible, deep
in thought.
	"Scully?" he repeated, touching her shoulder.
	She blinked and looked at him.  "What?"
	"Is that O.K.?  Do you mind having a look?" he asked.
	"Sure, I can do that," she said.
	
	She returned to the car and got a pair of rubber surgical gloves
from her briefcase and walked slowly to the convertible, holding the
gloves in one hand.  Mulder and Conroy talked about dusting for prints as
she passed by them.
	She peered in the passenger side windows, as she pulled on the
surgical gloves, trying to get a glimpse of the body.
	"She's in the trunk, ma'am," a fresh-faced young trooper said.
	She walked around to the back of the car.  The trunk lid was down,
but not fastened shut.  She lifted it and looked it.
	Inside was the body of ayoung woman.  She lay on her right side,
her arms tightly bound behind her, a gag in her mouth.
	Suddenly, Scully felt dizzy and leaned on the car for support, her
eyes riveted to the body in the trunk.
	"Uh, ma'am,... are you all right?" the young trooper asked.
	She nodded, then took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

	Suddenly, she could hear the sound of breaking glass and her own
voice screaming for help, for Mulder to help her.  She could feel the
shocl of blows to her face, the warm thick blood in her mouth and the
nausea rising within her.  She was pinned to the floor and Duane Barry was
on top of her, hitting her and she could smell his sweat as he yelled and
pummelled her with his fists.  And then she was in the trunk and her
throat was so tight with panic that she thought she would choke.  She
couldn't breathe and the blackness was overwhelming, it nearly suffocated her.
	She felt a hand on her shoulder.
	She spun around and roughly pushed the hand away.  "Don't touch
me!" she shouted.
	Mulder stepped back, a surprised look on his face.
	She was numb and cold and the parking lot was spinning around her.
 She struggled to fill her lungs with air, grabbing onto the car to keep
from falling over.  She felt Mulder's arm around her, holding her up.
	"What is it?  Are you O.K.?" he asked.
	"I'm O.K.," she said, between gasps.  "It's all right... I just
felt sick all of a sudden."
	She leaned on Mulder'a arm with her eyes closed and tried to force
the sight and smell of Duane Barry from her mind.
	"Do you want to sit down for aminute?" Mulder asked.
	"No, I'm fine," she said, as she straightened up.
	Mulder gave her a worried look.
	"I'm O.K. now," she said.  She took a deep breath and turned back
to the body in the trunk.
	Mulder stood there, hands thrust into the pockets of his
trenchcoat, watching her.
	Scully looked over her shoulder at him.  "Mulder," she said.  "Do
you mind?"
	He hesitated for a second.  "I'll go ask Officer Conroy to send
some men out to the farm and hold Hillier until we're done here."  He
watched her for a moment longer, then went to talk to the state trooper.


	When she finished the examination, she lowered the trunk lid and
snapped off the rubber gloves.  Mulder was sitting in the car, dusting the
car door for fingerprints.
	"She was strangled with a rope or cord of some sort, judging by
the marks," she reported.  "It's hard to say how long she's been dead, but
I'd estimate somewhere between ten days and two weeks."  She watched
Mulder applying transparent tape to the door panel.  "Any luck with the
prints?"
	"So far, everywhere I've tried has been wiped clean, but I think I
may have something here," he said, not looking up from his work.  He
gently peeled a piece of tape off the door and dropped it in a plastic
bag.  "That should do it.  Why don't you take this and see if you can get
a computer match from D.C.?  I'll head out to the farm and we can meet up
later."
	"One of the troopers can take the fingerprint," she said.  "I want
to go to the farm."
	"Are you sure you're up to it?" he asked.
	She gave him an annoyed look.
	"All right.  Let's go," Mulder said.


	Mulder ignored the speed limit on the interstate, but was forced
to slow down when the car fishtailed across the washboard grooves on the
gravel road.  Scully stared out the window while they drove.  Mulder
glanced at her several times, but said nothing.
	His cellular phone rang.  He grabbed it quickly with his right
hand, continued steering with his left.
	"Yeah?" he said.  He listened for a long time, then said,
"Shit!... O.K., we'll be there in about ten minutes."
	He tossed the phone down on the seat.
	"Hillier's gone," he said.
	"When?" Scully asked.
	"Since last night.  Hell, he probably crossed two state lines
before we had breakfast."
	They drove on, the tires roaring on the gravel.
	"Are they holding anybody?" Scully asked.
	"Yeah, they've got Wayling and a couple of others," Mulder
replied.  "Apparently Hillier shafted him and he's talking to anybody who
will listen."
	"What about the kids, are they all right?"
	Mulder didn't answer.
	"Mulder?" she said.  "What happened to the kids?"
	"They found video equipment, tapes, pictures, the whole bit.  They
were filming the kids, Scully.  Pornography."
	She closed he eys.  "Oh, my God," she said.  "Where are the kids now?"
	"They think that Hillier took a couple with him.  One of them was
Wayling's daughter, Alicia."



	Before Mulder could put the gear shift in park, Scully was out of
the car and running to the farm house.  There were a couple of state
police cars parked in the long grass in front, their red lights strobing
silently.  The front door was open and a man in uniform stood on the porch.
	Scully didn't bother with her identification.  "Federal agents,"
she said as she pushed past the trooper.
	She rushed down the hallway to the kitchen.  Andrew Wayling sat,
in handcuffs, on a wooden chair.  The kitchen table was covered with
photographs and piles of videotapes.  An officer snapped to attention when
she burst into the room.  Scullyrecognized him as the young man who had
directed her to the body at the convertible.
	
	Scully stood in the doorway a moment, struggling to calm herself. 
The trooper, hat in hand, quickly crossed the room to report to her.
	"We have placed Mr. Wayling under arrest ma'am," he said.  "He has
been read his rights and has waived his right to legal counsel.  We also
recovered this evidence from a room upstairs.  There are twleve other
individuals being held in the barn at present."
	She read the nameplate on the young man's uniform.
	"Thank you, Officer Robbins.  You've done a very good job.  Why
don't you go and see if they could use your help in the barn?"  She
struggled to keep her voice calm and even.
	For a second, Scully thought he was going to salute, but he
settled for a nod and a sharp "Yes, ma'am" before he marched out of the
kitchen.
	Scully's gaze fell on the pictures on the table.  Instantly, her
eyes locked on a familiar face.  She picked up the picture.  It was
Alicia, looking at the camera with an expression of fear and confusion.
	
	Scully stood there glaring at Wayling, until he started to squirm
in his chair.
	"You son of a bitch," she said, finally.  "How could you do that
to your own daughter?"
	He looked away.
	Scully stalked across the kitchen, grabbed a fistful of his hair
and thrust the picture in his face.
	"Look at her!  Look at her face, you sick son of a bitch!"
	Wayling twisted his head away from heer grasp.  "Don't you dare
judge me!  You don't know anything about me!  I love that little girl!" he
shouted.

	Scully threw the picture on the floor.  She took a step back from
him, drew her gun and levelled it at his head.
	Mulder appeared in the doorway and stopped.
	"What the fuck are you doing?" Wayling screamed.  The handcuffs
which bound him to the chair rattled loudly as he tried to free himself.
	Scully didn't move.  She stood there, arms extended, her left hand
cupping her gun hand, in the posture that she practised and perfected at
the firing range every month.
	"Jesus Christ, she's crazy!" Wayling shouted at Mulder.  "She's
going to kill me!"
	Mulder took a few tentative steps into the room, his eyes never
leaving Scully's face.  "Scully," he said, "You don't want to do this."
	Scully was flushed and trembling.
	"He's not worth it, Scully," Mulder said, moving close.  "Put the
gun down.  We're going to nail him.  You don't have to do this."  He
stopped a few feet away from her.
	Scully looked over at Mulder.  "She's his daughter, Mulder," she
said.  "He did this to his own daughter."
	"I know," Mulder said.  "But killing him isn't going to change that."
	Scully hesitated.
	"Please, SCully.  Put the gun down," he said.
	Slowly, she lowered her arms until they hung at her side.
	Mulder moved closer to her, took her gently by the shoulders,
studied her face carefully.  She stood there trembling.
	"I think I'd better go back to the mote," she said.
	Mulder nodded.  He put his arm around her and they walked slowly
out of the kitchen.

Sleep E-Z Motel
5:46 p.m.

	Scully sat in a big armchair, staring out the window at the rain. 
She had taken a hot shower a few hours before to try to soothe her
frazzled nerves.  She stood for a long time in the spray, letting the hot
water run over her, wishing she could just wash away the last few months.

	She looked at herself in the mirror when she emerged from the
shower.  She was pale and that made the sprinkling of freckles on her nose
stand out.  There were dark circles under her eyes.  She looked exhausted
and defeated.
	She pulled her hair into a ponytail, pu on some warm sweats and
flopped down in the chair by the window.  She had no idea how much time
had passed when she heard Mulder's knock.

	"Come in," she said.
	He entered and shut the door behind hi.  "How are you feeling?" he said.
	"Embarassed," she replied.
	Mulder took off his trenchcoat and tossed it on a chair.
	"What happened?" she asked.
	He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed before answering.
	"We were able to match the print from the car to Hillier.  We've
got his description out on the wire, but no luck so far."
	"Did Wayling have any idea where they might be headed?"
	"No," Mulder said.  He sighed, loosened his tie and undid the top
button oon his shirt.  "Apparently the good reverend decided to help
himself to more than his share of the profits.  He dumped Rachel's body
last night, then made a run for it with two of the kids."
	They sat in silence, watching rivulets of rain slide down the
window.
	
	"So, we've got nothing," she said, after a while.
	"Well, we've got Sheriff Toler and Wayling singing like birds to
the state police.  And we've got descriptions of Hillier and the kids out.
 We might find them."  He looked at his watch.  "I've got to go meet
Officer Conroy at the county morgue in about an hour.  Mrs. Jameson is
coming to identify the body."
	Scully nodded.
	"Uh, Scully, about this morning..." he started.
	"I don't know what got into me," she said.  "I'm really sorry,
Mulder."  She rubbed her forehead wearily.  "Look, I know that you have to
make an official report to the Bureau, and I understand that I ..."
	"No, it's O.K., for get about that," he said, cutting he roff.  He
got up and stood beside her chair.  "What I wanted to say was that I'm
worried about you."  He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. 
"Take it easy, O.K.?"
	Scully felt the blush creeping up her face.
	"Thanks, Mulder," she said.  "But I'll be fine."
	He studied her face for a moment longer, then picked up his trench
coat and left.



FBI Headquarters
Wshington D.C.
November 24
4:45 p.m.

	Scully sat at her desk in the basement of the FBI building. 
Behind her, weak afternoon sunshine trickled in through dirty windows,
making streaky shadows across the wall and floor.  Papers and files were
piled on her desk, with little towers of medical book stacked along the
outer edge.  An autopsy report was spread across her blotter and Dana had
been struggling for the last hour to read through it.  Her suit jacket was
slung across the back of her chair and her pumps lay underneath her desk
where she had kicked them off.

	Her eyes were tired and burning.  She took off her glasses and
leaned back in her chair, massaging her temples, where the beginning of a
headache lurked.  She sighed and surveyed the mess on her desk.  A high
school graduation picture of Rachel Jameson lay on top of the mass of
papers.  She held her diploma and smiled confidently.  Scully thought
about this young woman that she'd never met and wondered what she had been
like.  Her mind flashed to the sight of her body in the trunk of the
convertible.  A wave of nausea rolled over her.  Reflexively, she reached
into the bottom desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of Maalox and took a
liberal swallow from it.  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand
and was just replacing the bottle when the office door opened.  Mulder
strode in, heading directly to Scully's desk.

	"Do you like hockey, Scully?" he asked.
	"What?" she said, trying to shut the desk drawer quickly.
	"Hockey, Scully... do you like hockey?" Mulder repeated.  "It's
not a trick question."
	Scully tried to pull herself together.  She reached for her
glasses and avoided looking at Mulder.  "With you Mulder, evrything is a
trick question."  She attempted to look busy, shuffling the pages of the
autopsy report.  "Does this have something to do with an X-file?"
	"No, and you haven't answered my question," he said.
	She smiled at his insistent attitude.  "Yeah, I suppose it's O.K."
	He held up two tickets.  "What would you think about two seats at
tonight's Capitals game?  They're playing the Bruins and I happen to have
tickets for center ice, behind the penalty box.  What do you say?"
	"Tonight?" she asked, startled.
	"Yeah, at eight o'clock.  I know it's short notice but I figured
we could grab a sandwich at this little deli I know and then catch the
game.  It'll be fun."
	Scully hesitated, averting her eyes again.  "Thanks, Mulder but,
maybe some other time."
	"come on Scully... you know what they say about all work and no
play." he said.  "Tell you what.  I'll buy the corned beef sandwiches."
	"Look, I know what you're trying to do, Mulder aand I
appreciatethe gesture, but I'm fine.  Really.  And anyway, I already have
other plans."
	"Can't you change them?" He waved the tickets.  "Do you have any
idea how hard it is to get center ice tickets to home games?"

	Scully started to gather up the papers on her desk, stuffing them
into her briefcase.  "Another time."  She quickly slipped her shoes on,
then put on her jacket and snapped off her desk light.
	Mulder watched her hastily packing up.  "O.K., sure.  Some other
time."  He put the tickets back into his shirt pocket and retreated to his
cluttered desk, across the room.  He sat in his chair, propped his feet on
the desk and watched Scully close her briefcase and put on her trenchcoat.
	"I hope he's worth it," he said.
	Scully stopped buttoning her coat and looked at him.  "Who?" she asked.
	"Whoever your date is tonight."
	She smiled at him, shaking her head.  "For you rinformation,
Mulder, it's not a date I have tonight."
	"Not that it's any of my business..." he added.
	"Good night, Mulder."
	"Yeah, good night Scully."  He watched the door shut behind her,
listened to her footsteps recede down the hall.  He sighed and ran his
hand through his hair.

Washington,D.C.
5:20 p.m.

	Dana flipped nervously through the magazine, not seeing the
photographs.  She checked her watch again, then tossed the magazine back
onto the coffee table.  She took a deep breath and willed herself to
relax.  The lingering headache had turned into a full fledged one that
extended down into the base of her neck.

	She looked around the empty waiting room.  Comfortable overstuffed
furniture in shades of blue and grey, peaceful floral prints in
complimentary colours and a few plants.  Dana asked herself again what she
was doing here.  It had been a ridiculous idea.  She had known as soon as
she'd made the appointment that it had been a mistake, but somehow she
hadn't quite gotten around to cancelling it.
	Just then, the dark wood panelled door at the end of the room
opened and a woman looked into the waiting room.  She was in her sixties
with silver grey hair that showed traces of having once been black.  She
took off her glasses and regarded Dana for a moment before she smiled.
	"Dana Scully," she said, her warm blue eyes betraying her
affection.  "It's good to see you again."
	"Hello, Evelyn," Dana said as she stood.  "It's good to see you, too."
	"I hope you haven't been waiting too long.  Come in, I'm just
making a pot of tea."
	Dana followed Evelyn into her office, shutting the door behind
her.  The room hadn't changed since her last visit.  God, she thought, it
must be nearly two years since then.  The same antique furniture,
expensive and tasteful but comfortable, the same wing back chairs by the
window, the same faint smell of roses in the air.  Dana sat in one of the
chairs and watched Evelyn preparing the tea.

	"Do you still take lemon?" Evelyn asked.
	"If you have it," Dana said.  She settled back into the chair and
surveyed the room.  "This really brings me back to my student days."
	Evelyn looked up from the teapot and smiled at her again.  "You
make it sound like that was a hundred years ago."
	"Sometimes it feels like it was," Dana replied.
	Evelyn watched Dana's expression for a moment, then returned to
preparing the tea service.
	"So how is Charles?" Dana asked.
	"He's very well these days, almost completely recovered from the
heart attack.  He's consulting with a few firms, but he's only taking the
jobs that really interest him.  I think he's enjoying it and more
importantly he can sneak away to the golf course whenever he wants."  She
brought over a tray with a teapot, two cups, slices of lemon and a plate
of cookies.  "I must admit," she said putting the tray down on the low
table between the chair, "I envy him.  There are days when I would rather
be in my garden getting my hands dirty than at some endless faculty
meeting listening to self-important little twerps who think they invented
psychiatry."

	"You could retire," Dana said.
	"I woul miss my students," she said, pouring tea into the cups. 
"Althought there have been very few of your calibre in the past few years,
Doctor Scully."  She dropped a slice of lemon into the cup and handed it
to Dana.  "Or would it be more precise to call you Agent Scully?"
	Dana smiled at Evelyn's teasing.
	"I remembered that you preferred oatmeal cookies -- no raisins,
and if you don't have at least two, I will be deeply offeded," Evelyn
said, as she settled into her chair with her cup.
	Evelyn reached over and squeezed Dana's hand.  "It really is very
good to see you, Dana," she said.
	Dana looked down at the fragile tea cup she held.  Evelyn sipped
her tea and waited.
	"I don't know why I'm here, Evelyn," she said finally.  "I'm
probably just wasting your time."
	"I gathered when you called that this was not a professional
consultation," Evelyn said.
	Dana shook her head.
	"We could just be two old friends catching up and drinking tea,"
Evelyn said.
	They sat in silence for a long time.  Finally, Dana looked up and spoke.
	"I lost it at a crime scene a few days ago, Evelyn," she said.  "I
had a panic attack as I was about to examine a body."  She paused,
struggling to stay calm.  "I also threatened a man in custody with a gun."
	Evelyn nodded.
	"I don't know what came over me," Dana said.  "I just completely
lost control."
	"How long have you been feeling like this?" Evelyn asked.
	"A couple of weeks, I guess.  I'm anxious all the time, I can't
sleep and then when I do sleep, I have nightmares."
	Evelyn put her tea cup down.  "Tell me about the nightmares."
	"They're all kind of the same.  There's a little girl who's
drowning.  I try to save her but I can't.  Sometimes I get pulled under
myself, and sometimes I do CPR but it doesn't help.  I always feel so..." 
Her voice trailed off.

	"What?  What do you feel?" Evelyn prompted.
	"I feel frustrated, I guess."
	"Is that all?  Anything else?"
	"Well... scared, too, I suppose.  Because I can't save her."
	Evelyn leaned forward.  "Do you know the girl?"
	"No, I feel like I should, but I can't tell who she is."  Dana
sighed.  "Thiss is silly.  I'm just tired.  I probably need a little time
off, that's all."
	Evelyn poured them both more tea before she spoke.  "The
subconscious mind is very clever, you know.  If I taught you anything
about psychiatry, I hope I taught you that."
	Dana smiled and nodded.
	"Our subconscious knows when we need to work through something,
even if we don't know it consciously.  Or won't admit it," Evelyn said. 
Her soft blue eyes studied Dana carefully.  "Maybe there's something that
you need to work through, Dana."
	Dana shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
	"The crime scene where you had the panic attack... what were you
doing?"  Evelyn asked.
	"We were investigating the disappearance of a woman.  The state
police had found an abandoned car with a body.  We thought it might be her."
	"And right before you started to feel anxious, what were you
doing?" Evelyn asked, watching her intently.
	"I was about to examine the body for trace evidence."
	"Describe your actions."
	Dana smoothed her skirt and tucked her hair behind her ear.  "I
went over to the car and opened up the trunk..."  She stopped.  "Look, I
know what you're getting at Evelyn and you're wrong.  I went to medical
school, I did a residency in forensic pathology for heaven's sake.  I've
seen dead bodies before!"
	"Yet, something about this one was upsetting to you," Evelyn said,
matter of factly.
	Dana looked away and said nothing.
	Evelyn leaned forward.  "Dr Scully, a patient presents with
dysphoria, loss of appetite, insomnia, persistent nightmares and
generalized anxiety.  There is no sign of organic dysfunction.  What is
the first question you ask them?"
	Dana's response was immediate.  "Have they suffered any kind of
traumatic experience in the past six months or so?"
	"Let's say that the patient was abducted, brutalized and left
comatose... What's your diagnosis?"
	Dana stared at her, stunned.
	"Your diagnosis, doctor?" Evelyn repeated.
	"Post Traumatic Stress disorder, acute phase," Dana said.  "You
know, don't you?  How did you find out?"
	"One hears things," Evelyn said.
	Dana stood up abruptly and walked to the window.  She looked out
at the street.
	"I'm sorry to probe such a tender spot, Dana," Evelyn said.
	"It's not Post Traumatic Stress," she said.  "It's can't be. 
Since I've been at the Bureau, I've been in all sorts of situations where
my life was in jeopardy.  I've always managed to keep my cool, to stay
detached and professional and get the job done."
	"Ah yes, the unflappable Dana Scully,"
	Dana swallowed her annoyance.  "And besides, I don't remember any
of it.  I woke up in the hospital and it was like nothing had happened.  I
have no memories of it."
	Evelyn walked over to Dana and looked at her intently.  "You will
work through all of this in you own good time, my dear.  But know this,
Dana:  sometimes it's not possible to be detached and professional. 
Sometimes you can't walk around the messy feelings, you have to walk right
through the middle of them and really feel them, surrender to them. 
Sometimes the only way out is through."
	Dana stood, arms crossed, looking out at the quiet street.  She
thought for a long time before she spoke.
	"Evelyn, I don't want to walk through this," she said quietly. 
"I'm not sure I have the strength."
	"Then you'll have to lean on the people close to you for a while. 
But you have to walk through it.  It's the only way to be free of this."
	Dana stared out the window.
	"I think I know you fairly well, Dana Scully.  And I think thatyou
are strong enough to let yourself feel this, to let yourself walk through
the pain."
	"I don't feel very strong right now," Dana said.
	"I know," Evelyn said.  She smiled and touched her arm
reassuringly.  "But you will again."


12:23 a.m.

	Dana staggered out of the water and carefully laid the little girl
down in the sand.  She knelt beside her, trying to catch her breath.  She
touched the girl's neck with a trembling hand.  There was no pulse.  Dana
quickly tipped the child's head back and started blowing air into her
lungs, then pushing rhythmically on her chest, coaxing the girl's heart to
beat.
	Dana looked down at the child's face as she worked to revive her. 
She had reddish hair and freckles and looked about six years old.  Dana
wondered who she was and why she looked so familiar.  She continued the
compression and mouth-to-mouth and suddenly the little girl stirred.
	Her eyes fluttered open and she coughed.  Dana pushed the wet hair
off the child's forehead and looked closely at her eyes, then felt her
throat for a pulse.  It seemed strong and steady.  
	The girl looked up at Dana, confusion and fear registering on her
face, and burst into tears.
	"It's all right," Dana said, scooping the child into her arms. 
"Everything is going to be fine, now."  The girl wailed and wrapped her
arms around Dana's neck.
	Dana spoke soothingly to her and stroked her head until she calmed
down.  Eventually, she stopped crying and Dana felt the girl relax in her
arms.
	"That was pretty scary, wasn't it?" Dana asked, still rocking her gently.
	The little girl nodded.
	"I'll bed your mother is very worried about you," she continued. 
"I think we should go find her."
	The little girl nodded again and Dana noticed that she wore a tiny
gold cross on a chain around her neck.  She picked up the pendant and
looked at it, then looked at the girl's faceagain, stunned.
	"Nice work, Agent Scully," the Smoking Man said.
	
	Dana whirled around, startled.  Before she could speak, Dana felt
two sets of hands grabbing her arms, dragging her to her feet.  The little
girl whimpered and Dana held her tightly.
	The Smoking Man watched Dana struggle with the two men who held her.
	"Take the child," he said.
	One of the men pinned Dana's arms while the other wrestled the
little girl away from her.  Dana fought to hang onto her and the child
clung to her but the two men quickly overpowered them.  Scully stood
there, helpless, as the man carried the screaming child away.
	The Smoking Man watched dispassionately.
	"Please don't do this," Dana said.  "Please don't take her."
	He tossed his cigarette away and them slowly took out the pack and
prepared to light another.
	"Don't worry, Agent Scully," he said, as he lit a match.  "She
won't remember a thing."

1:07 a.m.

	Muler's phone rang.  He pressed the mute button on the tv remote
control before he picked up the receiver.
	"Yeah?" he said.
	"Mulder?"  SCully's voice was hesitant.
	"Scully?  Is everything all right?" He quickly sat up and looked
at his watch.
	"Yeah, everything's fine," she said.  "I'm sorry to bother you so late."
	"It's all right.  I wasn't sleeping."
	There was silence on the other end.
	"What is it, Scully?  What's the matter?"
	"I, um... I need to talk," she said.  "Do you think you could come
over for a while?"



	Mulder emerged from the kitchen with two mugs.  He brought one to
Dana, who sat crosslegged on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her.
	Dana looked in the mug.  "Oh, my God.  You were serious," she
said.  "Hot milk."
	"Believe me, I know a lot about insomnia," he said, sitting down
beside her on the couch.

	Dana took a sip.  "It's not bad."
	"Secret recipe," he replied.
	She put her mug on the coffee table.  "Thanks for coming over,"
she said.
	"Why didn't you tell me about the nightmares and everything
sooner?" he asked.
	"I guess I thought that I should be able to handle it on my own,"
she said.  "Besides, it didn't seem very professional, bringing personal
stuff to work."
	Mulder shook his head.  "We're more than partners, Scully.  We're
friends.  You know that."
	Dana's eyes met his and she saw the intensity there.
	"You can trust me, Scully," he said.
	"I just feel like I always have to be strong, like I shoud never
let my guard down."  She sighed.  "I mean, it's who I am -- always in
control, always on top of things."
	"How about just being human for a while?" Mulder asked.
	Dana played with the edge of the blanket and didn't reply.
	"Most people couldn't recover from the sort of trauma that you
experienced," he said.
	"That's just it, Mulder," she said.  "There's nothing to recover
from because I don't remember anything!"  Tears welled in her eyes. 
"Seventy four days of my life -- just jgone!  Missing!  And I don't even
know what happened to me!"
	She struggled not to cry.
	Mulder reached over and touched her shoulder.  "Dana," he said.
	"Damn it, Mulder!" she said.  "I don't even know what they did to me!"
	Mulder moved closer and wrapped his arms around her.
	She wept.



	When Mulder woke up, it was still dark outside.  He stretched and
ran his hand through his hair.  His back ached.  He had fallen asleep
sitting in an easy chair, with his feet propped on the coffee table.
	He got up and walked over to the couch where Dana lay, still
sleeping.  He looked down at her and suddenly realized how tiny she was,
how vulnerable she looked.  He though about how close he'd come to losing her.
	He stood there looking at her for a long time, then bent down and
picked up the blanket that she had kicked off in her sleep.  He gently
covered her with it, then left.


FBI Headquarters
November 25
8:27 a.m.

	"I have good news and bad news," Scully said as she entered the
office.  "Which would you like first?"
	Mulder looked up from the computer screen.  "I'll take the good
news first."
	She held up a paper bag. "I brought doughnuts."
	"Very good news," he said.  "HOw about the bad news?"
	"I just met Assistant Director Skinner in the elevator,"  she
said.  "He wants us both in his office in three minutes and he doesn't
look happy."
	Mulder shrugged.  "He never does."
	Scully put the bag of doughnuts down on Mulder's desk and stood
there, searching for words.
	"Thanks," she said, finally.
	"Anytime," Mulder said.  "That's what friends do.  You O.K.?"
	"I'm going to be," she replied.
	Mulder opened his mouth to speak, then sighed and leaned back in
his chair.
	"What?" Scully asked.
	He picked up apen and tapped it restlessly on the desk.
	"Mulder, what is it?" she asked.
	"When you were missing, Scully," he said, "and I didn't know
if..."  He stopped and tried again.  "I realized that I..."
	"Mulder."  She cut him off.  "I know."
	He looked at her, trying to decide if he should continue.  Before
he could speak, she reached over and squeezed his hand.
	"I know," she said, smiling.  She turned and headed for the door. 
"Come on.  We're late for our meeting with Skinner.
	Mulder watched her walk out of the office, then grabbed his jacket
off the back of his chair and followed her.



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


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