Subject: REPOST (Revised): Perhaps Samantha 0/4
From: spambait@brandx.com (Goat of Death)
Date: Mon, 29 Dec 1997 04:57:49 GMT

INFO AND NOTE TO ARCHIVISTS: Since Paper Hearts flashed by us again
recently and I was in a fixing mood I decided to give this a look see and
harass Cici to help me fix stuff also.  I hope it was worth it.  My
original post was full of tons of dumb mistakes and other assorted
problems which are hopefully all fixed now.  Also my e-mail address has
changed.  I would greatly appreciate it if this be used as the most recent
version on the archives.  

SPECIAL THANKS: To Cynthia Rider for being the best damn editor one could
hope for.

DISCLAIMERS: You know them I'm sure.  Mulder, Scully, and assorted TV
presented people I've used below belong to Chris Carter and 1013.  All the
other new folks I created belong to yours truly though anyone can freely
use them.

ARCHIVIST AND READER NOTES: This story is a revised version.  Please use
it to update the archives.  The story itself is split into four parts.   I
kept each below 30k which I've been told is the limit on some servers.
Please let me know if any of the parts end up missing.  Also if you miss
any parts or want the entire thing unsegmented contact me at
xphile@brandx.com and I will send you what you need via e-mail.

Classification: SA

Rating: PG-13 (I used my one F word)

Summary: Set awhile after Paper Hearts.  Mulder digs up the case again 
determined to find the truth about what happened to his sister.  Along 
the way he will unearth a killer's past and discover just how deeply the 
chord between them runs.



                                     Perhaps Samantha
                                      by Goat of Death

	It was morning.  His eyes opened just enough to see the bright
sunlight pouring in through the window.  The window was open.  The screen
kept the bugs out.  Today the world was a magical place and young Fox was
just happy to be a part of it.  There was Sam and he and no one else.
Well, maybe mom and dad too.
	Shaking the sleep from his bones Fox managed to roll over to look at
his sister's bed.  There was beautiful Sam still sleeping serenely.  It
struck Fox that he was not yet quite sure what would be the appropriate
mischievous way to rouse her.  
	He had gotten a small squirt gun a few days ago when his rock
out-skipped all the others.  That would be a good way.  But the gun was
empty.  He would have to take the time to go fill it.
	There was always of course the tried and true tickle attack.  Fox
relished every single time he got to employ that method.  Watching tears
of joy stream down his sister's face was one of the greatest sights Fox
had yet seen in his short life.
	Fox wondered what he did before his sister came along.  Luckily even
his childish memory went back only so far.  The times before Samantha were
vague and misty, as though life didn't really exist before she was there.
	Fox began to grow tired of his own thoughts when he spotted it, the
answer to his own dilemma.  Trailing down the wall on a thread so fine it
could not be seen traveled Fox's answer.  It was a small spider like one
he might find in the woods or the cellar.  Fox hated bugs.  Samantha was
positively terrified of them.
	Fox scuttled out of bed as quietly and carefully as he could.  His
padded feet made hardly a noise when he dropped to the floor.  Tiptoeing
stealthily across the room he approached his quarry like he thought a
tiger might.
	Ever so gently Fox cupped his hands around the creature.  Enveloping
it he carried the arachnid away from the wall and toward his unknowing
sister.  The small eight legged being jumped around inside his hands
trying to find an exit.  It would have almost tickled if Fox could have
gotten past the idea that he was carrying a spider.
	He held his closed hands above his sister's ear wondering what
exactly she would do when he opened them.  But it was not time for waiting
it was time for finding out.  Fox opened his hands and the spider fell in
perilous descent.
	The spider landed just near the edge of Samantha's hair, close to her
ear.  It waited a moment and then began to move.  Luckily for Fox the
spider chose not to disappear into her curls and instead moved toward her
face and ear.
	Fox's breath sucked in as the spider's legs curled gently just over
the edge of his sister's ear.  He became frightened for a moment at just
how badly his sister might react.
	Then for the first time in this whole escapade she moved.  Samantha
didn't jump up but simply shuddered.  She was only barely beginning to
come out of sleep.  Fox heard a deep sigh emanate from her, one which
indicated she had no idea of what he was up to.
	The spider held position until the ground it rested on settled back
down.  After a few seconds, properly assured that it was safe, it began to
move again.  It traveled quickly through the furrows of her auricle and
stopped on her cheek.  
	Samantha moved again, her subconscious telling her something was
desperately wrong.  The movement of her hand was slow as it approached the
creature that stood its ground on her cheek.  But then there was a quick
whip!  The spider flew across the room and out of Fox's sight.
	Fox stood flabbergasted watching his sister.  Sam still wasn't really
awake.  Her body had reacted instead of her mind recoiling.  Slowly her
eyes began to open.  Ringed in the bright light she could see the outline
of what could only be her darling brother.  "Fox, what are you doing?" she
asked accusingly but still groggy.
	"Nothing," Fox said shrugging his shoulders.  He quickly realized he
should have stuck with the tickle attack.
	Samantha's eyes closed again as her body wanted her to drift back
into sleep despite the danger it had warded off.  Fox wasn't about to let
her slip off that easily.  Not after the trouble and failure he went
through.
	"Come on Sam wake up," he said shaking the bed.
	The rocking motion stopped any chance she had of getting more rest.
"Okay okay, stop!" she relented.
	Fox obeyed his sister and abruptly quit.  He smiled widely at her,
glad that his goal was accomplished, even if things hadn't worked out
exactly as planned.  He held out his hand to her.  "Let's go get
breakfast."
	Sam sat up in bed and looked at her brother for a moment.  He could
be so annoying some times.  With a smirk she got out of bed but made sure
not to take his hand.  It should serve him right.
	Together they raced down the stairs to find the breakfast below.

	It had been a long time since Fox Mulder last opened that particular
drawer of his desk.  The case, the sixteen hearts like candles on the
birthday these girls should have had, kept him away.  The office was full
of other X-Files, other cases.  This was just one he could let pass by.
Or at least he thought he could for a little while.
	But lately he kept stopping.  He kept noticing that drawer as if it
was beckoning to him to unearth its buried secrets.  It was a call that
Mulder had a very hard time resisting.  
	This morning Scully had been talking to him, questioning and
theorizing about a case they had both been working on.  But her voice
became just a drone and all that existed was that handle.  The one with
the small lever next to it.  All he had to do was push that piece of metal
and the contents would roll out for him to see again.  For him to remember
again.
	Scully had noticed how distant Mulder was being.  She knew him far
too well not to notice.  Mulder had no conscious desire to ignore his
partner.  He just couldn't help it.  All he could think about was that
drawer.  The drawer and the little piece of fabric nestled inside.
	It was late now and Scully had told him in her characteristic manner
to go home and get some sleep.  And Mulder acting his part ignored her
good advice.  He remained, sitting and looking at that handle and at that
drawer.  He went out to get some coffee to try to take his mind off of it
but it didn't help.  Inevitably he ended up back in his office, alone with
the treasure chest that held the heart.
	The coffee had been finished and again Mulder just sat.  He wished he
could tell himself that he was building up his courage.  But he felt as
timid yet obsessed now as he had earlier.  Nothing could change that.
Nothing except opening it.
	Mulder reached out his hand and before he had a chance to think twice
he yanked the drawer open.  Inside lay a mish-mash of old cases, UFO
reports, and badly scribbled notes.  His hand moved across the tops of the
folders finding its goal without Mulder even having to look.  He pulled
the folder out and then gave the drawer a swift kick.
	The harsh noise shattered the silent void that engulfed him.
Throughout the office and down into the hallway Mulder could hear the
sound echo.  No one else but him was around to notice.
	Mulder placed the folder gently on the top of his desk.  With a deep
sigh he added more momentum to his slowly growing resolve.  Then he opened
the cover.  The first thing he saw was the soft cloth heart sheathed in
clear plastic.
	Tentatively he reached down and picked up the fabric momento, a
reminder of life cut short and the pale hollow that was left behind.  He
wove the pliant material through his fingers.  It held the key and
somewhere the old bones of a little girl waited to be found.

	Scully was a bit worried about her partner.  She didn't know what
exactly was bothering him but she knew that it was something important.
Mulder had barely been able to keep his mind on the case at hand the other
day.  And Scully knew he only got that way when he was thinking of one
thing, his sister Samantha.
	Scully hoped that he had gone home and gotten the rest he needed.
Rest would make it harder for her to bug him to find out what was wrong.
But it would serve his health well.  And she cared more for his well-being
than knowing exactly what was going on.
	Scully wasn't surprised when she entered their basement office to
find Mulder already there.  He was often in early.  However she was a
little alarmed to find him rather disheveled, unshaven, and wearing the
same suit from the day before.  
	Mulder hardly seemed to notice her when she entered the room.  He
moved back and forth in what one might think was frantic if it didn't look
so well controlled.  Scully knew Mulder's motions all too well and now she
really was worried.  She didn't know how to approach him though, with
understanding or anger?  Mulder could so often be insanely steadfast in
his ways but sometimes yelling at him was the only way to get through.
However, this time Scully decided to go the route of understanding.
	"Mulder what's wrong?  What are you still doing here?" she asked
setting down her briefcase.
	Mulder looked in the direction of his partner but didn't stop moving.
"What?  You don't think I cleaned up well enough this morning?"
Thankfully, Scully thought, a trace of a smile crossed his lips.
	Scully decided to play along with the game, "You know it is just so
rarely that I get to see you in a less than professional manner."
	Mulder stopped and looked mischievously at his partner, "Is that an
invitation Scully?" he said with a boyish glint to his eyes.  Scully was
very glad that whatever it was it hadn't dulled his wit.
	Scully crossed her arms and pursed her lips.  Narrowing her gaze at
him she said, "I guess that all depends on your intentions.  Do I sense an
X-File upon us?"
	"Well," said Mulder turning to his desk and shuffling some papers,
"more like some loose ends actually.  I've been doing some digging and
though there are some avenues to investigate on the case I'm looking at
I'm.." Mulder paused and turned to look at his partner, "not sure the 'we'
part is exactly imperative."
	Now Scully was angry.  She stepped forward making sure to keep her
arms securely crossed.  Otherwise she might reach out and shake him.
"Mulder," she said sternly, "I am assigned to the X-Files and it is
'imperative' that I am involved in all manners of carrying out our
assignments."  She chose to take the official instead of personal
argument.
	"Tell me Scully," Mulder said, "does the tattoo still sting?"  He
knew it was a cheap shot but it was his only resort right now.
	"No," Scully said drawing the word out, "But if this case is
important enough for you to work on it all night it is important enough
for us both to try to solve it."
	Mulder looked at his partner.  Her gaze was sure and defiant.  He
knew Scully would follow him to the ends of the earth if he didn't at
least let her on to what was happening.  He didn't know whether to
consider that reassuring or hounding.
	"Okay Scully you win," he relented, "But it is not exactly high
priority work.  That is why I thought I should handle it."
	Scully was slightly baffled by his statement.  Her vision of the
situation soon cleared when Mulder led her to his desk.  On his desk she
could see pictures scattered everywhere.  Each one was of a little girl,
no single child older than ten.  Scully felt her breathing stop for a
moment as it began to really sink in what was going on.
	She continued scanning the photos and papers that were everywhere.
She noticed that they poured even further off the desk and onto the floor
around Mulder's chair.  Each precious face stared back at her in childish
bliss and perfection.  In the center of the little girls and FBI case
material lay a single cloth heart.  The last one.  Possibly Samantha's.
	Scully turned to her partner.  Not important enough for them to both
follow huh?  She did the best to keep the intermingled rage and distress
out of her voice.  A million questions surfaced but finally she settled on
just one.  "Did you find something Mulder?"
	Mulder looked down at his partner and he knew how deeply she cared.
He wanted to do this on his own, wanted to find out for himself.  But like
it or not Scully was going to be there with him to share the lumps.  He
would just have to take heart in it.  "Actually I did."
	Scully's look took on a hint of faint surprise.  She was both
intrigued and curious, "What in another dream?"
	Mulder smiled again at his levelheaded partner.  If he didn't know
better he might actually consider himself giddy this morning.  It must be
the coffee.  "No.  Plain good old boring FBI detective work--with a lot of
cross referencing."
	"Do tell," Scully said.  Her tone changed as she became more fixed
into the case.
	"I decided to start with the first case you and I found, Karen Anne
Philiponte in 1974.  From there I began to work out as much of a time line
as I could."  Mulder walked around his desk and stepped over the moat of
papers to his chair.  "Addie Sparks came next in June of 1975.  After that
was Judith Kaplan in October of 1979.  She was the girl the VCU originally
thought Roche started with when I came onto the case in 1990.  We caught
Roche in August of 90.  Going back to 74 that is 16 victims, one for each
year.  It struck me as fairly peculiar that Roche would have just skipped
three years between Addie and Judith."
	Scully noticed that Mulder was using the girls' first names though he
had surely never met either of them.  However, Scully didn't say anything.
Instead she continued to listen, her concern still piqued.
	"So that's when I started the cross checking.  First I did a search
for girls ages seven to eleven gone missing between July of 75 and
September of 79.  That turned up a fair number.  I then discarded the
cases that were too far west or in urban areas.  All of Roche's victims
which we knew about were on the East Coast; he was also a strictly safe
haven hunter.
	"With that done I then began to pull together what records we had of
Roche's travels during those years.  There wasn't a whole lot of
information but there was enough to discard most of the cases.  Finally it
came down to looking through each case and deciding which girls Roche
would have picked.  He could be very picky when he had the luxury to be.
And during those years he had yet to even dream of being caught.
	"It was just a matter of remembering what it was like to think like
Roche and to be able to do it again.  I managed to narrow it down to a
handful of cases and then I found the one.  In January of 1977 a
nine-year-old girl, Hannah Marie Rider went missing from her home in
Herkimer, New York.  Hannah was abducted just two weeks before her tenth
birthday.  Around the same time there is a rather large hole in our
records of Roche's travels.  It appears to me that he took a vacation and
found more than he intended," Mulder said with an unnerving sense of
finality.  
	"That is what I want to investigate, the twenty year old
disappearance of Hannah Rider.  Like I said it is not exactly top Bureau
priority."
	Finished, Mulder and Scully just sat staring at one another in the
darkly quiet atmosphere of their basement office.  Scully wanted to go
with Mulder, to protect him, though she knew he wished it otherwise.  
	The silence carried on until she finally spoke.  "Have you made
travel arrangements?"
	"No," Mulder said, "it's already Friday and we couldn't get it
approved at least until Monday considering the low priority of the case.
I thought I would drive up there today, take the weekend and see what I
could find.  There is more than enough work to keep you busy here."
	"Mulder I should go with you."
	"There is no reason to," his voice remained calm and even, "It is not
as if I'll be in any real danger.  The killer is already dead.  It's just
a matter of tracking down his last victim."
	Scully didn't like it.  She didn't like it one bit.  Mulder was
pushing her back on this one and he had perfectly bureaucratic legitimate
reasons to mask his personal ones.
	"I still think we should both investigate this.  You will need my
forensic expertise if you find where the girl is buried."  She knew it was
pathetic but logic was what she had to rely on.
	"There is no sense in it right now Scully.  If you really must you
can come up tomorrow.  Then you won't be on Bureau time.  As it is I don't
think Skinner will be pleased with even myself following it up.  Both of
us investigating would probably tip him over the edge."
	It was a small victory but Scully was willing to accept it.  "I'll
drive up to meet you tomorrow then."
	"Good," Mulder said with a smile.  Then he started gathering the mess
on his desk together.  "I'll just get this stuff out of the way for you."
	Scully went over and picked up her briefcase.  While Mulder was
gathering his things she pulled out her own stack of case papers.  She
looked at the pages; all the words seemed to jumble and fade together.
Scully already knew she would be spending the entire day waiting for five
o'clock.
	Mulder shoved a large pile into his own briefcase and somehow managed
to still close it.  He grabbed his coat then headed for the door.
Scully's eyes followed him.  Mulder stopped at the portal out and turned
back to his partner.  "I'll see you tomorrow Scully," he said.
	"Good luck," she replied.  And then he was gone.

	Somehow daddy had finally managed to get that "darn" transmission to
work.  Actually daddy had used a much more colorful word to describe it.
But he had forbidden Fox from repeating it.  Fox was still just a little
too afraid of his father getting angry.  So Fox decided it would be best
to listen to him.  Besides there were plenty of other things on this day
to keep him busy.
	Daddy had been working on that old truck for a long time.  It seemed
like a heaven sent that he had gotten the old heap to run at all.  Daddy
could be so determined when he wanted.  Fox knew some of that rubbed off
onto Sam and he hoped he had gotten a bit of it too.
	But today he was all excitement about something completely different.
And so was Sam for that matter.  He didn't know which of them had the
bigger knots in the stomach.  He had poked her to find out but she just
giggled at his prodding.  Then she had pushed him back and it was his turn
to laugh.
	On the way over daddy let them ride in the back of the old rebuilt
pickup.  The road was bumpy but there was a short patch in which they
could lie down and look up at the bright sky.  There wasn't a single cloud
to be found.  It was truly a glorious day.  
	"Don't you wish sometimes," Samantha said, "that just everything was
blue?"
	At that moment Fox couldn't agree more.  It did seem like such a
marvelous color--pure and true like a window you can't really tell is
there.  That cerulean glow stuck with Fox.  Even when they had to sit up
again for bumps he couldn't get that image out of his mind.  It was not as
if he had to look far to replenish the picture.
	The pickup came to an abrupt stop when they got there.  Daddy was
still having trouble with the clutch whatever that was.  Fox leaped out
first and then helped Sam down.  She was still a little small to go
jumping off high things.  Fox knew he had to look out for her.
	Sam was happy to spring down into her brother's waiting arms.  She
gave him a little hug when she was safely on the ground.  Then they both
skipped off together, hand in hand after their father.
	All around they could hear growls and yips.  Daddy had promised them
both that he had gotten the best one, the happiest and most waggily of the
new bunch.  It appeared from behind the counter being led by a pretty
blonde haired girl.  At that moment Fox and Sam knew daddy was right.
	The furry puppy jumped up on Samantha first.  It covered her face in
licks and kisses making her laugh like only Fox could before.  Her brother
was happy to see her so content.  And to see this perfect dog, their dog,
his and Sam's.
	The puppy then hopped over to Fox and he showered the dog in
affections.  Samantha was quickly there.  The dog was under an onslaught
of love and pets.  Fox looked at the delighted animal wagging its tail
furiously.  It was so perfect.  It was so Blue.
	After the initial excitement had calmed down Fox held onto the
wriggling canine.  Daddy was taking care of some business with the man at
the counter.  Fox took the chance and implored his sister, "Hey Sam.  How
about if we call it Blue?"  
	Samantha's face took on a slightly contorted expression.  She could
see by the look in Fox's eyes he was dead set on the name.  Even she
couldn't resist him when he got that look, no matter how weird the request
may be.  "Okay," she said, "Blue it is."  Then she jumped forward and
enveloped both her brother and their new dog in a hug.
	Daddy wasn't much longer.  Both Fox and Samantha held the leash to
lead the dog to the car.  It barked its good-bye's to the friends it had
made at the kennel.  They got up back into the pickup truck and headed for
home.

	The trip up the Herkimer New York was not a short one.  Still, Mulder
managed to make the ride in just over six hours.  For some reason Mulder
had an almost unearthly knack for avoiding speed traps.  He always chose
to slow down at the right times.  Most of the way he had been traveling
well over ninety miles an hour.
	Herkimer was a nice quaint place, the ideal hunting ground for a
predator like John Lee Roche.  Mulder drove ponderously around awhile
before thinking of heading to his intended destination.  He wanted to get
an idea of how Roche might have seen it.  He wanted to find all the
things, the landmarks that would have stuck out in the now dead man's
eidetic awareness.
	Mulder stopped at a small corner ice cream shop.  It was named
ironically enough "Sam's" of all places.  Mulder was sure it referred to a
man; that was until he was served by an older woman with a name tag
stating clear as day, "You are being helped by Samantha James."  Mulder
figured it was life's pay back for the speeding tickets it let him avoid.
	Mulder ordered peppermint stick, his childhood favorite, and then sat
down for awhile.  He hadn't tasted that flavor of ice cream in a long
time.  It was almost sickly sweet but Mulder still enjoyed the taste.  He
watched as people and children passed by the shop window.  
	Mulder should have had plenty of time to think and rethink his
strategy and method of attack in the car.  But it wasn't quite the same as
sitting in the town and considering his options.  He would very likely
soon be telling an old woman that her daughter had been violently
murdered.  That all the hope, all the vigilance through the years was for
naught.
	After he had originally decided upon the case Mulder made sure to
find the mother's records, a Ms. Laura Rider.  She had been a single
mother, having had Hannah when she was nineteen.  As far as Mulder could
find she had never married and never had any more children.  She also
still lived in town in the same house her parents had lived.  Mulder could
well imagine what the loss of her only daughter had done to her.
	It was thoughts like that which made Mulder thankful for what family
he did have in those years that came after.  And even more so for Scully.
She had risked her life and heart on many an occasion for him.  Now she
was also dying for him.  Mulder knew he owed a debt to her that he could
never fully repay.  Sometimes he even allowed himself to admit that he
loved her for it.
	Mulder sat in the ice cream shop for almost an hour before he finally
got up and headed out.  He then became lost in another tribulation as he
sifted through the map he had bought at a gas station just outside of
town.  He looked at the address in his records and then at the jumble of
roads.  It would seem that the smaller a town was the easier it should be
to find your way around.  However that didn't appear to be the case.
Mulder's perseverance did pay off and he quickly proceeded on his way.



	It was late.  He knew that he should be in bed.  But lately he was
having trouble sleeping.  His mother had told him it would be all right,
that things would get better.  Right now it didn't seem that way.  The
little piece which was gone was very sorely missed.  It stung him so
harshly to think about it.
	He hugged his little white rabbit close and in his pajamas made his
way downstairs.  There was a creak on the left side of the third stair
from the bottom.  He always made sure to avoid that one, else mother would
come running.
	He reached the bottom of the steps and moved quietly across the
living room.  The fire was almost out for the night but the glowing embers
helped provide at least some illumination to the den.  He moved through
the room without making a single noise.  He could be sneaky when he needed
to be.
	The pet door was always how he got out when he wanted but wasn't
supposed to.  There was rubber around the edges so it made very little
noise when it swung.  They didn't have any pets though.  Grandmother had a
dog once, which was why the door was there.
	He let his stuffed rabbit go out first and then squeezed through
after it.  It wouldn't be long before he was too big to fit through the
hole anymore.  He hoped he would be able to stop needing that exit before
he became unable to use it.
	Thankfully outside, he stood up to survey the yard around him.  It
was deathly dark and wet.  He was just under the eve of the house so the
rain had yet to hit him.  He could feel the cold water from the ground
already seeping through the soles of his pajama covered feet.
	Holding the rabbit tight he plunged out into the darkness.  He went
into a full run.  He knew the path well enough that the pitch blackness
was not a bother.  He could feel branches and leaves brush by his face as
he carried on but none forced him to stop or even break stride.
	It was a good long run to his goal, especially with his short legs.
It would be much better when he was bigger even if he wouldn't be able to
use his current escape route.  He ran and ran feeling a deep tingling grow
in his legs as they began to tire.  But he had made the distance many a
night before and he would make it again.
	He emerged from the woods and ran across a valley for a distance.  He
could feel the slick grass hitting up against his knees as he pressed on.
It wasn't much farther now.  He plunged into another woods beyond the
valley.  A short while later he crossed a road and he was at his final
destination.
	The stone wall was very high, much too high for him to climb.  That
would also be remedied when he got bigger.  The wall was made to keep bad
people out but it also served as an annoying deterrent for him.  He
followed it to his normal spot.  The back gate was never chained quite
right; he was able to squeeze through where it was supposed to be fastened
together.
	He walked carefully now.  He had no desire to disturb the sleepers.
His own imagination could still run away with him sometimes.  Moving
through the stones he came to what he was looking for.
	On the ground, slowly being sucked into the earth, were his earlier
presents.  There was an old torn and tattered book--her copy, and a lock
of blonde hair he had gotten from a girl at school.  He had to pay
handsomely for the latter but it was worth it.  She always wanted blonde
hair, not the deep auburn he loved about her.  That along with so many
other things.
	He kneeled down in the mud, not caring about his pajamas.  He was
already soaked to the bone.  He didn't cry.  He had to remain strong for
her.  Carefully he placed the stuffed white rabbit down alongside his
other trinkets.  He had needed the rabbit for awhile, for comfort.  But it
was time to give it up.  She needed it more.
	That done he interlocked his pinkies together because he had no one
else with which to bind the oath.  The small preparation done he swore to
come back and visit again.  Tonight his time was short and it was so
desperately cold.  The pact finished he stood up and headed back, memory
leading the way.

	The knocks were soft but persistent.  Mulder hadn't phoned first.
Still he wanted to make absolutely sure Ms. Rider wasn't home before
giving up.  Every once in awhile Mulder would pause in his steady rapping
to listen for sounds from inside.  Around the fourth cycle his pauses paid
off.  Coming from inside he could hear light footsteps moving toward the
door.
	Mulder waited.  The footsteps stopped in front of the door.  A few
seconds later he heard the bolt being turned.  The door creaked ajar.
Through the opened crack Mulder saw the deep blue eyes of an older woman.
She looked to be well into her forties, her brown hair being streaked with
grey.
	"Yes?" she said.
	Mulder shuffled out his ID and opened it for the woman to see.  "I'm
Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI.  Are you Ms. Laura Rider?"
	The woman got a discerning look on her face.  She was trying to
figure out what all this was about.  But she could not quite fathom it.
"I am her."
	Mulder's eyes softened and he put his identification away.  "May I
come in Ms.  I need to talk to you."
	"About what?" Ms. Rider challenged.
	Mulder hesitated for a moment.  He had no choice but to blurt it out.
"It's about your daughter.. Hannah."
	Her expression became one of mute surprise.  She had not heard that
name spoken aloud to her for a long time.  It had been even longer since
someone used that name to refer to her precious lost child.
	Ms. Rider opened the door wider.  It was enough for Mulder to step
inside and past her.  Then she closed it softly behind him and refastened
the bolt.  She walked past Agent Mulder and he followed.  Neither of them
spoke a word.  She was in shock and he didn't know what to say.
	Mulder was led into a small dusty living room where he was offered a
seat.  He eased into the soft chair.  Clouds of dust shot up into the air
as he sat down.
	"May I get you something?" Ms. Rider asked him.
	"Actually that would be nice," Mulder told her, "Whatever you have is
fine."
	The woman disappeared down the hall.  In her absence Mulder took a
chance to gaze around the room he was in.  Overall it didn't appear to be
in that bad of shape.  An overabundance of dust was what affected the
room's appearance the most.  One chair alone appeared to be untainted.  It
was probably the one Ms. Rider used most times herself.
	The room had a spacious fireplace that at one time may have been
majestic.  Now the soot around the hearth marred what beauty the room had
left.  Near the fireplace sat an old Raggedy Anne doll.  It looked less
unused than most things in the room.  Right in front of the hearth lay an
old throw rug, half of which was burned from having once caught ablaze.
	The curtains were drawn back allowing the room's only light to enter
from the outside.  But the windows were murky and unclear.  They weren't
really grimy just dull.  All in all it was a rather drab place to live,
especially alone.  It reminded Mulder of his own apartment, only larger.
	Ms. Rider returned carrying two glasses.  One contained ice tea for
Mulder, the other had brandy for herself.  She handed Mulder his glass to
which he nodded his thanks.  He took a sip and watched as the woman
crossed the room to sit in the one well used chair.  The ice tea was good,
far better than he expected given his surroundings.
	Ms. Rider took a sizable gulp from her glass and started talking
before Mulder could get the chance.  "So what do you have to tell me Mr.
Mulder?  Did you finally find my daughter dead?  Is that why you're here?"
	Mulder looked at the woman for a moment.  "No Ms. Rider.  We haven't
found your daughter just yet.  But.. there are some.. possibilities.  That
is why I am here."
	"Like what possibilities?" she demanded of him.
	"We think your daughter's disappearance may be related to a man who
we believe was in the area at the time."
	Laura Rider laughed, a deep cynical hurumph.  "You came up here to
tell me that?  I could have told you that back in 1977."  She took another
deep swig of her brandy.
	"I need to ask you some questions," Mulder continued, "to find out
for sure.  To lead me to the real answer."
	"I was questioned out a long time ago Mr. Mulder.  Both from
answering 'em and asking 'em.  If you've come back here to dig up old
tales you best have something to offer for them."
	Mulder thought his response over carefully.  It seemed that he needed
her cooperation more than she needed his concern.  If there was any hope
left in her it was distant.  "Resolution perhaps," Mulder said, "A sense
of closure.  Knowing what happened for sure this time."  They were hollow
words.
	"You take this very personally Mr. Mulder.  Don't you?" her words ran
an echo.
	"Yes," Mulder said with a pause, "I do.  Will you help me?"
	"It couldn't hurt me anymore could it?" she asked rhetorically.  "Ask
your questions sir.  Then you may be on your way."
	"I've reviewed the old case files and I have just a few things," he
told the air more than the woman, "Do you remember ever meeting a man by
the name of John Lee Roche?"
	Ms. Rider smiled sardonically.  "Of course I do," she said, "He would
pass through here every once in awhile doing his sales and all.  Tall
lanky fellow, much like you.  Nice man.  Has he got something to do with
this?"
	"Perhaps," Mulder said puzzled by the offhanded nature of the woman's
response.  "You said 'of course'.  Was he around here often?"
	"Well not so often that you'd get used to it but you'd remember him.
At least I did.  I even bought a vacuum from him once when I was still
young.  Thing still runs.  One of the few bits in this house that does
work.  He gave me a nice deal on it too on account of knowing his mother
and all."
	"His mother?" Mulder's eyes almost popped out of her head.
	Ms. Rider laughed again at what she thought should be the obvious.
"Yes his mother.  She lives around here.  She has all her life as far as I
know.  Kind woman.  She must be getting on in years now.  I know she's
still alive on account of I've heard her name once of twice now and again.
Haven't seen her son in a good long while though."
	"John Lee Roche right?" Mulder was still perplexed.
	"Well that's who we're talking about isn't it.  What has he got to do
with this all anyway?"
	Mulder looked at the older woman who now seemed interested in his
questions.  He might as well tell her the facts.  "John Lee Roche murdered
and buried sixteen eight to ten year old girls between the years of 1974
and 1990.  We have located fifteen of his victims and since put them to
rest.  We believe your daughter may be the sixteenth victim we're
missing."
	It took no perspicacity on Mulder's part to register the shock and
horror that his words had just descended on Laura Rider.  She remembered
Roche well enough to think him a 'nice man'.  The rest could be left
unsaid.  Ms. Rider swallowed hard, her throat suddenly very dry.
Trembling she lifted her glass slowly to her mouth and drank the rest of
her brandy in one great tumble.
	"We aren't absolutely sure of course," Mulder said not really
believing his own words.  "That's why I.."
	"Roche was here that year," she said in a shaky voice, "He played
with my daughter here just after Christmas.  Right before she was taken
away.  They played some kind of game or something," her voice began to
take on a distant and almost dreamlike quality as she kept speaking,
"Hannah brought her tea set outside.  They had a little table around which
she sat her play animals.  Raggedy Anne was at the head, she always liked
Anne the best.  She seemed to have such a good time.  It had been so long
since she had someone like a daddy to play with.  John really wasn't of
course.  But it reminded her.  And it reminded me.  I remember that day.
Only a few weeks before she was gone.  It was a perfect day."  Laura
dropped her head, "Or at least that's what I always thought."
	"I'm sorry," Mulder said.  He knew it didn't change anything but it
was the only consolation he had to offer.
	She looked back up at him.  Water filled her dark navy eyes.  "Can
you offer even your sorrow Mr. Mulder?"  She was trying to bite back, that
was the only defense she had.
	Mulder set down his glass and stared straight at her.  He hoped his
resolve could win her over, make her believe him.  "Yes I can.  I know
what it feels like.  That is why I do this.  That is why I'm here."
	"Then I'm sorry for you also Mr. Mulder.  No one should feel as I do.
Never like what I do right now."  Ms. Rider buried her head in her hands
and lost herself in tears.  Mulder didn't know what to do or what to say.
Sometimes you are just left with nothing.  Mulder had his job and he had
Scully.  Ms. Rider was a different story.
	Mulder waited as she cried.  The soft backdrop of agony permeated the
room giving it an even more sinister air.  It sounded almost as if the
walls themselves were weeping and not just one person.  She carried on and
Mulder was patient.  A box of tissues was already set next to her such
that Mulder couldn't even help her in that respect.  After several minutes
Ms. Rider got her emotions back under control.  A few more sniffles and
she returned her gaze to Agent Mulder.
	"I'll help you with whatever you need Mr. Mulder," she said, "And
when you find my daughter there is no need to disturb her.  She will have
been there long enough to rest in peace.  Promise me that.  That you'll
let her rest."
	Mulder knew standard forensic procedure dictated that once the body
was found it should be exhumed for proper examination and identification.
But Mulder also knew it was his case and no one else cared anymore.  "I
promise."
	"Thank you," Ms. Rider sniffled and then blew her nose into one of
the tissues.  "Now what do you need from me?"
	"The vacuum you bought from Roche, the one that still works.  I would
like to see it."
	Wordlessly Laura Rider got up and walked out into the hall.  Mulder
promptly followed.  She walked back toward the front door.  Near the
entrance was a small coat closet.  She opened the door.  There was no
light or if there was it had long since burned out.  "It's in here," she
told him.
	Mulder crouched down and looked into the dark recesses of the closet.
Inside he could see a greenish blue vacuum.  The main chassis of it looked
very much like a hardened oversized bubble.  From the top coiled out a
long white hose.  The wheels on the bottom were still all firmly in place.
	Mulder reached inside and retrieved the household appliance.  On the
crown silver lettering encircled the area from which the hose emerged.
"ElectroVac Duchess" the lettering stated.  One of the two possible models
Roche had claimed he sold to Mulder's father in 1973.
	Mulder returned the vacuum to its proper place and stood up.  Ms.
Rider's look implored him for some information.  Mulder really had no more
to give, only conjecture.  "Do you know where Roche's mother lives?" he
asked her.
	"She lives up on Elmhurst Rd.  Number five twenty three I think.
She's a ways back from the road so you may miss it.  Is that all Mr.
Mulder?"
	Mulder ran his fingers through his hair.  "I am afraid for now it is.
I wish I could give you more.  I will keep you informed as to my findings.
My partner is coming up here tomorrow.  We should be able to tell you more
then."
	Ms. Rider smiled with what spirit she had left.  "I've said this many
times.  It hasn't really helped but maybe this time it will.  Please find
my daughter Mr. Mulder.  Whatever the case may be.  If Roche took her or
not.  I need to know.  It's been so long and I've lived enough years in
mystery."
	"I'll do my best," Mulder said.  He seldom offered less.  "I should
go," he told her.
	Ms. Rider walked with him the short distance back to the door.  She
undid the dead bolt again.  The door creaked loudly as it opened.  Mulder
stepped out into the daylight.
	"Good Luck," Ms. Rider said.
	Mulder smiled briefly in thanks to her good karma and then walked
back to his car.

	He hadn't been on the road for long and he was already tired.  The
small roadside inn looked as good a place as any to stop for the night.
His eyes were beginning to glaze over from the contrast of headlights
against the dark night.  It was made even worse by the rain.
	Carefully he pulled his old station wagon into the parking lot of the
inn.  He got out of the car and looked at the building.  It appeared to be
a nice cozy little place--he liked that.  The outside building was covered
with a dark stained wood.  There was a small gift shop and restaurant in
front.  The rooms themselves were around back.
	Despite the building's obvious age it was not short on customers.
Moving in and out he could see plenty of people.  Some appeared local and
others were tourists.  He always liked being around people from other
places.  He would overhear their conversations, learn some of their
stories.
	Details were one thing his mind had always fancied.  He might forget
the point of something he had heard.  But he would remember the exact
expression on the person's face when they said that something.  Or perhaps
he would latch onto an inconsistency that stuck out yet somehow made the
story seem a little more magical.
	He entered the small gift shop adjacent to the restaurant.  Inside he
heard noises of all kind.  People were chattering on here and there just
as he had hoped.  There was a line to eat.  That was fine with him.  He
had the whole night.  He stepped up to get in line.
	Suddenly behind him he heard an abrupt crash.  He turned his head to
see what it was.  "Sam look what you've done," he heard a little boy's
voice say.  He was tall enough to see over the row stands and shelves to
see what was going on.
	On the ground sat a young girl.  Surrounding her was a pile of small
plastic snow bubble panoramas.  One of the pieces had broken, soaking
water into the floor.  He could barely see the fake snowflakes sitting on
the rug.  The girl's expression was a blissful smile.
	What appeared to be her brother however seemed less at ease.  The boy
reached down and helped this girl "Sam" up.  "You have to be more
careful," the boy said, "You don't want to get hurt."  His voice
registered more concern for her instead of disappointment at what she had
done.
	"I'm sorry," the girl said pleading for forgiveness with her eyes.
	Before the boy could speak again a store clerk appeared.  She was a
short rotund woman and was very unhappy about the commotion.  Soon the
children's parents also arrived and in the tumult he lost interest.  He
turned his attention back to the line.
	"Sam" was a pretty girl though.  Her hair was a deep brown.  Far too
dark to be red but it still seemed kind of close in color to him.  That
along with the look she had given her brother, like she knew her sibling
would protect her.  He had seen that look before.  He had tried to live up
to that look.
	He waited in line a little while longer.  Shortly before he would
have made it to the front he had to leave.  Something was making him too
anxious.  He weaved through the gift shop and made it back outside.
	He looked around trying to catch his breath that was suddenly coming
so fast.  To his left he heard the same voice he had earlier in the midst
of the mess in the shop.  He turned to look and saw the two children
getting in the car with their parents.  He watched the car slowly pull
out, taking note of every detail.  His eyes followed the car as it merged
and then proceeded out into the darkness.  
	He thought and thought, trying to decide what to do.  He felt
strangely different, like a fragment of memory had crept up on him at the
worst possible time.  He wasn't quite sure how to handle it.  But he had
to do something.  So he walked off back to his car.

	Mulder had a hunch.  He wasn't sure what brought it on.  He had been
thinking about the Roche case and thinking about his sister for some time.
Days actually.  Perhaps this time all that agonizing was paying off in a
way almost as intangible as a dream--it was coming to him as a feeling.
	Mulder drove around feeling a strange pull in his stomach.  Something
was telling him he was close, very close to a major piece of what was
going on.  That Roche's mother lived in town had come as a great surprise
to Mulder.  But he knew the feeling he had now wasn't about that, it was
about something else.
	Mulder figured it was too late to try to visit Mrs. Roche tonight.
She would naturally be an old woman and she may already be asleep for the
night.  Mulder was then left with two things, an ephemeral notion and a
lot of time to kill until morning.
	Mulder drove over back winding roads.  Sometimes he would see houses
set a ways off the road in the woods.  Other times the houses would be
very close indeed.  Even more rarely he would pass entire subdevelopments,
an indicator of modern times catching up on the town.
	Mulder drove up and down roads he didn't know until he felt he could
drive no more.  He pulled his car over to the side of the road and got
out.  It was almost dark now.  The sun was only a dull orange hint in the
sky.  The trees seemed to close in around Mulder like night's blanket.  He
wasn't sure if it was for protection or to smother him.
	Mulder started to walk up the road away from his car.  A slight mist
was beginning to rise from the ground.  The air was also slowly turning
from pleasant to brisk as the darkness encroached.
	Mulder continued to walk unsure where he was heading.  All he knew
was that he did not want to drive anymore.  He thought of what it would be
like if Scully were with him.  She would be pestering him, wondering why
in the hell they had gotten out of the car.  But she would be following
him on foot nonetheless.  He smiled at the notion.
	Up along the road Mulder noticed something coming into sight to his
left.  He approached closer and could make out a stone wall approximately
seven feet high.  It was apparently surrounding something, possibly the
house of someone well to do.  Still, he couldn't see a house.
	Mulder picked up his pace and quickly arrived at the wall.  On the
top of the barrier he could see iron spikes staggered almost randomly.
They were more decorative than protective; barb wire would have been a
much better deterrent.
	Mulder followed the wall until it broke for a cast iron gate.  Above
the gate hung an old sign which read "Morton Grove Cemetery".  A chill
went up Mulder's spine though he couldn't possibly say why.  As if it were
not already clearly evident his hunch told him positively that this was
the place.
	The gate was unlocked.  Mulder opened the old iron guard and stepped
inside.  He was careful not to make a noise as he fastened the gate back
into place.  
	Mulder looked out across the stones.  It was not an especially large
cemetery.  He could see the rest of the protective stone wall on the other
side of the graveyard.
	The mist was beginning to make it difficult to see.  Mulder squinted
yet he did not perceive any house nor dwelling.  The place was apparently
not large enough to merit a live-in caretaker.
	Mulder began to walk the grounds taking careful steps.  He had no
wish to accumulate any bad karma.  His life already seemed to have more
than a healthy share of it.  Mulder could hear the soft ground squish as
he walked.
	He allowed his eyes to travel around from stone to stone.  He did not
know the name he wanted.  However he had faith that he would realize it
when he stumbled upon it.
	Mulder froze in place as he heard an owl call.  He turned his head
slowly in the direction of the noise.  Through the fog he could make out
two shimmering eyes.  Of more than that he could not be sure.
	Shaking his head harshly Mulder came back to his senses and his
original intent.  He continued to search, all the time painfully aware of
the eyes that he felt pressed into his back.
	Stepping past one large monolith Mulder found for what he was
looking.  He kneeled down in the soft soil to get a closer look at the
headstone.  At the top of the stone was a small carved projection, custom
made for the person whom was buried there.  The carving was of a card, the
queen of hearts.  The stone had no other distinguishing designs.  If one
did not know the person who lay beneath the stone they would probably not
have understood the significance.
	Mulder looked at the name and dates.  "Cynthia Leanne Roche,
1945-1954"  The epitaph below it read, "May she find her solace from the
mad."
	Mulder stared at the tombstone for quite some time.  He had found
Roche's sister.  Mulder had never even suspected it.  For all his
profiling the nexus it seemed they shared never reached that deep.  Mulder
had not been able to grasp the reason, the bit of glue that held the whole
puzzle together.  The mechanics of Roche's obsession where enough to track
him down.  The real why got lost in the backdrop.
	Mulder could not reasonably say how he was lead to the spot at which
he was now kneeled.  It was as inexplicable as his dreams of the old case
a few months back.  Even more so now for Roche was dead.  As dead as his
sister.
	Mulder stood up.  He tilted his head to continue examining the stone.
The slight change in perspective helped little.  The answers that existed
here had just been uncovered.  If Mulder wanted more he would have to wait
until morning to talk to Roche's mother.
	Mulder looked at his watch.  It was almost a quarter past seven.  He
knew Scully would already be on her way.  There would be no chance of her
having waited until morning.  Mulder owed it to her to find an inn to
check into so she could locate him.
	Mulder took one last long look at the headstone.  He turned and
started back in the direction he thought was out.  In the distance he
heard the owl call again.  But this time the eyes were nowhere to be
found.



	Fox sat with his hands clasped tightly together.  He had been sitting
that way for longer than he could remember.  In the other room he could
hear the men, the ones in the blue uniforms.  They were here to question
daddy about what happened.
	Daddy hadn't been here when it happened.  Fox knew that.  He could
have told the men with their shiny badges that daddy had nothing to do
with it.  But for the life of him Fox couldn't possibly tell them what did
happen.  And he couldn't tell them where Samantha was.
	Fox's precious sister was missing and that is what made him rock back
and forth nervously the most.  Fox did not know why those men kept
bothering daddy.  They should be out looking for Sam.  They should be
finding her.  If they would do that then all this bother wouldn't matter
one bit.
	It seemed quite simple to little Fox.  Find his sister and everything
would be all right again.  Better than all right.  Just like it was
before.
	Fox tried hard to listen and hear what the men were saying in the
other room.  He couldn't quite make it out.  He just knew they were mad.
	Fox started as the door to his father's study opened.  In the doorway
stood a man smoking a cigarette.  He was about daddy's height but a little
pudgier.  His suit was disheveled and he looked as though he had just
gotten up.  Fox hadn't seen enough police detectives to know they often
looked that way.
	The officer walked up to Fox.  Glaring down at him he said, "Could
you come on in with us son.  Maybe you can help clear up some things."
	Fox nodded his head meekly.  Slowly he slid off the chair he had been
sitting on and followed the officer.  They stepped inside the study and
the police detective closed the door.
	Inside several of the men were smoking.  Daddy hated smoke, Fox knew
that.  He really didn't like it either.  He didn't understand why the men
were doing it and he was too afraid to ask.
	"Sit down here son," the detective said.  Fox did as he was told.
Daddy was sitting on a chair in the corner.  He wasn't looking at Fox, his
head was buried in his hands.  Fox could see daddy was as distressed as
Fox himself felt.
	The detective sat down in a chair straight across from Fox.  "My name
is Officer Jenkins, okay?  Now.." he looked at a small notepad he was
carrying, "Fox we need you to tell us exactly what happened."
	Fox didn't like this man and he sure didn't like the way Jenkins said
his name.  "My name is Mulder," Fox replied.
	Detective Jenkins looked sternly at the boy.  "All right then,
Mulder, please tell us what happened."
	Fox began to fidget.  He tried hard to remember what happened, where
Samantha had gone.  It seemed so very hard, everything was mixed up and
not all in the right place.  He would see something in his head, some
image, and then forget it the very next second.  It was all so confusing.
Tremulously Fox spoke, "I don't know really.  Mommy and daddy had left.  I
remember the Magician came on at nine.  But I don't remember seeing it."
Fox stopped.  He was trying to make sense of it.
	"Son," Jenkins said, "we just need to know where your sister went.
Who took her away?  Did you see them?"
	"We were playing a game," Fox said, "I think we were.  Then Sam got
tired.  I tucked her into bed.  I'm sure I did..or I believe I did.  I got
into my bed right across from her."  Fox stopped, thinking over what he
had just said.
	"Your sister must not have stayed there.  She must have gone
somewhere after that.  Maybe someone came and took her with them.  Who was
that Fo-Mulder?  Tell us where they went."
	Fox could feel his eyes start to burn.  "I wish I could.  I really
do.  I want to find Sam.  I do.  I just..  I don't remember."  Fox burst
into crying, Sam was gone and he didn't even know where.  Sam always told
him when she was going somewhere even if they weren't going together.  Now
she had gone and gotten herself lost without him.  Or worse yet someone
had taken her.  Fox couldn't live with himself if he had let someone take
her.
	"Son," Detective Jenkins said, then paused waiting for a response.
"Son," he said again, "It's all right Mulder.  We'll find your sister.
You go and wait outside while we talk to your dad some more."
	Fox stifled back his sobs.  Wiping his eyes with the back of his
hands he did as he was told.  He slid carefully off the chair.  A
policeman opened the door for him and Fox stepped out into the hallway.
He then heard the door click shut behind him.

	After the long trek up to Herkimer Scully was beginning to wonder if
Mulder always driving wasn't a sexist ploy after all.  Perhaps his motives
were more altruistic.  Twice she had been pulled over by state troopers.
She flashed her badge and was on her way.  Mulder however never seemed to
get pulled over, or at least if he had she had never been in the car with
him at the time.
	Despite the annoyances with local authorities along the way Scully
was happy to be at her destination.  The problem was then finding Mulder.
She hoped he checked into the one motel listed for the town in the triple
A guidebook she had.  If he hadn't she might never find him on the account
that he left his cell phone at the office.  However, tonight the fates
seemed to be with her.  Mulder was there, Scully decided not to have them
buzz his room.  It was after midnight and with any luck he would be
asleep.
	Scully found the one star Herkimer Motel without much ado.  She
managed to get the room adjacent to Mulder's.  Key in hand, Scully then
retrieved her travel bag from the car.  She looked at her watch, it was
ten after one.
	As she approached her room Scully noticed a light on in Mulder's
room.  She couldn't see inside though because the blinds were closed.
Leave it to Mulder to stay up two nights in a row and think nothing for
his own health and mental state.
	Scully threw her things in her room and headed for his door.  She
gave three sharp knocks.  The door seemed to rattle a bit more than it
should in the frame.  
	Scarcely a moment later the door swung open and Mulder was standing
there.  He wore a T-shirt and jeans but he was clean shaven which Scully
found a little surprising.  Mulder smiled at his partner.
	"What took you so long?" he said jokingly.
	Scully stepped past him inside and Mulder closed the door behind her.
"Traffic was terrible," she said, the cynicism overflowing.
	Mulder stepped around to get a good look at his partner with her
tired eyes.  "Someone obviously had a less than spectacular drive up
here," he said amused at his partner's grumpiness.
	Scully crossed her arms and pursed her lips.  There was a short
silence between them as she stared him down.  In the brief pause Scully
could now hear what was on the television.  "I see you chose your normal
fare," she said.
	As if forgetting himself Mulder replied, "Yeah and you just
interrupted at the best part."
	Scully couldn't help but betray the hint of a smile, "Best part?" she
inquired, "Mulder it is not as if these movies exactly possess plots or
ever have any real.."
	"Climax?" Mulder interjected.
	"Point, Mulder.  I was going to say point," Scully continued to stare
at her partner.  There was an uncomfortable silence between them.
	"Are you hungry?" Mulder decided to change the subject.
	"At this hour?"
	"I can still tell time Scully," he prodded her again.  "I'm starving
and my guess is that you didn't stop either."
	Mulder was right, she had raced up here with nary a thought for food.
She was afraid there would be pieces to pick up on her arrival.  But now
she was beginning to think Mulder's chipper attitude was a little more
terrifying.  "What is open in this place?" she asked.
	"There is a 24 hour diner I saw in town.  It is probably the only
place."
	Scully opened the door, "Well then let's go."
	The drive to the diner was in silence.  They took Mulder's car and he
didn't say a word the entire way.  Scully was anxious to find out what was
going on but she didn't want to push the subject.
	The diner itself could have been better.  However it could have also
been a lot worse.  Scully had seen worse.  She remembered one time in
particular her college friends had taken her "trolloping" as they called
it.  Scully knew she just wasn't the type.  Puzzling over unsolvable
mysteries and chasing after phantom truths was more her style.  Or at
least it had become her style when she joined forces with Mulder.
	Sitting down at a table the two carried on in silence.  Mulder picked
up his menu and started to idly peruse it.  Scully couldn't stand it
anymore.  She finally decided that he was just doing this to annoy her.
"So what is going on Mulder?" she asked, "What have you found out about
the case?"
	Mulder lowered his menu so she could see his face.  He had wished in
a way that they could have had dinner without her bringing it up.  He had
known from the get go that it was a vain hope.  Still something made him
want to just have a normal conversation with Scully.  It was the weekend
after all.  He felt he needed some peace of mind.  But, Scully had come
all this way and there was no way he was going to redirect the
conversation to more mundane topics.
	Mulder set down his menu, he had decided what he wanted quickly
anyway.  "I found out a couple of interesting things Scully," he said
calmly.
	"Like what?" Scully was tired and her patience was at an end.
	"For one thing.  This town is where Roche grew up."
	Scully was naturally surprised to hear this.  "How did you find that
out?"
	"Hannah Rider's mother told me."
	"She isn't old enough to have known Roche as a child.  How did she
know that he grew up here?"
	"Ms. Rider knew Roche," Mulder leaned closer to speak to his partner,
"He sold her a vacuum.  She also knows Roche's mother."
	Scully's eyes perked up at that piece of information.  "Knows his
mother?"
	"She is still alive.  She lives in town.  I have her address and I
figured that we would go to see her first thing in the morning."
	The waitress then came to take their order.  Mulder told her what he
wanted and Scully rifled through the menu to find something palatable.
With that annoyance out of the way they continued.
	"Roche grew up here?" Scully said rhetorically, "But Hannah Rider
wasn't the first.  She wasn't abducted until 1977."
	"I know," Mulder said, "However, Ms. Rider distinctly remembers Roche
from that year.  He came over and played with her daughter not long before
she was abducted.  But that is not as important as what else I found."
Mulder paused leaving Scully for a moment in painful anticipation, "He had
a sister named Cynthia.  She died very young, in 1954.  I bet I could also
hazard a guess as to what was her favorite book."
	"Oh my God," Scully leaned back in her chair.  It was all hitting her
very fast now.  "He killed all those little girls.  All because of his
sister."  Scully was thoroughly perplexed.  "But how Mulder?  And why?"
	"I don't know yet Scully.  That was what I was hoping Roche's mother
could tell us."
	"Do you think she even knows?"
	"What do you mean?" Mulder asked.
	"I mean do you think that she knows her son was a killer.  We didn't
know that she lived here.  Maybe she hasn't made contact with her son in a
number of years.  She might not even know he is dead."
	Mulder thought about this possibility for a moment.  It seemed like a
very real one.  "If she doesn't know Scully, what are we going to do?"
	"We will have to tell her," Scully said.
	"But if she doesn't know her son is a killer.."
	"Then she should know," Scully interrupted already knowing where his
line of thought was headed, "You came out here to find a little girl
Mulder.  To set her to rest.  If Ms. Roche must be made aware of the truth
about her son than that is what we will have to do."
	"She didn't do anything," Mulder was a little perturbed at what he
perceived as Scully's lack of sensitivity.
	"Neither did you.  Roche is the one who did.  He is the one who
brought this on everyone.  No one is to blame but him."
	"But his sister?" Mulder's breath sucked in at the last word.  He
thought of Samantha as he had so many times recently.
	"She died Mulder.  People die.  Even young girls.  That doesn't
excuse anything.  It doesn't give Roche a license to do what he did."
	"He didn't have anything Scully, not even hope.  If I were him I
don't know what I would have done."
	"I do," Scully said as sure of it as anything in her life, "You don't
kill people Mulder.  In fact the only person you ever seem to hurt is
yourself.  You live your life, as I do, protecting others.  Searching for
the truth.  It's in your bones.  Just like Samantha will always be in your
heart."
	Mulder's vision began to mist as he looked at his partner.  Her exact
features became to blur as he tried to choke back his response.  He wished
he could believe in himself as much as Scully did.  He also hoped he could
live up to her expectations.
	In the quiet between them Scully carefully snaked her hand across the
table.  Her hand came in contact with Mulder's and she wrapped her fingers
over the back of his hand and into his palm.  Then she squeezed tightly,
trying to reassure him.  Mulder returned the small embrace though he could
only grip onto the tips of her fingers.
	Mulder regained his composure, helped in great part by Scully's
resolve.  The short moment then drifted away but neither of them would
forget it.  Mulder looked at Scully and she at him.  He was reminded again
that they were in this together.  To the bitter end.

	"The doctor can see you now," the receptionist said kindly.
	Special Agent Fox Mulder stood up from his chair in the waiting room.
This would be his first session.  He would be lying if he didn't admit to
himself that he was nervous.  But what mattered now, after all these
years, was finding out what happened.  Fox had been left with nowhere else
to turn.
	He smiled at the receptionist as he passed.  She returned his
expression with a beam of her own.  In the short moment they exchanged
glances the woman's motherly air almost made him feel comfortable.
Almost.
	Mulder entered the doctor's office and closed the door behind
himself.  He turned around and the man was already standing there.  He
wore his smile much like he might wear a hat.  Hollow as it was, Mulder
knew it was well intended.
	"Good morning Mr. Fox.  I am Doctor Heis Werber.  But I suspect you
already know that.  Come sit down," Werber motioned to one of the chairs
across from his desk and not the couch in the center of the room.
	Mulder took his seat in the chair.  The doctor sat behind his desk.
Werber was not a very tall man.  In fact he was almost impish.  Werber's
original hair color appeared to be a deep black though most of it had
turned to a dull grey.  He had a beard and one of the most startlingly
clear gazes Mulder had ever come across.
	"And what can I do for you today Fox, if I may call you that?" Werber
asked.
	"Actually people call me Mulder."
	"Very well" Werber said, "Then Mr. Mulder please tell me why you are
here today?"
	"To find out about my sister?" Mulder told the man.
	"You believe my regression hypnosis techniques can help you with this
yes?" the doctor asked.
	"I have nowhere else left to turn."
	"I see.  What do you wish to discover about your sister?"
	"When she was eight my sister was taken from me.  I was the only one
home at the time.  I have no recollection of the event itself nor can I
remember much of what I was doing the night she was abducted.  I want to
find out what happened.  I need to find out what happened."
	"You have waited this long to look for this?" Werber's tone was not
accusing, simply curious.
	"No," Mulder said, "I have exhausted all other avenues of pursuit.
This is my last hope."
	"Nothing should be your last hope Mr. Mulder," Werber smiled, a
genuine one.  He stood up and walked around his desk.  Mulder followed the
man with his eyes.  "So I assume you know what we are going to do?"
	"I believe that you are going to hypnotize me.  Then you will try to
recover my memories for me while I am under."
	"More or less," Doctor Werber approached an oak cabinet.  He opened
it and started to look for something.  "You see Mr. Mulder, when the mind
experiences a traumatic event it tries to hide what happened from the
conscious self.  Human nature is often afraid that knowledge of this event
will shatter the psyche of the individual.  It is a standard survival
instinct.  However, often times human nature doesn't seem to have much
forethought yes?  It doesn't realize that not knowing can often be far
worse than knowing.  So nature defeats itself and that is where I and
psychology must come in.  Ah, I found it," Werber removed a small object
from the cabinet and turned to Mulder.
	"Science is so often times set with doing the jobs for which nature
falls short.  Unfortunately where I work science doesn't quite explain
itself.  Nonetheless it still allows the patients to explain things to
themselves.  Many mysteries the mind has always known have come to light
in my rooms.  The people or the answers change but the science remains the
same.  With a little luck someday we might even know how it works."
	Werber sat down in the chair across from Mulder.  He gave a quick
wink, "But I doubt it.  It would be like explaining love.  Or why a
sunrise can rouse the soul the way it does.  You don't ask, it just is.
You see Mr. Mulder here you will find answers.  But you must also find
belief.  Else the answers will remain shrouded in the mists of your own
thoughts.
	"If you don't believe it.  If you don't think it.  If you don't allow
it to take control then naturally it will not work.  Then your visit here
will be like any other to the uncountable places I am sure you have
already searched.  Therefore I must ask of you something that science can
seldom request and far more often works to disavow.  I must ask your
faith.  Can you give it to me, for yourself, and for your sister?"
	"Yes," Mulder said firmly.
	"Then let us begin."  Werber placed the object he had retrieved from
his cabinet on the desk in front of Mulder.  It was a hand drawn picture
of a little girl with her cat.  It appeared to have been taken from a
storybook.  The caption read, "Alice and Dinah".

	Scully spent most of the night tossing and turning.  Her bed was
incredibly lumpy and she could not find one single comfortable spot.
Scully knew she was going to need a lot of coffee to get through the day.
	Mulder on the other hand had bounced back again to being insanely
cheery.  He also introduced this fact to her not long after seven in the
morning.  If it wasn't the weekend and Scully hadn't gone to bed at two
thirty she might not have minded.  There was one solace though, Mulder had
brought her the needed coffee.
	Scully drank and ate the donuts with him that he had also brought
along.  They sat on either end of the small table in her room.  Scully
began to really notice the smell of cigarettes that permeated the room.
She also didn't feel too clean herself.
	After the short breakfast Scully kicked Mulder out so they could both
get ready.  Scully took her time and emerged from her room just before
nine.  She wore a dark grey business suit.  Despite the fact it was a
little warm she also wore a deep forest green trenchcoat.
	Sitting on the trunk of his car, waiting for her, was Mulder.  He
wore his leather jacket, a plain maroon T-shirt, and a pair of blue jeans.
Scully walked up and stopped in front of him.
	"A little overdressed Agent Scully?" Mulder teased her.
	Scully crossed her arms.  "We are on official FBI business Agent
Mulder."
	"Says who?"
	"Says me.  Says the fact that we are investigating a federal crime."
	"Fair enough," Mulder slid off the back of the car and headed for the
driver's side of the car.
	Scully noticed something as he turned.  "Mulder!" she shouted.
	Mulder froze in his tracks and looked back at his partner.  He wasn't
quite sure what he had done wrong.  "What?" he asked.
	Scully pursed her lips.  "You are not even carrying your gun.  What
are you going to do?  Yell, 'Stop, or I'll yell stop again!'?"
	Mulder smiled at the partner who normally called him paranoid.
"Actually I'll just tell them they better freeze or I'll sic the mean
redhead on them."
	Scully's look feigned disapproval.  Mulder quickly got in the car
before she could zing him back.
	They arrived at five twenty three Elmhurst about twenty minutes
later.  The house itself was set back a fair ways from the road.  Mulder
parked the car alongside of the road instead of the pulling in the
driveway.  They then traveled along a walkway down and through a small
grove of trees.  A combination of weeds, grass, and dead leaves permeated
the ground.  It was obvious no one had taken care of the lawn in a long
time.
	Scully was the first one to take the steps up onto the porch.  The
old wood made a loud creaking noise as she did so.  Mulder followed
causing an even greater racket.
	The porch itself was mostly barren though dead leaves were scattered
here and there.  An old rocking chair sat off to their left.  Next to it
was a small and slowly rusting cast iron table.
	Scully reached up and used the knocker.  Three loud bangs rifled
through the air around them.  Then they waited.  The only sound that
returned their call was a light breeze ruffling the leaves in the trees.
	They heard no approach.  Much to their surprise the door eased open a
few moments later.  Standing in the doorway was an old woman well into her
seventies.  She wore the exact type of dress one might expect their great
grandmother to wear.  It was simple, long, and had a calm floral pattern
on it.
	"Oh why hello," she said, "I didn't know to expect visitors.  Come
in.  Come in."
	A little perplexed Scully looked at Mulder.  His expression offered
no explanation.  Scully did as was told and stepped inside followed
closely by her partner.  The old woman closed the door.
	"Mrs. Roche we're here.." Scully began.
	"It's so nice to have visitors," the woman prattled on, "Such a nice
young couple you are.  We'll have some tea shall we?  We will all like
that."  The old woman began to walk down the hall toward the kitchen.
	Scully watched as the woman traveled farther away from them.  She
began to speak softly to Mulder and he lowered his head to listen.
"Mulder you don't think she knows us do you?"
	"I think she is just glad for the company," Mulder said, "We should
follow her.  The least we can do is be hospitable."
	Scully nodded in agreement and started down the hallway followed in
toe by her taller partner.  The two agents walked through the doorway into
the kitchen.  It was brighter in there than in had been in the foyer or
the hall.  Mulder and Scully watched as the old woman took a kettle off
the stove and poured steaming water into two separate cups.  She then
turned to them and handed them their mugs.  Mulder and Scully said thank
you almost simultaneously.  The woman smiled at them both.
	"I hope you like the tea.  The water has been steaming for awhile but
I figured that was all right.  Please go ahead and take a seat."
Wordlessly Mulder and Scully sat down at the kitchen table.  It seemed to
them it would be disrespectful not to.  The old woman then began getting
some tea for herself.
	"Mrs. Roche.." Scully began again.
	"Please.  Call me Jude," the woman corrected her.
	"Jude," Scully said, "my name is Dana Scully and this is my partner
Fox Mulder.  We are Special Agents with the FBI."
	Jude Roche turned to look at the two of them.  "Oh, so you just moved
into town then."  Mrs. Roche approached the kitchen table and sat down.
Scully wasn't sure what to make of her response.
	"You know," Mrs. Roche continued, "I can't keep up with what women
are doing today.  It's been so long.  I dare say it looks like you're
wearing a business suit my dear.  I like my dresses personally.  Still,
you are cute as a button.  There is this sharp look about you.  Different
from your man here."
	Now Scully was really tongue-tied.  Mulder himself was having trouble
constraining his own amusement.  He leaned close to Scully's ear.  "Cute
as a button?" he inquired softly.  She could hear the mirth in his voice.
	Scully turned to him with a look that was pure fire.  "My man?" she
whispered back.
	"Oh I'm sorry," Jude Roche broke in again, "I didn't mean to get you
two quarreling.  Let's talk about something else."
	Turning away from Mulder, Scully directed her attention again at the
old woman.  "Mrs. Roche we are here to ask you some questions about your
son..and your daughter."
	Mrs. Roche stopped and looked at the two agents for a moment.  "John
hasn't been through here in years.  And Cynthy.  Well, we don't talk much
about her.  It upsets him you know."
	"I know," said Scully.
	"John's such a nice man.  A fine son.  He visits every now and then
when he can.  His work keeps him busy most of the time.  I guess he just
can't get up here as much as he used to.  I haven't seen him since his
father died come to think of it."
	"When was that?" Scully asked.
	"Oh a good ten years ago now.  Why do you ask?  Is something wrong?
Did something happen to John?"
	"No," Mulder broke in before Scully could say anything.  Scully
turned him a reprimanding look but he ignored it.  "We just need to know
some things," he said hoping it would be enough.
	"That's all right dear.  I will help you all I can.  John still has a
room here you know.  You can look through it if you like.  So does Cynthy.
I couldn't bear to clean it out.  I doubt I ever will."
	"Thank you," Mulder said.  There was a silence between the three of
them.
	"Look at me getting all flustered like this.  If you would like to
take a look you can go on upstairs.  The stairs are right near the front
door."  
	Mulder and Scully looked at each other.  It was a place to start.
They got up and proceeded down the hallway.
	Scully spoke softly as they walked, "Mulder we should tell her what
really happened."
	"Why Scully?  She doesn't need to know.  If Roche hasn't been here in
ten years than any insight she might have would probably be outmoded."
	"If Roche was here in 1977 to visit her she might know something.
She might remember some details about what happened to Ms. Rider's
daughter."
	"Like what?  That Roche enjoyed the company of young girls?  She is
not hiding anything Scully.  Telling her about her son would only do her
harm.  Let her continue to think he was a fine son."
	"But, it's not the truth."
	"Scully the truth won't solve anything here.  It will only break her
heart."
	"Mulder I don't need this right now.  It is our responsibility to
inform her of what happened to her son."
	"Then you do it.  I can't."  Mulder walked up the stairs away from
his partner.  Exasperated though she was Scully followed a few seconds
later.  Mulder hovered near the top of the stairs.  His gaze was directed
down the hallway to the left.
	Scully made it to the landing and followed his eyes with her own.  At
the end of a hall was a closed door.  In the shadows of the hall Scully
could make out a wooden sign in the shape of a heart.  The pink sign read
simply "Cynthia".
	Mulder made no move.  Scully thought he might be holding his breath.
"I'll look in the daughter's room," Scully said making sure not to mention
the dead girl's name.  Mulder made no response.
	Scully walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door.
Trepidatously she gripped the door knob.  She took a deep breath and then
turned it.



	The flowers were finally in full bloom.  The winter had lasted long
past its usual stay.  But the spring arrived and was followed closely by a
calm summer.  John ran across the field as quickly as his legs could carry
him.  Cynthia followed close behind her brother.  The farther they ran the
more she would fall behind.  He was much taller so it was difficult for
her to keep up.  Still she tried.
	After awhile John would notice that he had left her behind.  Then he
would stop to catch his breath and wait for her.  Cynthia always carried
that book of hers.  She took it everywhere.  John figured someday he might
bug her about it.  At least that is what he thought if it weren't for the
fact that he enjoyed her company so much.
	Whatever John may have secretly thought she still kept it close.
Sometimes her brother would read it to her at night.  In his voice Cynthia
felt she could almost see the magical land Alice ventured through.  She
liked her brother's reading and she loved his voice, soft but playful.
	John plopped down onto the grass, deciding that he had reached his
destination.  He lay looking up at the sky and the puffy clouds that rode
across it.  Cynthia had to take high steps to wade through the tall grass.
She arrived at where her brother lay.  She stood firm and looked down at
him.
	Cynthia's short shadow cast across his taller form.  Looking up John
watched as her hair whipped around her in the breeze.  Cynthia liked her
books.  She didn't like going out as much as he did.  She always felt her
imagination could carry her farther than her feet.  Besides, she thought,
she was still so dreadfully short.
	John sat up.  "Come on Cyn.  Sit down and listen," he said patting
the ground next to himself.
	Cynthia smirked at him but did as she was told.  "You know you
shouldn't call me that.  It sounds bad," she said referring to her
brother's truncation of her name.
	"I'm sorry Cynthy."  John said sincerely.
	She smiled, happy that her brother acquiesced to her wishes.
	John looked at his sister but then something past her caught his eye.
He quickly reached out and grabbed it.  "Hey look here," he said showing
his prize to her.
	"The lion flower!" she exclaimed.  Cynthia placed her book in the
grass and sat up on to her knees.  She was fidgeting with excitement.
They both carefully regarded the remains of the old flower, now turned to
a puffy white sphere.
	"Do you think if we blow hard enough it will go all the way to
Wonderland?" he didn't believe it but he knew that his sister did.  She
smiled bright and wide.
	"We can try," she said with a giggle of delight attached to it.
	John lifted the flower out in front of them both.  The two children
placed their heads close together in preparation.  "On the count of three
okay?" John said.  His sister nodded in response and John could feel her
long auburn curls tickle his ear.
	"One," Cynthia drew in her breath long and deep.
	"Two," she sucked in what little more air she could summon.
	"Three," Brother and sister blew in perfect unison.  The seeds
exploded into a vague white cloud.  The wind caught a hold of them and
carried them off.  They both watched until they could no longer see the
floaters against the blue and white sky.  Perhaps the pods had made it to
Wonderland after all.
	The two sat silently in vague nostalgia.  Or at least as much
nostalgia as they could muster in the short lives they had lived together.
John thought it almost strange that he could get so much happiness simply
by being with his sister.  Her sense of wonder could be almost contagious
at times.
	John looked at his sister.  She had that far off look she sometimes
got.  In her was this impossible ability to put herself somewhere else.
John wished he could do it too.  But still he liked where he was right
now.  
	He stood up and dusted himself off.  Cynthia broke from her silent
imaginings and watched her brother.  She was intent on what they would do
next.  John reached down and helped her up.  "Let's go play by the creek,"
he told her.
	She nodded her affirmation.  John ran off.  Cynthia picked up her
book and then started after him.  John made sure this time not to get too
far away from her.  He had to watch out for her you know.

	The room was dusty and cobwebs hung from all of the corners.  Scully
could see the footprints of a woman's shoe in the dust.  The prints had
been made awhile ago.  Scully stepped inside.  She left the door open
behind herself just a crack.
	The room itself was what one might expect from a little girl's room
of forty years ago.  Scully could make out what was once pink wallpaper
with a pattern of horses covering the room.  The pink was dull both from
grime and exposure to sunlight from the eternally open window.
	In one corner of the room was a small bed.  It was nothing fancy,
just a simple bed.  The quilt was a patchwork of different once bright
colors.  Across from the bed was the girl's closet which was firmly shut.
Next to the bed was a dresser and a murky old mirror.  On top of the
dresser were various things, a brush, some burettes, a couple of dirty
stuffed animals.
	The main feature of the room however was a large doll house.  It
stood on a stand of its own against the wall next to the closet.  Scully
walked up to investigate it further.  Her footfalls stirred the dust
around on the floor and added more prints.
	Scully looked through the tiny windows of the house.  Inside she
could see most of the rooms had been meticulously constructed and
decorated.  On closer inspection she also noticed that hinges on the
house's side allowed the entire front to swing open.  Carefully she found
the latch and swung the model's front out and to the side.
	Scully could now get an even better look at the rooms inside.
Something about the house struck her as strangely familiar.  It was then
that she realized the doll house was a scale model of the exact structure
she was in at that moment.
	"Her father made it for her," Scully started at hearing Jude Roche's
voice behind her.  Scully turned to look at the woman and regain her
bearing.
	"I'm sorry dear.  I didn't mean to startle you," Mrs. Roche said.
	"It's okay," Scully said wishing her voice didn't sound so affected
by the surroundings.  Dana had grown up in a room not so very different
from the one in which she stood.  It had been a later time.  But the
objects, the trinkets and precious things that made up childhood remained
the same.  Even if Dana had been a tomboy the feelings were similar.
	"It is the house you know," Jude Roche said proudly.
	"I just noticed," Scully replied.
	"Cynthia loved it.  Along with her books that is.  The stories and
tales she would come up with.  You would think something had possessed
her.  But in a way I guess it did."
	"Jude," Scully said softly, "if you don't mind me asking.  What
happened to your daughter?"
	Mrs. Roche stepped further into the room herself.  She looked closely
with her old eyes at the dollhouse.  She couldn't see the small things as
well as she used to be able.  "She was such a little precious girl you
know.  She loved her Carroll's Wonderland.  That was all she seemed to
remember near the end.  The story just got a hold of her somehow.  The
doctor called it an associative malady or some other such nonsense.  She
just went mad that's all.  Something clamped onto her little mind and
wouldn't let go.  One day I guess her body and soul just couldn't take it
anymore.  John found her when he brought up her breakfast like a good
little boy.  They were both such nice children.  It was a shame."
	Mrs. Roche stopped speaking and just hung in reverie.  "I'm sorry,"
Scully said sincerely.
	Mrs. Roche turned to her and smiled.  "It is all right dear.  It all
happened such a long time ago.  It is more of just a memory now.  Not
quite all the way but then nothing ever is.  I best go check on your
friend."  Jude Roche broke off and Scully watched as the woman walked
slowly out of the room.
	Scully focused her attention back on the house.  After a bit of
searching she was able to pick out which room was the one in which she was
standing.  It had all the same furniture including a miniature dollhouse.
The mirror above the dresser was even made with a tiny pane of glass.  
	Something about the bed looked strangely out of place.  The rest of
the room was a perfect duplicate.  The bed however, instead of being
covered by a miniature quilt was covered with a light sea green fabric.
On the fabric Scully could see a large pattern consisting of lilies.  The
pattern was much too large to fit in with the rest of the scene.  Scully
also noticed around the edges of the bed the fabric had been oddly tucked
in.  It didn't seem to have been cut right for the small bed.
	Scully wasn't sure if she should disturb the minute room but
curiosity overrode caution.  She pulled at the tucked in edges of the
fabric and quickly freed it from the bed.  She stepped back and unfolded
the material.  It opened up into the shape of a perfect heart.
	A deep dread took hold in the core of Dana Scully's being.  A lump
caught harshly in her throat.  Her breath felt so shallow and scarce she
thought she was hardly inhaling or exhaling at all.  Scully tried to get
her body to move but it was firmly rooted.
	She heard three light knocks off to her right.  Mulder's voice
followed soon after, "Hey, you find anything?"
	Scully turned her head while the rest of her body was frozen in
place.  The water in her eyes and the look she gave spoke more than
enough.  Mulder could see the cloth heart in her hand.  Finding her voice
Scully managed to choke out, "Do you think it is another one?"
	Mulder stepped in closer to his partner.  They were both thankful for
the sense of togetherness the narrow distance added.  Mulder regarded the
cloth piece solemnly.  It seemed to him that he should remember the
pattern.  But all he remembered was the shape.  The possibility of it
began to take a terrifying grip on him.  "I just don't know Scully.  I
can't say it isn't."
	Scully turned into her partner.  Her hands hovered close to him as
they both examined what she had found.  "It was in the doll house," she
managed to say, "in the small version of this room.  It was covering the
bed."
	Mulder looked at the dollhouse and knew instantly what she meant.  A
new emotion began to sink into him.  One of rage.  Rage combined with
frustration at a death of the innocent that seemed like it would never
end.  Hopes of conclusion and a final rest were gone.  The black highway
had stretched around another bend.
	"We better go," Mulder said constraining his voice, "We better go
now."  He stepped away from Scully and went to the door.  "Bring the
heart," he said as he exited.
	Scully followed her partner as he rifled down and out of the house.
She ran to catch up to him in the yard.  "Mulder what the hell has gotten
into you!" she shouted at him.
	Mulder didn't answer until they reached the car a few moments later.
"That Scully," he said pointing at the heart she held, "That has gotten
into me.  We follow behind picking up the pieces of the puzzle.  We find
out things always, but just not quite fast enough.  Only this time it is
not some dark conspiracy.  It is one fucking man!"  Mulder slammed his
fist into the car window with such force she thought it might actually
break.
	Mulder's anger had a very sobering effect on Scully.  "Mulder, calm
down," she said in a steady commanding voice.
	"Or what?  I'll blow the case?" he replied sarcastically.  Mulder
turned around and leaned against the car.  He looked out across the road
away from the house and into the woods.  "No one cares about this anymore
Scully.  Maybe not even me."
	She knew it was a lie.  If anyone still cared more deeply than Mulder
she couldn't imagine who that might be.  Then again he did have something
at stake.  But so did she.  "We still have to find that little girl
Mulder.  We should lay Hannah Rider to rest."
	Mulder spoke calmly now.  "She is at rest.." his voice trailed off.
Scully looked down at the heart she carried and then placed it in her coat
pocket.  Looking back up she stared at her partners back, not being able
to see his expression to determine where his thoughts lay.  She would have
to ask.  "Where are we Mulder?  What do we do now?"
	Mulder turned and gave her the strangest look.  "What did you say?"
he asked.
	"I asked what should we do," she told him.
	"No before that."
	"I asked where we are," she said still not following his logic.
	"Precisely," Mulder said enigmatically.  "That's it."
	"What's it."
	"Where we are Scully.  Do you have a map?"
	"This is your car Mulder."
	"Right," Mulder said as if she had proposed a stunning theory instead
of stating a simple fact.  Mulder dug his keys out of his pocket.  They
jangled as he searched for the right one.
	Only Mulder wouldn't carry his gun but then lock the car doors in the
middle of nowhere, Scully thought.  Mulder found the right key and popped
the door open.  He then reached under the driver's side seat groping with
his hand.  "What do you need the map for?" she asked.
	"To find the graveyard," Mulder replied.
	Scully thought about his statement for a moment.
	"Aha, found it," Mulder announced holding the map up triumphantly,
much like a kid who just managed to get the prize out of a Captain Crunch
box.  Mulder started to spread out the map on the hood of the car.
	Scully was beginning to see for what he was looking.  "You think
Roche buried the girl somewhere between here and his sister's grave don't
you?" she asked sure she was right.
	Mulder eyes scanned the map.  "Exactly.  It makes sense.  The murders
are related to the death of his sister Cynthia.  If Roche committed a
murder here I'm sure it would be closely related to landmarks significant
to his sister's death.  Now burying one of his victims at the house would
be like desecrating sacred ground.  The same logic would apply to the
cemetery.  But somewhere along the path would fit."
	Scully walked around the car to help him look.  Just as she arrived
next to him he slammed his finger down on a point on the map.  "There," he
announced.  A moment later Mulder was gone.  He disappeared so quickly it
took Scully a moment to realize it.
	Scully spun around to look for him.  The map slid idly off the hood
of the car behind her.  She looked around frantically.  As if in answer a
branch broke off in the woods across the street.  Scully darted out across
the asphalt and plunged into the forest after her partner.  Mulder ran,
easily outdistancing his partner more the farther they traveled.
	The woods carried on for some time before it finally broke into a
field.  Mulder darted through the high grass.  He stopped midway between
the woods he had come from and the next patch of foliage.  Suddenly
remembering Scully he turned around to look for her.
	Scully emerged from the woods and ran to her partner.  "Mulder what
the hell are you doing?" she yelled out of breath.
	"It's here Scully," he said.
	"What's here?"
	"The girl," Mulder said, "This way through the woods.  It is the
exact path Roche would have taken as a kid to reach his sister's grave.  I
see it now Scully.  The landscape.  He would have buried Hannah along
here.  Somewhere along the path he used as a kid."
	Scully looked around trying to find a distinguishing marker that
would prove Mulder right.  She could see nothing in sight.  "But Mulder.
How can you be so sure?  It is not as if you did it yourself."
	"The patterns are here Scully," Mulder said as he searched the
landscape with his eyes, "They're always here.  Even after the people who
made them have passed.  Like ghosts clinging to a drama that they played
out in life."
	Mulder began to walk away from Scully in almost a trance.  Scully
watched him for a moment and decided she should search in the opposite
direction.  Scully walked through the tall grass to continue the search.
The meadow rolled down a hill and into a wood.  Before Scully realized it
she was at the edge of the forest.
	Scully looked back for Mulder but he was out of sight over the hill.
She decided to go ahead and proceed without him.  Scully traveled only a
few yards into the woods when she heard something.  She stopped to listen
carefully.  It was the sound of water falling over rocks.
	Scully followed the sound and continued further in.  It was not long
before she broke through a patch of briars.  She found herself standing at
the edge of a rather sizable creek.  The rippling water spoke loudly as it
splashed over the rocks.
	She began to look along the bank.  Carefully Scully searched the
rocks and the trees nearby for some sign.  She hoped to find any mark that
would have survived almost two decades.  Her persistence paid off.  Scully
ran to find Mulder.

	John held the tray close to himself.  It was heavy especially with
all the things mother had piled onto it.  He struggled not to drop his
cumbersome goods while he slowly ascended the stairs.  The tray he carried
was of intricate design.  It was forged of a bright polished silver.
Everything had to be perfect now for Cynthy.
	John made it to the top of the stairs.  Somehow he had held onto the
tray.  It was a small blessing.  After all he had done it before.  John
walked down the hallway and used the platter to push open the door to his
sister's room.  John looked inside before fully entering.
	Cynthia sat up in her bed.  She was staring out the window the same
as he found her so many other mornings.  If she noticed him she made no
indication of the fact.
	John moved cautiously forward into the room.  Halfway to her bed he
accidentally kicked a brush that was lying on her floor.  It made a
scratching sound as it slid across the hard wood.  Cynthia's head whipped
around to see her brother.  She smiled, wide but distant.
	"Hey Cyn," John said, "I brought your breakfast."  He tried to keep
his voice clear and even cheerful.  He had to mask how much he was scared
now.  These days he feared both for his sister and for himself.
	"Is it time for tea?" she asked him with the most queer look in her
eye.  He could see her hands kneading thoughtlessly at her quilt cover.
	John moved up to the bed.  He wasn't really sure how to answer her
question.  He could feel his arms trembling ever so slightly.  His
trepidation was caused both by the weight in his arms and in his own mind.
"It is time for you to eat sis."
	Cynthia looked on either side of her brother.  She then pushed
herself up on her hands so she could get a better look behind him.
Dissatisfied she plopped back down to her sitting position on the bed.
"But where are the Hare and Dormouse?  We can't have tea without them?"
	Her brother smiled mirthlessly.  She asked that question so many
times.  She also often asked to where his hat had gone off.  "I just
brought myself today," he told her.
	"Again?" she was disappointed, "How can you have a tea party without
your friends?"
	"I do have a friend here," John said, "You."
	Cynthia smiled at what she felt was a great compliment.  "Then I am
glad that I could join you for tea sir."
	John set the tray down on her bed.  Her breakfast consisted of two
pancakes covered in syrup, some toast, and a few strawberries.  To drink
there was a glass of orange juice.  Additionally a small teapot and cup
were on the tray.  For awhile now Cynthia had refused to have any meal
without tea.  One morning, when the tea had been absent, she hurled
everything across the room.  John did not need a doctor to tell him his
sister was not well.
	John watched and waited as his sister scuffled up and began to look
over the food.  Without a word John poured her a cup of tea.  She picked
up the cup, took a sip, then set it back down.  After that she began to
work on the pancakes.  John just watched and waited painfully aware of
just how tired yet at the same time frantic his sister's motions appeared
to be.
	"Well say something silly," she reached out and touched his nose.
	John laughed lightly at the motion but it was hard.  "Like what?" he
asked.
	"I don't know," she said and then took another bite.
	John looked out the open window for a moment.  The sunlight had been
slowly creeping its way into the room.  Outside John could see the trees
in the yard.  Their green leaves were interwoven with marks of light and
shadow.
	"Perhaps we can go around outside today," John offered his sister.
"We could visit some of the places around.  Maybe it would help a little."
	"Help what?" his sister asked.
	John didn't quite understand how his sister couldn't see it.  The
idea of not knowing exactly where or who you are was quite foreign to him.
The young boy could not readily conceive exactly what it was that madness
did to a person, to a little girl.
	"I thought it might help you see the world," John said still watching
the trees through the window.
	"I already see it just fine," his sister challenged, "The cat did say
if I came this way I would only meet mad people.  And you're not making
any sense I'm afraid."
	John looked at his sister for some time.  When he continued to remain
silent she returned to her breakfast.  If he wouldn't talk she figured
then he must be mad.  She felt it would be much better when she got on and
left this place.
	John wished so much that his sister would get better.  She had to
show some sign of improvement she just had to.  More than anything he
wanted his old sister back, the one he knew.  He wasn't sure exactly what
he would do if he ever lost her completely.

	Mulder stood over a large rock near the basin of the creek.  Carved
undeniably into the surface of the stone were two simple words, "Mad Hat."
Mulder stared at the words for sometime.  
	He felt that in some small way he should at least be a bit satisfied.
After all he had found what he had left Washington to search for.  But he
wasn't satisfied.  Gnawing in the back of his skull were the thoughts of a
little girl.  Both the one he had just found and the one whose heart his
partner now kept.
	Scully hovered just behind her partner as he remained silent.  She
began to worry what exactly it was that Mulder was thinking.  After
several minutes when no sound, no quip seemed forthcoming she finally
spoke.  "Mulder we should get some help out here," she said, "We need to
find the body.  It is probably somewhere out in the water."
	Mulder shifted slightly.  She could barely hear his voice when he
spoke.  "No," he told her.
	"We have to contact someone," she tried to keep her voice comforting,
"I am not sure we can find the body that easily on our own."
	Mulder turned fully around to hold Scully's gaze "No," he said
firmly.
	"Mulder.." she began to protest.
	"I promised," he cut her off.
	"Promised what?"
	"I promised Hannah's mother that if we found her..we would let her
rest."
	"Mulder you can't make that kind of promise.  If we don't find the
body how do we know for sure that it is her?" Scully demanded.
	"It's her Scully.  I know Roche well enough to know that.  I hope you
will let me keep my promise.  I know I have asked for more than my fair
share of favors.  Please grant me this one more," Mulder waited silently
for her response.  Though his voice was quiet his eyes still pleaded.
	Scully held Mulder's gaze as she mulled it over.  She wanted very
much to grant Mulder his request.  She had no desire to argue with him or
push the point.  However, at the same time she did not posses the same
faith Mulder had in the absolute identity of the victim.  Or that a victim
even lay in the area at all.  It seemed just as equally likely that Roche
had carved the stone out in his childhood.  That was, after all, where the
whole nightmare had begun.
	"Mulder I'm just not sure.  I know it is your case but.." her voice
and logic trailed off.
	"I know you can call me on standard FBI procedure Scully.  I am
asking you as a friend."
	The edge of Scully's lips curled up ever so faintly.  "That is why
I'm here isn't it?" she asked more to herself.
	"God knows the bureau didn't send you up here after me.  You seem to
take up the task of chasing me around on your own."  A bit of a smile
began also to cross Mulder's countenance.
	"You know how it goes Mulder," Scully said, "I have to keep you
honest."
	"You do Scully.  I couldn't ask for a better guardian.  I just hope
you don't tire of the job."
	"I won't," Scully told him with assurance.  She motioned her head
toward the incline.  "We should go on back.  I think we have found
everything that we can here."
	Mulder nodded and they both drudged up the forest slope.  They walked
side by side out of the woods and continued through the field.  Scully
didn't want to pull at Mulder any further but she had to ask him
something.  "Mulder," she said, "What about the other heart?  Who do you
think it really belongs to?"
	To her surprise he responded quite matter-of-factly, "Most likely
another victim.  I doubt that it belonged to his sister.  I don't believe
Roche took trophies until he started his killings.  In any case there is
some reason for it having not been placed with the other hearts.  Either
he put it in the dollhouse because he committed the crime near his home;
or because the killing represented by that heart was special in some way.
It may have even been his first.  In any case that means one more victim,
one more little girl."
	"We will find her Mulder," she assured him as she had before.
	Mulder made no response.
	Even as they continued to walk in silence they could both feel
something.  They sensed a question lingering, waiting to be spoken into
the air around them.  It was a simple question really.  It was about a
little girl, the heart upon which both their thoughts rested.  The
questioned dared to ask, "Who was she, and what was her name?"  And even
worse than the question, there drifted lazily about a disturbingly
possible answer.
	Perhaps Samantha.

                                            The End