From: SRSG Date: Sun, 12 Dec 1999 10:13:37 -0500 Subject: NEW: The Prodigal Son (1/10) Title: The Prodigal Son (Part 1 of 10) Author: SRSG; lpowell@iaw.on.ca Archiving: anywhere, just let me know & please don't take my name off Rating: PG for language Classification: S, MSR Spoilers: Triangle, One Breath, Travelers (minor) Keywords: none Summary: Facing death, Mulder seeks solace from his friends... and a Higher Power. Feedback: Yes please - as long as it's not religious comment. This piece is not intended as a 'Christian Manifesto' or anything, so please don't be offended by the religious aspect. Author's Notes: I have heard many people suggest that Mulder is Jewish, and I know that DD has even made the suggestion, but certain things didn't add up, like in 'Conduit' when he sits crying in the church pew, mourning for his sister, and his extensive knowledge of the New Testament throughout the series. I suppose one could argue either way, but to me, the evidence seems to point to him being of Protestant descent. If you don't agree, that's fine, but this is MY take on it. Disclaimer: You know the drill - they don't belong to me, they belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I'm just borrowing them for awhile. Hovever, any characters not represented in the X-Files television series DO belong to me. I don't mind if you use them, just let me know about it. Chapter 1 - As the Clouds Descend... I got the phone call at 7:38 p.m. I had been focussing intently on the last paragraph of next Sunday's sermon, a rather uninspiring piece, I thought. These days, I seemed to have lost the old fire for the Gospel that used to burn so brightly in my heart all those years ago. I thought back to that time, at Oxford, trying so hard to convert my old friend Fox Mulder. But he would have none of it. Such a stubborn soul - surely he would be my greatest triumph! I would never give up. And when I finally had his admission that Christ is Lord, I would be the hero of Westminster College! Sharing digs near campus, Fox Mulder and I had somehow managed to become great friends, in spite of our theological differences. He was a firm believer in the paranormal, exploring every culture and religion he could think of, trying to find some link to the extra-terrestrial life he was so certain had carried off his sister when he was a mere boy of 12. He had been angry at God at first, and I could understand that, but over time that anger had dissipated into dismissal, and he had decided that God had played no part in this. By the time I met him, Fox had concluded that God, in the traditional Judeo-Christian sense, did not exist. Spirits of varying type and character, he could accept. But one omnipotent Creator, who was in control of the universe, and, consequently, of us, was an unpalatable concept to him. He seemed to have a particular dislike for so-called "organized religion". But, despite my persistence, I could never get him to tell me why. I grieved for him, in a way. He seemed so restless, so lost, searching for a peace that he would never find, I was sure. I longed to help him, I tried, but he brushed me off every time. Leave it alone Mike, I would tell myself, and then the words would come, in spite of me. All I could do was pray that God would help me to believe that passage from Isaiah: "...My Word...will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it." On some level, the words I spoke must have touched Fox Mulder. I had to believe that, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. And so I continued to pray. And how I prayed! Never before had I experienced friendship like this. How strange that I should become so close to someone who didn't even share my faith! And yet, somehow, he had been like a brother to me. I often wondered what had become of him, once he headed back to America to continue his quest for answers. I never heard from him again - why, I didn't know. But I never stopped praying. Years had passed, time and space had drawn us apart, but still I prayed. One day, I knew God would answer my prayer. It might not be the answer I wanted, but the answer would come. And then came the phone call. I started out of my daydream, and looked at the display. UNKNOWN CALLER it read. I leaned across the desk to pick it up. Probably someone from the church council, calling to complain about what I said at yesterday's meeting. "Hello?". "Hello, may I speak to Mr. Michael Walker, please?" The voice was American, soft and feminine. There was almost a hint of a tremble in it. "I'm him. How may I help you?" "Are you the Michael Walker who went to Oxford with Fox Mulder?" "Yes..." I confirmed, hesitatingly. "My name is Dana Scully. I'm a... friend... of his, and he asked me to find you." I sat bolt upright in my chair. How strange! "Fox! I was just thinking about him! I haven't heard from him in years! But, if he wanted to talk to me, why didn't he call me himself? What's he afraid of?" I bit my lip as soon as I'd said it, realizing how cutting the words sounded. If there was one thing that wasn't in Fox Mulder's makeup, it was fear. She ignored my question, and continued, "Sir, I was hoping you could come to Washington as soon as possible. He asked especially to see you in person. He's extremely ill, and the doctors here aren't very optimistic..." She almost choked on the words. I could tell that she must be a very close friend. Or perhaps more. The words didn't sink in at first. There was a long silence on the line. Too long for her, apparently. "Sir? Are you still there?" "Yes. I'm sorry. I was just absorbing what you said. He asked for ME? Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm quite sure. Please, he made me promise I'd do everything I could to get you here. How soon can you come?" I thought for a moment. Today was Wednesday. How long would I be gone? America was so far away. I couldn't just drop by for a couple of days. And if my old friend really did want me at his side, I would want to stay with him for as long as necessary, to help him through it. Who could look after the parish for me? I took a deep breath. "Let me make some calls, Miss Scully, and I'll get back to you. Can I have your phone number?" "Yes. I'll give you the cell phone number. That way you can reach me wherever I am." A VERY close friend, I mused. "It's area code 804...337...5389. Did you get that?" "Yes. Thank you. I'll try to get a block of time off, so I can stay there for awhile. I'll call you when I have a flight number." "Thank you. I was a little afraid you might say no." She certainly did sound relieved. But what did she mean by that? "Why would I say no? What has he told you about me?" Now I was worried. I wracked my brain, searching the memories for some dispute, some problem between us, that might account for her statement. "Not much... but he did mention that it had been years since he spoke to you, and I got the feeling you might have parted on bad terms..." She trailed off. I was bewildered. I couldn't recall a single harsh word between us. Our theological debates had occasionally gotten a bit heated, but that was just friendly banter. Or was it? "I'll be there!", I insisted. "I'll call you in a couple of hours, when I have everything lined up." "Thank you. I'm sure Mulder will want to know when you're coming. I'll be waiting for your call." And with that, she hung up. I hung up the phone and sat back in my chair. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. Fox Mulder was in trouble, and he had asked for ME! I suddenly realized that I hadn't even asked her what was wrong with him. How thoughtless she must think me! I gazed around the room in disbelief, scanning the volumes that lined the walls of my study. So many helpful books: "Grief Counselling for Pastors"; "How to Minister to the Terminally Ill and their Families"; "When God Doesn't Make Sense". My eyes rested on that last title. Could I somehow make sense out of this? Why was this happening, and why now? After all those years of prayer, would God's answer be to take my friend's life? A swell of anger and pain surged through my body. Get control of yourself, I thought. You have a lot of work to do in the next couple of hours. I drew myself up, grabbed a kleenex, and picked up the phone. It was going to be a long night. The Prodigal Son (Part 2 of 10) Chapter 2 - Dr. Scully, I presume With those words, I was stirred out of a restless sleep, and I braced myself for the days ahead. The flight had been delayed 3 hours, due to poor weather conditions at Heathrow. Fog. Heavy, thick as pea soup. It seemed to fit my mood. We landed at 4:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. Thursday afternoon. Jet lag. As I peeked outside at the runway, the weather didn't look much better than at home. Dark, ominous clouds blanketed the sky, and I caught a glimpse of a fork of lightning touching down on the horizon. How would I make it through what was left of this day? I sent a fervent prayer to God for strength. I certainly didn't have much of my own to draw on. I pulled my overnight bag from the overhead compartment and headed towards the exit. A small child ran up the aisle bumping my leg as she passed me, and giggling with glee. I felt a well of anger rush up inside me, then fought to quell it. It's not her fault that you're miserable, I told myself. I watched her as we headed down the corridor towards the terminal. She caught sight of someone up ahead, and started to run again, calling out "Daddy!". A young man crouched to his knees with arms outstretched, and a smile lit up his face as he folded her in his embrace. A touching reunion. But my rendezvous wasn't going to be a happy one. My transit through customs was uneventful. I'm sure the dog-collar had something to do with it! I scanned the arrival gate for Dana Scully. She had described herself briefly as being a redhead, 5'3", and wearing a dark brown pants suit. Eventually, I caught sight of her. As I approached, I noted that she was much more attractive than I had imagined. I'm sure Fox noticed, too, I mused. I thought of Andrea, my wife, back at home. Never before had so many miles separated us. How would she get along without me, with a 6-month old and a toddler on her hands? I had asked my brother Andrew to keep an eye on them while I was gone, and we would stay in touch by phone, but still, I worried about them. There was no way of knowing how long this visit would be. From what Agent Scully had told me, Fox had been experiencing symptoms for quite some time, but never told anyone. And now, the situation was critical. Cancer had always frightened me. I found ministering to those affected by it to be a difficult task at the best of times. Now, for the first time, it had struck someone close to me. Up until now, I had been lucky. Perhaps God was using this situation to teach me to better comfort those families. But I felt that it was I who needed comforting. And I haven't even made it to the hospital yet, I thought ruefully. I queried as I approached her. She looked up at me. I could tell she'd been crying recently. Her eyes spoke volumes before she uttered a word. Her face was pale, and she looked shaken. Nevertheless, I could tell that she was a strong woman. She was immaculately clothed and groomed, and I could almost see her inner struggle for self-control. Hesitatingly, she held out her small hand to meet mine. "Michael Walker?" She seemed uncertain that I truly was the man she was supposed to meet. "Yes... is there a problem?" I looked around the room at the bustling travellers. Why did she seem so surprised? "I'm sorry... It's just that... Mulder never told me you were a minister!" Well, now I was stumped. Just what had he told her about me? "You're kidding! I wonder why he kept that one under wraps. I was in seminary at Westminster College when we were roommates." We started walking towards the baggage claim area of the terminal. I decided to make conversation. "I suppose Fox has been filling your head with tales of Roswell and little green men..." "Grey, actually." The comment stopped me short. I gave her another once-over, and noticed the small cross pendant she wore. "You don't really believe in those stories, do you?" I asked, pointing to it. No sooner were the words out of my mouth, than I regretted uttering them. What did it matter whether she believed in aliens and the paranormal or not? Her partner and friend was seriously ill, and here I was, ridiculing him. "Well, I don't believe in EVERYTHING Mulder does. But I've seen things in this job that science can't yet explain. Mulder has opened my mind, every bit as much as I've tried to open his!" She smiled up at me, and I breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't been offended by my comment. "Besides, isn't faith all about believing in what you can't explain or understand? By that definition, Mulder has more faith than anyone I've ever known." Her comments struck a nerve. No, Fox Mulder did NOT have faith. Not the True Faith. I rallied myself to set her straight. "Faith isn't valid if it's placed in a false god. It doesn't do a person any good to believe in something that doesn't exist!" What was I trying to do, convert her? "I agree. But if that's all you have, isn't it better than nothing? At least it gives you something outside yourself to hold onto." She wasn't defending the validity of her partner's beliefs, but his need to hold them. I understood now. Even though she didn't share his opinions, she cared for him deeply and didn't want their religious differences to come between them. This was familiar territory for me. Wasn't that exactly what I had felt, all those years ago? "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I guess I tend to get a little touchy on this subject. We had many an argument over it back in college, Fox and I," I remarked as we arrived at the baggage claim area. "Arguing with Mulder...sounds like we have something in common! And please, call me Dana." She smiled up at me again. I was relieved. I sensed we would be spending many hours together, and I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot. I scanned the carousel for my bag, and to my surprise, found it without difficulty. I don't travel by plane very often, but whenever I have, I've always had at least one piece of luggage go astray, temporarily anyway. For this reason, I always carry my Bible, a small vial of oil, and the Elements for Holy Communion in my carry-on luggage. To lose any of these items would cause me no end of grief. Besides, one never knows when a fellow passenger might need the comfort of God's Word and Sacraments. I had set down my carry-on bag while I searched for the other one. As I pulled the larger bag off the carousel, Dana picked up the lighter one without hesitation. "Here, let me help you with that." She certainly was making an effort to convince me that she was in control! "My car is parked in the main lot. It's this way." She turned and headed towards the east exit of the terminal, marching ahead of me with a confident, quick stride. I followed obediently, and wondered who was the boss in this FBI partnership. Fox wasn't one who liked to take orders from anyone. I could just picture him, in my place, standing dead still in the middle of the terminal, shouting after her, "Hey Scully! This way's faster!" I smiled at the image, and pondered whether he was still as stubborn. Exiting the terminal, I suddenly realized that the skies had begun to clear. There was a fresh, moist scent in the air, and the sun was peeking through the clouds. Perhaps this was a sign that God was smiling on my visit. We arrived at Dana's car after what seemed an eternity. There was construction in the parking lot, and the pedestrian walkway was blocked. In the course of our detour, Dana had accidentally stepped smack into the middle of a puddle, and her left foot was soaked. The shoes looked expensive. I marvelled that she hadn't muttered a word, just carried on like a trooper towards the car. We stowed my bags in the boot, and after about 20 minutes of traffic jam, finally got out of the parking lot and made our way to the interstate. I had asked Dana to take me directly to the hospital. The hotel could wait until I had seen my old friend again. I still had no idea what I would say to him, but I knew that God would give me the words I needed when the time came. I had never been to America, but of course we see it all the time in England, with all the U.S. TV shows the BBC picks up. It looked unlike anything I'd ever seen on TV, though. The colours looked brighter, somehow. Although I was enjoying the scenery immensely, I was acutely aware of the awkward silence that had invaded the car ever since we'd left the airport. Dana seemed lost in thought, and I almost wondered whether she was sufficiently aware of her surroundings to be driving. Never having driven on the right-hand side of the road, I wasn't about to take over the wheel, but I had to break the silence somehow. "So, tell me about yourself, Dana. How did you come to get hooked up with Fox Mulder?" Bad choice of words, I winced. Better try to salvage this. "I should say, what sort of work do you do at the FBI? As you know, Fox and I haven't spoken in years, and I haven't a clue what path his career has taken." "We work on a project called the X-Files. Unsolved cases... unexplained phenomena... the paranormal... alien abductions... government conspiracies..." I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "You mean, he actually does that sort of thing... for a LIVING?! I asked, incredulously. She glanced at me. I wasn't sure how to take the look in her eyes. "Yes. I was originally assigned to the project to put Mulder's work to the test of science. But it didn't take long for me to realize that many of these cases defy any current scientific explanation. I've experienced things first-hand that call into question everything I was taught in college. Not only that, I've also become a lot less trusting of authority, at any level. The things that have been done to me, to Mulder, and to our families... well, let's just say he's the only one I trust at the FBI." I didn't know what I could say in response. What she said was almost overwhelming. I was brimming with questions, but it didn't seem an appropriate time to ask them. I returned my gaze to the passing scenery, and wondered how much longer the drive would be. From lpowell@iaw.on.ca Thu Dec 23 10:52:35 1999 Date: Sun, 12 Dec 1999 10:15:23 -0500 From: SRSG Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: The Prodigal Son (2/10) Keywords, disclaimer etc. in Part 1 The Prodigal Son (Part 2 of 10) Chapter 2 - Dr. Scully, I presume With those words, I was stirred out of a restless sleep, and I braced myself for the days ahead. The flight had been delayed 3 hours, due to poor weather conditions at Heathrow. Fog. Heavy, thick as pea soup. It seemed to fit my mood. We landed at 4:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. Thursday afternoon. Jet lag. As I peeked outside at the runway, the weather didn't look much better than at home. Dark, ominous clouds blanketed the sky, and I caught a glimpse of a fork of lightning touching down on the horizon. How would I make it through what was left of this day? I sent a fervent prayer to God for strength. I certainly didn't have much of my own to draw on. I pulled my overnight bag from the overhead compartment and headed towards the exit. A small child ran up the aisle bumping my leg as she passed me, and giggling with glee. I felt a well of anger rush up inside me, then fought to quell it. It's not her fault that you're miserable, I told myself. I watched her as we headed down the corridor towards the terminal. She caught sight of someone up ahead, and started to run again, calling out "Daddy!". A young man crouched to his knees with arms outstretched, and a smile lit up his face as he folded her in his embrace. A touching reunion. But my rendezvous wasn't going to be a happy one. My transit through customs was uneventful. I'm sure the dog-collar had something to do with it! I scanned the arrival gate for Dana Scully. She had described herself briefly as being a redhead, 5'3", and wearing a dark brown pants suit. Eventually, I caught sight of her. As I approached, I noted that she was much more attractive than I had imagined. I'm sure Fox noticed, too, I mused. I thought of Andrea, my wife, back at home. Never before had so many miles separated us. How would she get along without me, with a 6-month old and a toddler on her hands? I had asked my brother Andrew to keep an eye on them while I was gone, and we would stay in touch by phone, but still, I worried about them. There was no way of knowing how long this visit would be. From what Agent Scully had told me, Fox had been experiencing symptoms for quite some time, but never told anyone. And now, the situation was critical. Cancer had always frightened me. I found ministering to those affected by it to be a difficult task at the best of times. Now, for the first time, it had struck someone close to me. Up until now, I had been lucky. Perhaps God was using this situation to teach me to better comfort those families. But I felt that it was I who needed comforting. And I haven't even made it to the hospital yet, I thought ruefully. I queried as I approached her. She looked up at me. I could tell she'd been crying recently. Her eyes spoke volumes before she uttered a word. Her face was pale, and she looked shaken. Nevertheless, I could tell that she was a strong woman. She was immaculately clothed and groomed, and I could almost see her inner struggle for self-control. Hesitatingly, she held out her small hand to meet mine. "Michael Walker?" She seemed uncertain that I truly was the man she was supposed to meet. "Yes... is there a problem?" I looked around the room at the bustling travellers. Why did she seem so surprised? "I'm sorry... It's just that... Mulder never told me you were a minister!" Well, now I was stumped. Just what had he told her about me? "You're kidding! I wonder why he kept that one under wraps. I was in seminary at Westminster College when we were roommates." We started walking towards the baggage claim area of the terminal. I decided to make conversation. "I suppose Fox has been filling your head with tales of Roswell and little green men..." "Grey, actually." The comment stopped me short. I gave her another once-over, and noticed the small cross pendant she wore. "You don't really believe in those stories, do you?" I asked, pointing to it. No sooner were the words out of my mouth, than I regretted uttering them. What did it matter whether she believed in aliens and the paranormal or not? Her partner and friend was seriously ill, and here I was, ridiculing him. "Well, I don't believe in EVERYTHING Mulder does. But I've seen things in this job that science can't yet explain. Mulder has opened my mind, every bit as much as I've tried to open his!" She smiled up at me, and I breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't been offended by my comment. "Besides, isn't faith all about believing in what you can't explain or understand? By that definition, Mulder has more faith than anyone I've ever known." Her comments struck a nerve. No, Fox Mulder did NOT have faith. Not the True Faith. I rallied myself to set her straight. "Faith isn't valid if it's placed in a false god. It doesn't do a person any good to believe in something that doesn't exist!" What was I trying to do, convert her? "I agree. But if that's all you have, isn't it better than nothing? At least it gives you something outside yourself to hold onto." She wasn't defending the validity of her partner's beliefs, but his need to hold them. I understood now. Even though she didn't share his opinions, she cared for him deeply and didn't want their religious differences to come between them. This was familiar territory for me. Wasn't that exactly what I had felt, all those years ago? "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I guess I tend to get a little touchy on this subject. We had many an argument over it back in college, Fox and I," I remarked as we arrived at the baggage claim area. "Arguing with Mulder...sounds like we have something in common! And please, call me Dana." She smiled up at me again. I was relieved. I sensed we would be spending many hours together, and I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot. I scanned the carousel for my bag, and to my surprise, found it without difficulty. I don't travel by plane very often, but whenever I have, I've always had at least one piece of luggage go astray, temporarily anyway. For this reason, I always carry my Bible, a small vial of oil, and the Elements for Holy Communion in my carry-on luggage. To lose any of these items would cause me no end of grief. Besides, one never knows when a fellow passenger might need the comfort of God's Word and Sacraments. I had set down my carry-on bag while I searched for the other one. As I pulled the larger bag off the carousel, Dana picked up the lighter one without hesitation. "Here, let me help you with that." She certainly was making an effort to convince me that she was in control! "My car is parked in the main lot. It's this way." She turned and headed towards the east exit of the terminal, marching ahead of me with a confident, quick stride. I followed obediently, and wondered who was the boss in this FBI partnership. Fox wasn't one who liked to take orders from anyone. I could just picture him, in my place, standing dead still in the middle of the terminal, shouting after her, "Hey Scully! This way's faster!" I smiled at the image, and pondered whether he was still as stubborn. Exiting the terminal, I suddenly realized that the skies had begun to clear. There was a fresh, moist scent in the air, and the sun was peeking through the clouds. Perhaps this was a sign that God was smiling on my visit. We arrived at Dana's car after what seemed an eternity. There was construction in the parking lot, and the pedestrian walkway was blocked. In the course of our detour, Dana had accidentally stepped smack into the middle of a puddle, and her left foot was soaked. The shoes looked expensive. I marvelled that she hadn't muttered a word, just carried on like a trooper towards the car. We stowed my bags in the boot, and after about 20 minutes of traffic jam, finally got out of the parking lot and made our way to the interstate. I had asked Dana to take me directly to the hospital. The hotel could wait until I had seen my old friend again. I still had no idea what I would say to him, but I knew that God would give me the words I needed when the time came. I had never been to America, but of course we see it all the time in England, with all the U.S. TV shows the BBC picks up. It looked unlike anything I'd ever seen on TV, though. The colours looked brighter, somehow. Although I was enjoying the scenery immensely, I was acutely aware of the awkward silence that had invaded the car ever since we'd left the airport. Dana seemed lost in thought, and I almost wondered whether she was sufficiently aware of her surroundings to be driving. Never having driven on the right-hand side of the road, I wasn't about to take over the wheel, but I had to break the silence somehow. "So, tell me about yourself, Dana. How did you come to get hooked up with Fox Mulder?" Bad choice of words, I winced. Better try to salvage this. "I should say, what sort of work do you do at the FBI? As you know, Fox and I haven't spoken in years, and I haven't a clue what path his career has taken." "We work on a project called the X-Files. Unsolved cases... unexplained phenomena... the paranormal... alien abductions... government conspiracies..." I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "You mean, he actually does that sort of thing... for a LIVING?! I asked, incredulously. She glanced at me. I wasn't sure how to take the look in her eyes. "Yes. I was originally assigned to the project to put Mulder's work to the test of science. But it didn't take long for me to realize that many of these cases defy any current scientific explanation. I've experienced things first-hand that call into question everything I was taught in college. Not only that, I've also become a lot less trusting of authority, at any level. The things that have been done to me, to Mulder, and to our families... well, let's just say he's the only one I trust at the FBI." I didn't know what I could say in response. What she said was almost overwhelming. I was brimming with questions, but it didn't seem an appropriate time to ask them. I returned my gaze to the passing scenery, and wondered how much longer the drive would be. THE PRODIGAL SON Part 3 of 10 Chapter 3 - The Friend I Never Knew I've always hated the antiseptic smell of hospitals. When I was at Westminster, still in training to be a vicar, we had to do a turn at hospital chaplaincy. It was the most difficult 2 months of my life. Not because I had trouble comforting the sick and the dying, but because of that smell. I was ordained 15 years ago, and, to this day, I have to steel myself before making a hospital visit. We arrived at Georgetown Memorial Hospital at 6:15 pm. Dana seemed to know exactly where she was going, so I followed meekly behind, muttering fervent prayers for strength and guidance. We headed for the lift. Dana pressed the button. 3rd Floor. Oncology. I closed my eyes as we were transported upward virtually imperceptibly. It's so eerie, how one doesn't feel the sensation of movement on hospital elevators. The doors seemed to open suddenly, and I started. Dana pressed forward, and I found myself wishing she would just slow down. As long as I hadn't actually seen him, I could still convince myself that this was all a bad dream, and that I'd be waking up any second now. Turn the bloody volume down on that intercom! I could hear the nurses up ahead at their station, laughing at some dirty joke a patient had just told. The sound of beeping monitors in the rooms as we passed. The click click of Dana's heels on the tile floor. Everything seemed like an echo, distant somehow, and yet maddeningly loud. Just then, Dana stopped. Room 334. "This is it." Her voice was shaky again. Just like on the phone. "Do you want me to go in and tell him you're here?" She seemed fragile in that moment, somehow, so I decided to spare her. "No, that's OK. He's probably sleeping anyway. I'll just sit with him for awhile. She looked up at me gratefully. "I'll wait for you down the hall, then." She turned and headed for a grouping of chairs at the other end of the corridor. There was a pile of magazines there, and a coffee machine, but somehow I doubted that she would avail herself of either. I took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. There it was again, only stronger. That smell! One would think that, with all the technological advances we've had in the last century, they could've come up with a way to cover up that odour, I grimaced. I couldn't see his face - he was turned on his side, facing the window. I closed the door behind me, moved towards the bed and quietly sat down in the chair that had been drawn next to it. The small table beside him was cluttered with cards and a vase of flowers. But it was the book that lay next to them that caught my eye. HOLY BIBLE. I recognized the rich leather binding. I picked it up and opened the cover to read the inscription in front: All those years ago, I had given him that Bible. And now, he had asked for me. Had my words touched him after all? I noticed there was a bookmark inside, and turned to see what he had been reading. Luke. My eyes glanced over the page and came to the parable of the Prodigal Son. A man who goes his own way, living a life of depravity. And then, when faced with famine and ruin, realizes his sin and returns, repentant, to his father. One of my favorite parables, because it so beautifully describes how our Heavenly Father opens his arms to us, even after we have turned against him. My eyes began to tear as I realized that this might be why he had asked me here. (I've always been an emotional guy, easily moved by the pain and troubles of others. Maybe that's why I chose the ministry for my vocation?) I reached for a kleenex from the box on the side table. My hand brushed against one of the cards, and it fell to floor, with a gentle swooshing sound. Fox stirred from his sleep, and emitted a low groan. I picked up the card and replaced it, along with the bible, carefully on the table. As I did so, he rolled over and caught sight of me. His eyes widened, and he reached out his hand to me. "Hello, old friend!" I smiled. But he was so thin! Even though I'd tried to prepare myself for what I might find here, I was still taken aback by his gaunt appearance. I hid my shock from him as best I could. I took his hand, and he gripped mine as would a drowning man being pulled from the icy water. The strength in that clenched hand surprised me. I fumbled for what to say next. I looked up at him again, and could not believe what I saw. Tears. Streaming down his face. I was alarmed at how quickly I began to lose composure. Instinctively, I leaned in towards him as he reached out his other hand, and we embraced. Realizing that there was now no point in trying to hold my emotions in, I allowed my tears to flow (the door was closed, after all!) I'd been holding it all in, ever since that phone call. Counselling would have to wait. Right now, we were brothers, sharing a painful realization that we'd been apart for far too many years, and that our time together might be ending all too quickly. We must have remained in each other's arms for several minutes, both of us weeping unashamedly. When we finally separated again, he took my hand and smiled up at me. "I was afraid you wouldn't come..." He spoke so softly that I decided to pull my chair forward, so he wouldn't have to strain his voice. He swallowed hard, and finished, "...after what I said to the bishop." What was he talking about? "I'm not sure I'm with you, Fox. What did you say to the bishop?" He looked startled at my ignorance. "You mean, he never told you? All these years, I've avoided contacting you, because I couldn't face you after that. And you didn't even know?" Tears welled up in his eyes again. "My God, Mike... 15 years... and for what?" I suddenly realized that, in a strange way, I had been right. Fox HAD been afraid to talk to me. "Fox, take it easy. I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere. Maybe you'd better tell me what this is all about." I was assuming that he wanted to unburden himself to me now. I decided to backtrack. "Although, on second thoughts, maybe we're better off not going backward at this point." "No! We have to talk about this. I owe you an apology." His breathing was laboured, and his whole body seemed to be shivering. I got up, reached to the foot of the bed, and pulled the blanket up over him. He took it from me gratefully, and shifted to a more comfortable position. "The evening before I left, you were on your way to Gloucester for the weekend," he explained. "I heard you talking to the bishop in the hallway, and you told him what I'd said about God not being relevant anymore. You said I was your "pet project", and that one way or another, you were going to convert me. I got angry, and the next morning I stopped by his office on my way to the airport. I told him that it wasn't any of your damn business what my beliefs were, and how dare you try to force your religion down my throat." He took a deep breath, then continued. "When I got home and started to unpack, I found the bible you'd slipped underneath my clothes. I almost tossed it, but for some reason I decided to check out the front cover. When I read what you'd written..." He was choking up. I squeezed his hand, encouraging him to carry on. "... I felt like an asshole, and I didn't know what to do about it. I tried writing you a letter, but I just couldn't find the right words. The longer I left it, the harder it seemed it would be to make things right. In the end, I just did the cowardly thing and tried to forget it ever happened." This was all news to me. The bishop hadn't breathed a word of that conversation. Now I understood why silence had engulfed us for these past 15 years. He was ashamed. Ashamed of something I had no knowledge of. It WAS a waste. But now, here in this hospital room, the wound he had borne for so many years would finally be healed. "I'm so sorry, Mike." His voice was now a mere whisper, and as he squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip on my hand, more tears flowed. His pillow was soaked. As I leaned in and hugged him again, I realized that I no longer felt any discomfort over this visit. Even that sterile odour seemed to have dissipated, and I caught the subtle scent of the flowers on the bedside table. As we separated again, I felt the need to respond to his confession. "You always were a hothead, weren't you!" I grinned, trying to relax the mood a bit. "I wouldn't have held it against you, you know, even if I'd known," I said softly. "I would simply have chalked it up to our continuing spiritual debate." He smiled, and I handed him a kleenex. "Thanks, Mike. You have no idea what it means to me, to finally get this off my chest!" He was now visibly more relaxed, and he loosened his grip on my hand. But only a little. "I see you've been reading." I pointed to the bible on the side table. His eyes were fixed on mine. "You know... I used to try so hard to tune you out whenever you'd start in on me about how to read the bible. I always considered that it was just one among many spiritual guideposts, no more or less valid than the Khoran or the sacred Hindu texts. I was only interested in it as a research tool - there's lots of places where sick, perverted people have twisted the words to suit their own ends... I became so jaded, I couldn't see what was really there." I was on the edge of my seat, both literally and figuratively. Where was he headed with this narrative? I nodded my head, and leaned in further in anticipation of his next words. "When I found out I had cancer, it was like the bottom dropped out from under me. I suddenly realized that I had nothing to hold onto. I've faced death a number of times, but it never scared me like this before. I guess it's knowing that there's something inside you, slowly eating away at your body, moment by moment. And all of a sudden, you're helpless, paralyzed. "All my life, I've gone under the assumption that I had, or could come up with, all the answers... that whatever I faced, I would be able to find the truth somehow, so long as I refused to give up my search. But as hard as I tried, I couldn't find an answer for this. Why did this happen to me? And then I started to think about Scully. SHE had cancer once, you know." "No! She didn't tell me anything about that." "Well, when I met her, she was, first and foremost, a scientist. Religion was something she grew up with, but it didn't play a central role in her life. She never went to Mass. Every now and then, some belief from her childhood would surface when we were working on a case, but that was it. But when she got sick, all that seemed to change. I remember, at the point when it seemed there was no hope, I went to see her at the hospital, and the priest was there, with her mother and her brother Bill. She was praying with them! I couldn't believe my eyes." "And, obviously, she recovered," I added. I was certain he was about to tell me that he'd witnessed a miracle. I was wrong. "Yes. But that's another story. The point is, ever since that ordeal, she's been different somehow. She started going to Mass, and her faith seems to have become a very important part of who she is. There's a... serenity about her that wasn't there before. She's still as stubborn as ever about her need for scientific evidence, strange as it may seem. But underlying it all, she seems to have this certainty that there's order in the universe, and that it's God who put it there..." He paused. "And I found myself envying her." He paused for a moment, and pointed to a half-full glass of water on the side table. I handed it to him, and he drank deeply. As I replaced the glass, he continued, "I know it sounds unvelievable, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I need to know Someone else is in control." I felt a moment of clarity. God had allowed him to suffer this illness, in order to humble him so that he would be ready to accept His authority. This was God's answer to my prayers. Whether Fox lived through this or not, he was now ready to accept the Holy Spirit. All I had to do was open my mouth, and the words would come. Fox closed his eyes. His exhaustion was obvious - both physical and emotional. I decided to let him sleep. "Believe me, my friend, Someone IS in control. Now get some rest. I'm going to check in at the hotel. "I'll come by and visit you again tomorrow morning." He nodded groggily, and I got up to leave. He gave my hand one last squeeze, and murmered, "It's so good to see you again!" "It sure is! God bless, Fox." I pulled the door open, then turned to take another look at him. How frail he seemed! I prayed that, somehow, I would find the words that would bring him peace. I bit my lower lip, and headed out to meet his partner. I realized now that she was a much more complicated woman than I had at first imagined. Dana was sitting quietly in a chair by the window at the end of the hall. She was gazing at something outside, I couldn't tell what. "Did you want to look in on him for a moment?" She started. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" "No, that's OK. My nerves are all on edge these days. I stayed with him most of the morning and through lunch, right up until I came to the airport to pick you up. He had chemo today. I think he needs to get some rest now. Did you have a good visit?" She pulled herself together quickly and arose from her seat. She's been crying again, I noticed. "Amazing, actually. He's certainly changed a lot since Oxford!" "I barely know him anymore." She sounded forlorn. I resisted the urge to ask her what she meant by that statement, and instead followed her silently out to the car. She was not in a talkative mood. The drive to the hotel was agonizing, and I felt like a man who's taken a vow of silence but has a secret he desperately wants to share. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, but was really only about 20 minutes, we arrived at the Howard Johnson. (I travel cheap.) Dana popped the boot, and I quickly gathered my bags and expressed my thanks to her for the lift. She never even got out of the car - just continued to stare straight in front, as if in a daze. I worried about her driving home, but she assured me she'd be fine. I prayed. As she drove off, I wondered why her faith was not a comfort to her in this situation. But then, maybe she didn't know that Fox had changed his mind about the existence of God. Maybe she still feared for his eternal soul. I made a mental note to call her later that evening, and headed for the front desk. It was time to settle in, for I felt certain I'd be here for some time. The Prodigal Son (Part 4 of 10) Chapter 4 - The Voice of Reason My hotel room was comfortable, if small. I had requested a non-smoking room, but there were none available. A convention of Star Trek fans had descended on us, and three quarters of the hotel was filled with the most interesting-looking people I've ever seen. That's saying a lot, considering that I live in the heart of London's theatre district. It didn't take me long to unpack - I was travelling light, since I had no plans to do any sightseeing. As I pulled out the last shirt from the bottom of my case, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. I stooped to pick it up, and discovered it was from Andrea. I sat down on the bed to read it. "Mike: I know you will be concerned about us while you are away, but I don't want you to worry yourself. Andrew is just a phone call away, and I'm sure we can count on our friends in the parish to give us a hand if we need it. The important thing right now is for you to be there for your friend. He needs you, now more than ever. You must focus your attention there. We will be praying for him, and for you. Call me when you get settled in. God bless! All my love, Andrea. xoxoxo" What a wonderful woman she is, I marvelled. She seems to be able to read my mind. I turned the paper over, noticing that there was more written there. "P.S. Look in the zippered compartment. I found this a few weeks ago when I was cleaning out the storage cupboard. When you told me about your friend, the name sounded familiar, and I realized that this was where I'd seen it. I thought you might want to keep it with you, as a reminder of happier times. Luv, Andy. xx" I hadn't packed anything in the zippered pouch. That's where I usually put my papers when I'm at a conference. I couldn't imagine what it might be that she had stowed there. I pulled back the zipper slowly, and felt inside. A photo. I pulled it out and stared, astonished, at what I saw. Fox and me, hamming it up for the camera. I remembered that day. Spring break, first year. Andrew, Fox and I had commandeered my parents' country house for the week, on the condition that "you make yourselves useful!" We were washing the windows, and Fox had turned the hose on me. My brother was a shutterbug, and this was a shot he couldn't resist! I'd been rather annoyed at the time, but the photo soon grew on me, and I posted it on our wall upon our return to Oxford. There it had remained until we left. I'd filed it away, along with all the other pictures and mementoes of college, and it had long since been forgotten. We were so carefree back then. We both were quite studious when it was necessary, but when it was time to play, we pulled out all the stops. I stared intently at the laughing, boyish face of my friend, as he brandished the hose like a gun. The image that had greeted me in that hospital room then flashed through my mind. I had to agree with Dana - he was not the same man. I set the photo down on the side table and pulled out my calling card. It was time to talk to Andrea. ================= I meant for it to be a quick phone call, just long enough to check on her and the boys, and to let them know I'd arrived safely. But once I heard her voice on the line, I knew I would be compelled to unburden myself to her. She listened patiently as I described my friend's sorry state, and she tried to soothe me with words of comfort and encouragement. Then, the conversation turned to her note and the photograph. "I got your note, luv. It was wonderful, just what I needed. And the snapshot... I haven't thought about that vacation in years!" "Well, I know how much this friendship means to you. I thought it might cheer you up a bit. You both looked so happy. Maybe the two of you can reminisce about old times." "Maybe, but I think my priority right now has to be helping him come to accept Christ as his Lord and Saviour." "Oh, Mike! There you go again! When are you going to let go, and allow God to do His work unimpeded? The more you push, the less likely it is that he'll listen to you! Just lighten up, enjoy your time together, and let him approach you, if he chooses to. I'm sure he knows by now where you stand. You don't need to preach at him anymore!" She was right. She was absolutely right! Uncertain of the true meaning of my friend's words in that hospital room, I was ready to start the debate all over again! I can always count on my Andrea to give me a smack in the head when I need it. "Touche! I should have brought you with me, you know. You have a more subtle approach that I do. So, I shouldn't say anything at all to him about it?" "Absolutely not... not unless he asks. I'm betting that he will. Why else would he ask you to go all that distance just to see him? It's not as if you've kept in touch over the years." I contemplated telling her about Fox's confession in that regard, but decided that it was a personal matter that I had no business sharing with anyone, even my wife. We chatted for a few minutes more. I spoke briefly to my two kids, Nathaniel and Peter, and to the dog! (at Nathaniel's insistence). He is the older brother, 3 years old and always a mischievous twinkle in his eye! I reminded him that Mum was the boss, and that even though I wasn't there, I would be getting a daily report from her concerning his behaviour. We said our goodbyes, and I reluctantly hung up the phone. I reached into my wallet and pulled out the photos of Andrea and the kids that I always carry with me. I stared at them for a moment, then placed them on the side table next to the holiday snap. Everyone I cared about was far away. Even Fox. The Fox I remembered was not in that hospital room. Was he gone forever? I couldn't say. All I knew was that I'd never felt so alone in my life. I slipped off the bed onto my knees, and prayed. I prayed for guidance, for the sense of God's presence, and especially for humility. One of my problems is that I don't readily accept the comfort of others, even when I desperately need it. I put all my troubles in God's hands, and tried as hard as I could to let go of them. Getting up off the floor, I headed for the bathroom. Peeling off my clothes, I climbed into the shower. As the warm water hit my skin, I realized how tight my muscles had become from the stress of the past 24 hours. I turned up the heat a bit, and just stood there, letting it all drain away. I began finally to feel peaceful and calm. Someone IS in control, I smiled to myself. Thank God. ================ I spent longer in the shower than I probably should have - my skin was beet red! I towelled myself off and got dressed again. I was so hungry! How long had it been since I'd eaten? Lunch on the plane, I realized. 8 hours ago! I got up and scanned the room for the information card they always provide in these hotels. There was a desk and chair by the window, and there I found it, lying on top of the phone book. I didn't feel much like sitting by myself in the restaurant, and so decided to order room service. A small luxury I could afford, since the room itself was so cheap. Everything seems cheap over here, compared to home, I mused. I ordered a large pizza and a pot of tea. Tea is the universal comfort drink for all Britons, and I always feel the need for a "cuppa" in times of distress. And everyone I know who's been to America insists that the English haven't a clue how to make pizza, so I decided I must try it at least once while I'm here. While I waited for my dinner, I flipped on the TV. There didn't seem to be much on, but I settled on a repeat of one of the worst episodes ever of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was the one where Riker has been jabbed by a thorn on an alien planet, and his nervous system begins to shut down. As Riker's condition worsened, I kept thinking about my friend. Realizing that this was not improving my mood, I shut the TV off, just as the knock on the door announced the arrival of my food. I was horrified to discover that they'd given me a pot of hot water, and the dry teabag sat in the empty cup beside it. That is NOT how tea is served in England! Making tea is an art, and the water must be BOILING when it hits the leaves! As I dunked the teabag in the pot of lukewarm water, it started to look more like dishwater than tea. I resolved to discuss this with the restaurant the next day. The pizza, however, was a different story. It DID taste unlike any pizza I'd ever had in London, I had to admit. No blandness here! I sat on the bed and ate voraciously, polishing off three pieces in a matter of minutes. I took a sip of the so-called "tea", and grimaced. This would not do at all! I called down to room service again, and ordered up a coffee instead. Then, I decided to call Dana, both to soothe her fears for her partner, and to make arrangements for the next day. There was no answer on her cell phone. I decided to check her regular number in the phone book, in case she'd left her cell phone in the car. I could find no listing for her. Of course not, stupid. She's an FBI agent! She's got an unlisted number, for security reasons. I would just have to wait until tomorrow. I called the hospital to check on Fox's condition. No change. Could I speak with him? No, he was sleeping now. He wasn't sleeping very well these days, they told me, so they didn't want to disturb him. I thanked the nurse, and signed off. What would I say to him tomorrow? How would we pass the time? Would he start asking me questions about my faith, looking for peace and assurance? No point in worrying about it now, I realized. Better get some sleep. It had been a long day - I'd been up for nearly 24 hours, what with the time difference and all. I threw my clothes on the floor and got into my pajamas. Too tired to hang them up. Take care of it tomorrow... Turn off the light... Say my prayers... too tired... I knew not another thing until the next morning. THE PRODIGAL SON (Part 5 of 10) Chapter 5 - Beyond the Darkness, Behold a Light In my dream, I could vaguely hear knocking, and a voice calling something out. What was it? I couldn't quite make out the words. "Mouse leaping"? What the heck did that mean?! Another knock, this one louder. "Housekeeping!". I jolted upright in bed. What time was it? I glanced over at the clock on the side table. Nine o'clock?!! I sprung out of bed and threw on my robe, a mild sense of panic welling inside me. I'd forgotten to request a wake-up call. I'd also forgotten to put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, and now the maid was about to walk right in with her passkey and catch me in my bedroom finery! "Just a minute!" I called out, hoping she didn't have the door open yet. I got to the door just as she was opening it. "Uh, hello! I'm sorry, I'm not quite ready for you yet. Would you mind awfully coming back in about a half hour? I'm afraid I overslept." "No problem." She pushed her cart forward and moved on to the next room, a slight scowl on her face. Ah, that American hospitality is a wonderful thing. I felt the anger starting to come again, and forced it back down. There were more important things to deal with today than a miserable housekeeper. I showered and dressed as quickly as I could, under the circumstances. I still wasn't used to the single taps at the sink and in the shower, and kept getting cold water when I wanted warm, and vice versa. Still in a fog, I dialled Dana's number while brushing my teeth, then suddenly realized the phone wasn't portable, and, standing beside the bed, I had nowhere to spit! I swallowed the toothpaste as she answered the phone. "Scully." She sounded professional and strong. The woman I'd spent several hours with yesterday was gone, the uncertainty and strain replaced with self-assurance and poise. "Hello, Dana, it's Michael. I tried to reach you last night, but I guess you left your phone in the car?" "No, actually, I turned it off. Sorry about that. I just couldn't take anymore. Yesterday was a bad day. I want to apologize, actually. I was in a real funk, and I'm afraid you got the brunt of it. I realized after I dropped you off that I hadn't even told you why I was so upset." "Well, I can imagine. You and Fox must have developed a very strong friendship, working together all this time. It's a terrible shock when something like this happens." I was trying to be understanding, to draw her out. I could tell that she wasn't one to share her feelings with just anyone. Perhaps not even with Fox? "It's not just that. We got some test results back yesterday morning, and they confirmed my worst fears. Mulder's cancer has progressed into the bloodstream. There's nothing anyone can do for him now..." She sniffed, and I heard her breathe audibly, trying to regain composure. She was fighting back tears. "Are you sure?" I was in denial, the first stage of grief. Even as I realized that fact, I still could not get past it. Of course, she must be sure, otherwise she wouldn't be this upset. "There's no doubt. I went over and over the results... Mulder doesn't know yet." This news stopped me in my tracks. "I guess I'll have to tell him today, but I don't know how. Any advice you have to offer would be greatly appreciated." Her voice trembled, but she quickly recovered. "What time did you want me to pick you up?" I felt guilty, taking her away from her work again, so I decided on an alternative plan. "Don't worry about me, I'll take a cab this morning. You can come whenever you have time." "Father, it's OK, really. I just finished talking with the Assistant Director, and I've been granted a leave of absence until further notice. I'm of no use to the FBI in this condition anyway. I can pick you up in a half hour, if you can be ready by then." I thought for a moment. "Could you make it an hour, Dana? I'm afraid I just got up a few minutes ago, and I haven't had any breakfast yet." "An hour, then. I'll be at the lobby at 10:30." "Thank you so much. I really feel I'm putting you out." "It's no trouble, really. It's on the way. And besides, I could use some company right now." With that, we hung up, and I trotted back to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth. ==================================== I arrived downstairs for breakfast at around 10:15. They had a continental buffet, which was unfortunately quite thoroughly picked over by this time. I decided to order up a danish and coffee - the typical American businessman's breakfast, so we English have been led to believe. It was nowhere near the amount of food I was used to for starting off the day, but it would have to do, as time was marching on. Dana was right on time. She popped open the door lock, and I climbed in. She was wearing a grey suit, jacket and skirt, with a crisp white blouse. Her cross pendant was openly visible. Schubert was playing softly from a CD. She has excellent taste, I thought to myself. "Good morning!" I was trying desperately to be cheerful. "Not really." She turned her sad face towards me as she scanned for traffic, and pulled out from in front of the lobby doors and into the street. "I've been praying for weeks that this day would never come." "Your faith must give you strength in times like this?" I ventured, uncertain whether I wanted to hear her answer. "How can it? Mulder doesn't HAVE faith, as you pointed out yourself yesterday. No faith, no salvation. I learned that in catechism class. And I don't DARE say anything to him about it... I suppose that makes me a coward, doesn't it?" She glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. "No, it just makes you human," I smiled back at her. "We all have doubts about sharing our faith with those who we know have resisted it in the past. But, there's something you should know." We were stopped at a light, and she turned to me quizzically. "I think Fox just might be ready to admit that he needs God, after all." The light had turned green, but Dana was so shocked at my words that she didn't notice. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and I pointed to the light. She turned back to the wheel, and hit the accelerator a bit too hard for my liking. The car in the right lane had been signalling to move into ours, and our sudden burst of speed cut him off at the last moment. He leaned on his horn and shook his fist at us, muttering obscenities. "What did he say to you?" She was incredulous, ignoring the other driver completely. "He said, he needed to know that Someone else was in control." I smiled at her. "I may be putting my own interpretation on this, but I can't think what else it could mean. Did you know he's been reading the Bible?" At that, Dana felt a need to pull off the road. We entered a strip mall parking lot, and she selected a spot in front of a donut shop. She shook her head. "I've never known Mulder to so much as pick up a bible, unless it was to research some aspect of a case, like vampirism or demon possession! Do you know what he was reading?" "Luke. The parable of the Prodigal Son was bookmarked." There was that raised eyebrow again. "The Prodigal Son? That's not Mulder's usual fare. I would have expected Song of Solomon, maybe. But not Luke!" I didn't quite catch her drift. She must have realized this, because she bit her lip and muttered, "Uh, never mind. Would you like some coffee?" She opened the car door and set one foot out onto the pavement. "Yes, please. I've got a wicked case of jetlag, I'm afraid. Anything to wake me up! I take it with milk." She smiled, reached into the back seat for her purse, and headed for the donut shop. I watched her through the window, standing in line with a $5 bill in her hand. Everything about her was controlled: her lovely red hair smooth and smartly styled, her suit tailored to perfection, her shoes polished and pristeen. Even her nails were manicured beautifully. And her movements - graceful, yet precise. I wondered how much of this Fox had noticed. Was he so consumed by his work that he was oblivious to this woman's striking beauty? Or was he madly in love with her, held back only by some archaic FBI regulation? She emerged a few minutes later with a tray holding two large coffees, and a brown bag concealing some unknown confection. I leaned over to her side of the car and opened the door for her. She leaned in and handed me the tray. Not having yet regained my balance, I tipped it slightly, and one of the coffees fell out onto the floor. Confirmation, as if I needed any, that this was going to be a bad day. "Oh, good grief! Look what I've done now," I muttered apologetically. She was giggling, I realized with relief. "Don't worry about it! The carpet is Scotchgarded. Was it yours or mine?" she asked, reaching into her purse again. I checked the remaining coffee. It was black. "It must have been mine. That's OK, I had one for breakfast anyway. I'm not used to all this coffee, we usually drink tea at home." "They have tea here, if you prefer it." "No, thanks! I experienced American tea last night, and I don't think I'll be trying it again!" I retorted, reaching down to pick up the now-empty paper cup. She looked at me quizzically, and I felt the need to add something. "I suppose it's a cultural difference." I tossed he empty cup into the garbage between the back seats. She climbed back into the car, and opened the brown bag, handing me a plastic knife, a napkin, and what looked like a donut, but with sesame seeds. "Do you like bagels?" I had no idea what she was talking about, but I decided that, for the sake of politeness, I should just accept the gift graciously. "Oh, thank you. I didn't get much to eat this morning." I watched her carefully as she pulled the two halves apart, spreading the cream cheese filling with her knife. I followed suit, and bit into it. It was tougher than I'd expected, rather heavy, but delicious nonetheless. Dana balanced hers on her napkin, and put in down on the dash as she took us back out onto the road. We drove in silence for several minutes, Dana pondering the revelation that her partner was searching for something other than alien conspiracies. We were about three blocks from the hospital when she spoke again. "Do you think I should tell him the truth?" I was startled by the question. "Don't you?" "I'm not sure anymore. What if this news makes him angry and turns him away from God again? If he's as close as you say he is to letting God into his life, maybe I should just leave well enough alone." "Dana." I had to say this gently, so as not to upset her. "I think he already knows." Her eyes widened, and I could tell she was in denial. "I somehow doubt that he would have come to this point if he didn't realize there was little hope of recovery. By the way, he mentioned that your own struggle with cancer was very emotional for him, and that he envied you when you rediscovered your faith." We were pulling into the hospital parking lot. She pulled over to the curb, and stopped the car. "He ENVIES me?" I could tell she was having trouble digesting this. I had to admit, envy was not a character trait I usually associated with my old friend. She thought for a moment, then suggested, "Maybe because I found what I was looking for, and he was still searching." "I think that's exactly it. He spoke of the 'serenity' you seemed to have after you returned to the Church. He's been searching for so long, but I don't think he realized until now that it was God he was searching for." Dana smiled at me. The tension seemed to have eased in her face, and she seemed filled with a new hope. "I'll tell him the truth, then. He deserves to know what's going on. Should I let him know that you've shared this with me?" she queried, pulling away from the curb and cruising the parking lot for a free spot. "Better not say anything about that yet. I want to make sure I'm not reading him totally wrong. But I don't think I am." She found a spot not far from the entrance. "Maybe this won't be such a bad day, after all!" she quipped cheerily. Her lips curled upward in a slight smile, and we exited the car and headed for the hospital entrance. THE PRODIGAL SON (Part 6 of 10) Chapter 6 - The Miracle The hospital was strangely quiet. Dana and I walked slowly down the corridor towards Fox's room, chatting as we went. We were both feeling much better than yesterday, but the seriousness of my friend's illness still weighed heavily upon us. We decided to go in together. I could see through the half-open door that he was propped up on two pillows, and the TV was on. But he had a distant look that suggested he wasn't really watching it. I pushed the door open the rest of the way, and we marched in, trying to be cheerful. "Hey there! Catching up on your serials?" I joked. Fox had shared with me many times his opinion about the 'soap operas' or serials as we call them in Britain, that he claimed were causing the dumbing-down of America. I was sure this attempt at humour would at least bring a smile to his face. But he turned towards us slowly and grimaced. He was a mild shade of green. "Pass me the bedpan, would you?" he asked, pointing to the floor beside his bed. I reached for it and handed it to him. Dana seemed to know what was up, for she ran to the bathroom for a cold cloth and a towel, then sat on the bed beside him, folding the cloth and placing it behind his neck. He leaned forward, over the bedpan, and vomited. I winced, closing my eyes in horror. It was not the act itself that upset me, but the pain I knew my friend was in. When he was finished, he sat up and looked at me forlornly. "Sorry. I had chemo yesterday. It always takes a day before it hits." Dana wiped his face with the wet cloth, and towelled him dry. Taking the bedpan from him, she headed back for the bathroom and emptied its contents in the toilet. She returned with a glass of water and handed it to him. "Thanks! She takes good care of me, you know?" he remarked to me, smiling at her. I could see more than friendship in that smile. "Why don't I leave the two of you alone for awhile?" Dana suggested, getting up off the bed. "You have a lot of catching up to do." She smiled again at him, and turned to leave. He squeezed her hand. "Don't be a stranger!" He was still in good spirits, I noted, in spite of everything. She slipped out of the room almost before I realized it. We were alone again. I took the chair beside the bed once more. What turn would our conversation take, I wondered? "Isn't she amazing?" he asked, turning to face me. I sensed he didn't really need an answer, but decided to give him one anyway. "She certainly is. I don't think I've ever known anyone who was so good at pretending they were invincible." He smiled. "She IS very strong. But there's a softness... a vulnerability to her underneath, that most people never see." He spoke very tenderly of her, I noted. "You're in love with her, aren't you?" I could tell he wanted to discuss his feelings, so why not draw him out? He closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. As he spoke next, he gazed at the doorway, as if she were still standing there. "Is it that obvious?" I nodded. "The one time I tried to tell her, she just rolled her eyes and walked away." Her failure to acknowledge his feelings was very painful for him, I realized. I wondered how to reconcile this with what I had learned of her earlier. She seemed very fond of him. It seemed out of character for her to spurn him like that. "It's my own fault." What did he mean by that? I questioned him with my eyes, and he continued. "I started coming on to her early on, just for fun. Stuff like, 'Scully, marry me.' 'Scully, should we be picking out china patterns, or what?' You know, just joking around. I'm sure when I told her how I felt, she just thought I was having fun at her expense, as usual." He sighed. "I've made a mess of everything." "How so?" I leaned forward, and put my hand on his arm. Tears were welling up in his eyes again. "I've just screwed everything up. My marriage, my relationship with Scully, my career, everything. It's a mess." I'd had no idea he'd been married! I tried as best I could to conceal my surprise, and handed him a kleenex, waiting for him to continue. "I'm sure you've met people like me before. Living their lives any way they want, thinking that anything's OK as long as it doesn't hurt anybody else. And all the while, they're doing everything wrong... You wouldn't believe the life I've led..." He blew his nose and wiped his eyes. He was in great distress, but I could do nothing but listen. "I need your help, Mike" he finished, looking up at me again. I thought back to the parable he'd bookmarked in his bible. That must be what brought him to this, I realized. I decided to take a leap of faith. "Do you want me to hear your Confession?" I asked softly, squeezing his hand. He closed his eyes again, and nodded. I excused myself for a moment and went out to the nurse's station, to ask them that we not be disturbed for the next hour or so. Dana overheard the conversation, and looked up from her magazine. She watched me as I returned to Fox's room and closed the door. I thought I caught a slight smile on her face, as she deduced what must be happening. For the next 45 minutes, I listened as Fox poured out his soul to me, and to God. I was shocked at some of the things he shared, but not because I'd never heard them before. In 15 years of the ministry, I guess I've heard just about everything, including a murder confession. But this was my schoolday friend, my chum, who, apart from that frightful indiscretion with one Phoebe Green, had never seemed to have much of an appetite for sex, being too consumed by his interest in aliens and demons to worry about matters of the flesh. He started by describing his disastrous marriage. It had all begun so happily, I learned. They had met during one of his early cases, when he was in the Behavioral Sciences Unit. Susan was a psychologist with a private practice in Arlington, who had been called in to assist on the case. A real go-getter, beautiful, intelligent, and determined to succeed. They were both driven in their careers, but always made sure to make time for each other. Until he discovered the X-Files. Here at last, was the means to find definitive proof of the existence of alien life on earth, and thus to find his missing sister. His focus changed, and so did their relationship. And then, one day, she had come home and announced that she could no longer tolerate his moodiness, his temper, and his disappearances for weeks at a time without so much as a by-your-leave. She had met someone. She wanted a divorce. He blamed himself. He had been unreasonable, inconsiderate. She had every right to leave him. He was a terrible husband. He got what he deserved. His narrative bounced around in time, as each embarrassing experience of his life came to him. The affair with Phoebe, frolicking about among the tombstones. The outburst with the bishop. And then, he began to describe his descent into the sexual mire, following the departure of his wife, and subsequent divorce. He spoke of his pornographic video collection... magazines galore... calling telephone sex lines... on and on it went. He was tortured by it all, and he wept as each new detail came to the surface. Now I understood Dana's reference to Song of Solomon! He had his eyes closed (it seemed he was too ashamed to look at me now), and he clenched my hand tightly. Finally, there was nothing but deep sobs. I leaned in and held him tight, encouraging him to let the tears flow. He buried his face in my shoulder, and his body heaved as he gasped for air. After some minutes, his tears subsided, and he lay back on the pillows. I handed him a kleenex, and he wiped his eyes. Then, after a long silence, he spoke again. "You know the worst part of all this? Scully is so pure, so perfect. And she knows all about my HABITS." He muttered the word with disgust. "So I don't stand a chance. That's probably the REAL reason she ignored me when I told her I loved her." I couldn't let him head down THAT road. "Fox! I seriously doubt that Dana is perfect and pure, given that she's human like the rest of us. Being a Christian doesn't mean you're perfect. It means you recognize that you aren't, and you look to the one who DID live that perfect life, Jesus, to be your Saviour. Christians make mistakes, just like everyone else. They even do some terrible things sometimes. But, if they really are Christians, they take stock, realize that they've sinned, and ask God for forgiveness... just like you're doing now." He looked me in the eye for the first time since he'd started pouring out his soul to me. I was on a roll, and I continued: "Just listen to what God promises: (I had picked up his bible and turned to a passage I find most comforting, 1 John 2:8-9) 'If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.' He was listening intently, and I could almost feel the Spirit's presence in the room. I turned to another passage, John 11:25-26, and read it aloud: '...I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die...' There was now a hint of a smile on my friend's face. He tightened his grip on my hand again, and questioned, "Maybe God can forgive me, but do you think Dana will?" "I'm sure of it!" I replied, squeezing his hand in return. I laid my hand on his forehead; he closed his eyes as I spoke the words of absolution: "Be at peace. Your sins are forgiven." I watched as the tension visibly left his body. He relaxed his grip on my hand, and opened his eyes, smiling serenely at me. "It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it?" I smiled. I was having trouble containing my joy at this epiphany! Whereas in university, I'd been taken with the idea that this occasion would be MY triumph, it now had a totally different meaning. It was GOD's triumph, and I had merely been His instrument. I smiled at the irony. "Michael, I was never baptized." He looked up at me questioningly. The remark startled me, in spite of what had just happened. It simply hadn't occurred to me that he'd be thinking that far ahead. He looked at me earnestly, waiting for my response. "Would you like me to baptize you?" I was trying hard to contain my excitement. My prayers had been answered, more amazingly than I'd ever imagined possible. "Right now," he nodded. "Get Scully in here. I need her to see this. She'll never believe it unless she sees it!" He quipped. The joke was not lost on me. Dana Scully, doctor, scientist, who required proof for every leap of faith her partner made, would not believe that he had accepted God unless she saw it happen. I nodded, and headed out to the waiting area to get Dana. This was going to come as a shock to her! I decided not to tell her what was going on, to surprise her - she needed some cheering up. "Dana, can you come in for a moment?" She looked up from an outdated issue of TIME magazine and raised an eyebrow at me. "Sure." She tossed the magazine aside, and followed me back into the room. I searched for a bowl, but couldn't find one, so I grabbed the now-clean bedpan from the bathroom, and filled it with lukewarm water. Emerging with this dubious baptismal font and a towel, I noticed that Dana had positioned herself at the foot of the bed. She looked bewildered as I laid the bedpan down, close to Fox's head. "Are you sick again?" she asked in concerned tones, touching his foot and looking intently at him. Evidently she hadn't noticed that the bedpan was full of water! He smiled at her. "Not anymore." She did not realize the deeper meaning of his words, and she looked up at me questioningly. I stood next to the head of the bed, and brushed the hair back from his forehead. I was alarmed to discover that some of it remained on my hand. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd been undergoing chemotherapy for weeks now, and this was just another side-effect. "Some women find bald men extremely attractive, you know!" he winked at Dana, having noticed my shock. She blushed. "Are you ready?" I asked. "I'm ready." Dana's face screamed, READY FOR WHAT?, but she didn't utter a sound. I dipped my hand in the water, and spoke the words: "Fox, I baptize you in the name of the Father...(I scooped the water up and let it trickle down his forehead)...and of the Son...(a second handful)... and of the Holy Spirit (and a third)." I gently wiped his forehead dry with the towel. "Amen." His eyes were closed, and he smiled broadly. My friend finally had the peace he'd been craving all these years. I glanced over at Dana. Her jaw had dropped, and she looked at me in disbelief. All I could do was smile smugly at her. I removed the bedpan and tipped the water down the sink. When I returned, I discovered that Dana had moved up to the head of the bed, and was holding Fox's hand. She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "You have no idea how happy I am for you, Mulder." She was on the verge of tears, but this time they were tears of joy. He reached out his arms, and she took the cue, moving in and hugging him tightly. When they separated again, she stroked his cheek, and remarked, "I feel closer to you than I ever have." If she only knew, I chuckled to myself. "Me too, Scully." He was gazing into her eyes. If she doesn't see it now, she's blind! I smiled. "I think you need to get some rest now. You sound so tired!" Her voice was full of concern, and I sensed something else too... Love? "Yeah, you're right. I'm bushed. It's not every day you go through an emotional wringer like I just did!" She smiled sweetly at him, and arose from the bed. "I'll come back and see you this afternoon. Get some sleep now." She pulled the blankets up over his arms, and rearranged his pillows. "Yes, Doctor," he teased, as we headed out and gently shut the door behind us. "What just happened in there?" Dana demanded, looking puzzled, if happy. "A miracle," I stated simply. For that was what it was. THE PRODIGAL SON (Part 7 of 10) Chapter 7 - The Valley of the Shadow of Death The days and weeks went by swiftly once my friend opened his heart to the Lord. He was much happier, and I hardly ever saw him without a smile on his face. He delved into his bible with gusto, searching ever deeper for meaning and comfort. I was overjoyed to see him at peace, and we spent many hours together, praying, talking over old times, and laughing! But physical pain had recently begun to overtake him. I had been in DC for a month and a half now. I'd felt guilty about staying away from my family for so long, but Andrea insisted that I stay, and she was now planning to come over with the kids to visit me. I was excited at the prospect of introducing her to my old friend, who she knew only from photographs and my occasional nostalgic reminiscences. His breathing had become difficult, and he was on oxygen 24 hours a day. I so wanted Fox to meet this amazing woman, who had selflessly encouraged me to be with him in his time of need. He was looking forward to it too. He wanted to tell her himself how grateful he was, what a comfort I had been to him. He hadn't eaten in 3 days. What would she think when she met him? Would she be shocked at his appearance? I was certain she wouldn't recognize him. He didn't look anything like the strapping young man in that vacation photo. I had decided I'd better prepare her for what she would find here. He winced in pain. I heard his faint cry, and returned to his bedside from the window. I'd been gazing at the sunset, imagining Andrea's plane coming in for a landing at Dulles. I sat down on the bed next to him, and squeezed his hand. "I don't know if I can stand much more of this! I wish God would just take me, you know?" he complained, grimacing at me. My heart was breaking to see him like this, and I, too, wondered what purpose it served the Lord to allow this suffering. Perhaps he was being tested, to see how strong his new-found faith really was? When Dana had given him the news concerning his test results, he had been stoic, accepting the verdict without much emotion. I was right - he'd suspected the truth for some time, and her words had not come as a surprise to him. His faith had been his strength over these last few weeks, and he often told me how he was looking forward to finding out what beauty and joy lay in store for him in the next life. For a long time, the certainty and comfort of salvation had allowed him to tolerate the bouts of pain more easily. He felt God very close, he told me, and that helped him to cope with whatever discomfort he was in. But now, there was nothing BUT pain. All the time. He was on a morphine drip, and constantly begging for an increase in the dosage. Time and again, the doctor would gently caution him that he was already receiving the maximum dosage, and any more would kill him. The irony of this statement was not lost on him, or on me. But it's not up to us to determine when our lives on this earth will end. That's God's decision, and Fox knew that as well as I. And so he continued to suffer, and my heart continued to ache as I sat with him day after day. There was nothing I could say to comfort him. I couldn't tell him why he was still here, why God was allowing this. All I could do was listen, hold his hand, and pray with him. Just then the nurse stuck her head in the door. "Excuse me, I'm sorry Father. The doctor wants to see you." I looked down at my friend apologetically, and whispered: "I'll be right back, Fox." I got up and followed her out to the nurse's station, wondering why the doctor would want to talk to ME. Dana was standing there already, and Doctor Bauer came around the corner, holding a chart in his hand. "Please, come over to my office. I need to speak with you both." We followed him down the hallway, exchanging puzzled and worried glances. Entering his office was like stepping into another world, I noted ruefully. The room was awash with the glow of the evening sunset, pouring in from the window behind the desk. There was a soft leather couch, plush carpeting, and certificates covering the walls. Dr. Bauer sat down behind his desk and motioned to us to take the two chairs opposite. My heart was in my throat, wondering what could possibly merit such an interview. He looked over the top of his glasses at us, and began: "I'm sorry I had to pull you in here, but I didn't feel it would be appropriate to give you this news in front of your friend. He's been declining rapidly for the past couple of days. His latest test results are rather alarming," he remarked, pointing to the chart on his desk. "May I?" Dana was in doctor mode, leaning forward to take the chart from him. As she scanned the first page, her face fell. She lifted the page to check the detailed results underneath, and bit her lower lip. "He could go anytime now," she whispered, handing the chart back to Dr. Bauer and slumping back in her chair. She looked totally defeated. "What's changed?" I queried anxiously, glancing first at Dr. Bauer, then at Dana. A tear was rolling down her cheek. "His white blood cell count has doubled in the last 48 hours." I didn't understand the significance of this, and Dana could tell I needed more information. "The red blood cells are the ones that carry oxygen throughout the body. We can't survive without it. Once the white blood cells start to take over, it's only a matter of time... The body slowly suffocates. And the morphine slows breathing, so it exacerbates the problem." She wiped the tear from her chin, and looked at me ruefully. "Today could be the day." She glanced back at Dr. Bauer, and he nodded agreement with her assessment. "I felt it was important to tell you, Father. I didn't know if you wanted to perform some last rites, or anything." I could tell he was not a spiritual man, and didn't think religion was relevant. But at least he respected it enough to recognize that it was important to others, I realized. I was on autopilot. Detached from the situation. It happened every time. It was the only way I could get through these scenarios, but this time I was surprised to find my instincts kicking in, given the amount of time I'd spent here and the close relationship I had with the patient. "Thank you for letting us know, Doctor. I'd appreciate it if we could have some time alone with him." Dr. Bauer nodded, and got up from his chair. "Just give me a few minutes with him first - I think he should hear this from his doctor." He headed out the door with his chart, and we just sat there, numb. I stared straight ahead, out the window, into nothingness. Then I heard short gasps of breath, and glanced over to find Dana with her head bowed, shoulders shaking, rummaging through her purse for a kleenex. I leaned over to the credenza against the side wall, grabbed one from the box and handed it to her. She took it gratefully and blew her nose. "Well, I guess this is it. The moment I've been dreading. I've seen death so many times, but never like this. Every other time someone I loved has died, I haven't been there. My father, my sister... I never had to see it happen." I held my breath, wondering if she realized she'd just said 'someone I loved' in reference to her partner. She continued, "I've seen people get shot, I've done dozens of autopsies, some of them really awful, but I've always been able to detach myself from death. It's never hit me like this before." She seemed almost embarrassed at her emotional state. She wiped her eyes again, and looked at me ruefully. "I know my faith should help at a time like this, but it just isn't fair! This wasn't his time! They've stolen his life from him..." I was confused. "Who's 'they', Dana?" She glanced up at me, and the surprise on her face told me she thought she'd already relayed all this to me. "The Government. Back in '92, when I first met Mulder, we were on a case in Ohio, and he snuck into Ellens Air Base to check out what he thought was a UFO being test-flown by the military. He must have seen something they didn't want him to, because they kidnapped him and they did something to him. I was very lucky to get him out of there, and when they dropped him off at the gate, he was like a zombie. "He couldn't remember what it was he'd seen, no matter how hard he tried. We moved on, and never gave much thought after that to the fact that they might have injected him with something. But when he started to get sick, I found a file that had been left on the desk in his office. I never did find out who put it there, or where it came from. I did some digging through the file, and I found out that ever since 1991 the military was using the base to conduct tests of some sort of biotechnology to be used in brainwashing experiments. The key characteristic of the drug was that it wiped the memory of the test subject, and made them more impressionable to suggestion. But an unintended side effect was that it turned out to have a long-term carcinogenic effect, and after the first batch of test subjects all got sick around 1998, they decided to shelve the project until a replacement drug could be developed." I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Now Dana's words in the car that first day were beginning to make more sense. Someone had tried to stop Fox from investigating the goings-on at the base any further, and now they would unintentionally succeed in putting an end to his work altogether. I have always put my trust in the government to do what is best for my country. Now, that trust was being called into question. For if the US government, our ally, was involved in such experiments, could my own government be innocent of the same? Just then, Dr. Bauer returned, and remarked softly, "You can go in now. He took it pretty well, actually. I think he's very tired, and he's looking forward to all this being over." We got up, and instinctively I reached for Dana's hand as we headed for the door. She needed support, now more than ever. We returned to the doorway of Fox's room, and I peered in, to find him lying on his back, with a slight smile on his face. No doubt he was relieved that his pain would soon be over. "Why don't you go in first?" Dana asked, hesitantly. "I think it's important for the two of you to tie up all the loose ends." She turned and walked towards the waiting area before I could say another word, so I sighed and marched into the room. He looked over at me and smiled. "It's almost over, Mike. I've been praying for this for days. I know it's not right to want to die, but at this point, I figure God already knows my time is almost up, so he won't mind!" He motioned to me to come closer, so I sat on the bed, next to him and leaned in. "I want to thank you for everything you've done for me. I'd be a basket case by now, if it weren't for you." He squeezed my hand. "Will you do one more thing for me, Mike?" "Anything!" I was about to lose it. "I'd really like to take communion. It would mean a lot to me." I smiled down at him through my tears. "And could Dana join us?" "I'll go get her." I went to the door and motioned to her to join us. She had just settled down with a coffee, and my sudden reappearance brought her to panic. She quickly set down her drink and jumped to her feet, running towards the open doorway. "It's alright, Dana! He's ok. He wants to take communion with you." She looked startled, but pleased. Entering the room, she bit her lower lip as she caught sight of his thin frame. It always shocked her, despite her almost constant vigil over the past few weeks. She took the chair next to the bed, and grasped his hand firmly. He smiled lovingly at her. In the time I'd been in Washington, I'd watched them grow closer, although neither one had openly expressed their true feelings to the other. I'd figured out by now that they'd both been in love for some time, but that Dana would never express such feeling for someone she worked with on a daily basis. It would mean risking far too much. I pulled the elements out of their small box. I'd brought it in with me in those first few days, when my friend's faith was fresh and new, and there it had stayed, at the ready. We had shared this holy meal many times now, and it made no sense to me to carry the box back and forth with me from the hotel. I blessed the bread and wine, and brought them over to the bedside, setting them on the side table. I took the host, and spoke the words of comfort and peace as I placed it on Fox's tongue. He chewed it slowly, then swallowed hard. This was now the only food he would take, not being able to keep much of anything down. I gave Dana the host, speaking the same words, then took one myself. Dana did not take the wine, a Roman Catholic practice that has always puzzled me. Fox drank deeply, and I took what was left in the small chalice, and proceeded to the blessing: "May our Saviour's true body and blood strengthen and preserve you in the True Faith, unto Life Everlasting. Amen." The words had a poignant meaning now, with Fox so close to that eternity. Dana crossed herself, and we both watched sadly as Fox did the same, only much slower. He was so weak now, he could barely raise his arm. I'd had to support his head as he'd lifted it to take the wine. I spoke a prayer, asking the Lord to keep Fox's soul in His care, to keep his faith strong, and to give him comfort and courage when the time came for him to leave us for good. I prayed for Dana and myself too, that God would help us to accept His will, and I prayed for those who had done this to our friend, that they would repent and be forgiven. Now, it was time to give Dana some time alone with him. I got up from the bedside, and rested my hand on Fox's forehead. "I'll leave you two alone now. You have things to talk about." I looked pointedly at Dana, and I think she knew what I was getting at. THANK YOU, she mouthed to me. I smiled, and headed to the cafeteria for a much-needed coffee. I couldn't stand the coffee that machine in the hallway spewed out. As I walked down the hall, it occurred to me that Andrea and the boys probably wouldn't make it in time to see my friend alive. Their flight was booked for three days from now, Saturday. I decided to call my wife and tell her not to bother coming. She didn't understand my logic. "You have no way of knowing how long he's going to hold on. Only God knows that. And besides, what about the funeral? I want to be there for you. It will be hard enough for you WITH me there; how do you think you'd get through it without me?" She was right. But there was something she DIDN'T know. "Honey... Fox asked ME to conduct the funeral. We've been talking about it and making plans for several days now." There was a long pause as she digested this information. "Are you sure you're up to it?" she asked, full of concern. "Yes, I think so. It's the least I can do for him, after all he's been through. He doesn't have a church home, so there's no one else. I wouldn't want a stranger to do it." This was false bravado, and Andrea knew it. The truth was, I was terrified at the prospect. How would I keep my composure through a 45-minute service, plus the interment at the cemetery? I was just praying that God would give me the strength I needed to get through it. "Well, we're still coming. I've never seen the U.S., and the boys are SO excited." I could tell. There was nothing but screaming in the background, and the dog was barking, to boot! We chatted for a few more minutes, and then I signed off. It was several days later that I learned what had happened in Fox's room while I was on the phone... She had moved up close to him after I left, holding his hand and stroking his cheek affectionately. He could tell she was putting in a valiant effort not to cry, and he decided enough was enough. "You don't have to be strong for me, Scully." Those words were the sword that felled her, and she burst into tears, reaching out to embrace him. She held him tightly, as if she would never let go. Then, he took one last chance, and whispered in her ear, "I love you." She pulled back from him a bit, her eyes full of surprise. She finally believed him! She bit her lower lip, and moved in to kiss his lips softly. After some moments, she gently pulled back and laid her cheek against his forehead, running her fingers through his hair. A few strands remained in her hand, and she squeezed her eyes shut in pain. "I love you, too," she whispered, and kissed his forehead. The Prodigal Son (Part 8 of 10) Chapter 8 - And his angels shall have charge over you They had remained in each other's embrace for what seemed like an eternity. Fox had begun to doze off, so Dana got up off the bed and pulled the covers back up over him. It was about at this point that I'd stuck my head in again to see what was going on. She was sitting in the chair, on guard. Her eyes never left his face as I whispered to her, "Let me know when you're ready to leave. I'll wait out here." Her response surprised me. "I think I'm going to stay here tonight." By day, we had kept an almost constant vigil over our friend, but never had either of us stayed overnight at the hospital. But tonight was different. My friend might not be with us the next morning. "That sounds like a good idea. Maybe I'll stay with you. If anything should happen during the night... well, you probably won't want to be alone." Dana nodded appreciatively. "Would you mind asking the nurse if we can have a cot brought in here?" She wanted more time alone with him, I could tell. This was a way to get me out of the room for a bit. I smiled, understanding her motive. "I'll get right on that." I excused myself, and headed for the nurse's station. Once again, I relate what I learned several days later, sitting on Dana's couch in front of the fireplace, a cup of tea in hand... She had picked up the bible, which Fox had left lying by his side on the bed. There was a piece of paper, folded and tucked inside the back cover, and it slid to the floor as she placed the book on the side table. Leaning down to pick it up, she noted that it had her name written on the outside. Curious, she opened it, feeling both guilty and determined at the same time. As she read, seven years of unexpressed emotion came hurtling towards her... How like him, to add that postscript at the end! She reached for a kleenex, for the tears had soaked her nose and chin. Obviously, he hadn't anticipated their mutual declaration of love, spoken only minutes earlier. He was pouring his heart out to her in this letter, a letter she hadn't been meant to see until after he was gone. Should she tell him? Did it really matter? She had known how he felt before she ever opened it. Probably best to leave it alone. She folded it again and tucked it back in the bible where he had stowed it. I stuck my head in the doorway again, and announced the arrival of the cot. I noticed Dana hurriedly wiping tears away, and instinctively reached out to comfort her. She bristled at the touch of my hand on her arm, and quickly rallied herself to unfold the cot and make it up with the sheets and blanket the nurses had provided. At this point, she had no intention of confessing to me about her premature discovery of the letter. Through all this, Fox slept. I was amazed that we didn't disturb him with the squeaky coils and the sound of metal legs scraping on the floor. We set the cot beside the window, next to Fox's bed. Dana would sleep here, I would take the two chairs. It wouldn't be the most comfortable bed I'd ever had, but I wasn't certain that I'd be able to sleep, in any case. We spoke in hushed tones, organizing ourselves for the night. Dana pulled the curtains. I had bought a tube of toothpaste and a couple of toothbrushes in the general store downstairs in the lobby, and as we finished making up our 'beds', I handed these to Dana. She chuckled at my attention to detail, and headed for the bathroom to prepare for the night. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off the dog collar, and loosened my belt. That was as close to undressing as I was going to get, with my best friend and his partner sharing the room with me! Dana padded out of the bathroom. She had her shoes in one hand, and her pantyhose and jacket slung over the other arm. The second button of her blouse was undone. I'd never seen her look so casual! She put the shoes, her jacket and hose in the small closet, and then leaned in to kiss Fox on the cheek. "Goodnight!" she whispered, and then climbed into bed. "Goodnight!" I responded, uncertain whether she had been addressing me or my friend. I quickly brushed my teeth, and returned to my makeshift bed, trying to get comfortable. I thought I'd never get to sleep, but eventually I drifted off into a haze. I wish I hadn't, for I missed the most amazing event that has ever occurred in my presence... It was about 3 a.m. The moonlight was strong and brilliant, and slivers of it were streaming into the room between the curtains. Dana woke up- she couldn't tell why. Had she heard a noise? Felt something? She didn't know. But, once awake, she beheld a sight that made her nearly fall onto the floor. A woman was standing on the other side of Fox's bed. She was holding his hand, and talking to him, although he still seemed to be asleep. She was a nurse. Dana had seen her before. She had dark brown hair, was not very tall, and weighed perhaps a little more than she should. She had a kind face, and a sweet voice. Nurse Owens. The woman who had comforted her and helped her to come back to reality when she was returned from her abduction. The mysterious Nurse Owens, who didn't work at that hospital and never had, according to the duty nurse of whom Dana had inquired the morning after awaking from her coma. It all made sense now. Nurse Owens was sent from God. An angel. The word sounded so trite, so silly to her, but here she was, right in front of her. Dana couldn't make a sound, although she tried. She wanted to speak to this woman, to thank her for all she had done for her 5 years ago. She sat up in the cot, her eyes transfixed on the sight that lay before her. And then she was gone. Dana could swear she hadn't let her out of her gaze for a second. And yet, she had blinked, and the vision was gone. There was only Fox, sleeping surprisingly peacefully for one so close to death. And then, for one horrifying second, Dana wondered if Nurse Owens had come to take him. She leaped out of bed and tried to see if his chest was rising- was he still breathing? She couldn't tell, it was too dark. She felt for his pulse. There it was, and it was strong. Relieved, she let out a breath, and climbed back into bed, still puzzling over what this vision meant. Or was she dreaming?... +++++++++++++++++++++++++ I awoke to the sound of voices in the room. Several of them. What time was it? I glanced at my watch. 7:24 am. My back was killing me. The two chairs had slid apart slightly during the night, and I'd been sagging in the middle. I sat up, a little too quickly, and the chairs slid further, depositing me on the floor. Suddenly, the voices stopped. I glanced up, and there were Dr. Bauer, Dana and a nurse, all staring at me. Realizing that there was no way to hide from this humiliation, I simply picked myself up and muttered, "Good morning." Dana was trying hard to contain herself, but I saw her shoulders moving up and down, and a broad grin on her face, which she had turned towards the ground to avoid my annoyed gaze. Dr. Bauer was the first to break the awkward silence. "Father, I think this is more your department than mine. What do you think of this?" I was still groggy and confused, but I padded over towards the bed in my socks to find out what on earth he was talking about. "You look rough, Mike!" The voice stopped me dead in my tracks. He was sitting up in bed, and he was LAUGHING! "FOX! What happened? Yesterday you could hardly even lift your head!" I lumbered over to his bedside, and grasped his hand. He smiled up at me. "I don't know. I woke up this morning, and I just felt better. I can't explain it. I had this dream... there was a nurse standing beside me, telling me that it wasn't my time yet, that there was still more for me to do here. And then she disappeared." Dana's jaw dropped. "It wasn't a dream, Mulder. I saw her too." His eyes widened as he glanced up at her. "I recognized her. She came to me too, 5 years ago, when I was returned from my abduction. She helped me to keep fighting for life, when I was ready to give up." "An angel." I said it simply, as though it was obvious to everyone. But it WAS obvious, to me. Dana nodded at me, and so did Fox. But the doctor was skeptical. "I'm sure there's a scientific explanation for this. We'll have to run some tests. I must caution you, just because you're feeling better this morning, doesn't mean you're cured. It's more likely a temporary remission." What a killjoy!, I thought. But nothing could spoil my mood at this point. "I think we should say a prayer of thanks, don't you?" I reached over to the side table and picked up Fox's bible. With that, Dr. Bauer and the nurse made a hasty retreat, much to our relief. I shook my head as they left, and muttered, "I really worry about people like that." Fox smiled at me and raised an eyebrow. "Like you used to worry about me, huh?" I chuckled. He was right. There's always hope for anyone, even a die-hard atheist! "He has a point though. We don't know that I'm cured. What Nurse Owens said to me could still be true, even if it's only a remission." "What matters is that you're feeling better. We can worry about the details later!" Dana was more upbeat than I'd ever seen her. I sat on the bed, and opened the bible, turning to the story of Lazarus. It seemed appropriate. My friend had virtually been raised from the dead last night (and I'd slept right through it! I'll never live that one down). I read the story, and then we each said a prayer, thanking God for this wondrous gift that defied all logical explanation. The nurse appeared at that point to announce that Fox would have to go down to radiology for some x-rays. The battery of tests had begun. Dana and I excused ourselves, and watched as two nurses attempted to get him onto a gurney. He would have none of it. So they brought in a wheelchair and, resisting all attempts to assist him, he pulled himself over the edge of the bed, and stepped onto the cold floor for the first time in over 2 months. But his leg muscles had weakened from lack of use, and he began to collapse to the floor. The nurses quickly grabbed him and held him up. He glanced sheepishly over at me, and I smiled with understanding. They gently lowered him into the chair, and he made no further attempts to struggle against them. As they wheeled him off, I turned to Dana and remarked, "I honestly thought he'd be gone when I woke up. I still can't quite believe it. Are you sure I'm not just dreaming all this?" Dana raised her eyebrow at me. "I can pinch you, if you like!" She was grinning from ear to ear. "No, that won't be necessary. My stomach is telling me that this is very real. Do you fancy some breakfast?" She nodded approvingly. "Yeah, I'm starved! Just let me get myself together, and we can go across the street to Bob Evans." +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Fox was not returned to his room until 4 pm. He was poked and prodded, scanned and examined. Dr. Bauer just could not find any sign of cancer in his body, and this annoyed him. He could not explain this away as a medical phenomenon. Finally, at around 7 pm, he grudgingly announced that Fox would be discharged the next day, provided he began taking food again. Home nursing would be arranged until he was able to manage on his own. "We need the bed," he remarked. What an attitude! Fox was ecstatic. He had told me about his waterbed (which he didn't remember acquiring, but that's another story...), and how comfortable it was. The prospect of returning to it was very appealing, considering that he'd been enduring bedsores for weeks. We spent another hour or so with him, and then returned to the places we called home. My hotel room was getting to be just as familiar to me as my own house in London, I noted. I called Andrea that night, and told her what had transpired. She was as overjoyed as I had been, bless her. We discussed her travel plans, making the final arrangements for her arrival on Saturday, and then I signed off, ready for the first peace-filled sleep I'd had since arriving in DC. The Prodigal Son (Part 9 of 10) Chapter 9 - My Happy Reunion It was Saturday afternoon, and I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Andrea's plane. Fox had insisted on joining me, in spite of his still weakened condition. While he might well be cancer-free, he was nowhere near healthy, in my opinion. But he certainly was persistent, so I relented, on the condition that he let me drive his car. In the one and a half months I'd spent in Washington, I'd become accustomed to the cars driving on the 'wrong' side of the road. I felt sure that I could handle this little adventure. After all, how difficult could it be? Well, after nearly getting killed several times, we eventually rolled into the parking lot at Dulles, Fox with his head between his knees, me shaking like a leaf. He was very subdued as we headed for the arrival gate. "I should have thought you'd be used to wacky driving, being an FBI agent," I remarked, trying desperately to break the tension. "Oh? How do you figure that?" He sounded slightly annoyed with me. "Well, high-speed chases through the city, that sort of thing," I answered lamely. "You've been watching too many bad TV shows, Mike. The last time I was in a car chase was when Scully & I were trying to get away from the Men in Black. And WE were the ones being chased!" He paused for a moment, then smiled at me. "Just let ME drive home, OK?" "It's a deal!" I felt stupid, but he didn't care that I'd made a fool out of myself. I suppose he found it endearing. He'd never seen me out of my element before, and it was a revelation to him. We checked the board, and found that Andrea's plane was delayed by 1/2 hour, so we decided to head for the restaurant for a coffee. We were seated in a dimly lit corner. The dcor was elegant, and the room was remarkably quiet. We ordered a pot of coffee, and I began to ponder how I'd come full circle. "It seems like only yesterday, that I was getting off the plane and coming through that gate looking for Dana." "How long is your family staying? Will you still be here next weekend? I can get us all tickets to a ball game, if you're interested." "No, I'm sorry Fox. I've got to get back. Now that you're on the mend, I can't really justify staying much longer. I had to pull in some huge favours to get this much time off as it is. I owe three pastors about 2 Sundays each!" He was crestfallen. He'd been hoping we could have some fun together, now that he was finally getting well. It saddened me too, but there was little I could do. "We'll have lots of time together this coming week," I consoled him. "I'd really rather just spend some quiet time together - we still have a lot of catching up to do!" He nodded. "I want to have you guys over to my apartment one night. We can order something in, and check out all the old photos." "You mean, you kept them?" I was astonished. I'd assumed that, with his guilty conscience, he'd have wanted to be rid of all the evidence of our friendship. But, no. He smiled mischievously at me. "Every last one of them. Remember that party in Patrick's rooms?" Ah, yes. THAT party. The one where he'd gotten me falling-down drunk. On two pints. How could I forget? Or rather, how could I remember?! "I have a photo from that I'm SURE Andrea will be very interested in!" His face was now a smirk. What was he talking about? "What photo? I didn't do anything wrong... did I?" Surely he would have told me the next day? "Well... not exactly. But Phoebe sure did look comfortable sitting on your lap!" Before I could respond to this allegation, the intercom announced an incoming flight. It was totally inaudible, so we drank up, paid our bill and went out to check the board again. It was Andrea's plane. It seemed to take forever, but finally, the crowd started emerging through the gate. Peering amid a sea of faces, I spotted her. Short, dark brown hair, brown eyes, skin like porcelain, and a smile that lights up her face like a sunbeam. She seemed overly encumbered. A carry-on bag slung over her shoulder, Nathaniel's stuffed teddy under her arm, and two little kids in tow - Peter in the papoose strapped across her chest, Nathaniel grabbing onto Mummy's hand firmly and trying desperately to pull her along faster. "ANDY!" I called out to her. She searched the waiting crowd for the familiar face, and there was that smile, as her eyes rested on me. Nathaniel saw me at the same time, and tried to run, pulling her along with him. But she was not about to let go of him in this madding crowd. I moved forward to greet them, crouching down with my arms outstretched. "PAPA!" Nathaniel finally loosed his hand from Andrea's grip, and practically threw himself into my arms. As I cuddled him tight, I began to tear up. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed them! A picture flashed in my mind just then, of a little girl running past me to greet her daddy, waiting at the gate, just as I had been. This was MY happy reunion! Fox waited patiently as we went through the rounds of hugs and kisses, and exclamations of "I've missed you so much!" The truth is, I'd forgotten he was there, standing behind me. Finally, Andy spoke up. "You must be Fox? I recognize you from some of Mike's photos." He extended his hand to her, smiling warmly. "It's great to finally meet you, Andrea. Mike's told me so much about you, and from what I hear, he's a very lucky guy!" She blushed, and smiled at me. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think you'd be well enough yet." "Actually, I'm still not quite myself, but I've been cooped up for way too long." Nathaniel was tugging at his pant leg. "Hey there, and who are you, little man?" he asked, crouching down to my son's eye level. "Nathaniel Walker!" he announced proudly. "That's my Papa!" he proclaimed, pointing to me. "Yeah? Well, guess what? I'm a good friend of your Papa's, so I guess that means we'll be good friends too, doesn't it?" He smiled broadly at Nathaniel, and there was an instant bond between them. Fox took my son's hand and gave it a gentle but firm shake, making him feel very much like a grown-up. I marvelled at how at ease Fox seemed with my boy. I'd never pictured him as being good with kids, but now I saw that, one day, he would make an excellent father. As we headed for the baggage claim area, Nathaniel positioned himself between Fox and me, holding hands with me at his left, and my friend at his right. I took Andrea's carry-on bag, which was mostly diapers and empty bottles, but she was still lumbered with Teddy and Peter. We three adults chatted and laughed our way through the airport, Nathaniel taking in his surroundings intently. He was surprisingly quiet, for which I was thankful. Before I'd left home, he'd developed a tendency to test his lungs in any public place, especially those with a tile floor, which produces the most piercing echos! His scream was so high-pitched, I often expected windows to smash! But not today. The hustle and bustle of Dulles International Airport was more than sufficient to keep his attention. After picking up Andrea's luggage, Fox drove us back to the Howard Johnson, where I had booked a larger room so my family could all be together for the week. Nathaniel sat in front, glued to Fox's side all the way back to the hotel. Andrea & I were highly amused at this, but Fox didn't seem to mind one bit. I had to pull my boy out of the car when we arrived, and he made a huge scene, emitting that shriek whose absence I had celebrated earlier. I worried about Fox driving home all by himself, but he assured me he'd be fine. I made him promise to call me when he got there, so I'd know he was alright. "You're as bad as my mother used to be!" he retorted with a smile. I chuckled. "I've been called worse! Just indulge me, would you?" He nodded, sticking his head out the window to say goodbye to Andrea. "When I call, we can arrange something for later in the week. Remember, I want to have you guys over!" And with that, he waved and pulled the car out into the street. I sent up a prayer that his guardian angel would get him home safely. I followed him with my eyes until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Nathaniel was still exercising his vocal chords, so I hurried him up to the room, kicking and screaming all the way. I was desperately trying to ignore the annoyed stares of the other hotel patrons, and I kept my head down, forging ahead, with Andrea and Peter close behind. A thought flew through my head that an exorcism might be necessary. Being a parent has certainly taught me the value of a healthy sense of humour! I had already moved my bags over to the larger room. As we entered, I heard Andrea's exclamation of surprise and pleasure at the size and comfort of our accommodations. Whereas I travel quite frequently within Britain for pastoral conferences and such, and have stayed in many a hotel over these past 15 years, Andrea hadn't been in one since our honeymoon, 6 years ago. We take our vacations at my parents' country house, that same gothic edifice in Gloucester where I'd suffered the indignity of a hosing by my friend all those years ago. As we settled in for the evening, I took immense pleasure in spending some quiet time with Andy. The Howard Johnson had a babysitting service (what a wonderful idea!) and we took advantage of it. Nathaniel had protested violently, until he noticed Tickle Me Elmo in the corner of the playroom. That was all it took to convince him that this was where he wanted to be, not with Mummy and Papa. He completely ignored us as we headed back to our room, and I laughed at his shift of attention. At times like this, I'm immensely grateful that I'm not a Catholic priest. I'm not into celibacy, thank you very much! A man has certain desires, that I believe God intended for us to enjoy, albeit within the confines of the marital relationship. Mind you, I have several friends who are priests in the Catholic church, and they seem to manage alright. But I think one has to have a special kind of devotion to God, in order to give up what comes most naturally! And I know I could never do it. Honesty is the best policy, they say. I had missed Andy so much. 6 weeks is a long time to go without, for me at least. It wasn't even the physical pleasure I missed, so much as just being close to her, the smell of her hair, the velvet touch of her skin against mine, feeling her heartbeat as she lay with her head on my chest. It was so good to have that time alone, even though we knew it would be short-lived. We very likely would not have another opportunity to come together again until our return to England, and so we made the most of it, ordering up a bottle of wine and some cheese to share in bed afterward. We chatted about everything, and about nothing. The time seemed to fly, and before we knew it, it was time to pick up the boys downstairs and head over to the restaurant for dinner. Just as we were getting ourselves together, the phone rang. It was Fox. Yes, he was fine. Yes, he'd made it home without a problem. No, he wasn't tired. What did we have planned in the way of activities for the week? The Capitol Building, the White House, the Pentagon, and of course, a tour of FBI Headquarters! How would we like a personalized visit instead of the standard whirlwind tour? Lovely! Would we be free for dinner tomorrow evening? Yes, absolutely! Dana was coming over, she would bring take-out and we could do the photo thing, have a good laugh, etc. etc. But what about the kids? Bring them along, of course. Did we like Chinese? Love it. That's settled then. Come for 6 o'clock. What about the morning? Going to church? Of course. Where? Don't know yet - have to check the phone book. What about St. Martin's on Third? It's Anglican. Just around the corner from the hotel. Terrific! Meet you there. Was he sure he was up to all this driving? Perhaps he should take a cab. We'll see. See you in the morning. Have fun tonight! Take care. God Bless. With a plan in motion, we felt more settled. We headed downstairs to get the boys, and had a wonderful evening of good food and the long-overdue sharing of news, hugs and Tickle Me Elmo stories, not necessarily in that order! "I've missed you all so much!" I exclaimed, gazing at them and taking Nathaniel and Andy's hands in mine. Andrea beamed back at me and winked, "Was it worth the wait?" "Absolutely!" I grinned back at her. THE PRODIGAL SON (Part 10 of 10) Chapter 10 - The Lord's Day I awoke early Sunday morning to a beautiful sunrise. Shafts of light peeked through the drawn curtains, hinting at the warmth of the day to come. I glanced over at Andy, who was sound asleep, and watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, feeling full of joy and contentment. Peter was still asleep in the crib the hotel had provided. I was pleased - he hadn't been sleeping through the night when I left home. Nathaniel was not in his bed - I glanced worriedly over to the bathroom, and noted that the light was on. I heard the toilet flush. Had Andy finally succeeded in toilet training him? I suddenly felt guilty again at the prospect of having missed yet another rite of passage in my family. I got up and headed for the balcony to watch the sunrise. It was breathtaking! Streams of yellow, orange and pink were cascading across the city, glinting against the windows of hundreds of office towers. Everything was right with the world again, and this seemed to be a sign sent by God to confirm it. I took a deep breath, and caught a whiff of the aroma of bacon being fried - the restaurant was right below our room, and they had an outdoor patio, from which that delicious aroma must be emanating. My stomach growled, and I marveled that, even after the huge meal we'd consumed last evening, my stomach was ready for more. How had Fox gone for 3 days without eating? I couldn't imagine it. After the usual ordeal of trying to get Nathaniel to wash and dress, we headed down, and I enjoyed the biggest breakfast I'd had since coming to Washington. My appetite had returned, and with a vengeance! Pancakes with syrup, an omelette, sausages, bacon, toast, orange juice, coffee... the array of choices was spectacular, and I availed myself of most of them! I had warned Andrea about the tea, and she'd decided to steer clear for the week. She's not much of a coffee drinker, but this morning she did partake of the bean. That long flight, coupled with the time difference, had taken its toll on her, as it had me over 6 weeks earlier. Nathaniel, however, seemed totally unaffected, much to our shagrin. We'd been hoping he'd crash at some point, so we could relax a little. But, no! The boy seemed to have boundless reserves of energy, and I decided to suggest to Andrea that two is a really good number of kids to have! I was getting too old to go through this ever again! We had no way of knowing whether Peter would grow to be just as rambunctious or even worse! After breakfast, we went back up to the room to brush our teeth, then headed for Third street to find St. Martin's Anglican Church. Fox had been right - it was only 3 blocks down, around the corner from our hotel. And what a beautiful building! The cornerstone indicated it had been built in the mid-1900's. It was built of gray limestone, a simple design with unobtrusive arches and a sturdy bell tower. But the building's most striking feature was its multi-coloured stained glass windows, depicting various biblical events. Among them: Adam & Eve in the Garden of Eden; the parting of the Red Sea; the nativity; the baptism of Jesus; the crucifixion; the resurrection. This building was a monument to faith, presenting the Gospel for all the public to see, right there in those windows. Fox was already there when we arrived - the early bird! He'd driven himself, but afterward regretted it, since the church had very limited parking. He'd found a spot several blocks down, and had walked back. Consequently, he was still quite winded when we met him. I was full of concern, of course. "I think you'd better go in and sit down, Fox. You don't look very well." To my surprise, he nodded agreement, and headed inside. We followed close behind, but Nathaniel made it a struggle. He'd seen a squirrel bounding across the front lawn of the church, and wanted desperately to follow it. Andy picked him up in frustration, leaving me to push Peter's stroller, which we had rented that morning. These American hotels think of everything! I thought my older son would be a handful that morning, but to my surprise, he settled right down once we got inside the church. I watched, bemused, as Nathaniel turned his head all about, taking in his surroundings, and Fox did the same! My friend wasn't used to being in a place of worship on a Sunday morning, I realized. It felt unfamiliar to him, and a little awkward. But could there be more to it than that? I watched as he took a bulletin from the usher and settled into a pew near the back, shifting to try to get comfortable on the hard wood. I came up next to the seat he'd chosen, and touched his shoulder. "I think we'll sit closer to the front, if you don't mind, Fox. I find it makes Nathaniel behave better, when he can see what's going on. Would you like to join us?" He looked up at me with mild alarm, and shook his head. "No, thanks Mike, that's ok. I'll just sit here for today." I wondered what was bothering him. He'd seemed quite eager to join us for worship when we spoke yesterday, and now he wanted to sit right at the back. So he could make a quick escape? I wondered. I shrugged, and headed towards the front with Andy. She'd put Nathaniel down once we'd gotten inside, and he marched obediently up the aisle with us, holding Mummy's hand proudly. We took a seat three pews from the front, and prepared for the service. It's not often that I get to sit with the congregation, and the change of perspective was refreshing. It was a lovely service. We sang hymns that were all familiar to me, in spite of being on a different continent. The sermon was about temptation, with the chosen text being Christ's three days in the desert being tempted by the devil. I wondered how Fox was reacting to this. Even though he'd made his confession and received God's unconditional forgiveness, I worried that he'd still be troubled by the sins of his past. He didn't go up for communion. I wanted desperately to turn around and check on my friend, but resisted the urge. As the service ended, I arose from my pew and turned around. I spotted Fox, hurrying out the door without saying a word to the pastor, who had positioned himself at the back to greet the parishoners on their way out. My friend must have been just about the first one to leave! I got Andy's attention and motioned towards the exit. She nodded her understanding, and I dashed out after him. I was worried about him - what could be troubling him so much that he didn't even want to wait around to meet some of these fellow worshippers? I explained what was happening to Pastor Hewitt as I dashed past him, apologizing as I went. Fox was nowhere to be seen! I walked up the street to see if he'd gone back to his car, but he hadn't. Then, I heard his voice. "I'm back here, Mike." Startled, I turned on my heels, and saw him, leaning against the wall in a back corner of the building. He had his eyes closed, chin jutting out, and he was breathing heavily through his mouth. His hands were two fists, and his whole body seemed tense. "Are you alright?" I walked towards him across the grass. "Maybe you should sit down, if you're not feeling well." I was afraid he was going to pass out right there in front of me. "I'm fine, Mike." There was a pause, then he chuckled. "I sound just like Scully!" He turned and looked at me, a pained expression on his face. "Come on, Fox, you can't fool me. I've known you far too long. What's up?" He was silent. "You can stare at me all you want, Fox, but we're not leaving here until you tell me what the problem is." I was determined to get this 'organized religion' issue out in the open, once and for all. He sighed, then slid down towards the grass, letting his jacket ride up against the stone wall. There was a rock garden nearby, and I sat on one of the larger stones to listen. He shut his eyes again for a moment, then began: "I honestly thought I'd be over it by now. It's just that... well... it's Samantha." He saw my questioning look, and continued, "I was twelve when she was taken, remember?" I nodded. "I was still in Sunday School. We went to the Baptist church. The first Sunday after it happened, the Sunday School lesson was about heaven and hell, and when we all went to the front of the church for the pastor's little talk, he said something about hell being when you're taken away from everyone you love, and away from God. I couldn't get that picture out of my head, of Samantha floating out the window, and me not being able to do a thing about it. I put the two together and I figured he was saying she'd been taken to hell." He stopped for a moment and glanced over at me. I was aghast. What a dreadful thing to live with all these years! He wasn't finished yet. "My mind couldn't accept that she was in hell, so I concluded that he was lying. And as if that weren't bad enough, then everyone at church kept trying to comfort us, while at the same time we overheard them secretly accusing my parents of not being responsible, leaving me in charge. I felt like everyone was blaming ME for Samantha's disappearance!" He was losing composure. I made a move towards him, but he waved me back. He grimaced, trying and then succeeding to fight back the tears. "I came to believe that people who subscribed to organized religion were just hypocrites, who used rituals to convince themselves that they were saved, without having to actually follow the teachings of the bible. That was the last time I ever set foot in a church, and my parents never went back, either. They split up shortly after that." I now understood why he'd been so anti-religion all these years. But this still didn't explain today's episode. "Fox, I'm so sorry. But surely you realize that the church has just as many hypocrites as the rest of society! That doesn't make it right, and what those people said and did was reprehensible, to be sure. But it doesn't mean that organized religion ITSELF is at fault!" He nodded. "I know. But... the atmosphere in there... it just reminded me so much of that Sunday. I was having flashbacks all through the service. I just had to get out of there, before someone smiled at me and tried to shake my hand." I frowned at him, and shook my head with concern. "I hope you're not going to let this experience stop you from coming back and trying again," I cautioned. "A church home can offer so much in the way of support and friendship, if you're open to it. These people seem very friendly to me, and I think you ought to give them a chance. You shouldn't tar everyone with the same brush, you know. Just because that particular group back then treated you badly, doesn't mean that these people will." He looked up at me, and I caught a faint smile. "I guess you're right, Mike. I'm being paranoid." "I didn't say that!" "Not in so many words..." he winked at me. I stood up. "Shall we try this again?" He nodded in agreement, and pulled himself up from the damp grass, brushing off his trousers. He had green stains on his pants, but they were mostly hidden by his jacket. We headed back to the sidewalk and along towards the front of the building, where the strains of organ music could be heard, and Pastor Hewitt was greeting the people, young and old, with a smile and a friendly handshake. Andrea was standing on the bottom step, chatting with an older woman with a mild Cockney accent. She caught sight of us, and motioned frantically for me to come over and meet the woman. "Mike! Look who I've just met. This is Mrs. Harris - you remember Mum talking about Mrs. Harris, who worked in the bakery in Kentish Town?" I could only vaguely remember discussions about a bakery, and Mrs. Harris' name did not ring even the faintest of bells, but I nodded anyway, and extended my hand in greeting. "Hello, Mrs. Harris! It's lovely to meet you!" I gave her my best I-HAVEN'T- THE-FOGGIEST-NOTION-WHO-YOU-ARE smile. As we chatted about my mother-in-law's favourite confections, I glanced up at the top step, and noticed that Fox had returned to speak to Pastor Hewitt. He now seemed more at ease, and they were engaged in a lively discussion. I smiled. My friend was going to be ok after all.