From: "Judith Baxter" <judithbaxter@hotmail.com>
Date: Mon, 01 Jan 2001 01:29:03
Subject: Through a Glass, Darkly by Judith Baxter
Source: direct


TITLE: THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY
AUTHOR: Judith Baxter
FEEDBACK: JudithBaxter@hotmail.com
SPOILERS: Anasazi
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: XFile, Mulder/Scully UST (well, sort of.
Proceed with caution if you're a strict NoRomo).
SUMMARY: A grieving woman unleashes a terrifying force from
beyond.
DISCLAIMER:  The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Samantha,
Melissa, Bill Sr., etc. are the property of the Fox Network, Ten
Thirteen and Chris Carter.  No money is being made by me, folks.
This is purely a labor of love.

XXXXX

FROM THE FIELD JOURNAL OF SPECIAL AGENT DANA SCULLY

As a doctor specializing in forensic pathology, I have studied
the structure and function of the human heart.  I can recite the
names of its parts and point out their locations.  I can explain
the role that each part plays in receiving and distributing the
lifeblood of an individual.  I know, for example, that two large
veins - the superior and interior venae cavae - serve as the
gateways to the heart.  A contraction of the left ventricle sends
blood into the aorta and on to the arteries.  Muscles and valves
vibrate, contract and close, thus producing two sounds in each
cycle of a heartbeat.  Without the complications of disease or
defect or accident, the heart rhythmically marks off the seconds
of one's life until it is inevitably silenced.  Even the
strongest of hearts are eventually stilled.

Through the course of my work on the X-Files, I have performed
numerous autopsies that required the removal of the heart from
the chest cavity of the deceased.

I have been literally called upon to hold a heart in my hands.

I can examine it, weigh it, measure it, scrutinize it in any
number of ways, but for all of my training and knowledge, all of
my experience and observation, I cannot tell what secrets that
heart has held.  I don't know what hopes flourished within it or
died there unfulfilled.  I can't point to a scar and state that
it's the result of a lifetime's worth of emotional or mental
pain, just as I can't look at the ventricles and tell you how
much love was stored within them.

We often describe the pain of separation or the loss of a
relationship as "heartbreaking" and "heart-rending."  And yet,
with some tragic exceptions, most individuals overcome their
grief, eventually finding solace and happiness with someone else.

Perhaps the physiology of the heart itself provides some insight.
Even when all connections with the nervous system have been
severed, the heart muscle will continue beating at its regular
rate.  It is in its nature to do so.

Are we biologically driven to face the future and go on living,
even when each day is more than we feel we can bear?  Is it in
_our_ nature to do so?  Is it instinct, a facet of our need for
self-preservation, a smattering of cellular material within our
DNA that compels us to survive, if not heal?

And if survival becomes mere existence, a seemingly endless
stretch of days devoid of joy or meaning, what then?   When faced
with the prospect of a solitary existence, to what lengths will
one go to reclaim a love once cherished, then lost, to heal a
broken heart?

END OF ENTRY

XXXXX

When the police officers arrived at her door, Katie Thornton
refused to believe that Peter, her husband, was dead.  She
couldn't accept the idea that his body was encased in a shroud of
twisted metal, his death the result of a head-on collision with
another car.  Over and over she told herself that it had to be a
mistake, even as she was being led to the morgue to view his
remains, separated from him by a pane of glass.  When the blinds
were opened and the sheet was turned down, she saw the stillness
of his face, his dark eyes forever closed.  In one terrible
moment, her stomach wrenched in anxiety and agony - and she knew
that Peter was gone.

She became wild with grief, throwing herself against the window
and screaming to God in her pain.  She seemed hell-bent on
harming herself, if not by breaking the glass to get to Peter,
then later by taking pills or slashing her wrists or any of a
hundred other ways.

But Katie did none of that.  From somewhere within her shattered
heart, she found the strength to make preparations for Peter's
funeral. She picked out the suit for his burial.  She selected
his casket.  She supplied the minister with information about
their life together, so that he would be better able to convey to
the mourners the essence of the man that she would love for the
rest of her life.

It was a carefully crafted facade that Katie presented to her
family and friends, one which completely crumbled after the
funeral when Katie was left alone in an empty house.

For days, she sat on the sofa; her home darkened by the lowered
shades or closed drapes.  At first, family and friends came by to
coax her outside.  She participated in small talk, thanked them
for their kindness and then politely but firmly escorted them to
the door - if she let them in the door at all, which oftentimes
she did not.  When they were gone, Katie returned to her station
on the sofa, where she sometimes slept for hour after dreamless
hour.  Gradually, everyone got the message that she wanted to be
left alone, and even though no one thought it was wise or
healthy, her wishes were respected.  In truth, twenty-four year
old Katie also realized that she had become one of the most
painful of paradoxes - the young widow.  She knew that even her
closest of friends fumbled for words to express their sympathy.
She was too obvious of a reminder that at any moment, their lives
could be thrown into violent disarray.  So it suited her purpose
when they seemed a bit too willing to distance themselves and she
forgave them for their fear.

One day, Katie awoke, clear-eyed and clear-headed - and with a
strange sense of calm that she hadn't felt since before Peter's
death.  It was as if she had been handed a plan, detailed and
complete, for what she needed to do.  Everything at once seemed
so obvious.  She actually laughed that she had not thought of it
sooner.  She sprang from bed, showered and dressed - humming as
she did so - then got into the car and drove to a bookstore.  It
didn't take her long to find the information that she needed, but
assembling the required materials was a challenge.  She spent the
next several days prowling through antique shops, flea markets
and garage sales.  She picked through the cast-offs of many a
life unknown to her, pondering this and considering that, often
going back to the same store several times to re-examine a piece.
She wanted to be sure of her purchases, after all, and besides,
she felt as if she had all the time in the world to make the
right decision.

When Katie at last completed her shopping and put everything
together as she had read, she spent an entire day in preparation.

She first pulled on an oversized T-shirt, baggy shorts and tennis
shoes and took an early morning walk to a nearby park.  Sitting
on a bench still damp with dew, she watched the sun burn off the
mists that curled through the trees and down the shallow bank of
the park's one small pond.  When she returned home, she gathered
her kitchen clock and digital alarm clock for storage in her
bedroom closet.  She also unplugged or concealed in some way
every appliance that featured a clock.  Satisfied that she had
created an atmosphere of "timelessness," Katie then sat down to a
breakfast of juice, toast and fruit, careful to avoid the usual
two cups of dark black French roast that jolted her to
wakefulness.

The next couple of hours were spent thumbing through her favorite
books.  Amongst the works of Jane Austen, J.D. Salinger and Anne
Rice were the precocious Calvin and Hobbes; the richly textured
illustrations of Michael Hague, the innocence of Winnie the Pooh
and Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit and friends.  Lying on the
sofa, Katie laughed as flipped from one page to the next -
sometimes curled on her side, sometimes on her stomach, other
times lying on her back with her feet propped on the sofa towards
the ceiling.  It was a bubbly, carefree laugh - a sound that had
not been heard in the house in a long time.

Later, Katie lay still, her eyes closed in blissful surrender as
she listened to the otherworldly melodies of Constance Demby's
"Novus Magnificat."  She pictured herself rising with the music,
her arms extended, twirling and spinning with the stars towards a
great heavenly light - a light which held all the answers to all
the questions that anyone had ever dared to ask.  A light from
which flowed the purest, highest form of unconditional love.

When the music ended, Katie opened her eyes and wiped away the
streams of tears that wet her cheeks and hair.

She knew that it was time to act.

She ran a warm bath, throwing in a handful of colorful, fragrant
crystals before easing herself into the water's warm embrace.
When she stepped out, she slowly dried off and then applied
lotion to her now pink skin.  She carefully put on her makeup and
put up her hair, then stepped into a soft flowing emerald dress
that complemented her pale complexion.  Walking from room to
room, she turned off the lights in each one, until at last she
reached what used to be the spare bedroom.  Slowly feeling her
way through the dark, she stopped to turn on one of her latest
acquisitions - a large Victorian globe lamp, decorated with pink
roses painted across a background of pale green.  The dim
lamplight glowed warmly against the beautifully polished finish
of the cherry table on which it rested.  Reaching under the
table, Katie pulled open a small drawer to remove a few items
vital to the evening's activities.  She studied them in her
hands, turning them over and over, her forehead wrinkled by the
pain that marred her newly established calm.  It lasted only for
a moment and then was pushed to a secret place in the deepest
part of her heart.  Drawing a long breath, Katie turned to face
the two objects that dominated the room.

In the room's center, upholstered in burgundy velvet, was a
massive, high-backed claw-footed chair.  Large brass upholstery
tacks gleamed against the dark wood of its frame.  Katie paused
to run her hands over the rich fabric and across the carvings
that highlighted the arms and back, appreciative of the time and
craftsmanship invested in the chair's creation.  With a small,
satisfied sigh, she sat down, then raised her hips to curl her
legs beneath her.  She rested for a moment, her eyes closed, her
breathing calm and even.

When she felt she was ready, she slowly opened her eyes to gaze
into what was, for her purposes, the room's heart.  Hanging high
on the wall was a huge mirror surrounded by an ornate gold frame.
So large was this mirror that it was able to reflect most of the
room's contents - thereby making the bedroom seem twice as big as
it was.  However, because of the height at which it was hung,
Katie was not able to see herself in it.  The mirror was the
single biggest expense in Katie's plan, but she had not hesitated
in buying it.  She had been informed by the antique dealer that
it was quite old, and so had probably witnessed as many quarrels,
declarations of love, illicit trysts and family gatherings as one
could imagine.  It had a history - albeit one of a silent witness
- but Katie felt that in reflecting those many lives that passed
before it that it somehow retained a pale refection of each one.
It was now her hope that the souls in the mirror would help her
to find the one that meant the most in the world to her.

Peter.

XXXXX

Katie sat bolt upright, her eyes and hair wild, her heart racing,
before she realized where she was.  Gripping the arms of the
chair with white knuckles, it took a moment for her to see that
she was in her newly redecorated guest bedroom.  Her hands
relaxed and her pulse slowed as she acknowledged that she must
have fallen asleep, but for how long, she had no idea.  Her brain
and vision cobwebbed with drowsiness, she smoothed her hair, then
rubbed her eyes, trying to clear them - and was astounded to
discover that the room was filled with a thin, wraith-like smoke.

Once again her pulse spiked, but this time with excitement, not
fear.  She sat still, barely breathing, in awe of what was taking
place before her.

The surface of the mirror was covered -

_no_, the _interior_ of it, she realized, was filled with the
same white smoke.

Katie clasped her hands to her lips, at once afraid to laugh, for
fear of disrupting what she so longed to achieve, then laughing
for the sheer joy that arose from her heart.  Almost
instantaneously, the mirror began to twinkle with small stars of
light, as if dozens of constellations danced within its silvered
depths.  A small sigh of wonder escaped Katie's lips.  This was
better than she could have possibly hoped for on her first
attempt at contact.  If nothing else happened, if she never saw
Peter, she would have the memory of this spectral light show to
fill her private thoughts and dreams forever.  As it continued,
she began to think that maybe _this_ was a sign in and of itself.

A sign that Peter loved her still, even from the other side.

Slowly, the luminescent pinpoints faded one by one, until a
solitary light remained.  Katie watched in fascination as the
light began to grow larger - almost like the headlight of an
approaching train.  As it grew, Katie noticed that there was
movement within it - a dark form that seemed to increase in size
with the aura surrounding it.  Larger and larger it became, until
with a cry of happiness, Katie recognized the apparition.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she pushed herself out of the
chair with trembling hands.  Before her conscious mind registered
the impossibility of what she saw happening, Peter stepped from
the mirror and stood before her.

Katie was speechless.  Only in the freedom of her dreams had she
had the opportunity to be with Peter, and now here he was -
looking as human, as alive as he had been when he left the house
on that terrible night.

Slowly, Katie walked to him, her hands extended, her heart
fluttering in her chest.  For just the briefest second, she
hesitated before reaching to touch his face, instead covering her
lips with her fingers in an effort to contain her sobs.  With a
whimper, her love overcame her fear.  She gently brushed his
cheeks, the line of his jaw, his throat, all the while murmuring
his name over and over.  At last, she pressed herself against
him, burying her face against his chest and wrapping her arms
around his waist.  When he encircled her with his arms, she
stiffened slightly and then relaxed into his embrace, his chin
resting against the top of her head, then sliding over her hair
as he lowered his head to rest against her shoulder.

To Katie, there was no one and nothing else outside the circle of
their arms.

They stood there for a long time, each leaning into the other's
body, drawing comfort and strength from one another in silence.
So intent was Katie on savoring the reunion with her husband that
she hardly noticed how stiffly he stood, how still he had become.
When she finally recognized the changes in Peter's demeanor, she
pulled away, looking up at him with questions in her eyes.

What she saw tied her stomach into knots of wild, raw panic.

Peter stood over her, gazing into the mirror, his pupils dilated
to the point that his eyes appeared black.  All the color had
drained away from his face so that it was a sickly bluish white.
The skin on his forehead and neck was shining with a slick sheen
of sweat.  Katie reached up to touch his cheek, but quickly
withdrew her hand when she realized how unnaturally cold he had
become.  Frightened, she stepped away from him, her heart
threatening to pound its way out of her chest.  With wide eyes,
she slowly turned to see what held Peter's attention in a death
grip...

And realized that nothing in the darkest corners of her worst
nightmares could have prepared her for what she saw.  Drawn
toward the monstrosity even as she tried to resist, the last
thought that occurred to her as her consciousness flickered and
disappeared into the void was that something had gone
...horribly
...hellishly
_wrong_.

XXXXX

"Excuse me."

The white-haired volunteer at the information desk
looked up and smiled pleasantly at the soberly dressed
young man and woman before her.  The man spoke again.

"We're here to meet Detective Dan Billard.  Can you tell
us where we could find him?"

The volunteer's smile faded.  Looking from the man to
the woman, she said, "Oh, dear.  You're not detectives,
too, are you?"

The young woman intervened.  Pulling her ID badge from
her coat, she held it up and said, "I'm Agent Dana
Scully and this is my partner, Agent Fox Mulder.  We
were asked to meet Detective Billard here at the
hospital, but we weren't told where to find him.  I'm
sure you can help us."  Agent Scully accompanied the
statement with a small smile.

The older woman gave the younger one a worried look
before dropping her eyes to scan the neatly arranged
rows of notes on her desktop.  Tracing up and down each
column with a carefully manicured fingernail, she
finally stopped and pried one note out from between its
neighbors.  She paused to read it to herself, then
raised her eyes to meet Scully's.

"You'll find him in the morgue," she said.

Scully turned to Mulder, a question in her eyes, then
looked back to the woman at the desk.  "And how do we
get to the morgue from here?" she asked.

The woman hesitated, as if she couldn't decide whether
to give the directions or not, then pointed over
Scully's shoulder and said, "Take the elevator there.
Two floors down.  Follow the signs."

Scully smiled briefly.  "Thank you for your help," she
said.

Mulder and Scully turned away from the desk and headed
across the lobby.  Scully shoved her hands into her
trench coat pockets and leaned towards her partner.
"You didn't tell me there had been a death."

"I didn't tell you because I didn't know about it until
a minute ago," Mulder replied.  "Billard was pretty
cagey on specifics, but he did say there were
interesting aspects to the case.  Things that were
unusual.  Elements that would qualify it as an X-File."
He stopped at the elevator and reached to punch the down
button, then faced his partner.  "But he didn't say that
Katie Thornton was dead."

"But she did end up here under mysterious
circumstances?" Scully asked.

Mulder looked upward and pursed his lips, as if scanning
the ceiling for information.  "Katie Thornton, 24 years
old.  Recently widowed.  Found unconscious on the
hospital steps three days ago.  No indication who left
her.  Her driver's license was in her pocket, along with
her late husband's wedding ring and his watch.  She was
in a coma when she arrived, although there were no
outward signs of trauma and nothing in her medical
history that indicated that outcome."

Scully scanned the lights above the elevator doors,
tracking the car's progress.  "Only twenty-four years
old and a widow?  What happened to her husband?"

"Traffic accident.  Car jumped the interstate median,
hit Peter Thornton's head on."  The elevator doors
opened and Mulder stepped aside as it released its
passengers.  He then gestured for Scully to enter.
"Which just goes to show you that any of us can leave
this life at any time."  The doors closed and he
selected the floor they needed.

"That's not usually something I like to consider when
I'm on an elevator," Scully replied, crossing her arms
and leaning against the back of the car.

Mulder smiled and cocked his head to one side.  "Am I
detecting a heretofore undeclared phobia, Agent Scully?
Fear of being trapped in a falling elevator?"

Scully uncrossed her arms and braced them against the
car's steel railings.  "No, not really.  But I can think
of a lot of other ways I'd rather make my exit."

Mulder regarded her for a moment, then quietly said,
"Scully, there are a lot of things that I'd like to know
about you.  How you'd prefer to die is not one of them."

Scully turned to see Mulder looking at her with a soft,
almost sorrowful expression in his eyes.  She opened her
mouth to respond when the elevator interrupted with a
mechanical ringing and the doors opened wide.  She was
still holding Mulder's gaze when she stepped past him to
exit.

There was no one waiting to greet them, but it didn't
take Mulder and Scully long to find Detective Billard.
Signs posted in the hallways led them to the morgue.
When they arrived, a serious young man in a dark suit
was talking quietly and earnestly to a police officer.
Scully noted that he seemed a blonde version of Mulder -
the same square jaw, the same tall lanky build.  As the
officer nodded and walked away, the man turned to greet
Mulder and Scully.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Mulder extended his hand to shake Billard's.  "Detective
Billard?  I'm Fox Mulder and this is my partner, Dana
Scully."

Billard shook Mulder's hand, then Scully's.  His relief
at their arrival was evident in the almost desperate way
he clasped their hands.  "Thanks for coming," he said.
"I really appreciate your help."  He lowered his voice
and leaned in, as if sharing a secret.  "Uh, I hate to
admit this, but I'll be up front with you.  I'm outta my
depth on this one."

"Oh, really?  How's that?" Mulder asked.

Billard stood with one hand at his hip, while running
the other through his thick blonde hair.  "It's all way
too weird, too strange.  Well, maybe not for you."  He
gestured to the two agents.  "You probably see this kind
of stuff all the time, but I...."  His voice trailed
off.  He looked down at the floor and his eyes focused
on something that only he could see, as if he were
thinking of anything but where he was.

Scully lowered her head, trying to catch his eye.
"Detective Billard?" she said, her tone gentle.  He
turned and looked at her, but said nothing.  Scully
decided to press on while she had his attention.  "Why
don't you tell us everything you know, everything's that
happened.  Then Mulder and I will help you in any way we
can.  But first you have to tell us why we weren't
notified of Katie Thornton's death."

Scully's last statement seemed to bring Billard back to
the present.  He looked at Mulder and Scully with
surprise, then perplexity.  "Who told you that Ms.
Thornton was dead?"  He waited for either agent to
respond, then pointing to himself, he added, "I know I
didn't."

"Well, we _are_ in the morgue," Mulder responded.  "I
can't think of anyone actually requesting to be treated
here...."  He stopped, his mind going back to Donnie
Pfaster, who had desecrated the corpses of young women
and who had turned to stalking the living, including
Scully.  "Okay, maybe I can think of one," he muttered.

Billard sighed.  "You're right.  I guess I didn't tell
you everything you need to know."  He held his hands in
front of him, palms up in a gesture of apology.  "Let's
start over.  Katie Thornton is in the morgue, but she's
very much alive.  Quite honestly, she's down here as much
for her safety as for anyone else's."

"What do you mean?" Scully asked.  "She's still in a
coma, right?  She's not threatening bodily harm to
anyone?"

"Well...no, not exactly."  Billard looked away, unable
to meet the scrutiny he was receiving from the two
agents.  He turned back to face them.  "Look, come with
me and I'll show you what I mean."  With that, he walked
past Mulder and Scully towards the end of the hall.
Scully stopped long enough to shoot a glance at Mulder,
who raised his hands in a "Who knows?" gesture as he
stepped forward to follow her.

When the three reached Katie's room, Billard said, "I'll
wait out here."

"And if we have questions?" Scully asked.

Billard glanced nervously at the door, then back to
Mulder and Scully.  "Look, I'll be right here.  Anything
you need to know, you can come back out and ask."

"But you're not going in with us," Mulder said.

Billard looked Mulder in the eye, then shook his head.
"No."

The two men stared at each other for a moment, then
Mulder said, "Okay, Scully, let's see what we got."  He
turned to open the door to Katie's room but was stopped
when Billard grabbed his sleeve.

"Wait a minute!  I almost forgot."  Billard held out his
hands.  "Give me your watches, pagers, cell phones.
Anything like that.  I'll hold'em until you come out."

Scully looked from Mulder to Billard.  "Why?  What will
happen to them in there?" she asked.

Billard smiled weakly.  "Trust me.  I learned the hard
way.  You take them in there and they won't work again
when you come back out."

"Okayyy..." Scully replied, reaching into her coat
pocket for her cell phone.  "But why...?"  She was
silenced by a gesture from Mulder, who smiled to himself
as he handed over his watch.  Scully paused, then
following her partner's lead, removed hers and placed it
in Billard's waiting hands, to rest with Mulder's phone.

"Anything else we need to know?" Mulder asked.

Billard dropped the agent's belongings in the pockets of
his jacket.  "That's it, I guess.  Don't stay in there
too long.  Well, you won't want to anyway."  He looked
down at his shoes.  "I couldn't."

Scully looked with sympathy at Billard, then to Mulder.
Turning to enter Katie's room, Mulder said, "Okay,
Scully.  Time to find out what's waiting for us behind
Door Number One."

XXXXX

Once inside, Mulder and Scully stood with their backs
against the door, neither taking another step as if by
mutual consent.  Scully allowed her eyes time to adjust
from the glaring fluorescent lighting of the hallway to
the dimmer, warmer lighting provided by the camp
lanterns placed on either side of Katie's bed.  At the
moment, however, she couldn't bring herself to comment
on the strangeness of the room's furnishings.

She was too busy forcing herself to breathe.

Fear was assaulting her with an icy hand as surely as if
she were receiving blow after blow to the chest.
Shivering violently, she wrapped her arms around herself
and asked, "Is it cold in here or is it me?"

"I don't think it's you," Mulder said, briskly massaging
his hands to warm them.  "Shit, this room's like a
freezer!  You'd think there'd be a space heater, at
least."

"Maybe there's no heat because there can't be any heat,
Mulder.  Maybe that's why they've got those lanterns."
Her brows creased together as she considered her next
statement.  "And maybe that's why there are no monitors
hooked up to Katie."

Mulder shrugged and blew on his hands, then shoved them
under his armpits.

Scully regarded their surroundings, all the while
rubbing her arms in an effort to keep her blood flowing.
The room was a windowless cinder-block cell painted in a
dull institutional gray.  She guessed that it probably
had been a storage area before being converted to its
present use.  It wasn't the most cheerful of places to
be housed, but it wasn't like Katie would notice, she
thought to herself.

Hadn't she been oblivious to everything around her when
she was in the same situation?

She trembled and pulled her trench coat closer around
her.

She didn't like what she was feeling.

Her heart was constricted like a small, tight fist in
her chest.  She knew that she needed to make a closer
examination of Katie, but she couldn't convince her feet
to move.  She licked her lips and tried to swallow, but
it was as if she hadn't had anything to drink in days.

Not that she would have been able to swallow anyway.
Her esophagus felt like it was being crushed flat.

It was irrational, illogical nonsense, she told herself,
but she was absolutely, positively certain that if she
took one more step towards Katie's bed that she would
have a heart attack.  When she found the breath to
speak, her voice sounded strained and not anything like
her own.  "Mulder, let's make this quick, okay?
I'm...I'm not feeling very well."

When he didn't respond, she turned to repeat herself,
thinking that he was too engrossed in his own analysis
to comment.  What she saw made her forget her own
discomfort.

Mulder was standing ramrod straight, arms held stiffly
at his sides, fists tightly clenched, head tilted back,
eyes closed.  His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he
was breathing heavily after a hard run.  Sweat stood out
in beads along his forehead.  When he swayed, as if he
might fall, Scully reached out to grab him, thinking
that she would help him sit down.

And nearly got knocked on her ass for her effort.

She hardly had time to get out of the way when Mulder
came out of his fugue state.  With wild eyes that didn't
seem to recognize her, he shoved her hands away, then
advanced and took a couple of swings.  In the small
room, she had little area in which to maneuver.  When
she raised her hands to defend herself, Mulder captured
her left wrist.  Tightening his grip, he pulled Scully
towards him, ignoring her cry of pain as her wrist
twisted in his hand.

"Mulder, please!"  Mulder's hand clamped harder on
Scully's forearm and she bit her lip to keep from crying
out again.  "Mulder, stop.  You're hurting me!"  She
felt Mulder's breath on her face as he bent over her,
grinning with a dark cruelty that he had never shown
before.  She closed her eyes to keep from meeting his,
stars bursting behind her eyelids from the pain he was
inflicting.  She imagined that she could hear the bones
in her arm grinding together before they snapped.
Keeping her voice calm, she said, "Mulder, it's me.
Dana Scully.  I'm asking you to please stop hurting me."

Gradually, Mulder's grip on Scully relaxed.  She opened
her eyes to see him slumped against the wall, his face
hidden by his hands.  With a tentative, "Mulder?" Scully
crossed the space separating them to gently place a hand
on his arm.  Mulder's hands dropped away to his sides,
revealing eyes moist with tears.  Putting her arm around
his waist, she quietly said, "C'mon.  Let's get the hell
outta here."  He gave a barely perceptible nod, then
sweeping his arm around Scully's shoulders, he leaned
into the strength of his partner's embrace.

XXXXX

Billard glanced up from his Styrofoam cup of coffee to
see Mulder and Scully exit Katie's room.  Scully helped
Mulder to a chair, then leaned down to place a hand on
his shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

Without looking at her, he swiped a hand across his
eyes, then nodded yes.

"I'm going to get a look at Katie's chart.  You need
anything?"

Mulder shook his head, then turned to look Scully in the
eye.  "Scully, I...."  His mouth continued to move, but
no words came.  Scully could see that he was struggling
to finds words in explanation for what had happened.

She looked down at her wrist.  The pain had reduced to a
dull throb, but she didn't think there was any permanent
damage.  "Mulder, I'm fine.  Really."  Giving his
shoulder a squeeze, she added, "We'll talk about it
later."  Then standing to face Billard, she asked,
"Where can I find Katie's records?"

"She's being treated by Dr. Laura Barnes.  Back the way
you came, then right.  There's a makeshift nurse's
station.  Somebody should be there."

Scully took one more look at Mulder, dipping her head
slightly as if to ask, "Okay?"  He smiled weakly - a
smile that faded as watched her walk down the hall.
Without taking his eyes from her, he said flatly, "You
could have told us, Billard.  You could have warned us
about what to expect."  He stood up, moving to stand
toe-to-toe with the other man.  Pointing in the
direction Scully had gone, he raised his voice.  "I
could have hurt her!"

Billard shifted from one foot to another, unsure as to
how to answer.  He broke away from Mulder's stare, then
met it once more.  "Look, everyone who has stepped into
that room has reacted differently, all right?  How was I
to predict what would happen?  Some people waltz in and
out and don't feel a thing.  Others come flying back
through that door like the Devil himself was after
them."

"And you got a pitchfork in the ass," Mulder said, with
a note of sarcasm.

Billard's eyes narrowed slightly, then he snorted with
disgust.  "Yeah, that's right.  I was hardly in there
five minutes but it felt like forever."  He leaned
forward into Mulder's face.  "I'll tell you something,
Agent Mulder.  I've been in law enforcement for fifteen
years.  I've been in situations where I've seen my life
run in a screaming flash before my eyes.  Been through
times when I was certain that I was gonna be hauled home
in a bag.  _Never_ in all those years have I felt the
kind of blind, naked panic that I felt when I walked
into that room."  He straightened again.  "Does that
make me some kind of a coward?  Because I won't go back
in there?  You tell me."

Mulder didn't answer right away, his own mind in turmoil
over his rough treatment of Scully.  After a moment's
silence, he shook his head.  "No, it doesn't make you a
coward.  For some reason that we don't know yet, you had
an adverse reaction.  All three of us did.  We just need
to determine the catalyst to the process."

Relief eased the tension in Billard's face.  He forced a
smile.  "I've heard a few things about you, Mulder.
About your interests, your methods.  Some pretty wild
stuff.  When it's all said and done, I don't care how
this case gets solved.  I just want to see an end to it.
Doesn't matter to me whether you use tea leaves or Tarot
cards to find the answers."

"Well, I'm a Ouija board man myself," Mulder deadpanned,
"although Scully's background in forensic pathology
makes her predisposed to using the entrails of a goat as
an investigative tool."

Billard looked momentarily wary, but before he had a
chance to respond, Scully rejoined them.

"Find out anything?" Mulder asked.

"Nothing beyond what Detective Billard already told us,"
she replied, crossing her arms.  "There's no indication
as to why Katie is in a coma.  Urine ketone, plasma
ammonia, blood ethanol - all normal.  No history of
seizures.  Her pupils are responsive - no apparent
pressure on the optic nerve, but without the use of a
monitor, there's no way to determine if her intercranial
pressure is within normal limits.  No external signs of
head trauma, although her doctor's been unable to do any
type of scan which might reveal internal injuries."

"Because the same phenomenon that would have affected
our watches and phones affects the equipment used to
conduct the scan," Mulder offered, looking at Billard.
He switched his attention to Scully.  "And the heat and
the lights."

"Yeah, big time," Billard replied, reaching into his
pockets and handing over their belongings.  "Luckily,
the effect is localized.  Only hardware and individuals
in the immediate vicinity are affected.  But no one
wants to take a chance that whatever this is will shut
down a respirator or a heart monitor or some other
critical system.  So she's down here, at least for now."

"Umm, well, yeah, probably for the best," Mulder
replied, as he strapped his watch onto his wrist.
Suddenly thoughtful, he regarded it for a moment.
Staring at its face, he asked, "Have Katie's neighbors
and immediate family been interviewed?"

"Her aunt lives here.  Practically raised her, but she
didn't have any info for us.  Katie's parents are
divorced.  She hasn't seen her father in years.  We're
trying to locate him and her mother.  She took off for
parts unknown right after Katie got married."

"And the neighbors?  What did they have to say?" Mulder
asked.

Billard shrugged.  "Didn't hear anything, didn't see
anything.  You know."

"Still, we'd like the option of canvassing the
neighborhood again, and re-interviewing the aunt,"
Mulder said.  "And obviously we'll need to get into
Katie's house."

"Sure," Billard replied, taking a pad from his pocket
and scribbling down an address.  He ripped out the page
and handed it to Mulder.  "But I wouldn't advise going
over there now, at night.  Place is creepier 'n hell."

XXXXX

"So, what do you think?" Mulder asked as they climbed
into their rental car.

Scully reached behind her for her shoulder harness.  "I
think Billard has his own ideas about what's going on,
but doesn't want to say too much for fear of sounding
foolish."

"While I, on the other hand, take that risk on a daily,
sometimes, hourly basis, eh, Scully?"

She smiled as she clicked her seat belt into place.
"You do have your moments, yes."  She turned to see
Mulder looking at her in the most curious way - as if he
were studying her face in order to commit it to memory.

Bemused, she curled a wisp of hair behind her ear.
"Mulder, what is it?"

His gaze wandered from her eyes to her hair, her mouth,
then her eyes again.  "I was thinking about how much you
have to put up with from me."  When she remained quiet,
he stared out through the windshield, into the night.
"Back there" - he gestured with his chin towards the
hospital - "I could have broken your wrist or your arm,
without even a second thought."  He raised his hands to
tensely grip the steering wheel, then lowered them again
to his lap.  "I think that the only thing that kept me
from doing it was hearing the pain in your voice."  His
hazel eyes found hers.  "When I realized that you were
pleading for me to stop, I hated myself, Scully.  I
hated myself for hurting you."

Looking at Mulder in wonder, Scully's eyes threatened to
spill over with tears.  While she tried to find the
words, she slowed her breathing to calm herself.

Damn it, why did this man affect her like this?

Swallowing hard, she said, "You couldn't help yourself,
Mulder, and you can't be held accountable.  There's
something going on here that we don't understand - not
yet, anyway."  She placed her small palm against his
forearm.  "Trust me.  I'm sure there's a reason for
what's happened and, when we find it, we'll know how to
keep it from happening again.  So don't worry, okay?
All's forgiven."

The barest crook of a smile appeared at Mulder's lips.
"If you say so.  But as a token of my appreciation for
your continued patience and understanding, how about if
I buy you dinner?"

"Sure, why not?  But only after we go to Katie's house."

Mulder's eyes widened with delight.  "Ooooo, Scully,
really?  Even though, it's...how did Billard put it?
'Creepier 'n hell?'"

Scully nodded emphatically.  "Yep, creepier 'n hell."

Mulder grinned and turned the key in the ignition.

XXXXX

"What have you got, Scully?  Odd or even?"

Scully peered into the darkness, searching for any sign
of a house number.  As her partner slowly inched the
car down the street, she saw the flash of headlights on
brass numerals.

"Odd.  The house is on my side," she answered.  "I
think I saw 2067 back there so Katie's house
should...be...here."  She pointed to a small red brick
bungalow, hardly distinguishable from any of the other
houses they had passed on the street.  It reminded her
somewhat of the cookie-cutter base housing that she and
her family had lived in when she was a child.

What did her sister, Melissa, used to call them?

'Ticky-tacky houses'?

Bland, yes, but somehow comforting in their sameness.
She smiled inwardly and softly said, "I don't know,
Mulder.  It doesn't seem so creepy to me."

Mulder leaned over and craned his neck to get a better
look.  "Yeah, well, I bet the neighbors said the same
thing about Jeffrey Dahmer's place."  Then he
straightened, shut off the engine, and proceeded to
exit the car.

Scully continued to gaze wistfully at the little house.
Sitting snugly between its neighbors, it seemed to
exude its own aura of normality and security.  Maybe
Katie and Peter had felt the same way about it.
Perhaps they had planned on starting a family and
raising children here.  The tragedy was that it was
just too easy to put things off when you thought that
you would live forever, when you assumed that you were
blessed with the invulnerability of youth.  Scully had
witnessed too many horrors to know that no one was
safe, whether they chose to spend their life searching
for the truth or sitting in a recliner in front of the
TV.

Too often the unimaginable happened in your own living
room.

Mulder knew that all too well.

Scully's reverie was broken when Mulder tapped on the
passenger window with his knuckles.  She unbuckled her
seat belt as he opened the door.

As he waited for her he said, "This is historic,
Scully.  I think this is actually the first time I've
ever opened a car door for you.  Too bad there's no one
here to take a picture for posterity."

Scully looked at him smugly as she got out of the car.
"I guess that means that you'll have to buy champagne
at dinner to commemorate this momentous occasion."

He closed the door and locked the car.  With a mock
serious expression, he said, "I don't know, Scully.  I
don't think my per diem will cover it."

He watched as her mouth quirked to one side.  That
smirk was often as close as Dana Scully ever came to
laughter.

It was also the expression she exhibited when she
thought he was full of it.

As Scully stood at the end of the walkway to the house,
Mulder popped open the trunk lid, took out two
flashlights, then slammed the lid shut.  He offered her
a flashlight, then pulled it back, tapping it against
his shoulder.  He pursed his lips in thought, then
said, "These may not work."

"So we'll improvise," Scully responded, holding out her
hand for the light.  "But maybe we should leave our
watches and phones out here, just in case."  While
Mulder deposited them under the front seat of the car, she
asked, "Got a key to the house?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled
piece of paper.  Opening it, he read, "Key is in the
turtle."

At the front door, the two agents scanned the ground at
the foot of the bushes against the house.  It was
Scully who finally proclaimed, "Got it!" emerging from
the thick shrubbery with a small plastic replica of a
turtle in her hand.  Holding it against her ear and
shaking it, she heard the metallic clink of the key
hidden inside.  Stuffing her flashlight under one arm,
she turned the turtle on its back in her hand and
opened the small door on its underbelly.  She extracted
the key, placed the turtle on the ground, and unlocked
the front door.

As she stood in the doorway, Scully toggled the switch
on her flashlight.  It refused to work.  "Hold on," she
said, giving her eyes time to adjust to the inky
blackness in front of her.  A nearby streetlight cast
an orange glow through the door into what appeared to
be the living room.  Eventually, Scully made out the
shape of a sofa, saw a reflection off a glass-topped
coffee table and a golden glint from brass candlesticks
on the fireplace mantle.  After getting her bearings,
she headed toward a floor lamp, attempting to turn it
on with no success.  With a sigh, she put her
flashlight on the coffee table, then turned back to the
fireplace.  On a hunch, she reached up to the mantle,
and felt along its length until she retrieved a book of
matches.  As she lit the candles, Mulder entered the
house and carefully closed the door behind him.

As Scully handed him one of the flickering tapers, he
said, "I think we're seeing the same effect that we saw
back at the hospital."  He held the candle up, as if to
get a better look at her face.  "What do you think?"

Scully raised her chin a bit, her back stiffening.
Mulder wasn't just asking for her opinion about his
assessment of the situation: he was really asking for
an evaluation of her emotional and physical state.  He
wanted to know that she was all right.

Now that she thought about it, it did seem considerably
cooler in the house than outside.  That realization
brought another - that her skin was tingling, as if
being stimulated with a mild electrical current.

"Mulder," she said, "I think you're right.  I feel..."
she stopped, not wanting to alarm him unnecessarily.
She took a deep breath and released it.  "I feel
different.  Not the way I felt back at the hospital,
but not like myself, either."

Mulder regarded her quietly.  "Look, Scully, I don't
want a repeat of what happened.  Maybe it would be
safer if you waited for me outside.  I'll give a quick
look around and tell you what I find."

She considered his proposal for a moment.  Coming from
any other man, the suggestion to dismiss her from the
scene of an investigation would have offended her.
Mulder, however, wasn't just "any" man.  He was the man
to whom she entrusted her life on a regular basis.  She
saw the anguish in his eyes after the episode in
Katie's room.  She knew that he feared losing control
and threatening her wellbeing.  But although they were
aware that there were forces at work beyond their
present understanding, she knew that he would do
anything to keep himself from hurting her.

He was disciplined.  He was focused.  He possessed the
ability to devote himself to a cause with a laser-like
intensity that was frightening to observe.

Scully trusted that he would bring all his will to bear
on keeping his aggression in check.

And yet...what if he couldn't?  She had seen Mulder go
over the edge before.  Could she bring herself to put
another bullet through his shoulder if she had to?

Pushing that thought away, she tried to put a different
spin on the situation.  "I think we'll get more
accomplished if we both search the house.  It'll be
done in half the time, and besides, something might get
overlooked if only one of us walks through."  She
searched his face for any sign of agreement, but the
creases in his forehead told her that he was still
unsure.

"Mulder, the quicker we sort through the evidence the
quicker we'll understand what's happening here.  And
the most efficient way to do that is as a team."  She
took a step closer, the flame of her candle wavering
from the movement.  "You know I'm right.  And anyway,
I'm sure you'll warn me if you get ready to rumble."
She gave him a warm smile of reassurance.

He relaxed, if only by a fraction.  By the dim light of
the candles, Scully found it hard to read what was in
his eyes.

"Okay, for now."  He pointed a finger at her for
emphasis.  "But if I give you the word, you haul ass
outta here."

She nodded in assent.

"All right," Mulder continued.  "Why don't you go
through the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
I'll take the bedrooms and whatever's left."
Sheltering his candle with one hand, he turned and
headed toward the back of the house.

Scully slowly swung around to take in the living room.
The furnishings were sparse, but revealed that the
Thorntons possessed good taste.  An area rug in muted
earth tones lay on the hardwood floor.  Oranges huddled
together on a white platter atop a wicker chest.  A
beige couch and matching chair were grouped around a
large square coffee table.  Several books were
scattered on its glass top.  Carefully placing the
candlestick on the table, Scully bent to look at them
and was surprised to see that they weren't the usual
overpriced fare that many bought for show and not for
reading.  "Sense and Sensibility" rested beside
"Interview with the Vampire".  "Winnie the Pooh" was
nestled between "Catcher in the Rye" and an illustrated
version of "The Hobbit".  Worn covers and dog-eared
pages indicated that these books were read not once but
over and over.  Someone obviously had great affection
for them, but whether it was Katie or her late husband,
Scully couldn't say.  There were no names or
inscriptions inside the covers designating to whom they
belonged.

She picked up the candle.  Turning her attention to the
rest of the room, she noticed a group of photos hanging
on a fabric-covered folding screen that stood in one
corner.  When she got a closer look, it was apparent
that this was Katie's version of a family photo album.

There was a photo of a much younger Katie as she hugged
Mickey Mouse at one of the Disney theme parks.  In
another, a man, whom Scully assumed to be Katie's
father, stood holding the reins of a dappled pony while
Katie, costumed as a cowgirl, sat beaming in the
saddle.  A later photo showed Katie and an older woman
standing side by side at either Katie's high school or
college graduation.  The strong family resemblance told
Scully that the middle-aged woman in the photo had to
have been Katie's mother.  Scully noticed that the
smiles of the two appeared forced and strained, as if
they were merely acting happy for the camera.  They
stood together, without touching, Katie clutching her
diploma to her chest.

Scully felt a twinge of sympathy for Katie as she gazed
at the parent and child.  Then she saw Katie's wedding
pictures.

In every one, Katie and Peter radiated happiness beyond
any that Scully had ever seen from a bride and groom.
Seeing the two laughing together, she couldn't help but
smile.  She continued to look at the photographs for a
moment, her smile slowly fading.  The she turned her
attention to the other rooms.

She had completed her inspection of the dining room and
was in the kitchen when she heard Mulder.

"Hey, Scully, c'mere!"

Startled, she dumped the pile of papers she was
examining from the counter to the floor.  She dropped
to her knees and hurried to scoop them up and into some
kind of order.  As she neatly stacked them, Mulder
stuck his head in the door.

For the briefest of seconds, Scully tried to read his
face for any signs of the hostility that he had shown
earlier.  But she quickly realized that she had no
reason to worry.

Mulder was wearing the biggest goofy-kid grin that she
had seen in a long time.

"You gotta come see this."

Intrigued, she followed him down a narrow hallway,
their candles continuing to provide the only
illumination in the darkened house.  When they were in
front of the last door on the left, Mulder stopped,
then stood holding the doorknob.  Standing in the
closeness of the hall, Scully could see the twinkle in
his eyes, the way he could barely contain his "I've-
got-a-secret-and-you-don't" attitude.

"So," he said, swinging the door open.  "Tell me what
you make of this."

XXXXX

Scully tore her gaze from his face and looked into the
room beyond.  At first it was difficult for her to
determine just what she was looking at.  She stared
ahead of her in concentration, holding her candle in
front of her.  There was a little furniture -- a chair,
a table.  Antiques, perhaps.  But mainly there was just
so much. . .black.

Black from floor to ceiling and on all four walls.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

Mulder leaned down to murmur near her ear.  "Ten-to-one
she didn't see this in 'Martha Stewart's Living.'"

She turned her head a bit to acknowledge his comment,
barely catching his eye, then walked in to get a better
look.  He remained near the door, watching in amusement
as she ran her hand along each wall of the room,
pausing briefly in front of the huge framed mirror.
When she stood again at his side, he stayed silent,
waiting for her reaction.  There was a moment when all
he could hear was her soft breathing as she pondered
what lay before her.

"Mulder, the Thorntons must have spent a fortune on
this room alone," she said at last.  "For one thing,
the walls are covered with black velvet.  I can't
imagine how long it took to hang these, these. . . ."
She gestured towards the room's interior.  "Curtains,
or whatever you'd call them."

"And this furniture," she exclaimed as she moved to
stand behind the large burgundy chair in the room's
center.  She turned to look at the cherry table and
painted globe lamp.  "Antiques, I think.  Very nice,
very expensive antiques."  She rested one hand on the
chair's carved back.  "From what I've seen of the rest
of the house, I'd say that the Thorntons did their
furniture shopping at the Pottery Barn.  Why should
this room be any different?"

Mulder tilted his head slightly.  "Family heirlooms,
maybe?"

Scully drew her head back, her eyebrows raised.  "Well,
yeah, I guess, if they were handed down by members of
the Addams family.  Otherwise, I can't imagine what
Peter and Katie would be doing with this stuff."

Mulder left his post by the door and stopped in front
of the mirror.  He studied the depths of its black
surface in silence, then turned to face his partner.
"I'd say catoptromancy."

"Excuse me?"

"The practice of summoning an oracle from a mirror."

Scully placed her candle on the table behind her, then
crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side.  She
let Mulder's answer hang in the air for a couple of
beats and said, "An oracle.  From a mirror."

Mulder looked up the mirror again.  "Well, not always.
Most oracles were summoned by staring into a pool of
water - a process called hydromancy."  He turned back
to Scully.  "Like at Delphi in Athens, Greece.  But the
same results can be achieved using a mirror."

"And you think that's what Peter and Katie were doing?
Asking questions and expecting to get answers?"

"I don't know about Peter.  But Katie - yes, I
definitely think Katie was."

Scully looked down at the floor and tried to suppress a
smile.  The gesture did not go unnoticed by Mulder.

"What?"

Raising her head, she tucked a wayward strand of hair
behind her ear.  "Well, Mulder, let's face it.  You
make this sound like an upscale version of an 'Eight
Ball.'"  When he didn't reply, she rested her hands on
top of the high-backed chair and looked at them, lost
in thought.  A moment passed.  "How do you know that
she didn't use this room for meditation?"

Mulder crossed the room to place his candle beside
Scully's.  He put his hands in his pockets, shrugged
and stepped towards the mirror.  "I suppose it's
possible, but this setting is too Gothic.  The point of
a meditation room is to induce a tranquil, relaxed
state of mind."  He threw himself into the chair and
then twisted around to look up at her.  "The only thing
that this place is gonna induce is nightmares."

Looking around her, Scully agreed.  The room's
furnishings gave the impression that this area was far
removed from anything happening beyond its walls.
Under any other circumstances, she would have admired
their beauty.  Now, even the table and chair seemed
ominous and foreboding, like props from the set of a
Vincent Price film.

'It's these damn black curtains,' she thought.

No doubt, most of her uneasiness came from those.  They
seemed to swallow up what little light was cast by the
candles.  Not only that, but Scully got the feeling
that her voice was somehow muffled within the room's
darkness - as if she were talking through the fog of a
very bad head cold.  And even though she knew, through
her own inspection of the room, that nothing was hidden
by those curtains other than a shallow closet and a
window, she still felt anxious.

Her rational mind told her that nothing was hiding
behind those curtains.

Her personal experience with the X-Files told her that
anything could be hiding behind them.

And then there was that mirror.

While Scully didn't buy Mulder's theory that Katie was
summoning oracles, she could easily imagine that this
would be the type of mirror that one would use for that
practice.  With its imposing size and ornate frame, it
looked like the kind of mirror that could hold secrets
or answer questions, the kind of mirror that an Evil
Queen would consult to find out who was the fairest of
them all, the kind of mirror that Alice would have
stepped into to enter Wonderland.

She looked down at Mulder, his face hidden from view as
he regarded the mirror.  Maybe he was thinking the same
thing.

"Scully," he said, staring straight ahead.  "What if
this mirror is the key to what happened to Katie?"

"What do you mean?  Do you think she entered an altered
state of consciousness by gazing at it?  Some kind of
trance that triggered catatonia?"

"No, not exactly," he said, pushing himself out of the
chair and facing her.  His face was lit up with his
excitement.

Scully knew that look.  It meant that he was about to
propose a theory that ventured into the realm of
extreme possibility.

"What if Katie was affected not by what was _in_ the
mirror, but by what came _out_ of it?"

Before Scully could respond, Mulder held up his hand to
silence her.  "What if there was some process through
which you could invoke forces or even entities to
answer questions and provide help?  The Greeks, the
Celts, all kinds of people have looked into mirrors for
a glimpse of the future, but there are also stories of
beings that have stepped out of mirrors to interact
with humans."  He leaned closer to Scully, his voice
raspy, his gaze intense.  "What if something stepped
out of the mirror - something over which Katie had no
control?"

Scully's eyebrows nearly climbed to her scalp.  A tiny
part of her screamed that this had to be some kind of a
joke.

Only she knew that Mulder wasn't joking.  When it came
to his beliefs about the abnormal and paranormal, he
was serious to the bone.

She just had a hard time reconciling that with her
beliefs in the scientific method.

Picking up her candle, she walked past him and stood in
front of the mirror.  Nothing seemed out of the
ordinary.  Of course, she hadn't had an opportunity to
look behind the mirror's frame, but she didn't think
there'd be any surprises there.  Beneath the black
velvet would be a perfectly normal wall that, upon
inspection, would reveal no hidden cameras or other
equipment -- and certainly no entrance to the Twilight
Zone.

"Mulder, this is just a mirror."  She faced him once
more.  "I don't know what Katie was attempting to do
here.  I'm not at all sure how she even ended up in the
state she is in now, but I can tell you this - I don't
think it was because she had an altercation with the
Mad Hatter or the White Rabbit."  She made her
statement matter-of-factly and without sarcasm.

If Mulder was disappointed that Scully didn't embrace
his theory, she didn't see any sign of it in his face.
He turned from her, picked up his candle from the table
and returned to stand in front of her.  He looked down
at her without speaking, the light from the tapers
playing across his features but revealing nothing about
what he was thinking.  As she looked into his eyes,
Scully regretted what she had said.  With a few ill-
chosen words, she had reduced his explanation for
Katie's condition to the level of a child's bedtime
story.

She wanted to believe.  But in order to do that, she
required proof -- quantifiable, verifiable proof.  How
could she make him understand that she was willing to
make the journey with him but not at the expense of her
own need for hard evidence?

Searching his face for any clue to guide her, she said
in a low voice, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to make
light of your theory.  It's just...." She stopped,
hoping that he would say something so that she wouldn't
have to keep talking.  When he didn't, she continued,
"Well, it's just that it's so damned hard sometimes,
Mulder.  I can't make the leaps that you're able to
make.  I can't jump from point A to point D without
examining points B and C."  She looked up at the
mirror, swallowed hard, then turned back to him.  "Give
me time.  Let me think about what you've said, do some
research."  The flame of her candle trembled with her
breath.  "I want the same thing that you want, Mulder.
I want the truth.  But I have to find it in my own way,
on my own terms."

There was the briefest pause before Mulder said,
"Scully, anything less would be a betrayal of who you
are.  And that's a sacrifice that I would never ask you
to make."

At that moment, it seemed to Scully that all she could
hear was the pounding of her heart, the roar of her
blood in her ears as she and Mulder faced each other.
At first, she attributed the effect to the intensity of
their discussion.  Maybe it even had something to do
with how close she and her handsome partner were
standing.

Then she realized that something was wrong.

"Mulder," she said urgently, cupping her hand around
her candle and heading to the door.  "We've got to get
out of here.  I think I'm having another panic attack."

She was in the hallway before she realized that he
wasn't behind her.

Blowing out her candle and setting it on the floor, she
turned back to the black room.  She expected to see
Mulder standing as he had in Katie's hospital room -
with the same rigid posture and dark, fearsome eyes.

What she saw frightened her even more.

Mulder was squatting on the floor with his arms wrapped
tightly around himself.  As he slowly rocked back and
forth on his heels, he made a soft moaning sound that
sent trickles of ice water down Scully's spine.

It wasn't a human sound.

It was the sound that an animal might make if it were
being tortured.

Throwing aside any concern for her own safety, she
knelt beside him, hesitating only briefly before
wrapping her arm around his shoulders.  Thankful that
Mulder had had the presence of mind to set his own
candle on the floor in front of him, she extinguished
it with a puff of breath.  She then pulled him to his
feet, urging him on softly and swaying slightly with
his weight as he leaned against her.  Sometimes
walking, sometimes stumbling through the dark house,
the two agents reached the front door.  As Scully
locked it and returned the key to its hiding place,
Mulder leaned against the doorframe, clutching his
chest as he tried to catch his breath.  Scully clasped
his arm, concerned.  Mulder waved her off.

"I'm - fine," he wheezed between gulps of air.  "Hit me
- all of a sudden.  But now...."  He dropped his chin,
still breathing hard.

Scully found it hard to speak herself, so she was glad
for Mulder's silence.  It gave her a moment to regain
her composure while she waited for a wave of nausea to
pass.  When he finally looked up and met her own weak
smile with one of his own, she hoped that she didn't
look as green as she felt.

"Now that I'm outta there, I'm okay," he said.  He
raised two fingers in a half-hearted attempt at the Boy
Scout salute.  "Honest."  He took a few more lungfuls
of air and said, "Now, about that fancy dinner I
promised you...."

Scully watched him anxiously.   "Do you really think
that you want to go out to eat?  Why don't we just grab
something and take it back to the motel?"

Mulder straightened, exhaled heavily, and took Scully's
arm as they walked out to the car.  "Look, Scully, no
way am I subjecting you to another meal at Mickey D's.
Not today, anyway.  Besides, I made a promise and I
intend to keep it."

Despite his bravado, Scully wasn't entirely convinced
that Mulder's recovery was genuine.  When they reached
the car, she held out her hand.  "Okay, but at least
let me drive."

Mulder shrugged, dug into his coat pocket, then dropped
the keys into Scully's hand.  Once inside and buckled
in she said, "Now, you're sure, right?  You feel up to
this?"

Her partner grimaced as he bent to retrieve their
watches and cell phones from under the car's seat.  He
handed Scully's belongings to her, then looked at his
watch as he wrapped it around his wrist.  "Scully, I'm
fine.  Anyway, I think that Uncle Sam owes us a nice
meal.  Maybe even a glass of wine."  He twisted the
watch around his arm and met his partner's gaze.  "Or
champagne."

XXXXX

Inside the Thorntons house, the air almost crackled
with electricity.

The black curtains billowed outward from the walls as
if blown by a storm wind.  The surface of the mirror
sparked and glowed, zigged and zagged with the bright
yellow arcs of static charges.  The burgundy chair
tipped backwards and fell as if shoved by a giant's
hand.  The globe of the Victorian lamp shattered,
littering the floor with a million glittering shards of
glass that danced in whirlwinds along the carpet.

The spare bedroom became the center of a maelstrom,
growing wilder and louder with each passing second and
just when it seemed as if everything was going to be
reduced to splinters of wood and ragged fabric....

There was a sudden and silent calm.  It lasted only for
a moment.

The sound was barely audible.  Someone standing outside
of the room probably wouldn't have noticed it.  And it
would have been hard to determine from where it was
originating -- and harder to believe.

With a low and constant humming, the surface of the
mirror slowly ripped from top to bottom, like the
canvas of a painting being split.  Then its silvered
glass bulged outward, as if that same canvas were being
pushed from behind.  As the hum rose in pitch and
volume, the halves of the mirror were parted and peeled
back.

And out stepped the impossible.

XXXXX

It quickly became apparent to Scully that dinner that
evening was out of the question.

They were on their way to check in at their motel when
she realized that her partner had fallen peculiarly
silent.  Normally, Mulder would be bombarding her with
his theories about their current case - goading her
into a good-natured argument over their differences.
She was sure that he enjoyed seeing her take the bait
when he proposed some outlandish explanation for the
oddities that they found themselves investigating.
Sometimes, in the heat of their debates, she would
catch him looking at her in a way that was hard to
define.  There would be a light in his eyes and a
slight smile curving his lips.  He would watch her as
she tried to make scientific sense out of the
fantastic, his eyes sweeping from her hair to her face
to her lips to her throat and back again.

Actually, she knew what that look meant - at least when
other men looked at her that way.

When it was Mulder...she wasn't so sure.

Now, however, he wasn't looking at anyone.  He was
slumped against the passenger door, his eyes closed and
his breathing heavy.  Scully pressed harder against the
gas pedal, going as fast as she dared to get the two of
them back to the motel.  It was obvious that Mulder was
ill, but the cause of his sickness was unclear.  The
latest incident pointed to a link between their
symptoms and some causative agent in the Thorntons'
house.  If Katie spent a lot of time cloistered in her
home after her husband's death, she would have been in
close proximity to this agent for an extended period.
Perhaps prolonged exposure resulted in the kind of
serious debilitation that Katie was now experiencing.
Only a thorough investigation of the home could provide
answers, but although Scully felt that a quarantine was
warranted, she was reluctant to press for one.  There
was no need to trigger a panic, especially given the
fact that only persons in the immediate vicinity of
Katie or the black velvet room were affected.

What Scully didn't understand at this point was the
seemingly selective nature of the agent or agents that
were causing this sickness, if that was even what it
was.  Labeling it as such made it sound as if the
source was bacterial or viral, when it could just as
easily be chemical.  In any case, she was puzzled by
the symptoms displayed and their varying intensity -
and very worried, particularly with respect to Mulder's
reaction.

All of the variables she could think of were still
running through her mind as she pulled into the lot of
the Peachtree Motor Lodge.  She parked the car in front
of the office and turned to look at her partner.  His
condition didn't appear to have changed.  Scully
reached across the seat to place a hand on his
shoulder, then decided against it.

'No need to startle him,' she thought, her mind going
back to his reaction at the hospital.  Gingerly, she
withdrew her hand and got out of the car as quietly as
she could.  She gritted her teeth when she closed the
door, but as she bent and looked into the car, it
appeared that Mulder hadn't even opened an eye.

She hastily made the arrangements for their rooms and
returned to the car.  Mulder was now sitting up,
blinking groggily and rubbing his hands over his face.
His hair stood up crazily on one side, mussed from
leaning against the door.

"How do you feel?" Scully asked as she rejoined him.

"Lousy," he mumbled. "Like I'm getting the flu.  If I
were you, I wouldn't waste any time getting us to our
rooms.  Not if you want to get the security deposit
back on this car."

"Why's that?" Scully asked, putting the key into the
ignition.

"Because I think I'm gonna hurl," Mulder replied,
holding his hand over his mouth.

Instantly, Scully threw the car into reverse and
whipped it over to the two rooms at the far end of the
motor lodge.  Jumping out of the car, she scrambled to
get a key in the room's lock, as Mulder stood behind
her, antsily shifting from foot to foot.  She had no
sooner thrown open the door when he hurtled past her
into the room.  Stepping inside, she heard his distress
as he retched in the bathroom, followed by the sounds
of the toilet flushing and water running in the sink.

"Are you all right?" she called, advancing into the
room and turning on the lights.

He appeared at the bathroom door, a towel clutched in
his hand.  She was shocked to see how ashen his skin
had become.

"My god, Mulder, you look awful," she said.

"I feel awful," he replied, lurching over to the bed
and collapsing onto it.  Scully sat down beside him and
placed her hand on his forehead.  "You're a little
warm."

"That's probably from embarrassment," he said as tossed
the towel in the general direction of the bathroom.  He
watched as it fluttered open and hit the floor.

She reacted with surprise.  "Embarrassment?  Why should
you feel embarrassed?  I'm a doctor.  These things
happen."

"Oh, sure they do.  It's just that in my realm of
experience it's happened after I've stood around with a
bunch of hormonally hyper guys, telling outrageous lies
and tossing down drinks that hit me like a blunt
instrument.  If I threw up in front of them, it didn't
matter.  None of them were gonna remember it anyway,
and if they did, they weren't going to bring it up
because then I'd retaliate by reminding them of some
offense for which they could probably be arrested."
Mulder looked at Scully pointedly.  "Never, ever, have
I gotten sick like that in front of a woman."

Scully found herself with nothing to say.  He really
_was_ embarrassed, although she felt that he had no
reason to be.  He was admitting another idiosyncrasy to
her, like his fear of fire or insects.

Except this fear was not one hardwired into his
subconscious, like the others.  It was his very
personal fear of being humiliated.

Scully was moved but broke from his gaze.  It was best
to try to divert his attention from his own
predicament.  "Well, don't forget," she said, picking
at something on the bedspread that only she could see.
"I rushed into your motel room in my best from
Victoria's Secret during our first case.  As I recall,
I was afraid that I was marked like those high school
kids that were being abducted.  Imagine my own
embarrassment when it turned out that I'd only been
bitten by mosquitoes."  She met his hazel eyes again,
her blue eyes mischievous.  "I'd flashed you for
nothing."

Mulder rolled over onto his side and propped his head
up with his hand.  "Ah, but Scully, how do you know?"

She felt the color rising in her face but didn't miss a
beat.  "Obviously, your fever has now made you
delirious," she said as she arose.  "I'll come back in
later and check on you."

Chuckling, Mulder rolled over onto his back as she
closed the door.

XXXXX

Before going to her room, Scully retrieved their
suitcases from the car.  After giving Mulder his bag,
she settled into her own temporary lodgings.  It took
her about an hour to store everything to her liking and
then to trade her conservative FBI career clothes for
jeans, boots, and a soft black sweater.  Scooping some
change out of her briefcase, she went in search of a
Coke machine.  When she found one by the office, she
bought a couple of drinks and walked back to the rooms.

Her knock on Mulder's door brought no immediate
response.  She had decided to return to her own room
when he opened the door.

"Hey, come on in," he said, sleepily.

She stopped and turned to see him dressed in gray
sweatpants and a rumpled T-shirt. "Sorry.  Didn't mean
to wake you."

"No problem."  He held the door open as she entered his
room, then closed it, and shambled to his bed.  While
he eased himself onto the mattress, she pulled up a
chair.  Mulder lay back with his arm across his eyes.
Scully settled into a slouch, propped her feet on the
bed, and popped open one of the sodas.  After she took
a sip she said, "I brought you something to drink.  You
don't want to get dehydrated."

He mumbled his thanks.  She took another swallow as she
watched his chest rise and fall.  Finally, she broke
the silence.  "Mulder, what the hell is going on here?"

He raised his arm a bit and caught a glimpse of the
concern on her face.  Sitting up, he grabbed a couple
of lumpy pillows, punched them into submission, and
shoved them behind him for support.  Then he gestured
for her to hand him the other can of soda.

After a few swallows, he set the can on the nightstand.
"I don't know.  I keep going back to what happened at
the hospital.  I don't like to think that I could react
like that again."

"But when we were at Katie's house, you didn't."
Seeing the questioning look in his eyes, she asked, "Or
don't you remember?"

He shifted against the pillows, clearly uncomfortable
at having to confront this aspect of the case.  "I
don't recall what I might have done.  I know that I
felt...afraid.  Actually, I was terrified, like...."
He picked up his can of soda and turned it around in
his hand, as if he were studying the label.  He took
another sip and then looked at his partner.  "I felt
like an animal must feel when it's trapped by a
predator and knows that there's no escape.  I was sure
I was going to die in that house.  There was no
rational thought involved, no higher Homo Sapien's
reasoning, no inner voice telling me that my
imagination was running a marathon - just some
primitive prehistoric part of my brain screaming that I
was about to become an hors d'oeuvre for a T. Rex."

"That's how I felt at the hospital," Scully responded.
"Scared out of my wits.  Physically, I exhibited all
the signs of a panic attack - accelerated pulse,
esophageal spasms, clammy skin, shortness of breath."

"And I acted like the Tyrannosaurus," Mulder said,
under his breath.

Both fell silent.  Mulder became preoccupied with his
can of soda again.  Scully looked at her feet, turning
them this way and that as she studied the shine on her
boots.  For a time, the only sound was the drone of
traffic on the adjacent highway.  Finally, convinced
that the discussion was over for the evening, Scully
took her feet off the bed, finished her drink, and
stood up to leave.  She was almost to the door when
Mulder spoke.

"Fight or flight."

She turned around.  "What?"

"Fight or flight, Scully -- the two basic instinctual
responses of an animal when faced with a threat to its
life.  An animal either stands its ground and engages
in combat or turns and attempts to flee to safety.
We've both felt compelled to act on those urges in the
last 24 hours."

"But why, Mulder?  What would trigger that kind of a
response?  I suppose that we could have been exposed to
a psychotropic chemical at the Thorntons, but that
doesn't explain our behavior at the hospital."  She
considered the problem for a moment.  "Residue of the
chemical on Katie's skin or clothing could have
produced the same effect on anyone entering her room
and...what?"  She saw Mulder's smile that threatened to
break into a grin and crossed her arms over her chest.
"You don't think that's possible?"

He shook his head, the amusement plain on his face.
"On the contrary, I think it's a perfectly logical
explanation for at least the physical and emotional
responses we've experienced."

"But not necessarily the explanation that you subscribe
to?"

"No, not yet, but I could be persuaded."  He continued
his silent laughter.

Scully stood her ground, her lips pursed.  "So, what is
it then?"

He gestured towards her.  "You.  It's you, Scully.  I
just like the way your mind works.  You dissect my
theories the way you've autopsied the bodies we've
encountered over the years."  He sliced the air with
the edge of his palm.  "Cleanly, precisely.  Then you
objectively state what you see.  And if it's crap, you
call it crap.  I can't help but respect your honesty.
And now I've become...."  He paused, his jaw working as
he considered his words.  "I've become addicted to it."

She wanted to look away but couldn't bring herself to
do it.  There was something in Mulder's eyes that drew
her in and held her attention - a kind of focus that
narrowed the world down to just the two of them.  She
felt that she had been standing there a ridiculously
long time before she cleared her throat and replied,
"Thank you."  Then, uncrossing her arms, she added,
"Well, I guess it's goodnight."

Mulder didn't move from his station on the bed.  "Yeah,
I guess so."

"See you at what?  Eight?"

"Eight?  Yeah, sounds good to me."

She smiled and put her hand on the doorknob to leave.

"Hey, Scully."

With a small sigh, she faced her partner once more.

"Thank you."

She nodded slightly in understanding, then turned and
left the room.  Mulder lay still, listening to her
footsteps on the sidewalk, the turn of the key in the
lock, and the soft swish and clunk of the door opening
and closing.  Then all he heard was the sound of the
cars on the highway as they roared into the night.

It was a long time before he closed his eyes to sleep.

XXXXX

Scully was up well before eight.  Her eyes flew open at
some point between 5:30 and 6:00, and she knew after a
few moments that it would be impossible to get back to
sleep.  Resigned to wakefulness, she clicked on the TV
and surfed through the channels until she saw a
commercial for an upcoming early morning workout
program.  She sat on the edge of the bed in her sleep T
and boxer pajamas until the show started, then stood up
and followed the movements of the overly-perky
instructor.  She never really enjoyed working out but
knew that it was a necessity.  Road food and time spent
behind a desk tended to play havoc with her physique,
and while she had been heavier when she began her work
in the basement offices of the X-Files, exercise and
hardship had given her a lean, toned look that she
didn't want to lose.  A few sweaty moments out of each
day were certainly preferable to upsizing her wardrobe.

By the time she had showered, dressed, and caught the
latest news on CNN, it was almost 8 o'clock.  She
opened her door to find Mulder standing there, holding
steaming paper cups of coffee.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said, as he held out one
of the cups to her.  "Sleep okay?"

"Umm, like a rock," she said, carefully lifting the
coffee to her lips.  "You?"

"Yeah, eventually.  Cars kept me awake for awhile,
though."  He took a sip, then said, "There's an IHOP
about a half mile up the road.  You hungry?"

"Starving."

A few moments later, they were in the pancake house and
seated in a booth, surveying the menus.  Mulder was
torn between choosing healthy or hearty when he heard
Scully snickering.

"What's so funny?"

She closed her menu and laid it on the table.  "Oh,
just something from my childhood."

"What?"

With a smile, Scully looked away and waved a hand as if
to dismiss the subject, but a glance at Mulder told her
that he wasn't going to let it alone.  She clasped her
hands in front of her and leaned into the table.

"When I was a kid, Dad would pile all of us into the
station wagon on Saturday morning and take us to an
IHOP.  You can imagine what that was like - Mom and Dad
trying to control four hyper kids.  I mean, it wasn't
like we were out of control.  'Ahab' saw to that."

"'Ahab.'  Your father."

"Yes.  One look from him and you knew that it was time
to shape up or ship out," Scully said with a smile.
"We'd all squeeze into a booth and there would be this
huge debate over what to eat.  There were all these
pancakes and waffles and combos and exotic syrups...."

Mulder selected a bottle from the rack on the table.
Waggling it, he said, "Boysenberry always did it for
me."

"I should have guessed.  Out on the fringe, even as a
child.  As you might expect, I was a traditionalist,
strictly maple syrup.  And I always ordered the same
thing.  Chocolate chip pancakes and chocolate milk."

Mulder let out a hoot of laughter.  "And that didn't
make you sick?"

"No, never.  More hyper, but not sick.  And it was so
cute, you know?  The pancakes always arrived with this
big whipped cream grin on them.  I'm sure they were a
nutritional disaster, but they were really good."

"As always, Scully, I put my trust in your judgement,"
Mulder said, his eyes dropping to his menu again.  "But
today I think I'll pass on that particular culinary
delight."

It wasn't long before a waitress arrived and took their
orders.  While they waited for their meal, they
reviewed the facts of the Thornton case.  All
discussion ceased, however, once the food was in front
of them.  Anyone watching the two agents would have
thought that they hadn't eaten for days.

When he had mopped up the last bit of egg from his
plate, Mulder tossed his napkin onto the table.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed against the booth's back.

"Ugh.  I don't think I can move now.  I didn't realize
how hungry I was."

Scully finished a last bit of toast and pushed her
plate away.  "Well, it's no wonder.  We hadn't had
anything since we were on the plane and then no dinner
last night.  Plus, you lost whatever you had on your
stomach.  I just hope that you don't get sick now."

Mulder opened his eyes and let out a sigh.  "You know,
I've been thinking about that.  My being sick last
night has to be tied in with whatever's going on at the
Thorntons."

Scully wiped her hands on her napkin and tucked it
alongside her plate.  "Nausea and vomiting are common
side effects of an anxiety attack.  But why you felt
that way...."  She stopped, raising her hands as a
gesture of her frustration.  Before she could continue,
their waitress returned and asked if they needed
anything else.  When they both replied in the negative,
she totaled their bill and deposited it on the table.
As Mulder examined it and fished into his pockets for
cash, Scully asked, "So what next?"

"We should talk to Katie's aunt.  I was also thinking
that you could go back to the hospital and review
Katie's records again."  He placed his money on top of
the check and without meeting Scully's eyes, softly
said, "You could do your own physical examination, if
you feel up to it."

She shifted against the Naugahyde upholstery of the
booth, distressed by the prospects inherent in Mulder's
proposal.

He was right.  She knew that.  She had to go back into
that room and examine Katie for the record.  She
searched her mind for anything that could be used as a
shield against the paralyzing anxiety she felt in
Katie's presence.   At last, she said, "Um, yes.  I
mean, of course.  I need to do that - and I'm sure that
Katie's doctor could provide an anti-anxiety
medication.  You know, as a preventive measure."
Without looking up at her partner, she traced nervous
circles on the tabletop with her fingers, preoccupied
with her own dark thoughts.

"But that won't make everything better, will it,
Scully?"

Realizing that she had betrayed her inner turmoil, she
placed her hands in her lap and raised her eyes to meet
Mulder's.  Shaking her head, she said, "What do you
mean?  Medication will diminish the desire for 'fight-
or-flight.'"

Mulder regarded her with compassion.  "But it won't
change what you see, will it?  It won't alter the fact
that when you look at Katie lying in that bed, you feel
that you're looking at yourself."

Stunned, Scully met his gaze with wide eyes.

He pressed on.  "Look, I may have gone into my own
private Idaho right after we walked into her room, but
I was thinking clearly long enough to get a good look
at her.  Slim build, strawberry blonde hair, fair
complexion - and then there's her condition."  Mulder
lowered his voice until it was raspy and barely audible
over the din in the restaurant.  "No one would blame
you if you chose not to visit Katie again."

Scully tore her eyes away from Mulder's to look first
at her restaurant surroundings, then at her hands in
her lap.  'He has a point,' she thought.  Maybe the
similarity between Katie's incapacitation and her own
post-abduction coma was the basis for the primal fear
that shook her to the core.  What bothered her was that
she had ignored or at least failed to recognize that
very similarity.  Leave it to her partner, the
behavioral psychologist, to tell her what she should
have figured out for herself.  She bit her lower lip as
she considered her reply.

"I wanted to believe that my fear was only a result of
forces that we don't yet have a name for," she said,
haltingly.  "And at the Thorntons' house, that was
probably true."  She raised her eyes to the ceiling and
then lowered them to find Mulder's.  "But when faced
with a situation much like my own - I can't deny that
it moved me in a way that I wasn't willing to
acknowledge.  On some deep level, it scared me and...."
She stopped, unsure of whether or not to continue.

Mulder sensed her reluctance.  "And what, Scully?"

She sat unmoving, her anguish apparent in her
expression.

He leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the
table, near its center, as if he sought to draw her
answer from her by the force of his will.  "You know
that you can entrust me with whatever you're feeling -
with whatever may be frightening you.  After everything
that's happened, you know that's true."

She shook her head in the affirmative and drew a
shuddering breath.  Slowly, she brought her hands up
from under the table and gripped its edge.

"It made me realize that they could come back.  Whoever
took me could come back and abduct me again."

There, she had said it.  She had spoken aloud the thing
that ripped her gasping and wet with sweat from sleep's
embrace.  It was the nameless, faceless horror that
made her leave her weapon on the nightstand - loaded
and at the ready - even though she suspected that it
would provide little or no protection against her
unknown attackers.

Mulder said nothing, but looked at Scully with
tenderness.

"Why didn't you tell me this before now?" he asked.

She found it hard to answer.  She released her hold on
the table and clasped her hands in front of her on its
top.

"We need to talk about this, Scully," he stated,
earnestly.  "We need to find out exactly what happened
to you.  We need to bring whoever did this to justice.
I mean, the only way you'll be able to overcome the
trauma is to try and understand it.  Take away the
mystery, and you'll remove the fear."

She looked at him, clearly startled by what he was
saying.

"Look, Mulder," she said vehemently, "Right now, I
don't need to understand it, and I don't want to talk
about it any further.  I don't really remember much
about my abduction.  I just have flashes of awareness,
like images from a nightmare."  Her voice softened.
"Sometimes, I think - sometimes I'm not even sure that
what I recall really happened."  She considered for a
second, then placed one hand over his.  "I know that
you're trying to help me, but I can't force this.  And
quite honestly, I can't consciously face it now, no
matter how hard my psyche may be telling me to make the
effort.  Just please know that when I'm ready to accept
the challenge, I'll tell you - and I'll want you to be
there for me."

He turned his hands over to hold hers in between them.
"Is there ever a moment when I'm not?"

They lingered for a moment over the caress, each
enjoying the touch of the other.

The chirp of Mulder's cell phone broke the mood.  He
didn't immediately move to answer it, but after several
rings, he realized that he had no choice.  Grabbing it
out of his pocket, he snapped it open.  "Mulder."

Scully watched him as he listened to the caller,
cocking her head with interest when he said, "Are you
sure?  That's what the kid said?  You're certain?"

"What happened?" she mouthed silently.

He held up an index finger in a gesture of "just a
minute," then said, "Yeah.  Yeah, okay, we'll be there.
Thanks."  He closed the phone and picked up his cash
and the bill for the meal.

"Who was that?" she asked aloud.

"Billard.  He's at another house in Katie's
neighborhood."  He moved to slide out of the booth.

Scully followed suit.  "And what happened?"

Offering no answer, Mulder stood and headed for the
cashier.  Scully caught up with him and waited
impatiently while he paid the check.  Then again,
without speaking, he turned and pushed through the door
to the parking lot.

Once outside, he bent over, braced his hands on his
knees and took a couple of deep breaths. When he
straightened, he ran his hands through his hair and
paced back and forth in front of Scully.  She watched,
concerned, and asked, "Mulder, are you all right?"
When again she received no reply, she planted herself
in front of him. "Damn it, Mulder, answer me!  What did
Billard say?"

He didn't look her in the eye, but fixed on some point
over her shoulder.  "He said that a child has
disappeared.  A young girl."

She knew how such an event could affect him.  "Well,
I'm sure that the police are doing everything they can
to find her."

"I'm not so sure that they will, Scully."

"What do you mean?"

When he looked in her eyes, Scully thought that she had
never seen his as flat and lifeless as they appeared at
that moment.

"Because her brother watched her float out of the house
on a beam of light.  Because he thinks that she was
abducted by aliens."

XXXXX

A police cruiser blocked the end of the street.  Mulder
flashed his FBI badge to the patrolman standing by the car.
The officer examined the credentials, nodded, and then
obligingly moved his vehicle out of the way to allow the
agents' car to pass.  Mulder saw Billard standing in the
yard of a house on the opposite side of the street and a few
lots down from the Thorntons'.  He pulled the car to the
curb and killed the engine.

As Mulder and Scully walked up the sidewalk to join him,
Billard extended his hand to shake theirs.  "Thanks for
coming so quickly."

"We want to do whatever we can to help," Scully offered.

"Look, I know that the FBI isn't usually notified about a
missing person within the first twenty-four hours, but this
case is pretty unusual.  So unusual I think it warrants your
immediate assistance," Billard replied.

Mulder turned to survey the crowd of neighbors that had
gathered in the street.  Another police cruiser barred
entrance at the other end of the block.  Beyond it, a TV
news van sat waiting to transmit the latest developments
regarding the alleged abduction.

As he continued to observe his surroundings, Scully sensed
his preoccupation with his own personal history and decided
to initiate the dialogue with Billard.  "So what are the
details?" she asked.

Billard pulled a small pad from a pocket, flipped it open
and began to recite the particulars.  "Barry and Elise
Johanssen.  Married 15 years.  Been living at this address
for ten.  Son, Michael, 12 years old, claims to have
witnessed the abduction.  Daughter, Megan, eight years old,
appears to have been taken from the home sometime during the
night by a person or persons unknown."  He paused and
studied his notes for a moment.  "No forced entry.  No signs
of a struggle.  Nothing to indicate that someone came in and
took this child, unless we find physical evidence that tells
us otherwise."  He continued to leaf through the notebook's
pages, searching for other information.

Scully tried to catch a glimpse of Mulder's face, looking
for any sign of anxiety caused by Billard's report.  Her
partner, however, remained impassive.  Other than a
tightening of his jaw, there were no obvious signals of
distress, and no indication that he was disturbed that the
abduction scenario at the Johanssens' seemed to mirror the
one which took place in his own home so many years ago.

His apparently newfound calm concerned her even more than
his earlier expressions of anguish in the restaurant parking
lot.

She forced her attention back to the current situation.
"Any problems at home?  Any reason to suspect that a family
member could have been involved in Megan's disappearance?"

As he slapped his notebook closed and returned it to his
jacket, Billard shook his head.  "The family's been
questioned.  The son can tell you everything.  Well, at
least, everything that he _thinks_ happened.  The parents
claim that they didn't see or hear anything out of the
ordinary.  As crazy as that sounds, my gut tells me that
they have no involvement.  Of course, we're canvassing the
neighborhood.   Something could turn up, but...."  He
stopped.

"But what?" Scully asked.

Billard rubbed his hand across his jaw, then chuckled to
himself.  "You know, before Katie Thornton turned up at the
hospital, I don't think I ever gave a second thought to the
supernatural.  Not beyond what I had learned in church,
anyway.  Angels, devils, miracles, that sort of thing.  Now
I'm ready to consider the possibility that a girl was
actually kidnapped by little green men."

Scully, ever skeptical, met Billard's admission with a tight
smile.  "With all due respect, Detective Billard, I have to
say that I think we'll find a solid, scientific reason for
the anomalies occurring in physical proximity to Katie
Thornton and the black velvet room in her house.  And as to
this supposed abduction by extraterrestrials...." She
glanced in Mulder's direction but he was gazing into the
distance, still absorbed in his own thoughts.  "I think I'll
reserve my judgement on the veracity of the boy's claims
until I've had a chance to review all of the evidence.  My
partner, however, may have a different opinion on the
subject."

Her last statement brought a response from Mulder.  "On the
contrary, Agent Scully, I agree with you completely."  He
turned to face her, his eyes carrying a glint of their usual
warmth.  "We have to apply the same objectivity and
investigative method to this situation as we would any other
case before us.  In fact, I'd say that the facts and the
evidence have to be held to an even higher standard of
testing and corroboration.  And if, in the end, everything
points undeniably to alien abduction, just think what it
would mean in terms of confirming what so many have thought
for so long -- that we are not alone."

A few seconds passed as all three considered the
implications of his words, then Billard said,  "We should go
in and talk to the family."

Mulder nodded and started to follow, but stopped as Scully
touched his elbow. "We'll be there in a minute," she called
after Billard.

The two stood on the sidewalk, toe to toe.  "I know how
difficult this must be for you," she said, at last.

Mulder made no answer.  Scully thought that his eyes had
lost the hint of light that they had exhibited only a moment
before.  She pushed ahead, hoping that she would find the
appropriate words as she went.  "You have to apply your own
logic to this situation, Mulder.  You have to heed your own
advice.  What did you tell me at breakfast?  'No one would
blame you if you chose not to visit Katie again.'  Well, no
one would blame you if you walked away from the
investigation of this abduction."

There was still no reply from him, only the slightest
creasing of his forehead, as if he were physically pained.

"On the other hand," Scully continued, "You also said that I
could entrust you with whatever might be frightening me.
You must know by now that the same is true for you."  She
drew herself up to her full height and raised her chin
slightly.  Her voice was firm.   "Working with you may at
first have been my duty, Agent Mulder, but now I consider my
association with you an honor and a privilege.  I would not
do anything to violate your trust."

Mulder sighed, then spoke, his voice weary. "For everything
I've seen, Scully, I've lost so much.  Sometimes I think
that there's some cosmic balance sheet being kept.  For
every revelation, there's a price."  A ghost of a smile
appeared on his lips as he looked down at her upturned face.
"And yet, somehow, despite everything, I was given the
greatest gift of all."  His eyes softened.  "I was given
your friendship."

"Then you know that you can draw whatever strength you may
need from me," Scully replied, her voice low.

Mulder's hazel eyes scanned her face.  Then he accepted her
offer with a small tilt of his head.

XXXXX

Once they stepped out of the blinding daylight into the
darkened home of the Johanssen family, it took a few seconds
for Mulder and Scully to process their surroundings.  A
cursory sweep of the living room showed Scully that it was
similar in size and layout to the front room of Katie's
house.

The furnishings were more traditional, perhaps even a little
worn.  Beanie babies were heaped in one corner of the sofa.
Schoolbooks were tossed carelessly across a cocktail table.
There was a large grouping of framed photos on one wall.  On
closer examination, Scully saw that most featured the two
children, Michael and Megan.  Michael in a soccer uniform.
Megan costumed for various dance recitals.  Michael dressed
for softball.  Megan on the beach, grinning as she displayed
the lopsided sandcastle she'd built.  Throwing a gap-toothed
smile into the sun, the little girl radiated life at its
most innocent and uncomplicated, untouched by
disappointment, betrayal, or violence.

Scully closed her eyes and shuddered inwardly, hardly
registering Mulder's presence as he joined her to look at
the pictures.

After a moment's study of the photographs, he said, "The
parents are in the kitchen."

The two found the Johanssens at the breakfast table.
Billard was speaking quietly to them but waved Mulder and
Scully into the room.  They each displayed their badges and
introduced themselves, then pulled a couple of chairs from
the table and sat down.

"As I'm sure Detective Billard has told you, every effort is
being made to find your daughter," Mulder began.  "I know
that you've had to answer a lot of questions.  I'm sure that
some of them seemed intrusive, but the questions are
necessary to help us establish what happened.  All
possibilities have to be considered."

Barry spoke up.  "Like the possibility that we would harm
our own daughter?" he asked, his voice revealing his barely
contained fury.

Scully studied him.  Dark circles rimmed his eyes.  He had
blonde boyish good looks but they were now obscured by
desperation and anger.

'And if he's angry at anyone,' she thought, 'It has to be
himself.  Because he can't even protect his children from
harm in his own home.'

"No one's accusing you of any wrongdoing, Mr. Johanssen,"
she said.  "Or Mrs. Johanssen."  She turned to regard
Megan's mother with sympathy.   Elise nervously twisted a
kleenex in her hands until it began to shred into white
fragments which lay scattered across her lap.  Her bottom
lip quivered as she tried to keep a tight hold on her
emotions.  To Scully, she looked edgy and brittle, as if she
might shatter into pieces at any moment.  She leaned
forward, trying to catch Elise's eye.  "Mrs. Johanssen, I'm
a doctor.  May I make a suggestion?"  She leaned to one side
to bring herself into Elise's line of sight.  "Mrs.
Johanssen?"  Elise stopped her assault on the tissue.  Her
eyes wavered, then seemed to focus on Scully.  "You need to
get some rest, Mrs. Johanssen.  If you get some rest, you'll
be able to think more clearly.  You'll be better able to
help us find Megan."  Scully turned to Mulder, one brow
raised in question as if to say, 'Okay?'

He answered 'yes' with the barest hint of a nod.

The notion that she had something to offer the agents in the
search for her daughter seemed to bring some clarity to
Elise's thinking.  Sniffling, she shook her head in
agreement with Scully's suggestion and shakily rose from her
chair.  Her husband took her arm and helped to steady her on
her feet.  As they passed the agents on their way out of the
kitchen, Mulder stood.  "Mr. Johanssen?"

Barry stopped even with Mulder, gripping his wife's arm
tightly.

"May we speak to Michael?"

Barry's lips were drawn in a tight line.  "Sure.  It won't
matter if I'm there or not, he'll tell you the same story
either way."  He took a step, then spoke again.  "Michael's
a good kid, Agent Mulder, a smart kid.  He doesn't lie.  I
know that what he's gonna tell you sounds crazy, but I'm
almost to the point where I believe him.  He's my son.  I've
got to believe him, even though I doubt anyone else will."

The two men locked eyes.  With sincerity born from the
similarity of his own experience, Mulder said, "Mr.
Johanssen, you have my word that I'll keep an open mind with
regard to Michael's version of events."

Barry watched Mulder, as if trying to detect any deception
in his statement.  Then, seemingly satisfied that the agent
meant what he said, he turned his attention to his wife and
guided her from the room.

XXXXX

Michael Johanssen was lying on his bed when Mulder and
Scully walked into his bedroom.  It was a typical boy's room
- sports equipment flung into a corner, posters of althetic
superstars on the walls, clothes strewn everywhere.  Michael
sat up and ran his hands over his hair, even though the
gesture did nothing to flatten the wild strands that stood
straight up on top.  Scully thought that the cowlick,
combined with the smattering of freckles across his nose,
gave him look an endearingly "all American boy" look.  She
was concerned, however, about the condition of his skin,
given the deep sunburn that colored his face and neck a
flaming red.

A sunburn on a kid who probably spent most of his free time
outdoors swinging a baseball bat or kicking a soccer ball.
Other than the long term dermatological consequences Michael
might experience, what was significant about a sunburn?
Scully filed the thought away for future reference.

Yawning, Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed as
Mulder and Scully sat on the twin bed parallel to his.

"Are you the FBI agents that Detective Billard told me
about?" he asked solemnly.

"Yes, we are, Michael," Mulder replied.  "This is Agent
Scully and I'm Agent Mulder.  Actually, you can call her
Dana and I'm...well...you can call me...Fox."  He almost
winced as he revealed his first name to the boy.

Michael's face lit up.  "Your name is Fox?  No kidding?
Man, I bet you took a lot of heat from the other kids at
school over that one," he said, grinning.  Then, thinking
that he might have hurt the agent's feelings, he quickly
added, "No offense, but can I just call you Mulder?"

Mulder looked relieved.  Scully had to turn her face away to
keep from laughing.

"That's great.  That would suit me just fine," he answered.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs and clasping
his hands in front of him.  He stared down at the carpet
between his feet, then looked Michael in the eye.  "I'm sure
that you know that everyone's worried about your sister.
And I'm sure that you're worried about her, too.  Maybe
there's something that you can tell us that will help us
find her.  What happened last night?  What did you see,
Michael?"

The boy looked from Mulder to Scully and back again, as if
trying to decide whether or not to confide in two more
adults.

"It's okay, Michael," Scully added, her voice low and
soothing.  "Really, it's okay.  Just tell us in your own
words what happened."  She bobbed her head slightly in an
encouraging "Go on" manner.

Michael shrugged his shoulders, then scooted across the bed
so that his back rested against the wall and his legs stuck
straight out in front of him.  Grabbing his pillow, he
wrapped his arms around it and held it tightly in front of
him, as if it were a shield.  The gesture did not go
unnoticed by either Mulder or Scully.

"I woke up last night," he began, "but I don't know what
time it was.  It wasn't like I woke up little by little.  I
was dead asleep and then all of a sudden, boom!  My eyes
were open and I was wide awake.  I sat up and looked at my
clock.  It wasn't working.  The numbers on it weren't lit,
so I figured that the electricity must have gone off.  The
lights in my room wouldn't come on, either.  I looked out
the window, but there were lights across the street.  So I
thought that maybe the electricity was off on just our side
of the street."

"Did you look at any of the houses next door or behind your
house?" Scully asked.

Michael shook his head "yes".  "There are a couple of houses
that have spotlights in the backyards.  Those lights were
on.  It looked like we were the only house that didn't have
power."  He gripped the pillow tighter.  "That's when I
started to get really worried.  I started thinking that
maybe somebody had cut the power to our house, so I decided
to wake up my dad."

"That was the smart thing to do, but it must have been
tough," Mulder said.  "Especially if you thought that your
family was in danger."

Michael's eyes met Mulder's then flitted away.  He moved the
pillow up higher, so that it rested beneath his chin and
partially covered his mouth.  A furrow appeared between his
eyebrows and his eyes seemed to take on a hollow look.  A
moment ticked by and then he replied, "That wasn't what
scared me."

Scully detected the hitch in Mulder's breathing, the way in
which he swallowed hard to moisten his throat.  He leaned
forward, waiting for Michael to continue.  When no other
information seemed forthcoming, he tried to coax him into
speaking.  "What was it, Michael?  What did you see?
Anything you tell us could help us find Megan."

There was still no answer from the boy.  Scully watched
Mulder in profile, his shoulders and neck tense as he waited
for Michael to proceed.  While she knew that he would not
let his own personal history influence his objectivity in
this investigation, she was also aware that he hoped for
another piece of the puzzle - another bit of evidence or
information that might help him understand his own sister's
disappearance.

"I stood at the door to my mom and dad's bedroom," Michael
said, at last.  "And I whispered, but loud, you know? 'Mom,
Dad, there's something funny going on!'  They didn't answer,
so I figured that they didn't hear me.  It was so dark in
their room.  I couldn't see if they were awake.  I went to
the bed -- I was gonna wake them up, only...."  His eyes
grew large and dark with fright.

"Only what?"  Mulder asked, anxiously.  "You were going to
wake them up but what?"

Michael's eyes began to water.  He fought to keep his
composure but lost the battle as the tears escaped and slid
down his cheeks.  "When I got closer, I saw that they were
lying on their backs with their eyes wide open, like they
were awake and...and I kept talking, thinking they were
hearing me, but they weren't.  They didn't move or say
anything.  They didn't even blink.  I grabbed my dad's arm
and shook it but it was like he didn't see me.  He felt so
stiff and cold.  I got really scared then.  I thought that
they were hypnotized or maybe, or maybe...."  His voice
broke as the fear he had felt returned full force.  He
buried his face in the pillow.

Scully rose and sat down by him.  She placed a hand on his
shoulder.  "Take your time.  I know that this is hard.  Take
a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Is there anything I
can get for you?  A soda, maybe?"

Michael lifted his head, shook it "no", then gave her the
best smile that he could manage.  He sniffled as he quickly
rubbed his eyes.

"You know, " Scully continued, "A really good friend of mine
once told me that the best way to get past something scary
in your life is to try and understand it."  She turned to
Mulder, her eyes warm.  "If you take away the mystery, you
can overcome your fear.  I think that's pretty smart.  What
do you think, Michael?"  Her eyes stayed on Mulder, hoping
that he understood that she appreciated his advice, even if
she wasn't yet prepared to follow it.

Michael gulped, inhaled deeply, then released.  After
repeating the action several times, he seemed more at ease.
He relaxed his grip on the pillow and placed it flat across
his lap, smoothing the pillowcase with his hands as he
spoke.

"When I couldn't wake my parents, I decided to call 911.  I
picked up the phone, but there was no dial tone - just this
high howling sound.  Really gave me the creeps.  I stood
there with the phone in my hand, trying to figure out what
to do next, when I saw the light shining through the drapes.
It kept getting brighter and brighter, and there was this
loud roaring noise.  Everything in the house started to
shake and then, all of a sudden, I heard Megan scream."  He
raised his eyes and looked from Scully to Mulder, his eyes
glistening again.  "I thought, 'Omigosh, Megan! What about
Megan?' I really felt bad, because I hadn't even thought
about checking on her."

"There was a lot going on," Mulder said, with compassion.
"You shouldn't feel bad.  You were only trying to protect
your family.  What happened when you went to look for your
sister?"

"I started to run to her room, but my feet felt so heavy.
You know how hard it is to move around when you're in a
pool?  That's what it was like.  Like being in water up to
your chest.  I didn't think that I was ever going to get to
her."  The tears began to spill again.  "When I did, there
was nothing I could do.  They already had her."

At this, Mulder strained forward, his eyes shining with keen
interest.  "Who had her?"

"I didn't really get a good look at them!" he cried,
anguished.  "The light was so bright!  It almost blinded me.
I just saw dark shapes moving in it.  They had Megan and she
kept screaming and screaming and there was nothing I could
do!  I tried to run but I couldn't make my feet move!  She
started floating off her bed and they were floating with her
and the next thing I knew she was moving through the window
and then she was gone!"  He collapsed face forward onto the
pillow, sobbing.

Scully wrapped her arm around the boy's shoulders, murmuring
words of comfort.  She looked at Mulder, who sat transfixed
by Michael's emotional display.  No matter the magnitude of
the disclosures Michael might make, she knew that this
interview was hell for her partner.  She could only imagine
the rush of memories that the boy's account must have
invoked and with them, the emotions inherent in the
remembrance - anger, terror, bewilderment, frustration,
grief.  Was it any wonder that he now sat speechless,
apparently unable to continue the interview?

She bent low and murmured near Michael's ear, rocking him
gently as she spoke.  "Michael, it's all right.  Ssssh.
It's all right.  You did everything that you could.
Everything in your power.  You're very brave and very
courageous.  You can't blame yourself for what happened to
your sister.  It was out of your control.  Okay?"  She
squeezed Michael's shoulders.  "Okay?"

Michael lifted his head, wiping his eyes.  Looking to the
nightstand, Scully spied a box of Kleenex and grabbed it.
She offered it to him.  He pulled a couple out, held them to
his face and blew his nose.  Breathing deeply again, he
restrained his sniffling and continued his testimony.

"After they took Megan, the bright light switched off and
the roaring noise went away.  And that's all I remember.
When I woke up, I was on my bed but I was all twisted
around.  My feet were on my pillow and my head was at the
foot of the bed.  I jumped up and ran into my parents' room.
I woke them up and told them what happened and they called
the police.  And they came and then you came."

Nothing was said for a few moments.  Then Mulder broke the
silence.  "Thank you, Michael," he said, quietly.  "Thank
you for helping us out."  He rose from the bed.

Scully gave Michael's shoulders a last reassuring squeeze,
then stood to accompany her partner.  She had reached the
door when she turned back to face the boy.  "You might want
to get some aloe or Noxema to put on that sunburn.  It looks
pretty nasty."

Michael reached up and grazed his face with his palm.  "Oh,
this?  This isn't a sunburn.  I think it must be some kind
of weird rash or allergy or something.  I woke up with it
this morning."

Scully stood wondering at the boy's statement for a second,
then joined Mulder in the hallway.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, his voice hushed, but
unable to hide his eagerness.

She pondered her answer.  The similarities between Megan's
disappearance and Samantha's were uncanny, but she could not
allow this to sway her evaluation of the facts.  She had to
make an unbiased assessment of the matter, even though
Mulder might perceive it to be a summation of his own tragic
personal history.

"Well, I think it's obvious, don't you?" she began.  "At
some point in the night, Michael was awakened by the noise
of his sister's abduction and what he saw was too traumatic
for his conscious mind to process.  The aliens serve as a
screen memory for the real abductors.  It's easier for a
child to rationalize aliens abducting his little sister than
to think that another human being could be capable of such
evil."

"Now there's a helluva an irony," Mulder replied, dryly.
"Aliens serving as a screen memory when a screen memory is
usually created to camouflage them."  He searched his
partner's face before speaking again.  "And do you think
that's what happened to me?  I substituted aliens for more
terrestrial villains?"  There was no hostility in his tone.

Scully paused before answering, her eyes going deep into
his.  "Only you know the answer to that, Mulder.  But even
your own memories were recalled under deep regression
hypnosis and thus subject to interpretation as to whether
they were a true recounting of events or a means for your
mind to assimilate a reality which was too terrible for you
to consciously consider."  She crossed her arms and propped
herself against the wall on one shoulder.  "And there could
be other explanations.  Walking hypnagogia, for example.  At
some point between waking consciousness and sleep, Michael
could have heard the noises of Megan's abduction.  When he
got up to investigate, his unconscious could have
interpreted the kidnapping as an alien abduction."

"And his parents' immobility?"

Arms still folded, Scully placed her back flat against the
wall.  Her mouth twisted slightly as she thought out her
answer. "I think that could be another by-product of the
walking hypnagogia.  Maybe he only thought that he went into
their room.  Or maybe Michael's parents are deep sleepers."

"And the power outage?"

Scully sighed in mock exasperation.  "Well, we only have the
boy's word to go on so far, right?  Although I did notice
that the digital clock on his nightstand was flashing, so
the power _could_ have been interrupted, like he said.  Has
anybody checked with the power company?"

"You can bet I will," Mulder replied.  "Meanwhile, why don't
you scope out Megan's room?  See if anybody missed
anything."

XXXXX

Megan's room was on the other side of the hall but not quite
opposite to Michael's.  Scully reached out to open the door,
paused to gather her thoughts, then extended her hand again.
The door opened silently.

Sunlight greeted her as it flooded in from an eyelet-
curtained window by the bed.  The pink and white spread and
top sheet lay in a tangled heap that cascaded from its foot
to the floor.  A toy box sat in one corner, covered in
stuffed animals of all species, colors and sizes.  A small
white chest of drawers gaped open, its contents threatening
to spill onto the pink area rug in front of it.  Whether the
clothes had been hastily pulled out or stuffed in, Scully
couldn't tell.  Barrettes, brushes, and hair bows dotted the
top of the chest.

From her vantage point at the door, Scully could also see
what appeared to be a barre for ballet exercises standing
along the wall adjacent to the door.  Intrigued, she stepped
into the room for a closer look.

In imitation of a dance studio, large mirrored panels had
been installed.  No doubt Megan practiced at the barre and
watched herself in the mirror as she did so.

Sighing, Scully turned her examination to the window over
Katie's bed.  Pushing the curtains aside, she inspected the
lock, which showed no signs of tampering.  In addition, she
noticed that a strip of wood had been placed inside the
track on both sides of the window frame, evidently to
prevent the window from being opened from the outside.  She
found this odd.  The strips had to have been replaced at a
later time.  They could not have been inserted from the
outside, not unless there was some way for the top half of
the window to be lowered.  Silently, she considered the
multitude of scenarios...until she felt the hairs rising on
the back of her neck.

Someone was watching her.  She knew it without even turning
around.  This wasn't the usual feeling she got when being
observed - the feeling that someone's eyes were on the back
of her head.  This was no different from the anxiety that
she felt in the Thorntons' house or the hospital room.  She
stared at the windowpanes, trying to catch a reflection of
the person behind her, but the bright sunlight wiped out any
images she hoped to see.  Whoever it was, they remained
silent and watchful, waiting for her response.  She could
feel her heart fluttering and her breath quickening.  She
wiped her hands along her sides, hoping to erase some of
their clamminess.  Steeling her nerves, she quietly ticked
off a countdown to herself.

"5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - ONE!" With a twist, she brought herself
face to face with the wall of mirrors.

And her dead father.

XXXXX

"Dad?"

The word escaped Scully's lips in a whisper.  She spoke in
reflex, before logic could step in and tell her that the
image before her could not possibly be her father - because
her father was dead, cremated and cast onto the water that
he loved so well.

And yet there he was, smiling at her from the mirrored wall,
looking just as he did when he had left her apartment that
Thanksgiving before his death.  Wearing the same blue
jacket, blue sweater, and burgundy tie that he had worn on
that last night.  Giving her the same look of fatherly love
that she had come to cherish as her last memory of him.

She felt her eyes welling with tears and bit her lip as she
struggled to control the surge of emotions that threatened
to overwhelm her.  All the while, the reflection of what
appeared to be her father continued to observe her with a
benign expression.

She closed her eyes and raggedly drew in a deep breath, then
released it.  Slowly opening her eyes, she fully expected
the apparition to have disappeared, but it remained, still
watching her.  Intellectually, she reasoned that the vision
of her deceased father was an illusion, the hallucinatory
by-product of stress and overwork.  Emotionally, she wanted
to believe that what she was seeing was an affirmation of
the deepest articles of her faith - that there is a life
beyond the physical and that those whom she loved on this
earth were not lost to her in death.  Eventually, the
warring voices within her quieted and with a small sob, she
took a tentative step toward the mirrors.  Trembling, she
raised one hand and with trepidation, lightly pressed her
fingers against her father's image.  As she expected, there
was no warmth emanating from the reflection, but that did
not stop her from gently resting her head on the cool
surface.  She closed her eyes, imagining that she felt and
heard the strong rhythmic beating of her father's heart.
Despite the silence, despite the fact that her "father" did
not extend his arms to embrace her, she felt comforted.  It
was not unlike the feeling she had experienced when he had
last hugged her and asked her about her work at the FBI -
his roundabout way of expressing his concern for her
wellbeing, even if he disapproved of her career choice.  And
although he had never explicitly told her that he was proud
of her accomplishments with the Bureau, she knew in her
heart that he was.

After all, he was her father.

Sniffling, she stepped back from the mirror, her eyes to the
floor, her mind replaying memories of the time she had
shared with him.  She lowered her head to one hand, sinking
under the weight of a grief that she had never allowed
herself to fully express.

Time. She hadn't spent enough time with her father.  And now
there was no possibility of having any more of it with him.

She stood in the middle of the room and began silently
praying for something for which she found hard it to believe
she was asking.

She wanted this vision to speak to her - to say anything,
even if it was only her name heard within her own mind.  She
had denied herself that opportunity when it had been offered
by a death row inmate named Luther Lee Boggs.  At the time,
she had told Mulder that she was afraid to believe and
unable to accept that such a thing was possible.  Even now,
she was not looking for a confirmation of what she already
knew - that her father loved her and was watching over her.
She merely wanted to hear the sound of his voice one more
time.

She stood in the middle of the room, her brow creased with
the effort of her pleading, every part of her consciousness
focused on her one desire.  She swayed slightly, her
forehead still resting on her hand.  The wooden floor
creaked beneath her.  The sunlight warmed her back as it
streamed through the bedroom window.  She heard muffled
voices in other parts of the house, the occasional call of a
bird outside.  She shut herself off from her surroundings,
her request becoming a mantra.

"Please, Ahab," she whispered.  "Talk to me.  Please talk to
me."

Over and over she repeated her entreaties.  She addressed
them to her father, to the saints, to the angels, to the
Holy Virgin, to God.  Her voice lowered to a fevered
whisper, the words of her requests slurring together.  Her
hand was hot as she clutched the tiny gold cross hanging on
a chain around her neck.  Her eyelids fluttered as she
prayed with every atom of conviction that she possessed.
Finally, her voice trailed off and she stood in the silence,
waiting expectantly.

Waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting....

"Scully?"

Dana looked up, startled, her eyes wide, her hair forming a
copper aura around her head as she spun in the direction of
the voice.  Her lips were parted in an expression of
surprise.

"Are you all right?"  Mulder said as he stepped into Megan's
bedroom.  He studied her with concern.  "Jesus, Scully, you
look spooked."

Scully turned back to look at the mirrored wall.  The image
of her father had disappeared.  All she saw was what she
would have seen under ordinary circumstances - herself, her
partner, and the furnishings of Megan's room.  She blinked
quickly to clear her eyes, then ran a shaky hand through her
hair to sweep it from her face. "I'm fine, Mulder."  She
glanced back at the mirror, then faced him.  "I'm fine,
really.  I was just thinking about what happened here.  I
guess I didn't hear you come in."

"Guess not.  You looked like a deer caught in the
headlights," he said, acting as if he didn't buy her
explanation.

Hoping to end his questioning about her state of mind, she
cleared her throat and asked, "So, did you find out anything
from the power company?"

His eyes lit up.  "One or two interesting tidbits.  So far,
there's no confirmation of a power outage at this house last
night.  But there have been numerous surges and brownouts in
this area during the last three days.  And guess when the
last reported blackout occurred."  He stood expectantly,
almost grinning in his excitement, leaning forward on the
balls of his feet.

Despite her pain, Scully was touched by his enthusiasm.  She
raised her hands, palms up, as if to say, "I haven't a
clue."

"The night that Katie Thornton turned up on the hospital
steps."  He nodded his head once, as if to provide a visual
exclamation point.

"So, what are you telling me, Mulder?  That what's happening
in her house and the hospital room is somehow affecting a
wider area?"

"Well, yes, but...." He raised one hand when she looked as
if she were going to offer a rebuttal.  "Wait.  Just gimme a
minute here."

Scully stepped back from him and stood with her arms
crossed, giving him her best "this-had-better-be-good"
attitude.

Mulder looked to the ceiling, pressed his palms together at
his lips, sighed and then began.  "Okay.  We know that in
both the hospital and the black velvet room that there is
some type of force that jacks around with the phones,
lighting, whatever.  This implies that there's some type of
electromagnetic, maybe even geomagnetic phenomenon raising
some type of interference.  If this phenomenon were powerful
enough, it could conceivably affect the electrical
appliances in this house or any other house along the
street, for that matter."

Scully pursed her lips and nodded.  "All right.  You've got
me so far.  But how are Katie and that black room linked?  I
mean, if this force is geomagnetic in nature, its influence
would be limited to a particular area.  But we've got two
sites, at least a few miles apart.  Three sites, if you
include the Johanssens'. What's tying them together?"

"I'm not sure, although electromagnetic disturbances are not
uncommon at the site of a close encounter.  There's no
evidence that Katie went through anything like that.
Besides, the interference would be limited to the duration
of the event itself.  It's intriguing to consider if you
accept the idea that Megan is the victim of an alien
abduction, but it doesn't begin to explain what's happening
in Katie's situation."

Nodding, Scully glanced around the room again, shooting what
she hoped was a nonchalant glance at the mirrors.  Nothing
appeared out of the ordinary.  She felt disappointed, even
though she told herself that what she had experienced was no
more than a waking dream.  In actuality, she thought, it was
little different from Michael's early morning nightmare.
It was a random firing of neurons and a flood of chemicals
into the brain which caused her to "see" something that did
not exist.  In essence, it was the ultimate in virtual
reality.

Except that the tiniest part of herself wanted desperately
to believe that what she had just seen was real and not
merely a trick of her mind's eye.

If she had not felt so miserable, she would have laughed out
loud.  What would Mulder think if he knew?

Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice very close to her
ear. "Scully, are you sure you're all right?"

She spoke without looking at him, annoyed and a little
embarrassed for allowing her thoughts to divert her
attention from the job at hand.  "I'm sorry.  I don't know
what's wrong.  I...it won't happen again."

"No need to apologize.  There's a lot going on here, enough
to put anybody on edge.  The scuffle at the hospital.  The
panic at Katie's house.  After hearing Michael's story, I'm
not exactly firing on all cylinders myself."   His voice was
weighted with sadness.

Scully met his gaze.  His hazel eyes said what he didn't put
into words - that this unexpected development involving
Megan Johanssen had thrown him headfirst into the despair
from which he had never completely escaped since Samantha's
abduction.

If ever Scully shared that feeling, it came in the
realization that she had lost her father - again.

She wanted to lose herself in her grief, but there was no
time for that now.

"So what next?" she asked.  "Think there's anything else the
parents can tell us?"

Mulder shrugged.  "No.  I think Billard's instincts are
right.  They don't have a clue as to what happened.  If
everything occurred as Michael said it did, there's no
reason to think they'll have anything useful to offer.  I
think the only way we'll find out anything else is if we
have the boy and his parents hypnotized."  When Scully's
eyebrows raised with skepticism, he added, "But I won't
suggest that until other investigatory methods have been
tried.  At this point, I think we've done all we can do
here.  Let's go talk to Katie's aunt.  Maybe she can give us
something to work with."

XXXXX

After telling Billard their plans, Mulder and Scully climbed
back into the car and exited through the police checkpoint.
They were a couple of blocks from the Johanssens' house when
a young girl ran in front of the car, waving her hands and
yelling "Stop!"  Mulder slammed on the brakes, barely
missing her.  He rolled down the window as she approached.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he exploded.

"I saw you two at the Johanssens.  You cops or something?"
she asked, breathlessly.

"FBI," he replied, still angry, reaching for his ID, then
added, "Agents Mulder and Scully."

Her eyes grew large.  "Feds! Even better!"  And before
either agent could say anything, she opened the car door and
scrambled onto the back seat.  "Drive," she commanded.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Mulder exclaimed, turning to
look at their uninvited guest.  "Do you see 'Uncle Sam's
Shuttle Service' painted on the side of this car?  How about
telling us who you are?"

Scully twisted around to get a better look at their
passenger.  She could have been sixteen, maybe seventeen,
although her heavy makeup made her appear older.   Her tiny
striped T-shirt and oversized frayed jeans made her look
waif-like, as if she had picked through someone else's
clothes and found something close to but not quite her size.
Her hair was straight and coal black - obviously dyed - and
held away from either side of her face by tiny silver
barrettes.  Each finger was tipped by a glittering blue
nail, and at least three studs decorated each ear.

The girl rolled her eyes as if Mulder's question was the
highest imposition.  Sighing heavily and tossing her head,
she replied,  "My name's Shana, and that's all I'm telling
you.  Now if you want to hear what happened the night that
Katie Thornton disappeared, start driving."

Scully turned to Mulder, her eyes dancing with laughter.
"You heard what the lady said, Agent Mulder."

Realizing that he was outnumbered, Mulder sighed and set the
car into motion.  His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
"So where to?"

Shana struggled with her seat belt, then glanced up at
Mulder's reflection with a grin.  There was no hiding her
delight that she had two FBI agents at her disposal, but she
didn't answer.  Instead, she looked around the interior of
the car and wrinkled up her nose.  "This car is like, so out
of it.  I mean, a Ford Taurus?  It just screams cheap
tourist.  Don't you ever get to drive anything cool?"

"Sorry, the Porsche's in the shop so we'll have to make do
with this," Mulder replied, dryly.  "Now where are we
going?"

Faced with his irritation, Shana huffed, "Oh, I don't care.
There's a 7-11 down the road.  You can head there."  She
turned and gazed out the window at the passing houses.

"Why did you flag us down?" Scully asked.  "Why didn't you
stop us at the Johanssens?"

Shana continued to look out the window.  "Mainly because my
parents would have gone ballistic.  And not just them,
either.  Personally, I think the whole neighborhood's
completely paranoid."

Curious, Scully looked over her shoulder at the teenager.
"Why do you say that?"

Shana leaned forward as much as her seat belt would allow.
"Because the night that Katie ended up in the hospital,
something happened.  Something that nobody wants to talk
about because nobody wants to look crazy."  She flopped back
against the seat with a look of smug superiority.

A moment or two of silence followed her admission.  When it
was apparent that she was not going to volunteer any further
information, Mulder spoke up.  "Okay, so are you gonna tell
us?  The meter's running."

Shana ignored his question and addressed Scully.  "Has he
got a stick up his butt or what?  Is he always this much of
a pain?"

With as much solemnity as she could muster in the wake of
Shana's assessment of Mulder, Scully replied, "I think you
better tell us what happened."

With a sigh, Shana began.  "It was late.  I don't know what
time, way past midnight anyway.  I remember there was a full
moon that night because I sat out on the patio for awhile
and looked at it.  It was so silvery and beautiful and there
weren't any clouds for it to hide behind.  Anyway, I was
alseep and then all of a sudden there was a really loud
thump on the roof, like something had fallen out of the sky
and landed on the house.  It was quiet for a minute and
then...."  She shivered.  "And then there was this, I don't
know, scratching sound - like something was clawing its way
across the roof."

"Did anybody else in the house hear this?" Scully asked.

"Yeah, my little brother.  The little freak thought that
Santa and his reindeer had landed."  She crossed her arms,
agitated.  "Took my mom forever to get him calmed down.  It
was so embarrassing!  He actually ran out into the yard.
'Santa! Santa! Santa!'  Ugh.  I'll never live it down."

Scully continued her questioning.  "Did you go outside,
too?"

"Not at first.  I mean, it was bad enough that my brother
was out there screaming his head off for the whole
neighborhood to hear.  I wasn't going out there and look
stupid, too."  She uncrossed her arms, her hands dropping to
her lap.  "But then for all I knew, there was some one-armed
guy with a hook on the roof trying to find a way in.  I
couldn't turn on the lights - the power was out.  No way was
I gonna sit in that dark house!  So, I went out to the front
yard."  Shana's tone was flip, but Scully noticed that the
girl's knuckles were turning white as one hand gripped the
other.

Despite his earlier annoyance, Mulder's interest was piqued.
"So what was on the roof?"

Shana's mouth twitched in nervousness, all trace of
adolescent bravado gone.  "Nothing.  Not a thing.  My dad
said that it must have been an animal or an owl or something
like that.  Until he realized that everybody on the whole
block was standing out in their front yard looking at their
roof, too."

Scully's eyes widened.  "All your neighbors?  And no one saw
anything?"

Shana shook her head.  "Not that anybody would admit,
anyway.  I talked to a couple of my friends and they heard
something weird on the roof, too.  But when they went
outside, there wasn't anything to see.  Then the next
morning, we found out that Katie Thornton turned up at the
hospital and no one knew how she got there.  After that, my
folks clammed up and wouldn't even discuss what happened.
Like maybe they were too scared to talk about it."

"And what do _you_ think happened?" Mulder asked.

Shana dismissed his question with a wave.  "How the hell
should I know?  All I can tell you is that it's got my
parents acting even stranger than usual.  Oh, hey!  The
store's up ahead."

Mulder eased the car into the parking lot.  Shana unfastened
her seatbelt, released a heavy sigh, then propped her elbows
on the top of the driver and passenger seats.

"Look, I probably shouldn't tell you this," she said.
"Katie Thornton seems like an okay person.  I mean, I don't
know her that well, and I feel bad about her husband getting
killed and all...."  She stopped and chewed her lower lip,
as if she were anxious that she had already said too much.

Scully stepped in to reassure her.  "We want to help Katie
in any way that we can, Shana.  But we're not going to act
on any information that you give us without good cause."

Shana considered Scully's statement for a moment, then
continued.  "Well, this is only a rumor, okay?  But I heard
from a couple of people in the neighborhood that maybe she
was mixed up in something dangerous."

"Dangerous?  Like what?" Mulder asked.

"I don't know," she replied, squirming.  Her reluctance to
reveal anything gave her voice a whiny edge.  "Witchcraft or
devil worship or some shit like that.  Her lights were on at
all hours of the night.  Nobody saw her much after her
husband got killed and...well...."

"Well, what?" Scully prodded.  "Shana?"

"I don't know any more, okay?  I've told you everything I
know! Whatever got her could come and get me next!"  The
words escaped in a rush and Shana, in embarrassment, hurried
to get out of the car.

She stood at Mulder's door, bending over and bringing her
face level with his.  He rolled down the window.

"I hope you find out what happened to Katie.  Like I said,
she seems okay and she's been through a lot.  No matter what
she may have been doing in that house, she probably didn't
deserve to end up vegged out in a hospital."  She
straightened, then stepped up on the curb.  Before Mulder
had a chance to back out of the space, she returned to the
car, a wicked grin on her face.

"Oh, and one more thing, Agent Mulder."

He leaned out of the window, thinking she had more
information to offer.

"You're wound way too tight.  Relax!  Have a little fun.  Do
your partner a favor and get laid.  At least then maybe you
won't be such a pain in the ass."  With a loud giggle and a
toss of her head, she bounded away from the car and into the
store.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then Mulder, staring
straight ahead, muttered, "Well there's something you'd
never hear on 'Kids Say the Darndest Things.'"

The remark was barely loud enough for Scully to hear, but
she caught the note of hurt it held.  "Mulder, I hope you're
not taking that juvenile comment seriously."  There was no
reply.  "After all, it was made by someone who doesn't even
know you, right?"  Then for emphasis, "Right?"  She leaned
toward him.  "Mullllderrr?"  She lingered over his name,
almost purring it, the pitch rising on the second syllable,
as she tried to coax him out of his sudden funk.

She was puzzled and even a little disappointed when he
merely put the car into reverse and sighed, "Sticks and
stones, Scully. Sticks and stones."

XXXXX

The drive to the home of Connie Bertram, Katie's aunt, was a
quiet one.  Except for Mulder's cell phone call to confirm
that she was home and a gas station stop to check
directions, no words were exchanged between the two agents.
Scully could only guess that Shana's comment had injured
Mulder in some way that she herself had not witnessed until
now.

Not that Scully didn't wonder about Mulder's personal life
or sometimes, if he even had such a thing, so fierce was his
devotion to his quest for the truth.  It was as if he were
immune to the distractions that constituted everyday life
for most people.  He watched TV, she knew that much - even
though she suspected his viewing was restricted to the
collection of videotapes he owned, half of which chronicled
historic events such as the Kennedy assassination and the
other dubious cinematic achievements like "Cheerleaders in
Chains."

His predilection for porn had mystified her, at first.  Not
that she considered herself any kind of prude.  It just
seemed strange in view of the fact that Fox Mulder was
handsome enough to attract the attention of any woman he
wanted.  Even from their first meeting in the office of the
"FBI's Most Unwanted," Scully had noticed his lean good
looks.  She naturally assumed that other women noticed them,
too and she was correct.  She had seen the way that female
co-workers watched him as he passed them in the hallway.
There were appreciative glances on the sly and murmured
hellos, most of which seemed barely noticed by Mulder.
Occasionally, a woman would try to initiate a conversation
with him, but the talk never seemed to advance beyond the
level of mundane chit-chat.  It wasn't that Mulder was rude,
but he did give the appearance that he had other, more
important matters to consider.  Women quickly judged him to
be uninterested or misjudged him as uninteresting and gave
up the hunt.

Of course, Scully knew that he wasn't a complete hermit.
She had met Phoebe Green, Mulder's lover during his time at
Oxford.  Something in the woman's manner gave Scully the
distinct impression that she was a man-eater, even though
she could never determine for certain what it was.  Perhaps
it was her self-assured, almost proprietary attitude towards
Mulder, as if she assumed that they could pick up where they
had left off, forgetting the span of years in a haze of
hormones.  Or maybe it was the way in which she seemed to
exploit their history together, appealing to Mulder's
vulnerability, manipulating his memories of their
relationship to her advantage.

No matter what the reason, Phoebe's departure was a source
of guilty pleasure for Scully.

After that, she never saw Mulder exhibit any interest in
another woman unless she appeared in a centerfold or on a
VCR (except, of course, for Dr. Bambi Berenbaum, whose
attractions were along similar lines).

And that, for Scully, was where things got really strange.

Because if Mulder found it easier to relate to women that he
couldn't have, did that mean that he was actually afraid of
a relationship with a living, breathing woman?

Scully surreptitiously glanced at her partner.  Mulder?
Afraid?  It didn't seem possible.

After all, this was a guy who'd walked through the much-
feared fire to rescue the children of Sir Malcolm Marsden.
He had chased Eugene Tooms, the liver-eating mutant, into
his bile- and newspaper-encrusted nest under an escalator.
He had stared down "Pusher" Robert Patrick Modell in Russian
roulette and had taken him out of the game with a gunshot.

And there were other dangers, ones that Scully considered
even more sinister because they carried the sanction of the
Federal government - nameless men who stepped out of the
shadows with the authority to impede or halt Mulder's quest
for the truth.

Men who were given permission to terminate with extreme
prejudice.

Time and again, he had faced death and lived to tell the
tale, either through his own resourcefulness or sheer,
blind, dumb luck.

He could do all that, yet he couldn't seem to have a normal,
healthy relationship with a woman.

Incredible.

It wasn't that he couldn't form strong relationships with
women, Scully reflected.  Certainly, he was very close to
his mother, a rapport that probably deepened after his
parents' divorce.  And there was no denying his devotion to
his absent sister, Samantha.  But these were the expected
bonds of blood, not the tender ties of choice.

There was no question that the professional pairing of
Mulder and Scully was a match made in heaven, despite the
fact that she had been sent to debunk his work.  Her
skepticism balanced his belief in the unbelievable.  He
tempered her sometimes hard-nosed scientific reasoning with
a playful acceptance of the absurd.  They complemented each
other perfectly, even if they didn't always agree.

They also appreciated each other for the fact that they had
saved one another's ass a time or two.

It was an unfortunate but necessary part of the job.  Scully
looked out for her partner's back, and he watched hers.  It
was just that at some point after she had first held a gun
on an assailant or Mulder had burst through a door to
wrestle her attacker to the floor, she had realized that
there was a very real, almost tangible connection between
the two of them.  Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline that
forged it, the knowledge that one of them had been so close
to being taken away forever.

Or maybe it was something else, altogether.

Scully knew that it was a common enough phenomenon in law
enforcement, so common that it had become stereotypical.
Partners of the opposite sex will launch a torrid affair
because the constant danger of their situation creates an
atmosphere of erotic excitement.

She sighed.  The textbooks and classroom lectures and case
studies made it sound so damn clinical, when there was
really only one way to describe it.

She knew.  She had felt it, up close and personal.

It was like lightning.  It was a hot bolt of fire that
struck her at ground zero between her thighs.

She couldn't admit it to anyone.  She could hardly admit it
to herself.  But it occupied her thoughts, more than anyone
suspected or knew.  It kept her awake at night.  Twisted her
in her bedsheets.  Heated her to the point that she would
frenziedly sit up in bed and shake herself out of her
nightclothes, yank them over her head or squirm them over
her hips and hurl them into a dark corner of the bedroom.
Agitated her so much that she would collapse, exhausted, her
chest heaving, her warm, sweat-moistened skin now cooling by
its exposure.  She would lie in the darkness, her breath
slowing, her restless spirit growing quiet.  And always,
inevitably, she sought relief from the aching at her core,
her hands and fingers working first tentatively, then
feverishly, to release the tension that held her body rigid,
her muscles taut.  Pressing here, stroking there, Scully
would find a rhythm that suited the moment and the degree of
her need.  With her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she
would fight to hold off her climax, denying herself instant
gratification in exchange for the greater satisfaction which
she knew could be hers.  But eventually, as her fingers
kneaded her most secret flesh, now well-slickened with her
excitement, her breathing would change to hoarse, rapid
gasps.  She would feel the telling knotting of her stomach,
the veins standing out from her neck.  For another moment,
she would try to resist, writhing against the pillows in an
effort to contain the impending explosion.  And then,
suddenly, there would come the split second of
weightlessness, the blotting out of all sensation.  No
sound, no sight, no touch.  Nothing other than the short-
lived exquisite freedom of flight.

After that, the freefall.

With a rush of warmth, her back arching, she would be swept
up and tossed by wave after wave of pleasure.  And often -
more often than not - she would cry out in her abandon.

One word.  One name.

Mulder.

Distracted by her thoughts, Scully didn't notice when Mulder
slowed the car to a stop.  He got out and she belatedly
realized that they must have arrived at the home of Connie
Bertram.  Joining him at the curb, Scully took in the acres
of manicured front lawn and the long, gently winding
driveway that curved in front of a large, white-columned, red
brick home framed by huge, majestic trees.  Even from where
she stood, Scully could recognize old money when she saw it.
Old and a lot of it.

Mulder apparently recognized it, too.

"Great jumpin' Jehosophat, Miz Scully," he drawled.  "We's
in high cotton now."

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