Guilty as Charged By Vickie Moseley Sun Dec 15 1996 Summary: Mulder faces his worst nightmare and it's up to Scully to wake him up in time. XA Disclaimer applies. Disclaimer: I won't make any money off this. Big surprise, right? FOURTH SEASON WARNING: Some spoilers scattered throughout, mostly refering to Herrenvolk and Home. No romance. No significant others. Some bad words. Probably PG13 or there abouts. Comments to me:vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Guilty as Charged By Vickie Moseley begun Nov. 11, 1996 An open field August 15, 1996 3:00 pm The sun was beating down and not a breath of air was coming from the beaches to the east. Two men in suits and three men in blue uniforms were standing in far right field of an old baseball park. The rusted backstop cast the only shadow on the area. "I don't like this, I don't like this one bit," Det. Steve Marker said as he stood near one side of a slight mound in the large open field. "I mean, I've lived here all my life. I've played in this very field since I was old enough to ride a two wheeler. My brother's kids have played here. I know this field, Rick. I would have noticed something like a, a grave!" Marker was young, only 29, but he looked even younger. His casual good looks were in stark contrast to his superior, Rick Price, who stood beside him. Price was older by ten years and had made a career of looking the part of the hard bitten police lieutenant. Where Marker was dark, dark brown hair, dark eyes, Price was blond. Where Marker dressed in unassuming business attire, Price was dressed to the nines in designer suits and expensive hand tailored shirts. The young man sometimes wondered just where Price got all his money, God knew he wasn't relying solely on what the good residents of Martha's Vineyard paid him. "Steve, look. I know it was just an anonymous tip, but this damned case has been on the books for 23 years. Wouldn't it be worth digging in the dirt a little if we could close it?" Rick said as he watched the crew of forensic officers dig a hole in the ground. The hole was about three feet across and four feet long, just the size for a small child's grave. They were about 3 feet down when one of the men called out. "We got somethin'. Careful boys, don't mess this up," the older of the three said and each man put his spade aside and started the painstaking work of uncovering the objects with the care of archeologists at an ancient site. After another hour, the objects began to take shape. "It's a skeleton, all right. And look here." Price reached down and picked up a small pin from the dirt. He recognized it immediately, even before he noted the initals engraved on the back. "Don't tell me it's his," Marker said in disbelieve. "That's just too pat," he added shaking his head. "Yeah, well, I was there when he got this. I always knew that guy was looney tunes. Now I got proof." Price took out the evidence bag and dropped the 20+ year old Eagle Scout pin into it. "Call in an APB, Steve, and book yourself on the next shuttle. He's got some questions to answer. And maybe this time, he'll be awake enough to make sense." Fox Mulder's Apartment August 15 7:30 pm "You really don't have to do this, Scully. I'll do fine all by myself," Fox Mulder assured his partner as he hobbled into his apartment on crutches. "It's not like I've never been on crutches before," he added as he made his way around the furniture and landed with a 'thump' on the couch. He dropped the crutches under the coffee table and propped the plaster encased foot and and ankle on the couch like a seasoned professional. Scully perched on the coffee table across from him. "I know that, Mulder, but the doctor said you were to stay off the foot for at least a couple of days. I know you. By tomorrow morning you're going to be trying to gimp your way down to the metro stop and ride the train into work. But for tonight, I expect you to follow the doctor's orders, if I have to hold you at gun point to make sure you do," she said forcefully. "You know how much that turns me on, Scully, when you talk about holding me at gun point," he teased. She shot him a scathing look and he grinned. "Lighten up, Scully. I broke my ankle. At least that means you get some time to clean up the paperwork that's be piling up in the office," he reasoned. "ME clean up the paperwork?! Mulder, if I remember correctly, at least HALF of that paperwork is yours," she cried. "Yeah, but Scully, I'm injured. You wouldn't make me do paperwork when I'm injured, would you?" The twinkle in his eye was enough to make her forget about any injuries. "Mulder, keep this up, and it won't be just a broken ankle," she growled. "Now, what do you want for dinner? My treat." "You are feeling guilty about this, aren't you?" he asked seriously. "Scully, it wasn't your fault. I was the klutz who fell off the fire escape. You had nothing to do with it," he said with a gentle squeeze of her hand. She looked at him for a second and almost seemed to believe him. Then, reality set in. "Mulder, it was my fault. I should have cut him off before he got to the fire escape. If I had . . ." "The guy would have done the same thing, Scully," Mulder reasoned. "He was too big for either of us. He would have tossed you off the roof. Besides, you didn't have your gun," he added pointedly. "I still can't believe I lost it," she sighed with exasperation, refusing to look at him. He grinned broadly. "Hey, it happens. I must be rubbing off one you." She let her eyes travel up to his face and smiled in return. He really didn't think she was to blame. He wasn't even bothering to forgive her, because for him, there was nothing to forgive. All she really needed to do was forgive herself. "OK, Mulder. You might just be rubbing off a little, but we are NOT getting anchovies on the pizza," she said and picked up the phone to place the order. Twenty minutes had elapsed and they were deep in discussion over the relative merits of Friday night television programs when there was a knock on the door. Scully got up to answer it. She opened the door, wallet in her hand, and stared right in the faces of a pair of uniformed Arlington policemen. "Can I help you?" she asked in surprise. "Is Fox Mulder at home, Miss?" a plainsclothed detective asked. She hadn't notice him at first, he had been standing out of her line of sight. "Yes, but he's indisposed. Can I help you? I'm his partner," she informed them and noticed the looks that were exchanged between the detective and the uniformed officers. "Miss, if Fox Mulder is in that apartment, we'll have to ask you to step aside," the detective said in an official voice and started to move her to the side. She gave him a look that sent a shiver down his back, but she moved to allow him in. By this time, Mulder was struggling to find his crutches so that he could stand and see what was going on. He was on his feet, but wobbly and as he reached out a hand to steady himself, the detective caught his elbow. "Fox William Mulder?" he asked. Mulder looked down at the hand on his arm and then back at the detective's face. He had no idea what was happening, but he was sure he didn't like how it was going. "Yes," he said slowly. "I'm Fox William Mulder." With one swift motion, the detective's other hand whipped out a pair of handcuffs and snapped one ring on Mulder's left wrist. "Fox William Mulder, I'm Detective Steven Marker of the Chilimark Police Department. I need to bring you in for questioning regarding the murder of your sister, Samantha Ann Mulder. You have the right to remain silent." The rest of his rights were lost in the fog that surrounded Mulder as he realized what was taking place. Anxiously, he searched the room and finally found who he was looking for--his partner. "Scully?" he pleaded. Scully had been standing at the door, just behind the uniforms. She was in shock, but quickly came to her senses. "Detective Marker, there must be some mistake. Samantha Ann Mulder is my partner's sister and was kidnapped over 23 years ago. She wasn't murdered." By the time she had finished, Marker had effectively handcuffed Mulder to himself. Steve looked at the woman who had now crossed the room, standing close to him and the man in his handcuffs. His instincts put him on the defensive, but he could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't going to cause trouble. She was confused. As confused at the man he was handcuffed to. "Look, I'll go into more detail at the station. For now, I'll tell you that a body has been discovered, and there is sufficient evidence to assume that it's the body of Samantha Mulder, 8 years of age and that she was murdered. Based on evidence found at the scene, I've been instructed to bring Mr. Mulder here in for questioning." Steve turned to his captive and gave him a half smile. "Now, can you handle those crutches, or should I give you a hand?" Arlington, VA Police Dept. Precinct 4 August 16, 1996 1:30 am Scully found him sitting on a wooden bench. Mulder's head was flung back, his broken ankle propped on his two crutches in an effort to keep it elevated, his eyes clenched tight with pain lines across his forehead. He didn't even startle when she sat down beside him. She shook his shoulder gently. "How did it go?" she asked, not wanting to sound as concerned as she felt. "What could I say? I don't remember. That's what I told them. About 50 times. I was beginning to think if I tried a different language it might make an impact, but the kid didn't look the Latin and Greek type," he said, stifling a tired yawn. "What evidence do they have that it could be you?" She knew he was exhausted, but there were so many missing pieces to find. "They found my Eagle Scout pin buried with the body. It had my initals on it." He had a faraway look and a noticeable shiver ran through him. That was enough to convince her that he needed sleep more than questions. "C'mon. Let's get you home," she said quietly. "Aren't I supposed to stay here, tonight?" he asked, his voice hoarse and raspy. "I mean, I'm such a desparate criminal that they brought me in 'cuffed." His sarcasm was the thin veneer keeping his anger and anxiety in check. "Detective Marker's a kid. He didn't know what to expect. And as for staying the night, I convinced them you weren't much risk of flight since your whereabouts have been common knowledge to the largest law enforcement agency in the free world for the past 14 years. Besides, I don't know that they have enough evidence to charge you at the moment, forensics is still working with the skeletal remains. I told them I would be responsible for you. You're coming to my apartment, so I can make sure you get some rest." He started to object but she put up her hand. "It's that or the hospital, Mulder. The doctor at the ER wanted to keep you the night anyway. If you remember, you were under my care as it was. And this has hardly been my definition of 'resting'. So now, we're going home and you're going to rest, for real." "You did call Skinner, right?" he asked intently. He hadn't had much chance to talk to her once the interrogation began. "Yes, and he sent out a team from the Boston office to ensure the site is properly handled. Damn, I wish they had called us immediately." "What, and lose the biggest collar on Martha's Vineyard since Teddy Kennedy's little cruise on the Chappiquiddick?" he smirked. "Nah, I was never impressed with our local officers of the law when I was a kid. I'm still not that impressed with them." "Well, the Boston guys will take care of it now. They were called in the last time," she said with a sigh. More than anything she wanted to be up there, but other matters needed to be attended to first. As usual, he read her mind. "I need to get a lawyer, don't I?" he asked as she helped him with his crutches. "I mean, Chuck Peabody's a nice guy, he was great with my dad's estate and all, but he'll freak if I ask him to represent me in a murder trial. Hell, Scully, I don't even *know* any defense lawyers," he moaned. She helped him to his feet and propelled him out the door and to the parking lot. "One of the detectives recognized you from the Gregor case. You know, the night you got hit by a car? Anyway, she gave me the name of a defense attorney that we can call in the morning. But you realize, the trial will be in Massachusetts," she said as she opened the passenger side door and helped him in the car. "So I should just see if one of the Kennedy family lawyers is willing to take on another case and I'm home free, right?" he said with a ghost of that old twinkle faint in his eyes. She gave him a dirty look and he nodded in quiet embarrassment. "Mulder, you know there's been some mistake. That is not your sister in that grave," Scully said evenly. He looked at her for a moment. "How do you know that, Scully? How can you be so sure?" he asked, all open sincerity on his face. She looked at him in confusion. "Mulder, what do you mean? How could it be Samantha? After all you've seen, after all you've been told, how could you believe anything else?" Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles shone white under the passing street lights. "Mulder, you didn't kill your sister." It was a statement of fact, not open for discussion. "I wish I could be so sure," he whispered, just out of her range of hearing. He laid his head back on the seat and pretended to fall asleep for the rest of the ride. She got him in the apartment and he headed for the couch. "Unh uh, not tonight, mister. In the spare bedroom and move it," she ordered. He shot her a fierce glare. "No TV in there," he said, not really wanting to waste even that much energy on communication. "Yeah, that's why it's called a 'bedroom', Mulder. It has a bed. Now if it had a TV, I'd call it a living room. Look, I'm way too tired to be having this conversation, so get your ass in there and get in bed while I get you some water to wash down these pills. Or I'll use that blow dart gun we got off Samuel Aboah, if you'd prefer," she said with a nasty gleam in her eyes. "Never noticed how bitchy you are at 2 in the morning," he grumbled and hobbled into the spare bedroom. He sat on the bed, managed to hook his cast on his one sneaker heel so that he could work it free. He succeeded, but it jarred his ankle enough to really make it throb. He made a mental note not to try that again too soon, at least not until the ankle was better. Then he laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. In a minute, Scully was standing by his side, a handful of pills and a water glass in her hands. He made a great show of pulling himself up to a sitting position. "What are these?" he queried as he took the glass and examined the pills still in her hand. "Antibiotic, pain killer, sleeping pill. Want the PDR sites for them?" she growled. He glared back at her and took the pills. "And don't even think of 'palming' them, Mulder. I intend to check your pulse in a few minutes. Anything higher than 50 and you get a shot in the ass, got it?" "You have been watching too much 'Xena--Warrior Princess'," he muttered, but took the pills and made a great show of sticking them on his tongue, then sticking the empty tongue out at her after he swallowed. "Happy?" "To my toes," she said dryly. "Get some sleep. Don't worry about the alarm, I'm turning it off. You need the rest." She got to the door before she turned back to him. "It's gonna be all right, Mulder. I promise," she said and he was certain she meant every word of it. He wanted to tell her that no, he didn't know that. That to be real honest, he felt like he was in a bad remake of his worst nightmare and he wasn't sure of anything at this point. But she wouldn't understand. He couldn't tell her that, so he simply smiled his good night and let the drugs take him to sleep. Dana Scully's apartment August 16, 1996 2:25 pm The phone was ringing by his head. In a second, before he could reach it, it stopped. "Let the machine get it," he mumbled and rolled over on to his side. He winced when the cast hit the surface of the bed too hard. "Damned ankle," he cursed and tried to go back to sleep. "Fox?" Somewhere in his sleep riddled mind he knew that voice, but it wasn't coming to him. He decided if he ignored it, it would probably go away, so he did just that. "Fox, wake up." This time the voice was accompanied by someone shaking his shoulder and he had no choice but to pay some attention. He turned his head and opened his eyes. Maggie Scully's blue eyes stared back at him then gave him a faint smile. "Hey, sleepy head. Dana's on the phone. She needs to talk to you." She handed him the cordless phone and left the room, closing the door behind her. Coming more awake, he looked around him. Scully's spare bedroom. His ankle in a cast. He glanced down and noticed the slight bruise that the handcuff had formed on his wrist where he had been shackled to Det. Marker. "shit," he whispered, as he remembered the night before. "Mulder? Are you there?" came the voice from the phone. Oh, yeah, the real world, he thought. "Yeah, Scully, I'm here. What time is it, anyway?" His voice was hoarse, like he'd been asleep for days. "Going on 2:30 in the afternoon," she answered. "How's the ankle? Mom knows where the pain killers are if you need one." "No, it's OK. I haven't walked on it, yet. I'll get some aspirin if it causes me any trouble. The hard stuff dries my mouth out," he said, scratching his shoulder and trying to position the pillow behind him so that he could get somewhat comfortable. "What's up?" He heard the sigh in her voice. "Mulder, I asked Mom if she could drive you down to the office. Skinner wants to talk to you. I've been in meetings all morning. The ME in Chilimark has positively ID'ed the remains found in a shallow grave in Hobbs Park as Samantha. At some point soon, we need to talk." He swallowed hard. It was Samantha. Oh, god. ohgodohgodohgoditwasSamantha. His chest was tight and it was hard to breath. "My Mom?" he croaked. Scully knew instinctively what he was asking. "Your mother called the office this morning. The police were at her door earlier. They want her to come in to the station for a deposition. I think she's nervous, Mulder, so I told her I'd get up there as soon as I can. She's allowed to bring someone with her to the station." "I'll go," he said firmly. "Mulder, you can't. She's going to be talking about the night Sam disappeared. You can't be in the room. They would think you were influencing her testimony," Scully reasoned. "Besides, I want you to stay here until they call for you. For now, it's probably for the best that you are several hours away. Stay put." "I don't like this, Scully," he growled low into the phone. "Neither do I, Mulder, but we don't have a lot of options. I'm convinced that you've been set up. But I can't do anything if you run off and look guilty." She let the words make their impact. "Mulder, I've called that attorney that the Detective gave me last night. He's seems like an OK guy . . ." "Oh, boy, what a recommendation," he interrupted with a sarcastic snort. "Mulder, listen to me! You need to talk to someone. Do you know of any lawyers on the Vineyard?" she asked sharply. "There are no defense lawyers on the Vineyard, Scully. Only estate and divorce lawyers. Everybody else goes to Boston," he said tersely, rubbing his hand over his eyes and coming away with sleepy crumbs. "Well, then you need to talk to this guy," she said firmly. "He's very successful, Mulder. He has a good number of acquittals under his belt and those who weren't acquitted got very good plea bargains." "Are you listening to yourself here, Scully?" he said, raising his voice. "This guy is one of those scum . . ." "Mulder you _need_ him." " . . . one of those two bit, slimey bastards who get people like Tooms out on a technicality! Who let fuckers like Monty Props escape the 'chair'! Who basically make our lives a living HELL!" "Are you through, yet," she asked in a quiet voice when he's run out of breath. "How much does he cost?" he asked weakly, exhausted by his outburst. "One hundred fifty an hour. And expenses." "Holy shit," he replied. After a moment he sighed. "OK, I'll talk to the son of a bitch. But only 75 dollars worth." He was quiet a moment. "Scully." "Yeah?" "Tell my mom . . . ," he choked. Even now, even with Scully, he couldn't say the words. "I'll tell her, Mulder, don't worry. But I'm pretty sure she already knows," Scully said softly and hung up the phone. J. Edgar Hoover Building 4:00 pm Walter Skinner didn't like what was happening. It was going too quickly for it to be anything but a frame job. But his responsiblities were clear. The best he could do for Mulder was make sure every eye was dotted and every tee was crossed. He didn't even look up when Kimberly knocked on his door. "Come in," he said, staring resolutely at the file folder on his desk. "Agent Mulder is here, sir," Kimberly said and stepped aside to let Mulder struggle through the door with his crutches. "Agent Mulder. I heard you had another, uh, injury," Skinner said evenly. "Have a seat." "I don't think I was called in so you could update me on the new managed care provisions of our health plan, was I, sir?" Mulder asked as he lowered himself into the chair. He noticed immediately that he was not alone in the room. Another man, presumably an agent, was also sitting in the other chair in front of Skinner's desk. "No, Mulder, you were not," Skinner said and looked directly at the young man before him. "I wanted to inform you of the progress of the investigation into this discovery in Chilimark." He motioned to the other man. "This is Agent Crowley from the Boston office. He has been out to the site this morning and wants to ask you a few questions." Mulder nodded, keeping his expression blank. Inside, his guts had just twisted into a knot that would have made his old scout master proud. "Agent Crowley," he said, and reached over to shake the other man's hand. Crowley was actually younger than Mulder, but sported the regulation Bureau cut on his medium brown hair and the conservative suit with the classic tie. Next to him, Mulder looked like a teen ager. "I've read some of your profiles, followed your work. It's good to meet the man," he said and Mulder could almost hear the unspoken 'behind the myth' that would have inevitably followed that statement if Skinner had not been in the room. Crowley reached down and pulled a folder out of his briefcase. "Agent Mulder, according to the statements made at the time of your sister's disappearance, you have no recollection of the events of that evening." Mulder nodded. "That's correct." "I notice this statement was given on January 29 of 1974. Was there some reason you weren't interviewed closer to the date of the disappearance?" Crowley had a bland expression on his face, but Mulder suspected he was already coming up with some pretty keen conclusions. "I was hospitalized immediately following the incident," Mulder said, his voice dropping low and his hands gripping the arms of the chair. Crowley's frowned and flipped some pages. "Were you injured?" "No. I was," Mulder stopped and cleared his throat. He knew all this was in his own medical records, it was all Bureau information. Either Crowley hadn't bothered to look there, or the bastard knew exactly what he was fishing for and was just making Mulder squirm on the hook. He gritted his teeth and started again. "I was in a coma for close to a week. Then I was unable to keep food down for three weeks. I was released from the hospital on Dec. 24 of 73. The doctor felt it best not to question me on my sister's disappearance until I was stronger. That was about a month after my discharge from the hospital." "There was no physical cause for your illness?" Crowley asked, and Mulder noticed that his voice had now taken on the quality of silk. The bastard had him just where he wanted him. "The illness was thought to be related to hysteria following a traumatic event. Following that hospitalization, I had no further incidents requiring hospitalization," Mulder said firmly. He'd been through this a thousand times with EAP following some of his more traumatic cases. This was familiar territory and Mulder was a master at avoiding the many landmines buried beneath the surface. Crowley glanced over at Skinner who stared back with a steely glare. No help from that quarter would be coming. Time to redirect the attack. "Agent Mulder, what was your relationship with your sister?" The tone held more meaning than the words and hung in the air like an accusation. "What exactly are you implying?" Mulder growled, deep in his throat. "Agent Mulder, I don't think Agent Crowley is implying anything. And it's a question that will be asked again before this whole mess is cleared up," Skinner said in a warning voice. "I suggest you calm down and answer the man." Mulder swallowed hard. This was not what he expected, not what he wanted to think about. The years of guilt had tarnished so many of his memories of Sam. It was only recently, standing in an open field in Tennessee, that he was able to tell Scully with some fondness of the times he had shared with his little sister. He forced his mind in those back inner recesses, to where the good times lie wrapped in dust and cobwebs. "We had a normal relationship. She was four years younger, but she wasn't much of a pest. We fought, like all kids. But when she was scared, she usually ran to me instead of to Mom or Dad. We talked a lot, I taught her to play ball. Nothing noteworthy." He shrugged his shoulders. "What do you want to know?" "Were you attracted to your sister--I mean sexually?" Crowley asked and immediately sensed that he had tromped on the wrong toes. Mulder was out of his chair, and lunged at the other man with a look of sheer murder in his eyes. Crowley leapt out of his chair and only the fact that Mulder's cast caught on a chair leg saved him from having Mulder's hands firmly around his throat. Skinner was around his desk in a second and grabbed Mulder, who was trying desparately to untangle himself from the chair and reach Crowley where he was standing across the room. "Agent Mulder, that will be enough!" he said, holding the agent in a half nelson to keep him from getting to the other man. "And Agent Crowley, the next time you use that kind of interrogation technique, I suggest you have the subject handcuffed and wear a kevlar vest, because you are only asking for trouble," Skinner seethed. "Now, Crowley, you are dismissed. We'll talk about this later." By the time Skinner was able to turn his attention to Mulder, it was obvious that all the wind was out of the agent's sails. He was slumped against the overturned chair, breathing heavily. He was pale and shaking and he looked up at his superior with a cold terror in his eyes. "They didn't find anything like that, did they? No sign of sexual assault? Oh God, please, please, not that," he murmured and his voice trailed off. The AD was quick to reassure him. "No, Mulder. None whatsoever. There was nothing in the ME's report to suggest that. They've sent the remains down here to our labs, but so far, there is no evidence of that." "But if it's just bones, there wouldn't be any way to know for sure," Mulder whispered, his eyes dead. His chest heaved with each breath. "No, you're right. There wouldn't be any way to tell." Skinner knew he would gain nothing by lying to the man slumped beside him. "But there is no reason to believe it occured until we have evidence to support it, you know that Agent Mulder." He spoke the words as he would to a recruit, who had just asked a question on procedure. The tone got the desired results. Mulder drew a deep breath and straightened a little. Skinner helped him to his feet and then into the now righted chair. "Agent Mulder, in light of the recent discoveries concerning your sister, I think it would be best for all concerned if you took some time off." Mulder closed his eyes for a second. It was exactly what he had expected and precisely what he had prayed against happening. "I need to get to the bottom of this, sir," he said, trying to make that sound like a reasonable request. "And you are precisely the wrong person to do that, Mulder. You know that as well as I do. It's not a suggestion. It's an order." "Am I suspended," Mulder spit out the word and glared at his superior. He was leaving Skinner no choice and he knew that full well. "It appears that's the only way to get through to you," Skinner growled. "I don't want to do this, Mulder. But it's the only way I know to keep you out of this. You are hereby suspended, with pay." Skinner had to smile at the raised eyebrow that little addendum produced. "You'll need to leave your guns and your badge. You won't be able to go to your office unless you have a security guard escort you there," Skinner said evenly. "I understand, sir," Mulder whispered. He felt like he had just been punched in the stomach. Until that moment, except for the ride to Scully's apartment the night before, he had come close to convincing himself that it was just a bad dream. Even when he was arguing with Scully about talking to the scumbag lawyer, it hadn't sunk in, it wasn't real to him. But this, taking his job away from him, shutting him off from his X Files, just when he needed them most, it was more than he could deal with. His whole world was being ripped apart from the inside. He shifted in his seat, since he couldn't stand easily, and took his gun out of it's holster at his hip. He leaned down and removed the one that was holstered at his 'good' ankle. Then, slowly, with a forced blank expression, he opened his jacket and took his badge out of the pocket and placed them all on the desk in front of Skinner. "I look forward to returning these soon, Agent Mulder," Skinner said firmly. Mulder took a deep breath, pushed himself out of the chair and tucked the crutches under his arms. "I look forward to getting them back, sir," he said with more confidence than he felt. With a quiet dignity, he left the room. Once he was near the elevators, Kimberly heard the distinct sound of an ashtray hitting the far wall of her boss' office. Maggie was waiting in the lobby. She saw the slump of his shoulders, as if he were carrying the weight of the world and her heart went out to him. But she knew this young man. He was a very private person and would never allow her to offer her comfort. The most she could do was let him know that she was there and that she cared for him. She rose to her feet and went to meet him as he crossed the FBI emblem on the floor of the lobby. "Thanks for waiting, Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry it took so long," he apologized. "I feel bad that Dana pressed you into 'babysitting'." "It's all right, Fox. I had the afternoon free, I'm happy to help out. Do you need to get anything from your office? I could go get the car and wait for you outside," she suggested. "No, that's OK, Mrs. Scully. I can just tell Dana what I need and she can bring it home with her tomorrow. Has she called yet? She should have made it to Boston by now," he said, trying to find some threads of normalcy in the tulmult of his world. "I'm sure she'll call when she gets there, Fox. Come on, let's get you home. You haven't eaten yet and you must be starved." She held the door for him as he managed the crutches. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he really wasn't hungry. In fact, for all his purported insomnia, all he really wanted to do at that moment was go back to Scully's apartment and go to sleep. Chilimark Police Station Interrogation Room B 5:00 pm "Now, Mrs. Mulder, I understand that it has been 23 years since the night your daughter disappeared from your home, but we need to have you tell us everything that happened that night," the Assitant District Attorney Andrea Caveny said with practiced ease. She was a young woman, not yet thirty, but this was a very high profile case and she was eager to meet the challenge. Andrea had grown up on the Vineyard, and knew the story she was about to hear. This would be the first time she would hear it without the multitude of comments that accompanied it as it had been handed down in the small seaside community of Chilimark. The Mulder family lawyer was in attendence, looking a little out of his depth. Charles Peabody liked dealing with wills and estates and trusts and ways to keep finances secure. He liked all that because it allowed him ignore the part of the law that dealt with murder and mayhem and destroying people's lives. But until he could find someone else to help her, he knew his client needed him. Mrs. Mulder looked over at Dana Scully and gave her a weak smile. Dana wasn't allowed at the interrogation table, but was seated against the wall, still in eye contact, if Mrs. Mulder needed her. Mrs. Mulder took a deep breath and began. "We were going over to the Gibsons for cards. It was something we did a couple of times a month. For years, we would have one of the high school girls come over and watch the children, but early in the summer, Bill decided that Fox was old enough to be left alone to watch Samantha. We were only next door, after all." "How far was the Gibson home from your house, Mrs. Mulder?" Andrea asked for the record. "I guess 'next door' is a bit of misnomer. We had one to one and a half acre lots in that subdivision. So the Gibson's house was several yards away. The lots were all wooded, mostly oak and maple. The leaves were still on the oak trees, but the maples leaves had all fallen by Halloween that year. I remember Fox and Samantha playing in them when they were ready to go Trick or Treating." Mrs. Mulder's voice took on a far away tone and Scully couldn't keep the smile off her face as she thought of her partner going Trick or Treating. She even gave herself the luxury of wondering what he had gone as that year. "So it's possible that you wouldn't have heard what went on at your house?" Andrea asked, breaking the illusion of happy memories that had settled on the other two women. "Yes, it's possible. I mean, Jack, Dr. Gibson, used to like the radio on so he and Bill could listen to the Celtics game or Red Sox or whatever team was playing. So Millie and I would have to almost shout to be heard. But we had a good time. A very good time," she said sadly. Once again, Andrea broke the spell. "Mrs. Mulder, what time did you go back to your home that night?" Mrs. Mulder looked up, as if she had just walked into the room. "Uh, it was eleven. I had called to make sure that Samantha had gone to bed. Fox was allowed to stay up. It was Friday and he loved to watch the 'ghoulie movie' as they called it then. More often than not, he'd end up sleeping on the couch with the lights on in the morning, but I didn't see any harm in it. Bill didn't like it, that he watched those things, but Fox was just a boy." "So at eleven o'clock, everything was fine?" Andrea asked, beginning to scribble on a yellow legal pad, even though the entire discussion was being recorded. "No, no it wasn't fine. The phone was dead. It wasn't all that unusual, the wind was strong that night. Bill said the lines must have come down, that was common enough in those days. But I was still concerned. I didn't want Fox and Sammi alone in that house without a phone. What if something were to happen, I said to Bill." The older woman turned to Dana, as if trying to explain her concerns, seeking reassurance for her actions. Dana nodded her encouragement. "So the phone was out, and you left the Gibson's?" "Yes. It must have been right at eleven because I remember the late news was just starting. We had walked over and so it was about five minutes before we got to the house." "Did you notice anything unusual as you approached the house?" Andrea prodded. "Yes. The lights were out. Even the stairway light. We kept that on until Bill and I went to bed. It was always on. And Fox would have left it on while he watched the movie. But the house was dark. I got scared and started to run, but Bill caught my arm and reminded me that if the phone lines had come down, the electric lines probably followed." She stopped and looked at Dana again. "But the lights were on at the Gibsons' and they were on the same transformer as us. We could tell if something was wrong at the transformer by looking out our bedroom window and seeing if the Gibsons' security light was shining." "So you don't know why the lights were out just at your house?" Andrea asked. "When we got in the house, we found out it the electric was out completely. The wall clock in the kitchen was stopped. It read ten till nine. We had come through the kitchen door, you see. I didn't like the children using the front door because we had a new carpet and it was hard to keep the sand off it." "Mrs. Mulder, I understand that you are trying very hard here, but please, you don't need to explain your actions. You aren't on trial here," Andrea said kindly. Mrs. Mulder gave her a stern look. "Young woman, I have to disagree. My daughter was taken from me that night. I have no idea what happened or when. She was my responsiblity. My child. My baby. You may not think I'm on trial for that, but believe me, I have tired myself, and found myself guilty. I have lived out my punishment, my sentence, every day since that night. And I will live that sentence until the day I die." "Of couse, Mrs. Mulder," Andrea said apologetically. "Please, continue." "When I saw what time the clock had stopped I got frightened. I ran into the living room, calling for the children. I tripped . . ." A sob caught in her throat and then broke free. " . . . I tripped over Fox. He was lying on the floor. His eyes . . ." another choked sob, "his eyes were wide open. He looked terrified." She shook with the force of the sobs that engulfed her. "I thought he was dead. I . . . I screamed for Bill." Her hands were wringing and twisting on the table top. The older woman looked up and saw Dana. She smiled weakly through her tears, seeing the tears mirrored in the blue eyes that greeted her. "Bill came in and tried to get Fox to stand up. He screamed at him to stand up. He shook his shoulders and screamed in his ears and tried to get him to stand up. But Fox just laid there. He couldn't see us. He didn't know we were there." She stopped and stared for a moment as the horror of that night washed over her again. "I held him. I got down on the floor and held Fox while Bill searched the rest of the house. He came down and told me that Samantha was gone. Bill was crying by that time. I'd never seen him cry before, not once. Never. He said he had to call the police, the ambulance. Fox was still not moving, not talking, not even acknowledging us. Bill ran to the Gibson's to make the phone call." The older woman took a sip from the styrofoam cup in front of her. "Jack and Millie came back with Bill. Jack was our pediatrician," she explained. "It was always so convenient when the children were sick. Jack would just come over when he got home and write out a prescription. Anyway, he said Fox was suffering from shock. Hysterical catatonia. When the ambulance arrived, Jack ordered an IV and some tranquillizers. Just before the ambulance left, Fox' eyes had gotten so heavy, I guess he just finally let them drop. Jack told me he was asleep, but I knew better. My baby boy was very, very far away from me that night. I don't know that he's ever really come back to me," she whispered. "Was there anything taken from the house, besides your daughter?" Andrea asked, making more notes on the pad for later questions. "No. Nothing was missing. My pearls were lying in the jewlrey box upstairs. My purse was on the kitchen doorknob, where I had left it. It contained $50 and some credit cards. Our silver, Bill's watch and good cufflinks were all in easy reach. No, they hadn't taken anything. Just one of the most precious things in the household," Mrs. Mulder said bitterly. "As the ambulance was pulling out, the police arrived. They brought dogs to seach the woods. We found Bill's gun, his revolver, under the highboy in the living room. The box, an old humidor, was on the floor. The police found Bill's fingerprints on it and Fox'. That was all. The revolver hadn't been fired, but it had a round in the chamber. I guess Fox must have tried to scare off whoever took his sister." Her voice was calm and steady now. "When did Fox regain consciousness, Mrs. Mulder?" She bit her lip and frowned. "Not for several days. By the next morning, Jack had called in a specialist from Boston's Children's Hospital. Fox was officially diagnosed as comatose. He didn't respond to any stimulus. His EEG was almost flat, very few spikes. Of course, we didn't have CAT scans and the like in our little hospital in Chilimark. Jack wanted to move him to Boston, but I was afraid. I was afraid that whoever had taken Samantha would try to take Fox, too. So I put my foot down. I wouldn't let him out of my sight. I slept at the hospital, in his room. I spent the days reading to him, talking to him, trying to reach him. On Wednesday morning, I felt a tug at my hand. Fox' hand was twitching under mine. By dinner time that evening, he was awake." "He cried at first. He wanted Sam. He didn't know why we wouldn't let Sam come see him. See, he had his tonsils out when he was ten and we brought Sam up to see him in the hospital. It was the only way we could get him to stay in bed, he hated hospitals." Mrs. Mulder shot Dana the ghost of a smile. Dana smiled in return. "When we told him that Samantha was gone, he was inconsolable. The vomiting began. While he was in the coma, they had been feeding him through a tube down his throat, and when he woke up, they took it out. But after we told him about Sam, he got so sick. He couldn't keep anything down. After a day, Jack and the specialist ordered the tube put in again. They sedated him so that he would sleep most of the time." "He slept. He slept for almost three weeks. It wasn't the coma, the EEG showed that there was brain activity. He had regular sleep cycles. He just shut himself off, drew into himself and didn't come out. The doctors kept the tubes in, since he couldn't stay awake long enough to eat and he only threw up if he did try to eat anything." "All that time, those four weeks, we searched. The police, then the FBI, everyone on the island, every one searched. Ms. Caveny, I know you think you've found my daughter's body in Hobbs Park. But let me assure you, we searched every inch of that field 23 years ago and there was nothing. No dirt disturbed, no mound. Nothing. The FBI did more in the 70's than just tap the phones of war dissidents, you know," she said tersely. Scully was amazed at how quickly the woman had pulled herself back together. It was obvious now where her partner got his backbone. "And I really don't appreciate you dragging up all this hurt and heartache from my past just to make a political name for yourself," she added with a daring glare. Andrea shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but other than that, didn't acknowledge the comment. "Mrs. Mulder, just one more question. Would you say that Fox was a violent child? Did he ever show signs that he might hurt his sister or that he didn't want her around. And please remember, Mrs. Mulder, you are under oath and the courts have determined that there is no priviledge granted to the relationship between a parent and a child." The older woman's face flushed bright red and for a moment, Scully was ready to call the paramedics, fearing another stroke. Slowly, the older woman rose to her feet and leaned over the table so that she was just inches away from the Assistant DA. "How _dare_ you even suggest such a thing," she seethed, keeping her voice low, just as Scully was used to hearing her partner do when he was at his limit and beyond. "They were brother and sister. He loved her. She loved him. They played together, they worked together. He watched over her like a guardian angel. When she skinned her knee he carried her all the way home. When she got teased because of her freckles, he went to her teacher and complained about the kids on the playground. He would no sooner have harmed a hair on her head than he would have flown to the moon!" "I know what you're thinking. I know how easy this could be for you. He was alone with her. It makes a nice tidy murder mystery to have the older brother commit the crime. That way, you don't have to dig--you don't have to come up with who really took my daughter. But did it occur to you that my son was as much a victim that night as my daughter? That what happened, what he witnessed, put that boy in a coma, _a coma_ for a week. I don't know what was done to him. The doctor ran test after test but nothing was conclusive. Even so, he was sick, so sick we thought we might lose him, for weeks after that night. I almost lost both of my children to the bastards who did this and now you're trying, ONCE AGAIN, to blame my son! Well, young woman, you and everyone else on this God forsaken island can GO TO HELL!" Her words echoed off the cinderblock walls and faded off into a deafening silence. To his credit, Charles regained his composure before any one else in the room. "I think my client has had enough for one day," he said evenly and gathered his papers into his briefcase before getting up to join Mrs. Mulder, who was already standing at the door. Andrea swallowed and a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you for coming down, Mrs. Mulder. If we have any further quesitons, we'll call you. You are free to leave." As they were leaving the interrogation room, Dana leaned over to her partner's mother. "She shoots, she scores! Two Points, Mrs. Mulder," she whispered with a proud smile. In a voice still slightly shaky, the older woman answered. "Thank you, dear. Coming from you, that means a lot." Dana Scully's apartment 9:30 pm Maggie heard the key in the lock and jumped to her feet. She let out a relieved sigh when her daughter stepped wearily in the door. "Hi, baby, how was the flight?" Maggie asked, taking Dana's briefcase so that the young woman could shed her suit jacket and shoes at the door. "Bumpy, as usual," Scully replied, then looked around the living room. "Where's Mulder? I expected him to be waiting on pins and needles," she said with a worried frown. "Asleep. We got back from the office and he went straight to bed. He said he wasn't hungry. Didn't even ask for a pain killer. I don't know exactly what happened in Mr. Skinner's office, but Fox seemed awfully quiet on the ride back here. I figured with the night he had, he probably needed the sleep," Maggie said, but noticed her daughter's concern. "Should I have kept him up?" she asked, a worried look on her face as well. "No, no. It's all right. He's probably just exhausted. The only time he gets any rest is when he's banged up. The ankle's bothering him, I suppose and he's sleeping it off. I'll go in a wake him in a minute." She walked over to the couch and lowered herself into it with a groan. Maggie smiled indulgently and went into the kitchen, coming back with two glasses of iced tea. "Here, you look like you could use this," Maggie said as she handed a glass to Dana and sat down on the couch beside her. "Thanks Mom. You're psychic," Dana said with a return grin. She drank half the glass then put it on the end table and leaned back, letting her head drop back on the back of the couch. "How was Fox' mother? Is she all right?" Maggie asked after Dana had a minute to relax. Dana looked up and over at her mother and made a conscious decision not to correct her partner's name. She straightened in her seat and looked more at ease. "Yeah, she's all right. For now. You know, Mulder thinks his mother is fragile, but she's anything but. That woman is tough as nails. And after all she's been through, Mom . . . well, she gave as good as she got tonight. I was proud of her." She looked her mother straight in the eye. "I almost thought it was Maggie Scully in that interrogation room," she grinned. Maggie let out a breath of air that sounded like p-shaw and grinned back at her daughter. Then she got serious again. "Did you see the remains? Did Mrs. Mulder identify the body?" Without realizing it, Maggie was grimacing. She couldn't imagine a worse experience than identifying your child's body, especially after 23 years. "The remains have been sent down here. They've ID'd them from dental and DNA records. I'll get my chance to see them tomorrow morning. I doubt that there will be much to see, though. The grave was shallow, which means it wasn't that good at protecting the remains. Oh, and one other item was found." Dana chewed on her lip a minute and stared out into space. Maggie reached over and put her hand on her daughter's lap. Dana looked up. "An Eagle Scout pin. From the looks of it, it's probably about 20 to 25 years old. There were initials on the back. FWM" Maggie clenched her eyes shut. "Surely they don't think . . ." "Mom, don't you see what's going on? Someone has gone to a lot of trouble here to make it look like Mulder killed Samantha and then buried her body in that field. But it's a fabrication, an elaborate lie," Dana hissed and stood up to pace the floor in front of her mother. "I'm not convinced it's even Samantha's bones they found in that grave." "Dana, how can you say that?" Maggie demanded. "How could you know something like that?" Scully thought for a long while before she answered. She knew these people and knew full well what they were capable of. How much could she tell her mother before she put her irrevokably in danger? But then, how did Scully know that her mother wasn't already there? Still, she didn't want to take the chance. "I don't know how I know, Mom, I just do. I know Mulder. I heard his mother's account of the night his sister disappeared. He was in traumatic shock. He couldn't have killed his sister. But he probably witnessed what happened." "He's taking this pretty hard, Dana. You'd better keep an eye on him," Maggie warned. She leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the forehead, then pulled her to her feet. "Why don't you head home, Mom. You've got to be beat. I need to wake up Sleeping Beauty in there. We have some work to do tonight." Maggie nodded, gathered her purse and left. Dana walked into the bedroom and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Her partner was sound asleep, he didn't even move when the light came on. She sat down on the bed, careful to avoid hitting his left leg and jostling the cast. It never ceased to amaze her how young he looked when he was sleeping. He'd once accused her of drooling on him, but it was an ironic joke, at best. Mulder slept with his mouth open, as if even in sleep he had theories to expound, ideas to explore, truths to convey to the universe. And, as she knew happened on occasion, screams to release from the most tortured parts of his soul. This time, he appeared different. Oh, the hair was mussed as usual. Some strands standing up at attention, while the hair next to that was lying as if a stylist had just removed the brush and comb. His breathing was steady. She'd seen it ragged enough times in her life. She was grateful that this time, he didn't appear to be sick. It was his face that made her rethink that. His face wasn't relaxed. There were lines near his eyes, around his mouth. His face was held taut and rigid. Almost in pain. She could chalk it up to the ankle. Even if he had spent the better part of the day with it elevated, a broken bone always hurt worse the day after the injury. He hadn't been off it enough right after they had come back from the hosptial. It had swollen, undoubtedly. Broken bones don't forgive. If you don't pay attention to them right from the start, they will let you pay for it the entire long time it takes them to heal properly. She remembered that her mother had said he hadn't taken a pain pill. She'd make him take one before he went back to sleep. He would need it to get through the night. Right now, however, she needed him awake. "Mulder. Hey, come on. Rise and shine. I'm back, I need to talk to you," she said, gently rocking his shoulder so that he wouldn't startle on her. "mmhhmf," he said and rolled so that his face was buried in the pillow. "Mulder, come on. Mom says you went to bed the minute you got back from seeing Skinner. You've slept more in the last 24 hours than you normally do in a week. Come on, I need to talk to you." Her voice was a little louder and she was leaning down close to his ear. " . . . wait till morning?" he pleaded, still muffled by the pillow. "No, it can't wait. We have things we have to do in the morning. You have an 9:30 appointment with Mike Chambers. He's the lawyer I told you about. But I want to talk to you now, Mulder, so shake a leg." She shook his shoulder again. "I'll even make you some eggs. I don't think you've eaten all day, have you?" Groggily, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Not hungry," he replied. Then he gave her a dirty glare that said she wasn't needed to help him out of bed and she beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. She heard the crutches on the hardwood floor as he progressed down the hallway. She'd thrown a package of bagels in the microwave and put cream cheese and strawberry preserves on the table with a glass of milk. He ignored them and went in to sit in the living room. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, thinking once again that men really are pigs and followed him in to stand over him. "You'll get strawberries on the sofa. Come eat in the kitchen," she ordered. "Scully, I'm not hungry, really. Now, sit down and tell me what happened with my Mom." He pointed to the arm chair across from his place on the sofa and then settled back to listen. Scully frowned, but sat down. "The Assistant District Attorney took her statement. Her name's Andrea Caveny. Ring any bells?" Mulder nodded. "Her old man was mayor when I was kid. I went to school with her older sister, Leslie. Math whiz. Can't say I remember much about Andrea except she tended to be a bit of a snoop," he said, laying his head back on the cushions and closing his eyes. "Well, she's probably made it a life's work, then. Anyway, she asked the standard questions, had your mom go over the details of that night." Scully decided not to mention the question that provoked the violent outburst from his mother at the end of the interview. "They were at the Gibson's," Mulder supplied, not bothering to open his eyes. "That's what she said." "What did she say happened when they came back home?" he asked, finally taking the time to sit up and look at her. "I'm sure you've heard it before, Mulder," she said with a wave of her hand. "The electric was off. She went into the living room and tripped over you. You were in shock. You're dad searched the house and couldn't find Samantha. He went over to the Gibson's and called the police." She ticked it off matter of factly, hoping to lessen the impact the memory might have on him. He sat there listening as if it was the first time he'd heard the story. "She tripped over me?" he asked. "She said that. That she tripped over me?" "Yes, Mulder. You were lying on the floor in the living room, with your eyes open, but you didn't respond. Apparently your father tried to shake you to get you to look at them, but you were," Scully stopped and frowned. "Mulder, you've heard all this before, haven't you?" He shook his head slowly. "I wasn't real with it at the time, Scully. I read the file on it when I was assigned to ISU, but Mom and Dad's statements were pretty sketchy. Just said that they'd found me in an hysterical coma and that the lights and phone were out." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "How was she? I mean during the questioning?" "She did great, Mulder. She broke down a little when she talked about finding you. I guess at first she thought you were dead. But she's a tough lady. I don't think you give her enough credit," Scully chided him lightly. "I probably don't," he admitted. "I was down in the living room," he muttered, screwing his face in intense concentration. "Where did you think you were, Mulder?" she asked. He shrugged. "I don't know. I have different dreams. One time, I'm in my bed and Sam's across the hall in hers and there's this light and I can't move. I never see her, I can just hear her calling to me." He stopped and swallowed. "Can I have a glass of water, Scully," he asked apologetically. "Sure, of course, Mulder," she said, jumping to her feet. "Sure you don't want something to eat?" "You're dangerously close to turning into your mother, Scully," he smiled wanly. "Not that it would be a bad thing, mind you," he added with a wink. "No, just water. I'm just thirsty." Once she had given him the water and sat down again, she thought for a moment, then continued where they had left off. "You said you have 'different dreams'. What are the other ones?" "There are a couple that are what I call 'housecleaning dreams'. What ever case we're on, where ever we are, Sam's there and she floats in the air and I try to reach her. Or someone grabs her and I try to stop them, but I'm frozen in place. Stuff Carl Jung would put in textbooks. But the only other dream from the house is like you described. We were in the living room watching TV. We got into a fight over what to watch. The fuse blew and the lights went out. Then the whole house started to shake. There was a bright light coming in all the windows. It blinded me at first. When I could finally see, Sam was levitating. She floated out the picture window in the living room. I tried to get Dad's gun . . ." Scully sat forward on her seat. "Your Dad's gun? Go on, Mulder. What's the rest of the dream?" He took another sip of water and thought for a moment. "I had to climb on one of the extra dining room chairs because Dad kept his gun in an old cigar box on top of the highboy. I got it down and tried to get bullets in it, Dad always kept it unloaded. My hands were shaking so hard, the bullets kept falling on the floor. When I had it loaded, I pointed it at the door. Right then, the door blew open and there was the bright light again. Only this time, there was someone, something, standing in the light. It was tall, thin, with long arms that reached out to me." He stopped and looked over at her. "And that's the part where I wake up in a sweat," he said as casually as he could. "Mulder, that dream fits more with what your mother said they found. Did the file mention the gun? That they found it lying on the floor next to you?" she asked. "I don't think so," he said, frowning in concentration. "No, I don't think I saw that in there. That's weird, isn't it?" "Well, the gun hadn't been fired. Maybe the officer just didn't think it was pertinent, since it was obviously unused," Scully suggested. Mulder shrugged again. "It was the first major crime we'd had in Chilimark. I'm sure things got out of hand, and fairly quick. Like I said before, Chilimark's finest aren't that fine. I know the FBI didn't get involved for a day or two. It wasn't until the Chilimark police decided to label it a kidnapping that they entered into the picture." "Did they question you?" Scully asked quietly. He gave her a sad smile. "You mean after they decided I wasn't ready for a rubber room? Yeah. But it was in late January. I didn't get out of the hospital until Christmas Eve and the doctors wouldn't let anybody near me for a month after that. I missed almost two whole months of school." His face broke into a grin. "Took me three nights to catch up on all the homework," he added. She refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him see her grin back. She hid her smile behind her hand. But there were more serious matters to discuss. "So what did Skinner want?" she asked. The laughter faded from his eyes. "Not much. I'm suspended," he said flatly. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Mulder . . ." "Yeah, I know, it's to be expected. But Scully, that doesn't make it any easier to get used to, you know," he said through clenched teeth. "Oh, and I met the asshole in charge from the Boston Regional office." "Did that go well?" she asked, hoping that it did. More than anything, the agent in charge of this investigation would need to be an ally. Scully didn't know anyone at the Boston office and had no idea who had been assigned to the case. Mulder never answered her question, which meant the answer was no, it probably didn't go well. He got very quiet and she watched as he struggled with his thoughts. "Scully. Do me a big favor? Tomorrow, when you do the autopsy, would you look real hard for any evidence of sexual assault." He saw her start to raise an objection and he put up his hand to stop her. "I know it's hard on a body that's mostly bones, but . . . I just really need to know." She could tell there was more to this request than appeared on the surface, but she also knew he wasn't going to tell her the rest. She'd have to find out for herself. "Sure, Mulder. I'll see what I can find." That line of questioning was at an end, so she decided to change to another. "Well, Mulder, I want to look at your medical records from back then. I think you can build a solid defense on the fact that you were obviously suffering a deep trauma after seeing your sister abducted." He stood up and using just one crutch, he walked over to the windows looking out the front of the apartment. "Unless the trauma was killing my sister," he said so softly that she almost didn't hear the words. When she realized what he was saying, her blood chilled in her veins. "Mulder, what are you talking about?" she demanded. He refused to turn and look at her. Instead, he stared out the window, rubbing his arms up and down as if in an effort to warm them. "There's another dream, Scully." He didn't say anything for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts. Trying to decide if he should make this confession, even to his most trusted friend. "What other dream, Mulder? What are you talking about?" she prodded. "I started having it after I started profiling. I'm out in a field. I don't recognize the place, it's like those movie sets in cheesy sci fi movies that are all fake mountains and volcanoes and stars above and a couple of moons for good measure. And I'm standing over her. Samantha. She's lying on her back. Her eyes are open, Scully, but I know she's dead. I scream at her, tell her to get up, that she can't die, I don't want her to die. And I start to get mad at her, because she isn't listening to me. I bunch my hand up in a fist and I'm gonna hit her to get her to listen. And then I notice what I have in my hand. My old knife. My Scout knife. There's blood on it." As the last words left his mouth, he started to shake so violently she was afraid he would fall. Scully ran to his side and helped him back on the sofa. He wasn't crying, but he wouldn't stop shaking. She took hold of his arms and tried to get his attention. "Mulder. Mulder, listen to me! That sounds just like those other dreams. The housecleaning dreams. You put yourself in the minds of killers back then, Mulder. One of them just got mixed up in one of your dreams. It doesn't mean anything, do you hear me, Mulder. Nothing. It doesn't mean you killed your sister," she said firmly, hoping at some point that he would look at her and calm down. Finally he stopped shaking. He closed his eyes and leaned back. "I'm so tired," he whispered. "So tired." Before she could get him off the couch and to bed, he had fallen asleep in a sitting position. August 17, 1996 8:00 am The phone started ringing as she stepped out of the shower. For a second, she thought maybe Mulder would pick it up. He was still sleeping on the couch, where he had fallen, exhausted, the night before. She still wasn't sure what had happened. She didn't think it qualified as convulsions, the actions looked more like severe tremors or the chills. He had been aware enough to tell her that he was tired. But the speed in which he had gone from tremors to sleep had frightened her. At first, she thought he might have lost consciousness. She pinched his earlobe, just to see what would happen and he batted her hand away, but had not opened his eyes or changed the rhythm of his breathing. It wasn't that long afterward that she noticed as he slipped into a REM sleep cycle, something even Mulder would have trouble faking. His pulse was strong, his heart was steady, his breathing was even. She chuckled to herself when she considered how many times when he had kept her up all night with his crazy theories, that she had wished to have him just fall asleep and leave her alone for a few hours. Now he was doing that and she just wanted him awake enough to talk to her. The phone was still ringing as she grabbed her robe and tied it around her waist. Mulder was still sawing logs on the sofa. And drooling on her good chintz pillows, she noticed. She reached for the phone and made as much noise as possible answering it. He was oblivious to her actions. "Scully." "Agent Scully, this is Assistant Director Skinner. Is Agent Mulder there with you?" "Yes, sir. He's asleep in my sofa. Do you need to speak with him?" she asked, almost hoping for an excuse to dump some cold water on her slumbering partner. "No, he probably needs the sleep," Skinner said. "Actually, I'm calling more for your benefit. I got word that the Detective from Chilimark will be coming to take Agent Mulder into custody in about an hour. I know you were counting on being at the autopsy, but I thought it best to put a rush on this and you were still in Chilimark. There were a number of scorings across the ribcage. COD is down as stabbing." Skinner took a deep breath before he continued. He didn't notice Scully was holding her breath, too. "And Scully. The team I sent out from Boston found something else. A metal detector picked it up. It was a knife." Scully closed her eyes and almost dropped to her knees. "A Boy Scout knife," she whispered. "Yes, that's right," the AD said with some surprise. "It has Agent Mulder's initals _and_ his prints on it. And a good amount of dried blood." "Samantha's blood," Scully said in a shaky voice. "Yes, it was a positive match. The knife was found only 4 feet from the grave. I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I hope you were able to contact that lawyer you mentioned yesterday." "We have an appointment this morning. I'll call him right now, maybe he can get over here before Marker does," Scully said with a sigh. "Thanks for the warning, sir," she added. "You know I won't be able to do much more than this, don't you Scully?" he said quietly. "Yes sir. I understand." She hung up the phone and looked over at Mulder. The optimism of her morning was quickly being shot to hell. "Mulder, wake up. We've got company coming and you look like something the cat hacked up," she said, giving his hair a tug as she dialed the number of the defense attorney. While she waited for the other party to pick up she looked at him. "Det. Marker is coming to take you into custody." "I heard you talking to Skinner. They found my knife," he said flatly. She didn't have a chance to say anything else, because someone picked up the line. "Hello, may I speak to Michael Chambers?" In a few short sentences, she relayed what had happened and Chambers had promised to be there within the half hour. By the time she was off the phone, Mulder was making his way to the bathroom. "Do I have any clothes left over here?" he asked meekly as he glanced down at his rumbled sweatclothes that he had slept in for the night. "Not pants, but I think you have a clean shirt that got mixed up with my stuff when your luggage got trashed a while back," she called from her bedroom. "It's hanging in the closet. You weren't in your suit long enough yesterday to get it _too_ wrinkled, were you?" He smirked ruefully at the memory of his little altercation with Agent Crowley the day before. "Nah, and besides, you don't need good clothes to go to a hanging," he remarked grimly and went about trying to shower with a cast on his foot. She got dressed and went to fix breakfast. The bagels were still in the refrigerator, but she wanted him to eat something a little more substantial. She grabbed a couple of eggs, some shredded cheese and a little milk and whipped up an omlet. Some toast and coffee went on the plate and she placed it all on the kitchen table by the time he made into the room. "Eat. And that is _not_ a request," she said with a stern glare. He sighed heavily and sat down on the kitchen chair. "An egg, Scully? What happened to 'your cholesterol count must be equal to the national debt, Mulder'?" he said sarcastically, pushing the egg around on his plate. She pulled a chair out and sat across from him. "OK, that's it. I have no evidence that you have eaten anything since lunch two days ago. I know you, Mulder. You are avoiding food. But you can't do that and expect to remain conscious for very long. Now choke down that egg or . . ." "Don't threaten me, Scully," he growled and stood up, pushing the chair back so hard that it skidded across the floor, banging against the cabinets. He glared at the chair, then at her and hobbled into the living room with one crutch. She sat there for a moment, trying to figure out how to reason with him, but a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She ran a hand through her hair and got up to get the door. "Ms. Scully? I'm Mike Chambers," said the older man standing in her doorway. Scully blinked a couple of times. Except for the hair color, which was more gray than dark brown, and the steel wire rimmed glasses, the man before her was spitting image of Mulder's friend, Frohike. She realized she was staring and fumbled to cover. "Ah, Mr. Chambers. Yes. Thank you for coming on such short notice," she stammered and ushered the man into the room. He made a bee line for Mulder. "Mr. Mulder. A pleasure to meet you," he said sincerely, taking Mulder's hand into firm shake. "I'm familiar with your work in the Behavioral Sciences Unit. Exemplary." He was grinning from ear to ear and looked like a happy elf about to grant Mulder's every wish. Mulder was not impressed. "Did I come too close to any of your other clients, Mr. Chambers," Mulder groused, releasing the man's hand rather abruptly. It did nothing to deter the older man's enthusiasm. "No, no, can't say I've had the joy of trying to undo your handiwork. Not yet, at least," Mr. Chambers added with a wry grin. "I've talked to a few collegues who would love to be on your jury, however." The smile just would not leave the man's face. "I'll just bet they would," Mulder retorted with a scowl. Mr. Chambers sat down on the arm chair across from Mulder and opened his brief case. "Now, let's see. I took the liberty of digging around a little yesterday. This kidnapping case is from November 27, 1973, is it not?" he asked. Mulder nodded. "And you were how old at that time?" Chambers had taken out a small tape recorder and set it on the edge of the sofa, so that it would pick up Mulder's voice. "Oh, I'm recording this, of course." "Of course," Mulder said dryly. "I was 12 the night it happened." "Good, good. Now, Mr. Mulder. Tell me everything you can directly remember from that night," Chambers said calmly. Mulder sat still as stone. Almost imperceptively, he started chewing on his upper lip. Dana had come in from the kitchen and sat next to him on the sofa. She noticed his hands starting to tremble. "Mulder?" she whispered. He sat there. He said nothing. "You don't remember anything of that night, do you Mr. Mulder?" Chambers said gently. "It's OK. I'm on your side. You can tell me." "I don't. I can't remember any of it," Mulder said in a voice so low that it was difficult for Scully to make out the words and she was right next to him. "I understand you've tried hypnoregression," Chambers said. Mulder shot Scully a fierce look but she shook her head in the negative. Chambers broke the silence. "Mr. Mulder, I have sources beyond your partner. And I don't believe I've violated your privacy by contacting them in this matter. I've no idea what you learned in those sessions, but I do know that you did go through the therapy. Didn't you?" "Yes," he answered relunctantly. "Did you learn anything?" Chambers asked. "It was muddled. Nothing was clear," Mulder said tersely. "Mr. Mulder. I have to ask this. After I do, the matter will be settled as far as I'm concerned. Did you kill your sister on Nov. 27, 1973 and bury her body in Hobbs Park in Chilimark, Massachusetts?" A loud knock on the door obliterated the sound of Mulder's whispered answer. Steve Marker looked very uncomfortable standing in the hallway of Scully's apartment building. He had been getting bad feelings about this case from the minute he'd been put on it. This case was just too pat, all the pieces were coming together to form a nice, neat, little . . . frame. Marker might be on a little poedunk police force, but he had all the instincts to take him farther. As far as he was concerned, this case stunk to high heaven. "Good morning, Agent Scully," he said when the door opened. "I'm sorry for the intrusion at this hour." He stood just inside the door after Scully had opened it to allow him in. "I won't take up too much of your time. Is Agent Mulder here?" It was a formality, he could see the back of Mulder's head from where he was standing. But there was another man in the room and Steve wanted to make it clear he wanted to know who the guy was. "Yes, he's in the living room. Go right in," Scully. Mike Chambers stood up when the young detective entered. "Hello, Detective Marker. My name is Mike Chambers. I'm representing Agent Mulder." Mulder didn't miss the fact that he had been 'Mr.' just moments before and was now 'Agent' when in the presense of the detective. Steve took Chambers outstretched hand. "Mr. Chambers. I take you will be meeting us in Chilimark?" Steve asked. He wanted it clear from the outset that he wasn't running a bus service. The lawyer had to find his own way, he was here to escort Mulder and no one else. "Yes, I'll be flying up this afternoon. Of course, I'm recommending to Agent Mulder that he refrain from discussing the case while you and he are in the car. Wouldn't want to miss out on any of the good stuff," Mike said affably. "Of course not," Steve said flatly. "Agent Mulder, I hope you'll agree to come along willingly. I'm sorry about the cuffs the other night, but I had no idea what to expect. You can understand, can't you?" The young man was almost pleading. Mulder looked him over. He was tall, almost Mulder's height. On the slim side. Looked like he had spent his share of time on the beach during the summer. Suddenly, the way Marker held his head clicked a mental image in Mulder's mind. "You're Gary's little brother," he said at last, a note of surprise in his voice. Marker blushed. "Yeah, I am. I didn't think you'd remember. I was in grade school when you left for Oxford." Mulder smiled. "I remember Gary coming to school and saying his parents kept talking about getting a surprise, but he'd found out that it was just a baby brother." Steve supressed a chuckle. "Yeah, that's like him. He's an architect in Las Vegas now." "Wow. Someone who managed to get a real job," Mulder said derisively. Scully pulled him aside. "Remember what Mike said, Mulder. This is not the time to have a class reunion. Don't say anything unless Mike or I are in the room, got that?" "Don't worry, Scully. The minute we're in the car, I'm planning on falling asleep," he said with a wicked grin, and followed Steve out the door. Scully noticed that the crutches weren't slowing him down a bit. Scully walked them to the main entrance and watched as Mulder got in the detective's car. When they were out of sight, she went back into her apartment. "Agent Scully, I hope you're able to get a few days off. I think I might need your assistance in Massachusetts," Chambers said when she came into the living room. Secretly, she had planned on being there whether she was wanted to not. But the expression on the lawyer's face caused her concern. "That's not a problem. What is it, what's the matter?" Mike turned on the little tape recorder. He played the question he had posed to Mulder--had he killed his sister. There on the tape was the whispered answer no one had heard earlier. With the volume up, it echoed off the walls of the now sunny apartment. "I just don't know." FBI Headquarters 9:30 am "Agent Scully, thank you for coming in. I'm Agent Crowley from the Boston Regional Office and this is Agent Collins. He performed the autopsy last night." Crowley offered Scully a seat at the conference table and she took it and sat down. "I thought I made it clear that I wanted to perform the autopsy on the remains," Scully said in an even tone. She was trying her best to avoid ripping the arms off this particular fly and beating him about the head with them. "Yes, well, AD Skinner mentioned that you were interested, but we wanted to get right on this. Since it is a Bureau matter, and there is an Agent involved directly in the case, we thought we should proceed as quickly as possible. Now, I understand that you've had a chance to review the body." He smiled, but only his teeth showed any encouragement. "Yes. I have," Scully answered tersely. "Did you find anything that might cause you to disagree with our initial findings?" Crowley asked. Scully shot a look over to Collins and wondered again if clones might be a reality. Or maybe just androids. "No, I did not. However, there are a number of lab tests that I would like to see performed on the samples that were taken . . ." "And I'm sure each and everyone of them will be performed in good time, Agent Scully. But as it currently stands, we have in our possession the remains of Samanth Mulder. And we have the murder weapon and physical evidence linking your former partner . . ." "My _current_ partner," Scully interrupted sharply. "My mistake, I apologize. You current partner is linked directly to this murder. Now, I fail to see what these test you wish to perform are likely to tell us." "For one thing, it will positively identify Samantha's remains," Scully said tersely. "The DNA match was exact, Agent Scully. Those bones belong to Samantha Mulder," Crowley said with a slightly bemused tone. "Then we don't know exactly _when_ she was killed," Scully said in a deadly calm voice. "She disappeared in Nov. of 1973. I think it's a safe bet she was killed at that time," Crowley said, no longer bothering to hide is amusement. "But we don't know that, do we Agent Crowley?" Scully seethed. Crowley leaned forward in his seat and stared Scully down. "I don't know what you're trying to pull here, Scully, but I think I have a pretty good idea of where this is going. I wouldn't worry if I were you, though. I hear they allow even Death Row inmates conjugal visits now in many states." "You son of a bitch!" Scully yelled and was halfway across the table when the Assistant Director walked into the conference room. "Agent Scully! What is the meaning of this?" Skinner demanded and Scully had the presense of mind to pick herself up off the table and straighten her jacket. "Sir. It was . . . a misunderstanding, sir," she said, and shot Crowley a look that would have turned sand to glass. "Agent Scully, I want to see you in my office. Now," Skinner ordered and didn't bother to see if she followed him out of the room and into his office. "What just happened in there?" Skinner asked, once the door was closed. Scully was still seething, but took a second to calm down. "Agent Crowley made an allegation that I found inappropriate, sir." "And that allegation concerned what, Agent Scully?" Skinner hated the way Scully could beat around a bush and still end up smelling like a rose. "The allegation concerned my relationship with Agent Mulder, sir. Agent Crowley was under a commonly held mistaken assumption and I was merely attempting to stop an unfounded rumor." "I think you can accomplish that without bloodshed in the future, don't you, Scully," Skinner said. It took Scully a minute to see the twinkle that played in his eye. "I think you have a point, sir. I will endeavor to be more controlled in my persuasive techniques in the future." She, too, could hold back a smile when she needed to. "Now, about this request to have this case reassigned. I understand your concern, Agent Scully. But I cannot assign you to this case. It is being handled by the Boston office," AD Skinner intoned to her. He was standing in his shirtsleeves, even though it was only early morning. He had that look which spoke to hours at his desk. "But sir. This case _is_ an X File. And as such, we, or rather, I have jurisdiction," she said evenly. "Agent Scully, you are not the head of that division," Skinner reasoned. "No, sir, I am not. But, as in the past, in Agent Mulder's absense I have worked on cases by myself," Scully countered. "Scully, be reasonable. That was when Agent Mulder was hospitalized during an investigation. An ongoing investigation. Not one that has been gathering dust for 23 years," Skinner cried, pacing the space between his desk and the window behind it. "Sir. Please. We both know what is occuring here. If I don't have the your blessing when I go up to Chilimark and start asking questions, they will hand me a one way ticket back. And Mulder will be behind bars before either of us can make a move to prevent it." She took a deep breath. "Sir. I know you think I'm too close to this. But please, no one else knows the details like I do. I need to be on this case, sir. Mulder's very life may depend on it." She hated using the emotional approach, but she was running out of options. Skinner turned to stare at her. "How is Agent Mulder holding up?" he asked, the concern showing through his usually gruff exterior. "I'll be honest with you, sir, not that well. He's not eating and he seems to sleep all the time," she said slowly. This particular card might just turn against her, it was a risk to play it. "Sounds like depression," Skinner commented. "Actually, it sounds exactly like the symptoms he displayed when he woke up in the hospital following Samantha's disappearance. I'm afraid this whole incident has triggered something in his psyche that's causing him to withdraw, however incrementally. I want to avoid that at all costs." "As well as a conviction, I might add," Skinner said grimly. "That goes without saying, sir," Scully nodded. Skinner picked up the file folder from his desk and glared at it. Samantha Mulder's smiling face stared back from the picture paperclipped to the folder. The AD sighed and shook his head. "You have three days, Scully. I think I can hold off the troops for that long. Expose this for the farce it is and get Mulder back here ASAP." He looked at her over the folder. "It's the best I can offer." "I hope it will be enough, sir," she said sincerely, and left the room as quickly as she had come in. Cracker Barrel Restaurant Sayerville, New Jersey August 17, 1996 12:05 pm Steve Marker pulled the unmarked squad car into the restaurant parking lot. "Agent Mulder?" he asked, shaking Mulder's arm. "Agent Mulder, come on. Time to eat." Slowly, Mulder came out of his sleep induced fog and coughed a little. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and grimaced at the bright sunlight. "Where are we?" he asked hoarsely. "Just before the I 287 interchange. Thought we'd eat here before heading through New York. Besides, this is the last Cracker Barrel we'll hit." Steve gave him an impish grin. "Oh, gee, wouldn't want to miss that," Mulder said dryly. He glanced at his watch. "We didn't make bad time," he noted. "Yeah, well, the conversation in the car certainly didn't slow me down any," Steve retorted. If anything, the silence in the car, broken only occasionally by Mulder's snores, had almost put the young detective to sleep a couple of times. In desparation he had finally turned on the AM only radio and listened to garden reports for the rest of the trip. "Hey, my lawyer said not to talk to you, so I'm not talking to you," Mulder grinned. Slowly, he unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the door. As he stood, a wave of dizziness hit him hard and almost dropped him to his knees. His arms flailed and he grabbed the car door for support. Steve was out of his door in a flash. "Jesus, Fox! Are you OK?" he asked anxiously. He helped Mulder sit back down on the car seat and looked him over closely. Mulder waved him off. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just hotter than I expected," he lied. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and then stood up again, much slower this time. The parking lot swam and shimmered a little, but he remained on his own feet. Steve had reached into the back seat of the car and extracted the crutches, which he placed under Mulder's arms. Mulder shot him a grateful look and the two men headed off to the restaurant. The smell of food did nothing for Mulder's stomach. It twisted and turned and threatened to jump right out of his mouth. Still, he recognized the dizziness for what it was--he was running on empty in his blood sugar fuel tanks. Scully would skin him alive if he passed out on the kid and ended up in a New Jersey hosptial. For that matter, he would rather crawl to the Vineyard than face that himself. So, regardless of how it smelled, he was going to have to get something in his stomach. It was a large restaurant and since it was a weekday, fairly uncrowded. They were seated rather quickly by a matronly woman who looked to be in her late fifties. She took one look at Mulder and started to cluck. "You ain't feeling that great, are you, hon?" she crooned. "Here, let me get you some hot tea. Settle that stomach right up." In an instant, she was back with a cup of hot tea and lemon. Mulder smiled at her, and nodded. She left to let them look at the menus and get Steve's diet coke and Mulder took the opportunity to fish all the ice cubes out of his water glass and dump them in the tea cup. Then he added three packets of sugar and drank it all in one gulp. Steve watched in silence, shrugged and looked at his menu. However odd his captive's actions might seem, they didn't appear to be illegal. "So, you still like meatloaf?" Steve asked. Mulder had been staring at the menu, hoping he could find something, anything that his stomach would accept and was taken by surprise by the question. "Yeah, I guess so. How'd you know?" "You stayed over for dinner a couple of times when you and Gary were in Scouts. I remember you raved over Mom's meatloaf so much the first time that she made a point of making it for you everytime you came over." Steve looked at Mulder over the menu. "It's about the only time she'd make it on a weeknight," he added with a grin. Mulder nodded, placing the memory. "Your Mom was a great cook. How are they--your folks?" Mulder asked, grateful that he didn't have to read any more food descriptions for a moment. "Fine, fine. They moved out to Las Vegas. Gary's married and has a couple of kids, so they get to play the doting grandparents and miss out on the lousy weather. Perfect retirement." Steve ran his tongue around his mouth and then set the menu down on the table. "Fox, ah, about this case . . ." Mulder put up his hand to stop him. "Steve. That's not a good idea. I don't want to get in trouble with my lawyer and my partner and I don't want to get you in trouble if I end up having to accuse you of entrapment or coercing a confession. Let's not talk about it. OK?" Steve swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. I guess you're right," he admitted, chastened. "It's just that . . ." Mulder grinned at him and shook his head. "You always were a pesky little brat, you know that?" he teased. "Steve, it's bad form. Really. How are you going to end up Chief of the Chilimark Police if you don't learn this stuff early?" "I don't want to be Chief," Steve said, staring down at the table with a frown on his face. "I want, . . . or at least I thought I wanted . . ." "What?" Mulder asked, wondering why the kid was suddenly feeling so self-conscious. "I thought I wanted to go into the FBI. I mean, I've got two years of community college. I'm working on getting my BA in psychology from Boston University. But now . . ." Mulder looked shocked. "Steve, I had no idea," he stated. He regarded the young man closer. "What makes you think you don't want that now?" Steve took a deep breath and looked at his prisoner hard in the eyes. He knew, in the depths of his soul, that before him sat an innocent man. And he also knew that the evidence was being stacked against him. It hadn't taken Steve very long to figure out what was happening. All he really needed to figure out now was the why and the who. But Mulder was sitting there, expecting an answer that Steve didn't think he could give him right away. "Let's just say I'm not that impressed with police work at the moment and drop it, huh?" Steve answered and went back to reading his menu. Mulder nodded and did the same. Martha's Vineyard Airport 1:15 pm Mrs. Mulder waved to Scully as she walked into the airport. "Over here, Dana," she called. Scully adjusted the suitbag on her shoulder and the briefcase and overnight bag in her hands and quickly walked over to the older woman. "Mrs. Mulder, you didn't have to meet me. I was going to rent a car," Dana insisted. "Nonsense. Bill's car was in the garage anyway. No one else is using it. One of these days Fox has got to take some time and get rid of some of Bill's junk. I refuse to do it, I'll probably sell or give away something Fox values," she said ruefully and led Scully out into the glaring sunlight of the parking lot. Once in the car, with the air conditioning going full blast, Mrs. Mulder reached into her purse and handed Dana a key ring with two keys. "Here. I'm going to drive us over to Bill's house. I'm staying there until this thing is settled. My car is there. You can take this one and do as you please. And I insist that you stay at Bill's with me. The place is a mausoleum at night, I'd feel much better knowing someone else was around," she lied blatantly, giving Scully no choice but to agree. As they pulled in front of Bill Mulder's home in West Tisbury, Scully couldn't help but feel a chill run down her back. It was in this house that Bill Mulder was murdered while he was trying to tell his only son about the truth behind his sister's abduction. Scully didn't like the idea of staying there, but liked the idea of letting Mrs. Mulder stay there by herself even less. The place is not haunted, she reminded herself, but not all spooks disappear in thin air. With a shake of her head, she took her bags out of the trunk and followed Mrs. Mulder up the mutitude of steps. The house itself was beautiful. A full wraparound porch hugged the main living area. Several doors led out to the porch from different rooms. The sunlight poured through from dozens of open windows. "Bill was lucky, he got a house that catches the breeze. The ocean is over that way," Mrs. Mulder said, pointing at one set of windows toward the back of the house. "He never needed to install A/C. Of course, in the winter, it's deadly cold here," she added almost spitefully. She motioned for Scully to follow her into the area off to the left from the front foyer. >From a narrow hallway, four doors, two on either side, opened into three bedrooms and a common bath. "Here, Dana. You can sleep here. This was Fox' room, when he'd stay with his father. I'm in the guest room, just next door. The bath is across the hall, towels in the pantry next to the shower. Please, make yourself at home." She smiled and left Dana alone to put away her things. The room was sparcely furnished. There was only single bed, a desk and a bureau. When she was settled, she sat down at the desk and unpacked her laptop. Oddly enough, everything looked cleaned and dusted in the room and Dana realized that Mrs. Mulder must have spent the morning making the place liveable. She got up from the desk chair and looked around. There was a bookcase near the bed, five shelves filled with textbooks. Mostly psychology books, some history. She didn't see any evidence of 'UFO' or paranormal texts and realized he probably kept those at his mother's house. She wondered what it had been like for him, if he had hidden his interests in the abnormal from his father as he grew up. From the little she had seen so far, it didn't look like his relationship with his father had been very open even before Samantha was gone from their lives. On the second shelf of the bookcase, near the end, tucked neatly between a treatise by Carl Jung and one by B. F. Skinner, she found a photo album. Taking a moment to make sure Mrs. Mulder was occupied somewhere else in the house, she sat down on the bed and opened the album. She stifled a giggle at the pictures. Color pictures of her partner at a much younger age. His hair was lighter, sun bleached in some of the oldest photos. Riding a shiny new two wheel bicycle as autumn leaves shone in the background. He must have been six or seven at the time. His father, looking on proudly, Fox a little wary as his concentration focused on keeping himself upright and moving forward. Wary, but never thwarted. Always determined to succeed. In the later pages, Sam became a prominent feature in the photos. From the odd angles and poor exposure on some, Scully determined that her partner had been the photographer. As she turned the pages, the pictures weren't so haphazard and she could see that he had probably taken time to frame them and set shutter speeds. But always, Sam was there. She wondered for a moment if her own older brother had pictures of her that had been taken with such care, such love. It broke her heart to think that after all this time he was doubting himself. Something was wrong here. Something was happening in him that blinded him to the conspiracy around him. She almost laughed at the thought that _she_ could see the set up, and he couldn't. But it wasn't funny. It was frightening. Because if he didn't believe fully in his own innocence, how could she expect to prove it to anyone else? "You didn't kill your sister, Mulder," she said aloud, softly speaking to the little boy in the picture. "And I guess I'll just have to prove that to you." A thought struck her. She searched the bookshelf once more and was thrilled when she found what she was looking for. An old yearbook. A book of names--connections with people on the island. She grabbed it and ran into the other part of the house, looking for Mrs. Mulder, and a phonebook. Chilimark Police Station 5:30 pm Mike Chambers wasn't smiling when he walked in the door of the police station. He looked around and spotted the young woman he was seeking and made his way over to her. "They get here yet?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries. Even he knew the value of billable hours. "No, but Marker called in about an hour ago and said they should be arriving around 5:30. So I expect them any minute," Scully said, offering Mike a seat next to her on the wooden bench outside the main squad room. "Did you come up with anything?" Scully had called Mike immediately upon the discovery of the yearbook and the two had agreed to split up the list of names she quickly compiled with Mrs. Mulder. She and Mike had spend the rest of the afternoon talking to people still on the island who knew the Mulders, who might remember the night of the abduction and who could possible spread some more light on the whole matter. "Fox' teachers alternately loved and hated him, depending on how badly he bruised their own egos. His second grade teacher had wanted to adopt him after Sam disappeared, she said he just looked so lost all the time. Then his seventh grade teacher informed me in no uncertain terms that he knew the kid killed his sister by the way he could correctly identify all the parts of the frog's digestive tract _before_ they had covered that section in science class." Mike shook his head. "I hate dealing with cases this old. No one has a clear picture of anything. Time erases and changes too much. And the fact that he was not exactly the normal kid in any class only makes matters worse. Smart kids may be teachers pets, but everyone secretly wants them to fall on their asses. It's easy to pin something like a murder on them because they're suspect in the first place." Scully shook her head in agreement. "And a good number of serial killers have high IQ's, which has been widely publicized in the press. That doesn't help Mulder, either," she reasoned. "But the neighbors all loved him. Apparently, he was the most helpful boy in the subdivision. He was always raking leaves for older folks and shoveling snow. He and Sam had a regular little snow shoveling business for a couple of season. And they seldom charged for their services. Said they just liked playing in the snow." She smiled sadly. Snap out of it, Starbuck, she commanded herself. She didn't want to have to go back to Skinner and admit that the case was just too much for her because it hurt too much. Mulder needed her help, she could offer tea and sympathy later. "I did get something rather odd," Mike said, breaking her out of her private musings. "The people that lived on the other side of the Mulders, not the Gibsons. Farrells. Yeah, here it is," he said, flipping legal pages and finding what he was looking for. "Tom and Clara Farrell. Tom's gone, cancer, ten years ago, but Clara is still living, though she moved from the old house. Anyway, she claims she saw something that night, but that no one would take her seriously." "What did she see?" Scully asked, curiousity brightening her previous dark mood. "Said she saw lights. Bright lights. She reported it to the police when they came by to question her about Sam's disappearance, but they told her it was just lightning. From all accounts, it was a stormy night that night." "Windy," Scully corrected absently. Lights, just like Mulder had said. And no one had recorded that Mrs. Farrell had reported them. She felt like she'd just found the church steeple in a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle. "Well, on a windy night, you can still have some sheet lightning," Mike commented, wondering why the young agent now had a faraway look on her face. "Agent Scully? Are you feeling all right?" She looked at him, startled. Then she gave him a big smile. "Great, Mike. Just great. And please, call me Dana. Now, what is Mrs. Farrell's address. I want to talk to her a little more." Steve Marker pulled up to the parking spot for his car and killed the engine. He looked over at his prisoner and winced. The guy looked like hell. Worse than hell. When they stopped for lunch, everything seemed to be fine. There was that episode in the parking lot, but after that, Mulder had been conversant at lunch and had eaten a small, but respectable portion of the daily special, a reuben sandwich with chips and cole slaw. Marker noticed that Mulder didn't touch the cole slaw, but he didn't eat his either, so he didn't make a big deal of it. As they were leaving the restaurant, Mulder asked to go to the restroom. Marker stood outside in the hallway, figuring there was little chance of the agent escaping from a windowless room. Mulder had been in for several minutes, and just as Steve started to get worried, he reappeared, with the collar of his shirt slightly damp and looking pale. He wasn't as steady on his crutches on the way back to the car, so Steve helped him across the parking lot. As soon as they were on the way, Mulder had pushed the seat back as far as it could go and had fallen fast asleep. Now that they were in Chilimark, Steve was feeling even more uneasy. He knew the arraignment was scheduled for the morning. Since bail would be set at that time, it meant that Mulder would be sleeping in the jail. He was in no danger, Steve knew that. Dangerous criminals were seldom held in the small city jail. For the most part, Steve figured Mulder would be the only occupant of the facility. And Steve was certain that Mulder would be able to make bail in the morning. It was common knowledge that the Mulders were well off, and since Fox was the sole heir to his father's estate, it would be no problem to come up with the cash to get out of jail until the trial. Even so, Steve worried about Mulder spending the night at the city's expense. Mulder was a cop. A Federal cop, but a cop none the less. And from their short conversation at lunch, he was one who took his job very seriously. Steve wondered how he would feel if suddenly he ended up on the wrong side of the steel bars. The thought made him shiver, even in the late afternoon heat. This whole situation must have been a waking nightmare for the FBI agent, and Steve couldn't help but feel sympathetic. "Come on, Fox. We're here. Let's get you processed. You can have some dinner and then sleep the rest of the night away, if you want." Mulder woke up slowly and stared around him for a minute or two. Finally, it seemed to come to him that he was in a car and needed to get out of it. He opened the car door and swung his feet around, but as he stood up, his knees buckled and he crumpled to the pavement. Steve shook his head and ran around the car. He helped the agent to his feet and then got the crutches out, but didn't bother giving them to Mulder. He just hooked the older man's arm around his shoulder and helped Mulder to the door of the police station. Scully and Mike Chambers were waiting just inside the door. One look at Mulder and Scully was on her feet, running over to him and taking his other arm to help him to a bench in the squad room. Mulder didn't seem to know her at first, but then smiled weakly at her. "Scully, you made good time," he murmured, somewhat breathless. He was almost sheet white, his eyes were glassy and dialated. She put her hand to his forehead and it was cold, a greasy slick of sweat covering it and dampening his forehead. "Has he eaten anything today?" she demanded of Steve, who was standing nearby, not really knowing what he should do. "We stopped for lunch. He had a reuben and chips. And three glasses of iced tea," he added. "He kept it down?" she asked, checking Mulder's pulse. It was rapid and faint. Steve was surprised by her question. "Yeah, I guess he did," he said, not too sure of his answer. Then he thought back to the little time before they left the restaurant. "Unless he got sick in the bathroom," he muttered, almost to himself. "Was his collar or hair wet when he came back out?" she asked, not taking her eyes off her partner, who had thrown his head back against the wall as if keeping it forward was too taxing. "Yeah, it was," Steve nodded, remembering. "What does that prove?" "That he vomited and had to rinse his mouth out," she said tersely. "Damn you, Mulder, when are you gonna cut this shit out," she seethed under her breath. She looked up at Steve. "Look, he's sick. He hasn't eaten, or kept anything down for three days now. He's passing out from hypoglycemia, low blood sugar. And something tells me you don't have an infirmary here." "He got dizzy in the parking lot at the restaurant and he fell getting out of the car just now," Steve interjected. "Yeah, and he just lost consciousness," she retorted. "We need to get him on an IV. He should probably be in a hospital, not that he'll like that much," she said with an exasperated puff of breath. "How do we know this isn't just his way of staying out of a jail cell?" a voice inquired from the far end of the squad room. Scully looked up, fierce and ready for battle. A tall man, very well dressed, with a receding head of blond hair, walked around the various desks and came over to the bench. Steve swallowed, then addressed him. "Rick, I don't think he's faking. He slept all the way here. And he was really dizzy in the parking lot. He can't stand up. I don't think you can fake unconsciousness," he added, but his voice had grown smaller as the other man's stare became more intense. "He faked four weeks of it about 20 years ago. You don't know the Fox Mulder I know, kid. This guy should have gotten an Oscar or an Emmy by now. Best Dramatic Performance by a Lunatic," Rick said in a deadly calm voice. He turned to Scully and favored her with a leacherous stare. "I'm Lt. Rick Price, CPD. I'm heading up this investigation. And you would be . . .?" Scully didn't bother standing, just glared hard at Price. "Special Agent Dana Scully, MD. I'm with the Washington Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." She made a point to enunciate each and every word of her title, just so there could be no mistake of exactly who she was. If Rick was impressed, he did a good job of covering it. "I thought this was being handled by the Boston office," was his only comment. He turned to Mike and raised an eyebrow. "Mike Chambers. I'm Agent Mulder's attorney. And I believe that you are under state and federal statute to see that this man receives immediate medical attention. Now, if a licensed physician, like Dr. Scully here, thinks my client is in need of the medical facilities only available at a hosptial, I firmly suggest that you contact the nearest hospital and make arrangements for his transfer as soon as humanly possible. Unless this county enjoys civil rights lawsuits, that is," Mike said evenly. Scully almost laughed out loud. Gone was the friendly gnome of the morning. The man sitting next to her now was more like the evil troll that ate the Billy Goats Gruff. And she was loving every minute. For a second, Rick looked like he was going to bring the conversation to a standoff. But Steve was faster. He reached over to the nearest phone and dialed the ambulance company before Rick could stop him. Rick gave him a scathing look, but remained calm. "Marker, since you're such a bleeding heart, you can sit guard duty. I'll send a uniform to relieve you at midnight, if they admit him." He smiled at Scully, all teeth and no humor. "Hope you like hospital food, Ms. Scully," he oozed. Scully closed her eyes to keep from punching the guy in the stomach. They all remained in their places, no one talking, until the ambulance arrived, some five minutes or five hours later-- Scully would never be sure which. Dukes County Memorial Medical Center 9:30 pm His eyelids were too heavy to move, but he wanted to know where he was. It smelled like a hospital, sounded like a hospital. He prayed to everything holy it wasn't a hospital, but he'd had that prayer shot to hell too many times to put any faith in it now. He heard voices. Quiet. Feminine. For some odd reason, it sounded like his mother and his partner were talking. That didn't make any sense to him. The last time he was in a hospital with his mother and Scully, his mother was the one lying down. He considered that he had fallen asleep on a couch or something, but it felt like sheets under him and his feet were bumping up against the regulations corners at the end of the bed. Bed. This was definitely a bed. After he expended the energy to figure out his location, he pushed his woozy mind to the task of considering why he was there. It came back in bits and pieces. The handcuffs had made a big impression and he tried to remember why he had been handcuffed to Gary Marker's kid brother. Samantha. They had found Samantha's body. It was the one thing he had managed to convince himself, that she was alive and that if he kept looking he'd find her. But they found her body. Positive DNA match, the words echoed in his head a thousand times. There had been times, many times in the past 23 years of his existence, when he was at rock bottom and started to dig. In those times, he had let his mind torture him with the thought that Sam had died all those years before. That what he had in fact witnessed was a simple kidnapping and murder of his baby sister. The psychologist in him knew that kind of trauma would be enough to cause the hysteria he had suffered and blockage of the memories of the event. He's seen it in family members of crime victims all of his career. But he didn't want to believe it. So much evidence weighed against it. But was it evidence? What did he really have? The word of murderer aboard a dead sub in the Arctic Circle. His father's assurances in a fever dream when he was close to death in the New Mexico desert. Actually meeting dozens of little girls who were exact images of his little sister, but could not have been her, any of them. The word of a man who could raise people from the dead, but was in all likelihood dead himself by now. Not exactly irrefutable proof, by any standard. It was no evidence at all, he decided. Samantha. If she really was dead, what else had he blocked from his mind? Could he have killed her? Probably by accident, he was certain. He had never been physical with his sister, she was always too little, but a shove every now and then between them had been common. He could have shoved her. It was possible. She could have fallen. It happens all the time. She could have fallen on his knife. Then, in the panic that followed, he could have buried her so that no one would know of his crime. Was the dream, the one Scully refused to acknowledge, the real events of that evening some 23 years before? The thought that he could have done something that horrid chilled him to the bone. If I really did that, if I really killed her, just let me die, he begged all the forces of the universe. Just let me die. Once again the darkness below him looked a lot more inviting than the light above and he allowed it to pull him down and fold him in its comforts. "Why isn't he waking up, Dana? He's been on the IV for over four hours now. Surely this isn't hypoglycemia any longer," Mrs. Mulder contended. She was sitting next to his bed, a protective hand on his arm, in case he should move, in case he should need her. Scully had defered to the older woman's position and had pulled a chair up to the foot of the bed. From there she could watch the monitors that were encompassing him. She could see his face, which was still as death at this moment. It also afforded her the opportunity to reread his chart, which was telling her absolutely nothing. She was furious. Furious at her partner for not telling her that he was sick. Furious at the Bureau for only giving her three days to come to the bottom of this mess. Furious at that son of a bitch police lieutenant, the bastard AIC from the Boston office and that bitch Assitant DA who were all hell bent on locking Mulder up and throwing away the key. But more than anything, she was furious at the shadow people who had taken her partner's sister in the first place and who were now determined to ruin her partner's life, if not help end it outright. She realized a moment too late that Mrs. Mulder had not asked a rhetorical question. The woman expected an answer. "I can't tell you what the problem is, Mrs. Mulder. His blood sugar was almost normal the last time the nurse came in to check. His temperature is still low grade, at 96 degrees. I don't suspect an infection. It's possibly a virus of some sort." She was drawing at straws and she hoped her voice didn't reveal that. More than likely, Mulder himself was causing his illness, his mind taking control of his body. It was pure speculation and not really grounded in medical science, but she knew it with a certainity she could never deny. And she seen it herself a time or two. She could almost see Mulder at this point in the discussion, leaning in close and staring right into her eyes so that she rambled and finally trailed off in a rush of red faced embarrassment. She felt a faint blush touch her cheeks and that only served to make her more angry. She needed out of that room and quickly. "Mrs. Mulder, I'm sure you must be hungry. I'm starved. And neither one of us can afford to end up like Sleeping Beauty here. I'll run down to the cafeteria and see if I can find us some sandwiches." She picked up her purse and headed out the door before the older woman had a chance to reply. She closed the door softly behind her, waiting to hear the click. Steve Marker was still where she had left him, over 4 hours before. He had found a straight backed chair and was leaning back on the back legs. "How's he doing?" he asked in a stage whisper. "The same," she answered shortly and started down the hallway. "Agent Scully," he called after her, trying to keep his voice low. She stopped. She turned and faced him, bringing her arms up to cross her chest. It was not her most receptive posture, and she was using it to her full advantage. Steve swallowed and almost decided not to pursue his line of thought. But there was too much at stake. "Agent Scully, I want to talk to you, if I may." He felt like a kid asking the teacher for a ride home from school. "If this is about the case," Scully said quietly, not wanting to boil over in the middle of the hallway. "It is. You see, there are some things I think you should know," he said and unconsciously brought his thumb to his mouth and chewed on the cuticle. Scully looked around the hall and spied another chair. She brought it over to sit next to Marker. "OK, Detective. What is it I should know?" "You partner isn't supposed to be found innocent," he said simply. "I think that's the point of an indictment, isn't it?" she asked, her patience slipping with each word. "No, you don't understand. From the beginning. Before we found the body, before the ME examined the body, before we found that knife. He was never supposed to be found innocent. The only possible outcome from this investigation is that your partner will be found guilty. Now, I figure, he'll be able to plead temp insanity or some nonsense and manage to escape capital punishment. But he won't be walking free. And he won't be an FBI agent. Probably not for the rest of his life." Steve was trying to keep his calm, but he was seething at the injustice and even more so at the fact that the woman before him didn't grasp the seriousness of the situation. "I want to know exactly what brings you to that conclusion," Scully said through clenched teeth. "OK, I was called in on the field work," Steve said evenly. Scully's face screwed up with a confused expression. "So?" "I've never done that kind of foresnics work, Agent Scully. Now, it was an anonymous tip and all and it could have been a hoax, but wouldn't they call in the State Police? Or you guys? I mean, afterall, this was an FBI matter and as far as I know, it remains an FBI matter. Regardless of if she were murdered or not." "OK, I can see where that might cause some suspicions. But you sound convinced. What convinced you?" "The second tip. The first one was just the body. The second one was to find the knife." He set the chair down on all four legs and leaned forward so that he was inches from Scully. "The body wasn't enough to connect him to the crime. They had to plant something else. The knife. It was found a few feet away, but not with the body. That confused me. If he buried the body, why not bury the knife there, too?" "Unless he didn't want the murder weapon found if and when the body was uncovered," Scully reasoned. Steve shook his head. "Pretty convoluted thinking for a 12 year old kid, I'd say. Especially one found in a catatonic state the night of the incident. And besides, I'm almost positive that Fox Mulder had that knife long after his sister disappeared. I'm sure he had it the summer after she went missing." "How do you know that?" Scully asked, now intriqued. "Because I saw him bury it. It and some badges and that Eagle pin. In a little cigar box. By the light of a full moon." "Tell me," Scully demanded. "We had this oak tree behind our house. One night, the summer after Sam disappeared, Fox stayed over. Fox didn't have many friends, and he and Gary hung out some, but nothing close. He and Gary were talking about witches and spells and Druids and stuff. Friday night and time to scare the crap out of the little brother, I guess." His eyes unfocused, remembering a time in his early childhood. "Mom made me go to bed at 10. I was just a little kid, probably 6 or so. I was in the room right across the hall from Gary's. I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream. Druids sacrificing me or something stupid. Anyway, I went over to Gary's room, like I always did, but he wasn't there. I got scared and ran over to the window. I mean, I figured the kidnapper was back and had taken Gary. All the kids in the whole town used to have bad dreams like that. But when I looked out the window, I saw Gary and Fox, out under the tree with a shovel, digging in the dirt. They put Fox' old lunch box in the hole and buried it." "I remember distinctly seeing Fox bring that lunch box into the house when he got there earlier that night. I snuck a look inside when the older guys weren't looking. He had his Eagle Scout pin, his Boy Scout knife, a scuffed up baseball, just kid stuff, ya know." "Why haven't you said something?" Scully growled. "That knife is the only solid evidence they have connecting Mulder to the crime." Steve rolled his eyes. "Agent Scully, think about it. Do you really think a judge is going to trust the memory of somebody who was only 6 at the time? And besides, I don't know that he _didn't_ kill her. I just know that the knife they found didn't have blood on it when I saw it and that was a good six months after the kidnapping." "Steve, that's enough to cast doubt on the prosecution's case," Scully tried to persuade him. "If we can find the rest of the lunch box, the other items, it would help. And if your brother would testify to being there when Fox buried the items. But why did he do that in the first place?" she wondered aloud. "Agent Scully, I honestly don't know," Steve replied, shaking his head. Scully wondered about that all the way down to the cafeteria. Surprisingly, it was farily busy at that time of night and it was almost half an hour before she was able to get back up to Mulder's room. When Scully arrived back at the door to Mulder's room, she had two sandwiches and two cups of coffee balanced in her hands. Mrs. Mulder was sitting with Steve in the hallway. She got up as Dana got closer. "Dana, I was about ready to come find you. Fox started having problems a little bit ago. His fever shot up. The doctor's in with him now." She accepted the sandwich and the coffee, but put both on the floor beneath her chair without even looking at them. Dana sighed. The pieces were starting to fall into place, at last. Just as she was finding the proof that she needed to blow the lid off this farce, Mulder had convicted himself without benefit of a jury and was in the process of sentencing himself. With a squeeze of her heart, she knew he had more than likely given himself a death sentence. He was giving up without a fight. "Now I have to convince him that he's innocent," she muttered to herself. "What, dear?" Mrs. Mulder asked, looking up anxiously at Dana. Dana smiled faintly and gave Mrs. Mulder's shoulder a pat. "I'm sure he'll be fine. This is probably a virus, as I said earlier. He's in good hands here, Mrs. Mulder. Believe me, I won't let anything happen to him. I have too much time invested in training him to do his half of the paperwork," she said lightly and got the desired smile in response. "Look, I need to call Mike," Scully said when she was sure Mrs. Mulder was feeling a little better. "He was doing some research tonight. I better call him and let him know what's going on. They'll have to postpone the arraignment until Mulder's condition improves," she said hastily. "I'll be back in just a few minutes." Scully called Mike and asked if he could meet her at the hospital first thing in the morning. She didn't trust the phone lines to his hotel enough to tell him what Steve had revealed. She also needed to get Gary Marker's phone number from Steve. If it came to that, Gary would be able to provide eye witness testimony that Mulder was in possession of the alleged murder weapon, minus the incriminating blood evidence, six months after the alleged crime had been commited. That fact alone made the carefully constructed frame start to come unglued. Mike, in the meantime, had been busy finding some connections he was anxious to share with her, as well. They agreed to meet outside Mulder's room the next morning. The doctor was waiting for her when she got back to the room. "Agent Scully, Mrs. Mulder wanted me to talk to you about your partner's condition," he said, wasting no time and escorting her down the hall. To Scully's experienced eyes, he had all the markings of an overworked young doctor in desparate need of an additional set of hands. "How's he doing?" she asked, taking the seat her offered her in the small family lounge down the hall from Mulder's room. "I'm afraid his condition is deteriorating at an alarming rate. His fever spiked, it's 103.4 when I checked it just five minutes ago. He doesn't seem to be responding to stimulus. B/P is slipping, too. I've ordered an EEG to see what's happening. I've done some preliminary blood work when he came in this evening and it has me very confused. His white count is slightly elevated, but nothing to suggest the symptoms we're seeing now. Aside from the low blood sugar and electrolyte imbalance that he came in with, he seems to be well within normal ranges. I did notice an antigen that I'm not familiar with, but it doesn't seem related to his problems. Do you know anything about it? Could this be a relapse of something?" Scully flushed slightly. "He had a rare virus a couple of years ago. It was a bad time, but he recovered fully. I'm sure that's what you're seeing," she assured him. "As for a relapse, I just don't know." It hadn't occured to her that the retrovirus might rear it's ugly head again, when Mulder was most vulnerable. "Well, I'm running out of ideas. It's not an infection. I don't suspect tumor, because most of the symptoms seem to contradict that, but I've scheduled a PET, just to make sure. If you can think of any bases I haven't covered, please speak up and I'll order the test. I'm at a loss and if he keeps sliding, I'll have to recommend sending him to Boston. They're better able to handle the tricky cases than we are here on the Vineyard." Scully frowned and shook her head. "I hope that won't be necessary, Doctor. But do you mind if I have a look at the lab results?" He shrugged his shoulders. "His wallet has you listed as emergency contact, I don't see why not," he said and handed her the sheaf of papers in his hand. "If you see anything, please tell me immediately." "Of course. Can I keep these?" she asked. "Sure, I can pull another set off the computer. Take your time, look them over." He smiled apologetically. "I just don't have the staff or the time to dig into a weird case right now. That's why he might be better off in Boston," he added. Scully was already concentrating on the pages in her hands. She looked up at the mention, for the second time, of moving her partner to Boston. Was it a good idea? It just didn't feel right. "No, if it's all the same, let's wait on that decision. I'll talk it over with his mother, but I'm sure she'll agree. I think he's better off right here for the time being." After the doctor left, Scully glanced at her watch. She had promised her mother that she'd call her when she got settled. It was already almost 10 o'clock. She pulled out her phone and dialed. "Hello," Maggie Scully answered, slightly out of breath. "Mom, are you all right? You sound out of breath," Scully asked with concern. "Oh, hi, sweetheart. No, I'm fine. I just got back from taking Mr. and Mrs. Spellman to the Senior Center. Tonight was a movie night for them and they couldn't get their car started. I had just opened the door when the phone started to ring. How was your flight?" "Still bumpy. Oh, Mom, I'll be staying at Mulder's father's house with Mrs. Mulder and there isn't a phone connected there, so call me on my cell if you need me." "Always, sweetheart. How's everyone doing? Did Fox arrive safely?" "Safely, but not intact. He's sick, Mom. He hasn't been keeping food down, when he's bothered to eat. He lost consciousness almost the minute they got here. I'm at the hospital now." "Oh, sweetheart," Maggie said sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I knew I should have pushed him to eat last night," she added, chiding herself. "He wouldn't have kept it down, Mom. He ate at lunch and lost it just a few minutes later." "What's the matter with him? He was fine, before this all came up, wasn't he? I mean, could that broken ankle cause all this?" Maggie asked. "No, it's more than an ankle. Mom, I think he's doing this to himself. This whole case is just too much for him. He's never really known what happened to his sister . . ." "And this makes it look like UFO's had nothing to do with it," Maggie said sadly. Scully gulped. "Mom, how do you know that?" Maggie laughed sadly. "Fox told me a lot of things when we were . . . looking for you. He was very forthcoming with information. And we talked a lot about his childhood. He said you were the only other person who knew those things and that might be why they took you. I think he saw it as some sort of confession, honey, purifying his soul. But I tried to tell him that all of that, your disappearance, Samantha's disappearance, was not his fault. I can see where he might be doubting himself now. You don't think he's given up, do you?" she asked anxiously. "I'm afraid so, Mom. I think he has. And I'm so close to solving this, too. One of his neighbors saw lights that night. But there were no reports in the police records," Dana sighed. "Hmmm," Maggie murmured. "The police records didn't show it?" "No, but she reported it. I don't know, they may have been lost or something. If I had something else to back up her story," Scully said, thinking out loud. "Well, right now, I need to work on getting Mulder to a point where I can at least ask him about some of the things I'm finding out. He's not conscious right now and he's got a high fever. I really need to go, Mom." "I'll say a prayer for him, sweetheart. I always pray for both of you, but I'll say an extra one tonight," Maggie assured her. "Thanks, Mom. We probably keep them hopping up there," she added with a resigned smile. "I'll talk to you later, when I know more. I love you." "I love you, too, sweetheart. Bye." Maggie put the phone back on the table and stared at it for several minutes. She knew her daughter well, and she could hear the frustration and the worry in her voice. Maggie liked the young man her daughter was partnered with, and was upset that anyone would cause him this much harm. She wanted to do something, something more than just offer prayers. "God helps those who help themselves," she muttered to herself. Then she picked up the aged address book that sat next to the phone. Quickly, she flipped a few pages and came to a name she hadn't seen in quite a while. "In the morning, I guess I'll have to pay a little social call," she said aloud and smiling, turned to watch the late news. Dukes County Medical Center 10:00 Mrs. Mulder sat holding her son's hand and let silent tears roll down her cheeks. Why him, she asked herself for the thousandth time since that night. Why was it always Fox that had to suffer so for other's sins. Angrily she wiped the tears away with the tissue she had gripped in her other hand. Twenty three years and the story was the same. They knew no more than they had back then. And so many times, Fox had been put in danger. So many times. Of course, she only heard about many of those incidents after the fact. Her little network of informants was growing fewer and fewer. More often than not, she suspected that her son's partner conjoled him into calling her, once he was out of danger. She knew that he called her from countless hospital beds and quarantine rooms. She had come to recognize the way his voice sounded, so tired, often weak. She would wonder silently how close it had been that time. Was it a bullet? A unknown disease? An explosion, a fire? What occurance had almost stripped her of the only person in her life that she valued? But she would never ask. She played the game, went along with his blatant lies that he was fine and just calling to find out how _she_ was. A good little soldier. That's how she saw him some times. Doing the duty that he had forced upon himself. So often, she had wanted to fold him in her arms and tell him to give it up. It wasn't worth it. She didn't want to find Samantha if it cost him his life. It wasn't that she didn't want her daughter returned. But she had been promised. No harm would come to her. None. She had that on the utmost authority. She could never tell her son how she knew that, he would be killed immediately. She had to keep that knowledge to herself even though that secret put her son's life on the line. Now that secret was killing him. She knew, with a certainity that only a mother could have, it was not Samantha's remains they had found in Hobbs Park. She'd had her doubts about the young woman who had shown up at Bill's door just a few years ago, but she was certain that was a more probably occurance than to dig up the body now after 23 years. And in Hobbs Park of all places. She had helped raise the money for the baseball diamond there. It was slap in her face, as well. She looked over at her son. He's so handsome, she thought. He looks so much like Dad. He had the same strong profile her father had carried, the same mannerisms, the same boyish wonder at each new discovery. And, sometimes, Bill's mannerisms would surface, too. The way he would take everything into himself, shutting out the rest of the world. Maybe, if Bill had learned to trust her, had turned to her when he's gotten involved with the project, maybe things would have been different. "I love you, baby boy," she whispered, clutching his hand to her chest. "Please, wake up, Fox. Mama really needs to talk to you. There is so much you don't know. So much I've never been able to tell you. It wasn't your fault, baby boy. Never your fault. You have to believe me, darling. It was never your fault," she murmured over and over again. He laid there and didn't move. Not an eyelash, not a breath any deeper than the last. The tears had become a steady stream now and she knew what she had to do. God, how she hated the thought, but it was her only recourse. She heard the door click behind her and knew that Dana had entered the room. "Any change," the young woman asked, hopeful. Then she took one look at the older woman sitting next to her partner's bed and all hope vanished. "No change," came the sad reply. "The doctor wants to send him to Boston," Dana said slowly and was taken back by the look his mother gave her. It was frightened, like she had just suggested pulling the plug on her son. His mother shook her head vigorously. "I'd feel better if he were here. Smaller hospital, easier to keep track of people," she said cryptically and Dana wondered what she was talking about. After a moment, she leaned over and kissed her son lightly on the forehead. "Dana is here with you, Fox. I have to take a break, but I'll be back. I love you, Fox. I love you." She straightened and then motioned for Dana to take her place. "I'm too old to sit in these chairs for hours at a time," she smiled sadly. "Would you mind taking my place for a while. I just need to stretch. I'll be back later." Dana sat down and reached over to take Mulder's hand in her own. "Not a problem, Mrs. Mulder. Besides, we've got a lot to talk about," she said, nodding toward her partner. She smiled faintly and the older woman returned the gesture. "Well, don't let him monopolize the conversation, dear. He has a habit of doing that sometimes," she grinned. "To tell you the truth, tonight, I might let him get away with it," Dana said lightly. Mrs. Mulder nodded in agreement and left the room. Averman's Pier Seashore Drive August 18, 1996 2 am It was chilly, even though the day had been hot enough to break records. The North Atlantic wind blew across the pier and brought gooseflesh to her skin. She heard the match strike behind her and didn't give him the satisfaction of startling at the noise. She turned slowly, measured, and regarded him with a look of pure malice. "I didn't really expect to hear from you after our last encounter," he said mildly and drew on the cigarette in his hand. "Probably because you thought I was dead," she returned with venom. "I would have regretted that deeply, my dear," he said softly. Was that sincerety she saw in his eyes, or only the lights from the pier? She could never be sure. "Well, I really doubt there are many things you have ever come to regret," she spat out. He toed the sand at his feet and then looked at her. "You didn't call me all the way up here just to fling insults, did you?" he asked. She took a deep breath, let her anger built and then unleased it on him. "Why are you doing this to him? I was promised. I was promised that he would be safe. You lied to me, and I'm calling you on it. All bets are off. The truth comes out, NOW!" she shouted angrily, shaking her finger in front of him. He grabbed the hand and held it tight. "I'm not the one hurting him," he growled. She struggled briefly, defiantly, but he held fast. Finally, with a grim smile, he released her arm. "I'm not the only player in the game. You know that. I've kept my part of the bargain, because you have kept yours. Balance of power. It's worked for years, even kept us from destroying ourselves on more than one occasion." "I'm not talking world affairs, damn it! I'm talking about my son!" she hissed. "I'm not talking about world affairs, either. Just ours," he said with a sad smile. She glared at him. "He's not your son," she said in voice low and filled with venom. "I know that," he answered lightly. "If he were my son, he'd have killed me when he had the opportunity." "What do you want? What chip do I have to bargain to get you to save him?" she asked, and the pleading sound to her voice caught him off guard. "I would have thought that you had learned not to grow attached by now," he said with all seriousness. "You bastard! I'm begging you. Save my son. Please. I'll do anything," she was crying now and her tears clouded her eyesight so that she couldn't see the torment on his face. He was silent for a long moment. "I'll see what I can do," he said simply. He turned and headed back to his car. "At what price?" she called after him, the bitterness of the words falling as quickly as her tears. He stopped and turned toward her once more. "Why, the same as last time, my love. Your continued silence." He turned his back on her and got into his car, then drove away. She fell to the sand and sobbed. Dukes County Medical Center August 18, 1996 7 am He was so hot. The heat was scorching him. For a moment, he thought he might be sitting in an electric chair and the warden had already thrown the switch. Every nerve in his body felt as if it were on fire. He tried to scream in pain, but no words came from his mouth. He'd been tortured all night by fever dreams, but his body was too weak, too frozen to allow him any expression of his torment. Visions of the knife, in his hand, coming down and striking Samantha. Of her eyes, the look on her face as she died by his hand. The feeling of total dispair when he realized what he had done, and that nothing could ever change it. Just once, just once he wanted to plunge the knife into his own chest, feel his own blood soak his hand and seep from his body to let him fall, dead instead of his sister. But the dreams never allowed him that luxury. There were sounds. Just on the edge of his hearing. He could make out mechanical noises, beeping and bleetings. He knew all too well that when he heard those sounds, he was not faring well physically. This time, that thought gave him a small modicum of comfort. He didn't want to live this time. He hoped he was dying and that soon it would all be over. There were other sounds. Soft voices. Again, just beyond his understanding. One sound he knew. It was Scully's voice. Gentle. Sturdy. No tears, just calm. It assured him that she was there, but didn't get all weepy on him. It was one of the things he treasured most about their friendship. She didn't get all weepy on him very often, if ever. Anger, that was another matter. Sometimes, she'd be so pissed at him that he'd swear she was gone from his life for good. But she would always come back, always be there when he needed her. He needed her desparately now. Scully, he thought, I killed her. I killed my baby sister and I can't live with that. Scully, please make it stop. Make the visions stop. Make the dreams stop. Scully, please help me. Please help me slip away. I don't want to do this anymore, I don't. My search is over, as it was at the beginning. My search, he thought with disgust. The fiction of my mind so that I could live with myself. I can't believe I duped myself so completely. The mind can play truly vile tricks, he knew that. But to hide his actions so completely, to fabricate such a perfect concealment, that was astonishing, even to him. It only made the pain of the truth that more unbearable. Please, Scully, he pleaded again and prayed that she would know what he was thinking. Please Scully. Let this end. "Has the doctor been in?" Mrs. Mulder asked. Scully had been surprised when the older woman had returned, eyes red from crying, at 3 in the morning, and offered to sit up the rest of the night. Dana had insisted that she take the nurse up on the offer of a cot in the break room and with great relunctance, the older woman had done that. Now she was awake and sitting by her son's side again. "He was in at 6:30. Little change in the blood chemistry, except pyrogens are through the roof." She smiled self-consciously. "Sorry, that's just a marker of fever. It really doesn't tell us anything that we couldn't figure out with a thermometer." She glanced back over the blood work. "At least the virus appears to still be dormant," she muttered. "Virus? What virus?" his mother asked. Ears on mothers were a wonder of medical science, Dana had long decided. "He had a particularly nasty virus a while back, but it's not showing any signs of activity. That's the good news," Dana said evenly. "And the bad news?" his mother asked. "He's getting weaker and we don't know why. This fever is sapping him of his strength. It's starting to affect other systems. Doctor Thompson has given this to the resident neurologist, Dr. Grant. He's suggesting we put him on antipyrretics and work agressively to get the fever under control. The usual methods of treatment aren't working on him." "Because he doesn't want to get better," Mrs. Mulder said bitterly. "We don't know that, Mrs. Mulder. It's been my experience that your son has a very strong will to live," Dana tried to reassure the older woman. "That was when he felt his life had a purpose. When he had a duty to continue the search. But now, he feels the search has ended and he feels that he is responsible for her death. He couldn't live with himself, with that knowledge. He's trying to die. He wants to die," Mrs. Mulder said flatly. The sound of her voice, certain beyond any hope of correction, frightened Dana even more than the woman's words. "Then we just have to convince him that he's wrong. That it's not Samantha they found. That she is still out there, waiting for us to find her," Dana said quietly, confidently. Mrs. Mulder didn't miss the fact that she had used the word 'us' instead of 'him'. This young woman truly was her son's partner, in every sense of the word. "I hope we can convince him of that before it's too late," Mrs. Mulder said with a tired sigh. Dana patted her shoulder and glancing over to at her partner, she left the room. It was short walk down the hallway to the nurse's station. She had been granted access to the hospital's fax machine stationed there. Seeing no papers in the tray, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number from memory. Thank God I remember my spare batteries this time, she thought to herself as she listened to the phone ring. "Lab," came the voice in DC. "Agent Pendrell, it's Agent Scully. Do you have those test results I requested?" she asked, as always dispensing with any greetings. She was quite certain she heard a sigh on the other end of the line before Pendrell spoke. "Oh, hi, Agent Scully. Yeah, sure. I did those tests myself. Results came in about 6 this morning. I was just compiling them when you called. Do you have modem access?" he asked. "No, but I have fax access," she said and gave him the number of the fax machine. "How's Agent Mulder?" Pendrell asked, rather hesitantly. "He's in the hospital. He's got a pretty bad fever," Scully said shortly, not wanting too much information going out to the DC office before she could talk to the AD. "Gosh, on top of everything else," Pendrell said sadly. "Tell him I said hi, OK?" Scully smiled sadly. "Sure thing, Agent Pendrell. And thanks for sending me this. I really appreciate it." "Any time, Agent Scully, any time. Good bye," he said. "Bye," she returned and disconnected the line. She turned and waited for the fax machine to come to life. In a second, it was spitting out papers. She gathered them and had just started to glance at them when the double doors at the end of the hall opened. Mike Chambers looked downright chipper as he hurried over to her. "Dana, come here. You have to see this," he said, taking her arm and leading her to a small conference area. "What?" she asked as he pulled out a chair and she sat down. He handed her couple of stapled pages. "What are these, Mike? They look like bank statements," she said. "First, let me explain. Do you know who initiated this investigation?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders. "The Chilimark PD when they received an anonymous phone tip," she offered. "No, not exactly. The tip didn't go to the police department. It went to one individual. Lt. Rick Price. He received it at his home some four days ago now. He had the 'presense of mind' to let his answering machine record it. Rather clever for a guy who buys overpriced suits, don't you think?" he asked happily. Scully frowned. "What are you getting at?" she asked. "Well, I didn't like the guy on sight so I decided to ask a few friends of mine to do a little digging. Those papers you have are his bank statements. You'll notice that he has some rather large deposits scattered throughout, from something called COS Industries. Five thousand here, ten thousand there. Nothing that would pop your eyes out. But look at the deposit on August 15th." Scully's eyes scanned the paper and then grew wide. "Half a million dollars?" she said in amazement. She looked up at Mike. "But this doesn't tell us anything," she said, throwing the paper back on the table toward him. "Who is COS Industries?" "Good question. My friends are very good at finding out deep information. They hunted down COS and discovered that it's not a registered company. As a matter of fact, aside from an account in the Cayman's, it doesn't seem to exist." Scully's forehead furrowed. "How can that be?" "Well, according to my friends, and they can't prove this, but they are pretty sure of their information, COS is one of the names used during the Iran-Contra deal a few year back. Now, it may just be coincidence . . ." "What did they teach us the first day at the Academy, Agent Scully," she whispered. "Pretty damned good set of prints, don't you think, Mulder," she said, still talking to someone not even in the room. Finally, she came back to herself and looked at Mike. "Mike, just who are these friends of yours?" she asked with a sly smile. "Sorry, Dana. I never reveal my sources," he smiled in return. Her grin grew even broader. "That's OK, Mike. And the next time you talk to them, tell Frohike that I'm changing my e-mail address because of him." Mike's grin now mirrored her own. "I'll be sure to relay the message, Dana." ***** Maggie put the last of the groceries on the shelf and folded the paper bags. "All done, Mrs. Gerts. Now, if you run out of anything, you just give me a ring, all right?" The ancient woman smiled from her reclining chair. "Oh, thank you, Maggie. I'll do that." Maggie waved her goodbyes and walked to her car. As she started the engine, she thought again about what she was doing. "Bill, I'm doing this for Dana. It can't be wrong if it helps her, can it?" she asked aloud. A reassuring peace settled over her and she smiled. Message received, loud and clear. It was short trip from Mrs. Gerts house to the Pentagon. It had been years since she had been there. Bill had retired in 90 and the last time she had set foot in the doors was to attend his farewell party. But surprisingly, the guard was the same man she'd known back then. "Mrs. Scully! To what do we owe this pleasure?" the guard, whose name badge sported simply the name 'Jim' asked as she approached his desk. "Hi, Jim, it's been a long time, hasn't it? I was hoping to catch Admiral Stevens. Could you ring his secretary?" She stood by the desk, admiring the few wall paintings while the call was made. A few seconds later, a young naval lieutenant appeared out of nowhere. "Mrs. Scully, the Admiral will see you in his office," she said in a clipped, professional tone. Maggie smiled at her and followed her down the hall. "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie," Jack Stevens sighed as he stood up and walked around his desk so he could take her into a friendly hug. "It's been entirely too long. Come in, take a load off. How is the brood of yours? Let's see, Bill Jr's married, any more follow him to the altar?" "Charlie's pretty much married to the sea, Jack," Maggie laughed. Jack grew serious. "I'm so sorry about Missy. Such a tragedy. I was stranded out in the Mediterranian when it happened. I apologize for not being there," he said sadly. Maggie nodded and smiled bravely. "I know you would have been there if you could have, Jack. And the flowers were beautiful. I know Missy probably appreciated the donation to save the rainforest more, though," she smiled. "You were a good Godfather to her. She loved you very much." He nodded in his sorrow, then shook it off. "So, who's left? Starbuck. How is Dana? Still the G-woman or has she come to her senses?" he joked lightly. "No," Maggie smiled. "She's still with the FBI. She loves it, Jack. She thrives on it. Not much chance she's going to change her mind on it now." She sat for a moment and twisted the hem of her sweater in her hand. "It's really something that Dana is working on that brings me to see you." Dukes County Courthouse Edgartown, MA 10:30 am District Attorney Camden Garfield leaned back in his faux leather chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. "I was under the impression that you had this case well in hand, Andrea," he said to the young woman sitting in front of his desk. "Sir, this was unavoidable. Fox Mulder is seriously ill. I've spoken to the doctor myself. They are thinking of sending him to Boston." She was nervous, but sure of her standing in this case. "What's wrong with him?" Garfield asked, feigning indifference. "The doctor isn't certain, sir. He's exhibiting a high fever. Vomiting. Apparently his other major systems are having problems now too. They aren't certain he'll survive, sir," she said evenly. "Save the state the cost of putting the little bastard to death, I suppose," Garfield said lightly. "Well, the arraignment is postponed until he's well enough to stand trial. But I want to keep the police guard posted. Just in case we are witness to a miraculous recovery," he said derisively. "Have the FBI labs given you the data from the body?" "Yes sir, and I'm a little confused by it. According to the data, the DNA is an exact match of Samantha Mulder. But the body appears to have only been deceased for 15 years. The age of the child is determined to be approximately 8. She would have been 16 years of age 15 years ago. It's confusing, sir," she admitted. "Just a mistake, Andrea. Believe me, even the all powerful OZ in Washington has been known to make a mistake now and then," he smiled and dismissed the young woman with a wave of his hand. Martha's Vineyard Retirement Village 10:30 am After her discussion with Mike, Dana had been more convinced than ever that she needed to talk to Mrs. Farrell. While the information on Rick Price was damning, it was not enough to convince her partner that he hadn't killed his sister. Mrs. Farrell's testimony, however, would be a good start to proving to Mulder that he was right in his regressions, that the dream of the house shaking and Samantha floating out the picture window had actually happened, was the real experience. She laughed for a moment. For almost four years, she had taken that story with a grain of salt. If that was how Mulder had to perceive it to get through each day, she could accept it. But to actually prove it's validity as an actual report--the thought made her head spin. This was putting her skeptical nature in a very precarious position. Dana got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the little one story condo. She knocked smartly on the screen and was greeted in a few seconds by an elderly woman in her early seventies who smiled brightly upon seeing her. "You must be Fox' little friend," Mrs. Farrell said happily as she opened the door and let Scully enter. "Fox always did like pretty girls," she added and motioned for the younger woman to sit down. "Actually, Mrs. Farrell, Fox and I met through work," Scully felt the need to set the record straight, though she couldn't give a reason for why that was important. "Well, I know he's doing well, where ever he is. He was always a smart boy. Smart and a hard worker. Why didn't he come with you? I would have loved to seen him again," Mrs. Farrell said as she handed Scully a glass of lemonade. "He's not feeling very well right now, Mrs. Farrell. He sends his regards, though," she lied. "This whole mess about little Sammi, I bet that's what's bothering him. Poor boy. He did love his little sister so. It hurt the whole town the night those things came and took her." Scully gulped. "Mrs. Farrell, did you see anything that night? The night that Samantha Mulder disappeared." "Why, the lights, dearie. I saw them more than just that once. They'd come and go, regular some years. Like Christmas tree ornaments, you know. Sometimes they would hover and blink blue and green and red. Other times, like that night, it was just bright white--so bright I thought the Ruskies had finally dropped the big one, don't you know. The Kennedy's always on the island, they probably thought this was the seat of government or some such nonsense. More lemonade, dearie?" Dana shook her head. "No, Mrs. Farrell, this is fine, thank you. Now, on the night Samantha disappeared, do you remember what time it was when you saw the lights?" "It was just before 9, I remember. That was a Friday night. I do love to watch TV on Friday's. I remember back then, the Magician was on at 9. Bill Bixby was so cute. He was on that cute little show with the Martian on it. But those lights, I don't think they were cute little Martians. I think they were evil, what ever they were. Taking that poor little girl away from her mother and daddy and brother. She was so sweet. They used to come visit, Sammi and Fox. I would always make them oatmeal cookies. Tom and I were never blessed with children, so Sammi and Fox were the closest we had to children of our own." Mrs. Farrell stopped and wiped her eye. "He didn't kill her, you know. Fox would never do that. He loved Sammi, he loved her so much. He was a good brother, always looked out for her. He could never hurt her, never," she assured Scully. "Tell him that I know he didn't do it. He needs to know that. He needs to believe it." The look she gave Dana went straight through to her soul. "Thank you, Mrs. Farrell. I'll tell Fox what you've said. You've been a big help. Thank you." She shook the old woman's hand and left. "Well, Mulder, at least someone in this town believes in you," Scully muttered as she got in the car and headed for the hospital. Dukes County Medical Center 11:00 When she got to the Mulder's room it was empty. Frantically, she searched for one of the nurses she had seen come on the floor at 7. She found one at the nurses station. "Oh, yes, Agent Scully. Dr. Thompson had Mr. Mulder moved up to ICU. He developed respiratory problems an hour ago. It's on the second floor, north corridor. Just take these elevators and you turn right. Then follow the signs. His mom is up there with him now," she added and went back to filling out a chart. When she got to the second floor and finally found Mulder's bed, her worst fears were realized. He was on a respirator. She noticed another bag of clear fluid hanging next to the normal IV solution. "He wasn't getting enough oxygen," a sad voice said behind her. She turned and Mrs. Mulder walked over next to her and looked down on her son. "I talked to Mrs. Farrell. Mrs. Mulder, why didn't the police include her statement in Samantha's file?" Dana demanded. "Clara Farrell," the older woman smiled. "Such a dear woman. And completely insane. Her husband Tom was the only reason she was never commited." Mrs. Mulder looked at Dana and shook her head. "She was pregnant about the same time I was expecting Fox. But she fell down the basement stairs. She lost the baby. Something snapped. She was never the same. Always talking about lights in the sky." "So the police just discounted her testimony," Dana said with a deep sigh. "Probably. She'd call them every time Tom had his back turned. But she wasn't violent. She'd never hurt a fly. She made cookies for Fox and Sam all the time. Sam loved to listen to her stories of when she was a little girl living in the midwest on a farm. But basically, she's a crackpot. A sweet, gentle crackpot. I'm sorry, Dana, if you got your hopes up over this, but whatever Mrs. Farrell told you must be taken with a large grain of salt. And a good dose of sanity." Dana nodded and chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. So close, so close. She closed her eyes and blinked back the tears. She would find it. She find the proof that would convince him. She just had to keep looking. "Oh, dear, when we were moving Fox to this floor, the nurse found this on one of the chairs. I figured you must have left it behind." Mrs. Mulder handed her the fax pages she had received from Pendrell earlier in the morning. "Thank you, Mrs. Mulder. I would have been looking for these soon," she admitted. She said down in a chair near the curtained divider and for the first time, really looked at the sheets of paper. At first, she couldn't believe what she was reading. She went back again and double checked. It made no sense, but then, knowing some of the things she knew, it made all the sense in the world. Pendrell had put an asterik next to one set of figures and extrapolated them out. Her heart was pounding as the numbers formed images in her mind. This was exactly what she had been praying for. "Mrs. Mulder, could you do me a tremendous favor?" she asked suddenly, and the older woman looked up at her curiously. "Of course, dear," she said quickly. Dana thought hard, this had to be good. "Could you ask the uniformed officer sitting guard if he would contact Det. Marker and have him come over here to the hospital?" "Certainly, dear," and she stood and walked to the area where the police guard sat, outside the Intensive Care Unit. Wasting no time, Dana hurried over to her partner's side and leaned close to his ear. "Mulder. Mulder, listen to me. That was not Samantha in that grave. It was a . . ." she stopped for a breath, she couldn't believe she was saying this. But it was true. She was staring at the proof right in front of her. It was all true. "It was a clone, a clone, Mulder. You didn't kill you sister. I don't know what's going on, but I have to talk to you. Mulder, Samantha is still out there, waiting for you and if you die now, she will always be waiting for you. Don't do this. Don't you dare chicken out on me now when I finally have proof of this. I mean it, Mulder. Don't make me pull my gun," she hissed, half joking, half serious. She took a breath, regaining her calm, her strength. "You gave me the strengths of your beliefs once, Mulder. Now it's my turn. Let me return the favor. Take my strength, Fox. I'm here and I'm waiting, too." She sat back and held his hand and prayed with all her might that he had heard and understood. The dream was repeating itself again and he was so tired. The only good thing now was that the dream seemed to be fading around the edges. Everything was growing darker, now. A gentle curtain was falling and he welcomed it with open arms. A blanket, one he could curl up in and be safe, one that would protect him from the dreams and make them end. Make it all end. But until the curtain fell completely, until he could cower under the blanket, he was forced to relive the dream. It made him ache, even though he had long forgotten the pain his body was going through. As he watched with his mind's eye, no longer curious, knowing what to expect, the dreamscape changed. This time, when he plunged the knife in his sister's chest, instead of red blood flowing over his hand, it was green. It bubbled and oozed and burned to the touch. And as he looked at Samantha's face, it changed, into the face of the one he knew as the alien bounty hunter. It wasn't Samantha at all that he was killing. It was the alien. It all came together like the sunrise after a night of violent storms. In the buffer of his mind, he replayed the sounds he had ignored. "Let me give you my strength, Fox." Scully. Scully had the answers. Scully wouldn't trick him, wouldn't betray him. Even though he couldn't trust his own mind on this, he could trust Scully. Just as he had once before, in a lonely SETI outpost in Puerto Rico. But he was so tired. His mind realized with a certainity that his body was too weak. He would need Scully's strength this time. He didn't have any of his own, he had let it all slip away from him in his depression and dispair. He had to focus on her voice, on her words. He had to follow her, let her guide him back. Scully's phone was chirping in her pocket and she frowned. Mrs. Mulder was still sitting by her son, trying to keep him bound to the earth even when it was clear that he didn't want to be bound here any longer. Scully's whole body ached with the realization that she had failed. He wasn't listening to her. He couldn't hear her. It was only a matter of time. She didn't want to leave, but the damned phone would not let up. She looked over at his mother and gave her an apologetic look as she stood and walked out into the corridor to answer the phone. "Scully," she said tersely. If it was the Bureau, great. It would save her the cost of the phone call to resign. "Dana, honey. It's Mom," came the excited voice on the other end of the line. Scully's heart sank a little lower. She wasn't ready to tell her Mom that her partner was dying. It would put a measure of reality on it that she wasn't ready to accept. "Hi, Mom. Look, this is a really bad time . . ." "Oh, well, I won't keep you. I just need your fax number. I have something for you." Dana frowned in confusion. What on earth could her mother be faxing her at a time like this. "Mom, I don't think . . ." "Dana Katherine, this is important. Now give me the fax number and then you can get back to whatever it is that you think is so important," Maggie said in a distinctly 'mother knows best' voice. It took Dana back for a moment, to her early adolescence, when that voice was the only voice her mother ever used. "OK, here," she said and quickly rattled off the number of the nurses station fax machine. "Now, Dana, I want you to go down there now and get this. I don't want anyone else seeing it, do you hear me?" Maggie ordered. "Yeah, Mom, but what is this all about?" Dana asked, confused. "You'll see when you read it. Tell Fox I still have him in my prayers. He'll be fine, sweetheart. He's a very strong young man," Maggie assured her daughter. "Well, gotta run. I'm behind schedule today. Take care and I love you." Maggie had disconnected the line before Dana could respond in kind. Dana walked back into the ICU in a confused daze. "Mrs. Mulder, I have to run down to the nurses station to get a fax. I'll be right back. If anything happens," she said, but couldn't complete the sentence. "I'll have someone come get you immediately, dear," Mrs. Mulder said firmly and then smiled a quick reassurance. Dana didn't want to wait for the elevator so she took the stairs, two at a time. She was slightly winded when she got to the floor, but beat her mother's fax by several seconds. As the paper fell into the tray and Dana saw the letterhead of the cover sheet, her eyes widened and she gasped. She grabbed the sheets of paper, quickly scanned the attached copies and ran as fast as she could back to the stairwell to make it to Mulder's bedside, in time, she hoped. Mulder's condition had changed in the few minutes Scully had been gone. She ignored the curious look his mother gave her and ran over to the opposite side of his bed. "Mulder, wake up, damn it. You have to see this," she hissed in his ear. "Mulder, look what I have. Proof! Proof that Mrs. Farrell isn't a crackpot, Mulder. The Navy had a couple of cruisers running field exercises off the coast of Masschusetts the night of Nov 27, 1973. Two entire crews reported seeing a bright set of lights hovering above Martha's Vineyard. My God, Mulder. The lights. The lights were there, Mulder. They took her. Not you. You had nothing to do with it. Nothing." She was out of breath and didn't even notice that his mother had brought a chair over for her to sit in. Mrs. Mulder gently guided her down into the chair and squeezed her shoulder. "Why isn't he listening," Scully cried, looking to Mrs. Mulder for an explanation. "I listened to him. Why isn't he listening to me?" she demanded. "Maybe he's listening, but he just doesn't have the strength . . ." Mrs. Mulder's words were cut off by the sound of her son struggling against the respirator. A machine set off it's alarm and for a split second, Scully thought it was over, that he was gone. But then, she realized it was just Mulder, coming back. She looked over at her mother and they both broke into relieved laughter. "He heard", they said in unison. Dukes County Medical Center August 20, 1996 8:15 am "Green is definitely your color, Mulder," Dana joked as she pulled up a chair next to his bed. He pulled out the neck of his hospital gown and squinted at it, then shrugged. His mother was beaming at them from the opposite side of the hospital room. "I want out of here," he rasped. His fever had broken, but his body would take a while to get over the effects. His voice was still hoarse from the respirator and he stomach was still sensitve, but the doctor had assured him that in a couple of weeks he would be good as new. "One of these days, I'm buying you business cards with that printed on it, so you don't waste your breath," his partner smiled maliciously at him. "Couple of more days here, and then back at your apartment for a week or so. By that time you'll be down to a walking cast on your ankle and we can get back to work," she promised. "I want that in writing," he groused and smiled when his mother laughed at him. Mrs. Mulder got out of her chair and leaned over her son. "Well, baby boy, as much as I love to watch you sleep and be grumpy, I've had my fill lately, so I'm going over to clean out some of the junk in your Dad's house." She kissed him on the forehead. "He's in your hands, Dana. God help you," she added with a wink. "Mom," Mulder sighed. "Please don't call me that." "What? Baby boy? I've called you that since you were born. You don't like it when I call you Fox. What am I supposed to call you?" "Never late for dinner?" he replied with a wicked grin. She slapped him gently on the shoulder, kissed him again and left. "Spill the beans," he commanded, settling back on his pillows. "The District Attorney has dropped all charges. They were all set to hit you with murder one, possibly going down to voluntary manslaughter. But the case fell apart," Scully said with a smile and pulled a set of papers out of her briefcase. She shifted through them and pulled out a couple. "When they checked the age on the bones, it didn't fit the timeline. Now, it's not that exact, but fairly good to a couple of years. Those bones were only in the ground no more than 15 years. Since the age of the child was obviously pre-adolescent . . ." she handed him the papers and he glanced at the highlighted sections. " . . . it couldn't have been Samantha," he said, completing her thought. He puffed out his breath. "But the DNA match?" "A clone would have a perfect DNA match, Mulder. That's how they are created in the first place. But the blood would have been a problem. The marrow had dried out, it wasn't useable. Now, if we'd found a blood sample . . ." "But you did, I thought. The knife," he reminded her. "Mulder, I made them do that blood test twice. Often, siblings have the same blood type. So it would be a match for Sam, but it could also have been a match for you. I made them compare it against the DNA markers and guess what? It wasn't Sam's blood at all." "It was mine," he said nodding slowly. "How could I have forgotten that?" "You were confused," she suggested. "You were confused at the time, and then you were confused at the accusation. You were so frightened that it could be true, that you really did kill your sister, that you forgot all the evidence that disproved that premise." "How did you find out? About the blood, I mean," he asked, not bothering to hide the rush of admiration he felt for his usually skeptical partner. She smiled self-consciously. "Really, it was Steve who made the link. He remembered the night you and Gary did your little 'sacrifice' to their oak tree. I can only cringe at the infection that little stunt must have caused," she said with a shiver. "Hey, it's not a sacrifice without blood," he said lightly. "And my hand never got infected. It hurt like hell for a couple of days, but I kept putting alcohol on it and it cleared right up." She bit her tongue and looked down at her hands. She had to ask, but didn't know if he would answer her question. "Mulder, why did you bury the knife, your Scout pin and the baseball?" He shrugged and looked embarrassed. Still, after all she'd been through for him, she deserved an answer. "I thought it would bring her back. I'd tried everything, I'd even gone to church a couple of times. Snuck out early on Sunday mornings before either mom or dad woke up. Nothing was working. I figured, it was worth a try." "Sacrificing your most beloved possessions to an oak tree?" she asked, trying to cover his embarrassment with a sly smile. "At least it was before I found out about Playboy. Now, that would have made an interesting discovery," he said, using humor to hide the pain of that memory . "Did they find the rest of my box?" "In Lt. Rick Price's garbage can. Good thing the garbage men missed it, although they probably wouldn't have taken it anyway since it's a recylcable item. I didn't know you were into 'Johnny Quest', Mulder" she teased. "It was a phase," he shot back. "Keep it a secret and I won't tell Pendrell that you had Mickey Dolenz posters plastered all over your closet door when you were nine," he bribed. She blushed deep red. "Deal. And I have to have a long talk with my mother and see what other family secrets have been revealed." "What happened to Price?" he asked, deciding that it was wiser and healthier to change the subject. His partner's face grew dark and she let out an exasperated breath. "No, don't tell me," he said, and sank further back in his seat. "Gone, vanished, no sign, no trace," he checked off on his fingers. "And the body, too," she admitted. "Right out from the FBI labs," he sighed heavily. "And I bet in a couple of days, the computer will be purged off all that lab data, too." "Mulder, maybe it's just as well, this time. I mean, it would have answered our questions, but would it have led us anywhere?" she asked. "We know the truth, Mulder. They can't hide that from us because we already know." He looked over at her and gave her a weak smile. "You're right. We already know." The end.