DISCLAIMER: For the most part, the characters included within this work of fiction belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network. I mean no infringement. Warning: Adult language and situations, warranting a PG-13 rating. This is a Pre-quel to 12 Degrees of Separation and takes place within the same universe. 12 RITES OF PASSAGE #3: "Remembrance" By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Caroline Mulder's Home Greenwich, CT February 13, 1998 9:38 a.m. Fox Mulder let go of the wicker breakfast tray with one hand to tap on the door of his mother's bedroom. "Mom?" "Come in, Fox." Her voice was muffled, tired. He steadied the tray against his chest and opened the door. His mother sat upright in bed, her hair only slightly mussed and the blankets tucked neatly around her. He smiled, amazed that a woman who could look so neat and composed after such a hellish night could have possibly given birth to someone as perpetually rumpled as he. "I made breakfast for us." He flipped open the legs of the tray and settled it over her lap, then perched on the edge of the bed next to her. Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry for what I said to you, Fox." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter." "Yes, it does." She reached out and closed her hand over his, squeezing firmly. "Too many things have been said that can never be unsaid, Fox. Too many hurtful, dreadful things." "I know how much all of this has hurt you, Mom." "I'm not the only one. I've just been ACTING as if I were the only one affected by what happened to our family all those years ago. I've been a very selfish woman, Fox." He shook his head, not wanting to hear her talk this way about herself. "Dad created this mess, Mom, not you. You can't blame--" "He created it, but I perpetuated it, Fox. I let you suffer through so much--" Tears trickled down her cheeks. "My God, how you must hate me." A soft little sob broke through the tightness in his throat. "No, Mom--" "It was never your fault, Fox. Not any single piece of it. I know your father treated you as if you'd failed him, but that was his evil, not yours." "I should've protected her--" Pain rose in his chest, burst behind his eyes, squeezed his throat. He couldn't look at his mother, shame and misery fighting for control of his emotions. "I let them take her because I was a scared little shit who couldn't even get up off the floor--" "Fox, it wasn't your place to protect her. It was mine. And your father's. We're the ones who failed her, not you. God knows you tried." She clutched his hand, tears streaming down her face, her voice thick with anguish. "You tried so hard, and you were so broken when it was over, I despaired of ever getting you back." He met her gaze then, needing to know the truth he'd avoided for years now. "I don't remember anything about the days following Samantha's abduction, Mom. I don't remember almost a whole month." She nodded slowly, dabbing her eyes with the snowy linen napkin from the breakfast tray. "You were in the hospital." He closed his eyes, chilled but not surprised by the admission. He'd suspected as much. His conscious memory of his life after Samantha's abduction began somewhere around Christmas of 1973, the first Christmas without her. It had been bleak and painful--his mother cried the entire day; his father drank his way through a bottle of Scotch and then went back for more. Mulder had opened his gifts--a sweater, a basketball, baseball cards and a watch--and realized that he couldn't remember when the family had set up the Christmas tree or had gone Christmas shopping or had watched MIRACLE ON 34TH STREET like they usually did every Christmas season. It was a blank--and he was glad. He hadn't wanted to remember. It also explained why he'd spent almost a year on Thorazine, his mind numbed by the drug to the point that he'd almost been kept back in school that year. "How long?" "Almost the whole month. Your father talked the doctors into letting you come home for Christmas, even though you weren't yet responsive." He frowned, another shiver sliding over him. "Not yet responsive?" "You called your father and me the night she disappeared, hysterical, screaming. We raced home to find you in the middle of a hallucination of some sort. Screaming about a bright light and a voice. Screaming your sister's name over and over and over--" His mother closed her eyes, pain etching deep lines in her soft face. "Then, suddenly, you stopped screaming. You stopped talking. You--shut down." Catatonia, he thought with clinical detachment. The mind's last resort against horrors it was too afraid to face. "And I was catatonic for the whole month?" She shook her head. "Once or twice you almost came out of it. But every time the doctors would start to examine you, you snapped. You became hysterical, violent even--screaming at them not to touch you, kicking, hitting, scratching--then you'd shut down again." He shook his head, trying to picture what she was describing. He couldn't reconcile her words with his own memories of himself. He had never been violent, never been quick-tempered or hysterical. "What finally happened? How did I come back?" His mother's eyes softened, grew infinitely sad. "We brought you home at your father's insistence. You were still catatonic, but you didn't resist us. We got you settled in your room, hoping that maybe being among your belongings might bring you back." "And did it?" She smiled slightly. "Christmas morning, I went into your room and found it empty. I was terrified, until I heard sounds coming from your sister's room. I went through the connecting door and found you sitting in the middle of her bed, holding her rabbit and crying. You told me you'd lost her and that you were so sorry." She reached out and caressed his cheek, her hand warm and trembling. "You were back. You didn't remember anything but the fact that your sister had disappeared, and we never tried to push you to remember more." Her voice tightened. "Your father said it would do no good for you to remember. That's when I finally realized what he had done. When I finally understood why he'd asked me which child I would choose if could save only one." Mulder lowered his head, sorrow bending him almost double. God, what he'd put his mother through. No wonder she'd never wanted to talk about what happened. No wonder she'd avoided his questions later. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry I put you through that." She caught his face in her hands, her touch strong and insistent. She forced him to look up at her, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. "I don't ever want to hear an apology from you again, Fox. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Your father and I were to blame for everything. Every bit of it, from beginning to end." She released his face, and looked down at the tray that sat, forgotten, over her lap. She dabbed her tears again, her struggle for composure evident in her face. "I've let the cereal get soggy." "I'll pour you some more." He made a move to rise, but she put her hand on his arm. "I'm not really hungry right now." She let go of his arm and picked up the tray, moving it off the bed onto the floor. That done, she looked back at him and patted the empty space next to her. Feeling like a kid again, Mulder scooted up to the head board and sat next to her, his shoulder pressed against hers. "You used to sit next to me like this and read me stories in bed," he said, resting his head against hers. "You always liked THE CAT IN THE HAT." He chuckled. "No, Mom, YOU liked that one. I wanted to hear Grimm's Fairytales--all that lovely blood and gore." "Samantha's favorite was GREEN EGGS AND HAM," his mother murmured. "'Would you eat them with a Fox....'" His lower lip trembled at the memory of her childish voice screaming the line at the top of her lungs, knowing how to torment him even at such a young age. "She loved you so much, Fox." "I was so awful to her." "You were her big brother. It was your job." "I was yelling at her the night--" His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes again. "That was the last thing she heard from me. I called her mean names and practically made her cry." His mother remained silent, as if she knew there was no way to respond. "I loved her, Mom. I never knew how much I loved her until she wasn't there anymore." "I know." "I don't want to let her go, but it's time." His mother drew a trembling breath. "Why now?" He looked down at his hands, wondering if he could make her understand. "Because three weeks ago, my partner took a bullet for me and almost died in my arms. And I realized that I'd let my obsession with finding Samantha put barriers between Scully and me that have no business being there." He fingered the soft cream colored bedsheets, trying to say the right thing. "I have to make a choice, Mom. I don't want to, but I have to. And I choose Scully." His mother sat quietly for a long moment, her hands folded and still. Venturing a sideways glance at her, he saw silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at some invisible point on the far bedroom wall. He closed his eyes, his throat aching with tears he was too drained to shed. "I'm sorry, Mom." Silence hung between them a few moments longer. Then finally, his mother took a long, shaky breath and asked, "Are you in love with your partner?" It was the last question he'd expected. He licked his dry lips and wondered how he could explain what he felt for Scully. "I don't know," he said finally, realizing it was the only honest answer. "I love her without a doubt, but I've never allowed myself to be IN love with her. I didn't dare. I didn't want to risk the relationship we had--and I couldn't be what she deserved, not when my whole life was wrapped up in a quest that might never be resolved." "But now you have to know?" He nodded, surprised but grateful at the understanding he heard in her voice. "If I don't do this--if I don't find out what possibilities there are for Scully and me, I'll regret it the rest of my life. And I've got enough regrets for two lifetimes already." "I like her, you know. She came to me when you were missing and we thought you were dead. She told me that she had a strong feeling you were alive, and she made me believe it." His mother smiled, wiping away her tears with her fingertips. "She's a lovely young woman, Fox. And I can see already that she's good for you." He turned and clutched her hands between his, making her look at him. "Mom, please believe me when I say that I don't want to give up on Samantha. And I don't want you to ever blame Scully, either--she doesn't want me to give up. She's put her own life on the line time after time to help me find the truth." "I know that." She dabbed at her eyes again. "It's just--I don't want to say goodbye to my baby. I've never really been able to give up on her. I'm not sure I know how." He nodded. He'd been thinking a lot about how he could find some closure about his sister when he'd never had a body to bury or a gravestone to visit. And last night, after Scully had called, he'd stayed awake for hours, trying to figure out the best way to say goodbye. Finally, as exhaustion began to overcome grief, he'd realized that before he could release his sister to the past, he had to face the past, remember it, relive it. "I think I know a way." She turned, a quizzical look on her face. He squeezed her hands gently. "We have to go back to Chilmark." * * * * * Feb. 13, 1998 New Haven, CT 1:39 p.m. The apartment that Sarah Chandler had shared with Anne Milliken was neat but homey, decorated in a quirky, eclectic combination of themes and colors. Unobtrusively, Scully took in as many details as she could manage, wishing Mulder were along for this--he was the better observer of the two, with his photographic memory and eye for detail. "The police act as if Sarah's some kind of nutcase, and she's not." Anne Milliken's hazel green eyes flashed with a combination of anger and worry. "She's a PhD candidate, for heaven's sake! She's worked herself half to death in order to finish up this phase of her degree so she can tack on one more thing--she's ambitious and brilliant and imaginative, but she's NOT crazy!" "I know that," Scully said gently, putting on her most soothing expression. The other woman calmed a bit and ventured a half-smile. "I'm sorry--it's been a rough week." She raked her fingers through her short, dark hair and gestured toward the pale tan camel-back sofa. Scully took a seat, and Anne curled up in the matching armchair across the coffee table from her. "Sarah really liked you, you know. I think maybe the MUFON folks kinda intimidated her--Sarah's not the type to believe in little green men." "Gray," Scully murmured. "Excuse me?" Scully shook her head. "Sarah wrote that she's not sure what her recovered memories mean but that what she recalled DOES seem to fit the pattern of the classic alien abduction experience." "But you don't believe in that kind of thing." "Let's say I have not been persuaded of its validity." Anne chuckled. "You DO work for the government, don't you!" Her smile faded. "Your partner's a bit more open-minded, isn't he?" Scully frowned. "My partner?" She'd never spoken to Sarah about Mulder. "Sarah's friend from MUFON, Penny Northern, sent her an article she clipped from the NORTHEAST SKYWATCHER NEWS." Anne shot Scully a wry grin. "I know, I know--but apparently you and your partner are some sort of celebrities among the UFO crowd. Wait a second--I'll get it for you." Anne uncurled from her seat and disappeared into the back of the apartment. Scully took the opportunity to look around, taking in the richly colored, minimalist folk paintings on the wall, the handwoven Navajo rug that covered most of the hardwood floor, the white-washed walls that gave the room an almost rustic appeal, even though the apartment was a typical, boxy kind of place one could find in any city in the country. There was a lovely antique display case against one wall; Scully rose and looked inside. Sprinkled amid the expectable clutter of porcelain figurines and wood carvings were a handful of trophies--academic awards belonging mostly to Sarah Chandler, a couple of soccer all star trophies belonging to Anne Milliken. A pretty sterling silver cup proclaiming Sarah Chandler the Valedictorian of her senior class at Bradley High School in Charleston, South Carolina. Anne Milliken came into the room, carrying a narrow scrapbook. She gave a little nod toward the display case. "Sarah's quite the over-achiever." "How long have you known her?" Scully returned to the sofa and sat. Anne sat down next to her and lay the scrapbook on the low pinewood coffee tabled in front of them. "Only a year. But Sarah's one of those people you meet once and feel like you've known forever." Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at Scully. "Tell me the truth, Agent Scully--do you think that Sarah's still alive?" Scully nibbled the inside of her jaw for a second, wondering how to answer. Unbidden, Mulder's words from the day before returned..."Most of the time, you don't find an abductee alive after 25 DAYS...." She looked down at the scrapbook and avoided the question, knowing that neither she nor Anne really wanted to hear the truth spoken aloud. "Is this Sarah's?" Anne nodded. "The psychology researcher who took Sarah through hypnotic regression therapy suggested that Sarah keep a journal of everything pertaining to her recovered memories. Newspaper clippings that caught Sarah's eye, any thoughts or dreams, things like that." She picked up the scrapbook and flipped it open to a page near the middle. "This is the clipping Penny sent Sarah." Scully took the scrapbook and glanced over the article from the NORTHEAST SKYWATCHER NEWS. The photograph was grainy and not terribly flattering to her--although Mulder, the lucky bastard, looked marvelous as usual. They were crouching in a field-- Oh, God, she thought with a grimace. Comity, New Hampshire. She barely held back a shudder, remembering that horrible nightmare of a weekend. She and Mulder had been at each other's throats--no wonder she looked like hell and he looked so great! He'd been thinking of tall, blonde and busty Detective Angela White, no doubt--while she'd been thinking of murdering them both and using all her FBI know- how to get away with it. "Sarah wondered if you'd be mad that she had this. Like you'd think she was some kind of crazy stalker." The thought had crossed Scully's mind, briefly. But a quick flip through the scrapbook eased her mind--there were numerous clippings and handscrawled observations that indicated a woman trying to come to terms with memories and sensations she couldn't make sense of. "You told Detective Hanson of the New Haven PD that Sarah had made plans for lunch the day you disappeared. That was the last time you saw her?" Anne nodded. "She got a call early that morning. Her only class of the day was over by 10:30, and she'd planned to meet this person for lunch." "You don't know who she was meeting?" "She just said that he was someone who'd been involved in the Harvard study. She said she'd met him briefly up there, and he'd come across some information about a new memory recovery technique that was offering good results in clinical tests." Anne frowned. "I asked her if she thought it was smart to go meet this guy alone for lunch, but Sarah just laughed. She said he was an older gentleman--very proper, very courteous--nothing to worry about." "Did she tell you his name?" "No. She never said." Scully jotted another note. "Did Sarah say where she was going?" Anne shook her head. "No. I wish I'd pushed her now...." "Maybe she mentioned something in the conversation that could give you a clue. Maybe hinted what area of town she was headed to?" Anne chewed her bottom lip, her brow wrinkling. "All I remember is Sarah saying that the lunch could turn out to be just the break she was looking for. She really wants to remember her past--who she is, how she ended up unconscious on a back street in Charleston. It really bugs her, not knowing." Scully could imagine. "Did she mention what she was planning to eat for lunch?" Anne started to shake her head again, the stopped, her mouth dropping open slightly and her eyes widening. "Wait a second! I remember, Sarah said that even if she was chasing a wild goose with this lunch date, at least she'd get a free falafel out of it." "So she was going to a Middle Eastern restaurant of some sort?" "Not just some Middle Eastern restaurant. She was going to Garnem's. It's her favorite place to eat--a little Lebanese place on Pritchard Street next to a used bookstore. She refuses to eat falafels from anywhere else--'why mess with perfection?' she always said." Scully spelled the name aloud to make sure she had it right, jotting it in her notebook. "Anne, do you have a more up- to-date picture of Sarah than this one?" She pulled the faxed photo from the case folder she'd brought along with her. Anne looked at the photo. "No--Sarah's not much one for having her picture taken. She thinks she's got a big nose, although I tell her on her, it looks great." "Maybe something older--that looks more like she does now?" "I'll have to look through some of her things." Anne's expression indicated how reluctant she was to rifle through her missing friend's things. Maybe, Scully thought, Anne felt like she herself had felt the time she finally found the courage to help her mother sort though Melissa's things. If Missy were still alive, she'd hate for Scully and her mother to be going through her things, invading her privacy. But death had a way of making privacy a moot point. Once Scully had started sorting through her sister's belongings, she'd felt the full impact of her sister's death, the irrevocability of it all, expressed in that one short afternoon of sorting through the detritus of a life cut short. "I'm going to see if Sarah ever arrived at Garnem's. I'll try to use this picture and the updated description of Sarah. Does this look enough like her that someone could recognize her?" Anne looked at it again. "Yeah--just be sure to tell them her hair's long and darker now. Shoulder-length, maybe longer." Scully flipped her notebook shut and pulled out a business card. "This is my cellular phone number--if you think of anything, no matter how insignificant you may think it is, call it in." Anne fingered the card. "Okay, I'll definitely do that." She walked Scully to the front door. Scully turned and held out her hand. "Thank you for all your help, Ms. Milliken." Anne shook Scully's hand, venturing a smile. "It's good of you to come here and try to help Sarah. I think if anyone can find her and bring her back safely, Agent Scully, it's you." Scully hoped that Anne was right. But she was beginning to have serious doubts. Her cellular phone burred softly in her pocket as she was unlocking her car door. Pulling the phone out of her pocket with one hand, she opened the car door with the other. "Scully." "Hi, it's me." She felt a little niggle of relief at the sound of his voice. It was almost as if she'd been waiting to hear from him before she felt like she could really relax. "How're you doing?" "Better. Mom and I had a good talk, cleared the air a bit." "You sound better." Scully tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder and buckled herself in. "Talking to you last night helped. Thanks for remembering to call and let me know you made it to your friend's place safely. Anyway, there's actually a point to my call." She cranked the car. "You? With a point?" He chuckled, the all-too-rare sound sending a warm, electric sensation pulsing down her spine. "Yes, I have a point. I wanted to let you know that Mom and I are currently on the road to the Vineyard." "The Vineyard." She paused with her hand on the gearshift, surprised. "We wanted to take one more look at the place in Chilmark before we make the decision to put the property on the market." And take one more chance to visit the past before letting it go, Scully thought. She closed her eyes, unexpectedly overwhelmed by sadness. Even though her innate pragmatism had never let her fully believe that Samantha was still out there somewhere, alive and reachable, she'd found herself willing to suspend that disbelief over the years, maybe because she knew that finding Samantha alive would make Mulder happy. And she longed for Mulder to find a way to be happy. "How long are you going to be there?" she asked. "Just for the day. We'll probably head back to Greenwich tonight. I'll wave out the window as we pass through New Haven." She smiled. "I'll wave back." Silence fell between them for a moment, thick with unspoken thoughts, yet oddly comfortable. Mulder finally broke the silence. "Scully?" "Yeah?" "Thanks." "For what?" "Just putting up with me, I guess." His voice softened. "I know you go way above and beyond the call of duty to do that, sometimes--a lot more often than I deserve. I just thought it was about time to say thanks." Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away, scolding herself silently for being so susceptible to her partner's unaccustomed sweet-talk. For heaven's sake, Scully, he just said "thank you," not "I love you." But a part of her realized that was EXACTLY what he'd just said. * * * * * Feb. 13, 1998 12:45 p.m. Chilmark, MA Fox Mulder walked ahead of his mother into the small bedroom that had once been his sister's domain, air whooshing from his lungs in a dizzying rush. How long had it been since he'd come to this house, seen this place? The window by the bed was hidden behind faded yellow and white curtains; Mulder crossed the room and opened the window, letting the afternoon sunlight pour through the dusty panes. Outside, the side yard was patchy bare, the winter cold having killed back the grass. He could still remember playing in the snow right outside the window, tossing wet snowballs at Samantha's window and hearing her muffled shout of little girl indignation. Behind him, he heard his mother's soft, shuddery sigh. Without turning away from the window, he murmured, "Dad never changed anything all this time?" She didn't answer. He turned and looked at her, realizing how small and frail she looked, standing in the middle of that room where her daughter had lived for 8 short years of life and almost 25 years of memory. He walked around the room, remembering Samantha here, the sound of her voice, the way she'd smelled like baby powder and Ivory soap. He fingered a pale blue ribbon hanging over the edge of the dresser mirror--blue had been her favorite color. She'd gone through a stage where she wore nothing BUT blue--Samantha's blue period, their father had called it, smiling with slightly befuddled fatherly affection. His dad had adored Samantha. Doted on her. To this day, Mulder couldn't understand why, when the time came to make a choice, his dad had let the bastards take his sister instead of him. He opened his mouth to ask his mother if she knew, but the shattered expression on her face stopped him. He hurried to her side, worry twisting his gut. "Mom, are you all right?" She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his chest. "I don't know if I can bear this, Fox." He stroked her hair gently, soothing her as she began to shake with sobs. "It's okay." "I tell myself I have to let go, but--when that woman came back, saying she was your sister, I let myself believe we could really find her again. I haven't been able to let it go." He thought about the other time, how the woman claiming to be Samantha had convinced them all--even his father. He remembered how he'd hesistated, just for a moment, when the alien bounty hunter had demanded a trade--Samantha for Scully. He'd been shocked to realize that he was willing to do anything to save Scully--even risking the life of the woman he believed to be his sister. And yet, he'd never meant for it to be a trade, Samantha for Scully. He'd tried to save them both, unwilling to give up either of them. But sometimes, making a choice was all that was left to a man. And having almost lost Scully again, he knew his time had come. He had to say goodbye to his sister and move on with his life. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the memories of Samantha this room evoked, the smells, the sounds, the sights, the way her soft skin had felt beneath his fingers on the rare occasions he'd deigned to touch her. From the day she was born, he'd seen her as a pest, an interloper, the fly in his porridge. His dad's obvious adoration of Samantha hadn't helped matters. How much of this quest has been about guilt? he wondered, tears pricking his eyes. If I'd treated her better, if I'd loved her more while she was here, could I have let her go a long time ago? He didn't know the answer. * * * * * Garnem's Pita Cafe New Haven, CT 4:49 p.m. "Sure, I know her. That's Sarah--comes in here pretty regularly." The slim, attractive Lebanese girl behind the cashier's desk nodded when Scully showed her the picture of Sarah Chandler. Scully glanced at the name badge pinned to the woman's dark maroon blouse. "Teresa, can you remember seeing her here on February 6th?" Teresa frowned. "What day would that have been--Wednesday?" "Thursday." "Well, I work Thursdays, so if she was here, probably so. But that was a week ago--" She looked uncertain. "She might have been with an older man. A well-mannered gentleman--" As soon as she said the words, a little niggle of recognition shot through her. A well-mannered older gentleman.... "Wait--I think I DO remember that." Teresa's eyes widened slightly. "I guess because he was a lot older than Sarah-- and he had an accent--British or something." Excitement battled with dread as Scully searched her mind for a mental picture of the man she suspected had met Sarah Chandler for lunch on February 6th. "Was he about 6 feet tall, iron gray hair, with a long thin face and a thin nose?" Teresa nodded. "Yeah--sounds like him. Very polite, had a habit of arching his eyebrows--reminded me of some old movie actor or something." Scully's stomach rolled. "Did Sarah leave with him?" "I think so--they went out the back way because there's parking in the alley." "Did you see Sarah again after that?" "Not that I remember?" "How about the man?" "No--I'm sure about that." "Did he pay for the meal or did Sarah?" "He did--gave me a fifty and told me to keep the change." "Do you by any chance still have the fifty?" It was a long shot, Scully knew, but it wasn't likely that anyone would pay in big enough denominations to get a fifty back as change. Maybe, if the fifty was still in the cash box, she could see if Agent Pendrell could lift any prints-- "No, we took that to the bank that afternoon." Teresa shook her head, quashing Scully's hopes. "We don't like to keep big denominations sitting around like that." Scully sighed and pulled her business card from her pocket. "I can be reached on that cell phone number at any time. If you remember anything, no matter how insignificant it might seem, call me." She started for the front door, where her car was parked on the curb, but stopped. She turned back to the cashier. "How do you get out to the back parking lot?" Teresa nodded toward a narrow, dimly lit corridor back toward the kitchen. "That way." Scully thanked her and headed out the back. * * * * * I-95 15 miles east of New Haven, CT 5:28 p.m. The closure Mulder had hoped for hadn't happened, for himself or for his mother. She had insisted that they leave not long after their arrival, as if being in that house was a physical ache, something she could not bear. She had fallen silent somewhere around Providence, RI, responding to his occasional queries with soft, weary monosyllables. As they neared New Haven, his mother broke the silence. "I'd like to stop in Momauguin." He glanced at her. She stared ahead through the windshield of the car as if the passing scenery were the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. But he knew she wasn't seeing any of it. "Okay." "My cousin Kay has been after me to visit for months. I think maybe I'll surprise her." He arched his eyebrows. "Don't you think it might be better to call ahead and make sure she'd there?" His mother turned her head to look at him. He, blinked, surprised by the twinkle in her eyes, so at odds with her earlier grief. "Kay has less of a life than I do, Fox. She'll be thrilled for a break in the routine." He stared. "If you're sure." "I am. I think it'll be good to listen to someone else's troubles for a change--and Lord knows Kay has some of those." His mother laughed softly, the sound spreading over him like a soft, warm blanket. He eyed her warily, wondering at her complete 180 degree turn. She caught his odd look and her laughter faded to a faint smile. "I'm tired of being sad, Fox. I'm tired of crying and wishing my life were different." He nodded. "I was hoping the visit to Chilmark might help, but--" "I don't think we'll ever really have closure, Fox. Not without a body to bury. I just don't think it's possible. But I can't go on like this. I'm so tired of grieving. I just want to smile for a little while. Remember who I used to be before everything went wrong." She looked at him, a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'll bet you didn't know I once wanted to be a Rockette." He laughed aloud. "You're kidding." "I was quite the dancer in my youth. But then I met your father, and--" The pain in her voice wrenched his heart. "He wasn't always the way he was...toward the end...?" "No, he wasn't." Her voice softened, grew wistful. "He was a good man when we married, Fox. Idealistic and full of enthusiasm. He thought he was going to change the whole world--we were all young and foolish back then. We didn't know that it's always the world that changes us." "Did you love him?" "Yes." The certainty in her voice surprised him, for he knew how much she'd grown to hate him in the end. "But then--" "He changed." She nodded. He thought about himself and Scully, about all they had been through, all the pain and anger and frustration as well as the love and the trust. Somehow they'd survived, come out of it all stronger and closer than ever. But coming from a family that had ripped at the seams when he was only 12 years old, he didn't trust the seas ahead to be calm. He exited the interstate and headed for Momauguin and his mother's cousin's place. "It'll be nice to see Kay--I don't think I've seen her since I graduated from high school." His mother shook her head. "You're not staying, Fox. I think you have someone to see in New Haven." He looked over at her again, his lips curving slightly at the humor in her expression. "Mom, are you meddling?" "I most certainly am." He looked back at the road, laughing softly. "Well, I'd better see if Scully's gonna want her party crashed--she and her friend might not want me around while they're catching up on girl talk." "I've never seen a hen party that didn't have room for a cock." He gaped. "Mom!' Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd said. "I'm talking about a rooster, Fox!" she exclaimed, making him laugh harder. Suddenly they were both howling with laughter, giving into the heady rush of emotional release. They subsided finally, his mother settling back against the passenger seat, her face still creased with a slight smile. As they turned down the road to Kay Radford's house near Momauguin Beach, his mother said, "No matter what we decide, Fox--I'm glad we did this. I'm glad you came here this weekend." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Me, too." Following his mother's directions, he pulled into the driveway of his cousin's house and parked behind her Cadillac Seville. Somehow, he'd remembered the house being bigger. Of course, everything looks bigger when you're young, he thought. "While I tell Kay I'm spending the night, why don't you call your partner and see if there's room for you in her slumber party?" his mother suggested as they got out of the car and started walking up the stone walk to Kay's house. He glanced at her again and saw that this time, she was well aware of what she was insinuating. Flashing her a broad grin of appreciation, he paused at the bottom of the weathered redwood porch, pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and dialed Scully's number. She answered on the third ring. "Scully." "Hi, it's me." "Hey." Her voice was a little faint, ambient noise creating a filter effect." "Are you outside?" "Yeah--can you hold a second?" "Sure." He heard soft sounds through the phone--the faint tapping of footsteps on pavement, car engine noises, a car horn beeping somewhere far away. The, suddenly, he heard a sharp gasp of pain and a clattering noise. "Scully?" The line went dead. End of 3