TITLE: THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY AUTHOR: Judith Baxter FEEDBACK: JudithBaxter@hotmail.com SPOILERS: Anasazi RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: XFile, Mulder/Scully UST (well, sort of. Proceed with caution if you're a strict NoRomo). SUMMARY: A grieving woman unleashes a terrifying force from beyond. DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Samantha, Melissa, Bill Sr., etc. are the property of the Fox Network, Ten Thirteen and Chris Carter. No money is being made by me, folks. This is purely a labor of love. XXXXX FROM THE FIELD JOURNAL OF SPECIAL AGENT DANA SCULLY As a doctor specializing in forensic pathology, I have studied the structure and function of the human heart. I can recite the names of its parts and point out their locations. I can explain the role that each part plays in receiving and distributing the lifeblood of an individual. I know, for example, that two large veins - the superior and interior venae cavae - serve as the gateways to the heart. A contraction of the left ventricle sends blood into the aorta and on to the arteries. Muscles and valves vibrate, contract and close, thus producing two sounds in each cycle of a heartbeat. Without the complications of disease or defect or accident, the heart rhythmically marks off the seconds of one's life until it is inevitably silenced. Even the strongest of hearts are eventually stilled. Through the course of my work on the X-Files, I have performed numerous autopsies that required the removal of the heart from the chest cavity of the deceased. I have been literally called upon to hold a heart in my hands. I can examine it, weigh it, measure it, scrutinize it in any number of ways, but for all of my training and knowledge, all of my experience and observation, I cannot tell what secrets that heart has held. I don't know what hopes flourished within it or died there unfulfilled. I can't point to a scar and state that it's the result of a lifetime's worth of emotional or mental pain, just as I can't look at the ventricles and tell you how much love was stored within them. We often describe the pain of separation or the loss of a relationship as "heartbreaking" and "heart-rending." And yet, with some tragic exceptions, most individuals overcome their grief, eventually finding solace and happiness with someone else. Perhaps the physiology of the heart itself provides some insight. Even when all connections with the nervous system have been severed, the heart muscle will continue beating at its regular rate. It is in its nature to do so. Are we biologically driven to face the future and go on living, even when each day is more than we feel we can bear? Is it in _our_ nature to do so? Is it instinct, a facet of our need for self-preservation, a smattering of cellular material within our DNA that compels us to survive, if not heal? And if survival becomes mere existence, a seemingly endless stretch of days devoid of joy or meaning, what then? When faced with the prospect of a solitary existence, to what lengths will one go to reclaim a love once cherished, then lost, to heal a broken heart? END OF ENTRY XXXXX When the police officers arrived at her door, Katie Thornton refused to believe that Peter, her husband, was dead. She couldn't accept the idea that his body was encased in a shroud of twisted metal, his death the result of a head-on collision with another car. Over and over she told herself that it had to be a mistake, even as she was being led to the morgue to view his remains, separated from him by a pane of glass. When the blinds were opened and the sheet was turned down, she saw the stillness of his face, his dark eyes forever closed. In one terrible moment, her stomach wrenched in anxiety and agony - and she knew that Peter was gone. She became wild with grief, throwing herself against the window and screaming to God in her pain. She seemed hell-bent on harming herself, if not by breaking the glass to get to Peter, then later by taking pills or slashing her wrists or any of a hundred other ways. But Katie did none of that. From somewhere within her shattered heart, she found the strength to make preparations for Peter's funeral. She picked out the suit for his burial. She selected his casket. She supplied the minister with information about their life together, so that he would be better able to convey to the mourners the essence of the man that she would love for the rest of her life. It was a carefully crafted facade that Katie presented to her family and friends, one which completely crumbled after the funeral when Katie was left alone in an empty house. For days, she sat on the sofa; her home darkened by the lowered shades or closed drapes. At first, family and friends came by to coax her outside. She participated in small talk, thanked them for their kindness and then politely but firmly escorted them to the door - if she let them in the door at all, which oftentimes she did not. When they were gone, Katie returned to her station on the sofa, where she sometimes slept for hour after dreamless hour. Gradually, everyone got the message that she wanted to be left alone, and even though no one thought it was wise or healthy, her wishes were respected. In truth, twenty-four year old Katie also realized that she had become one of the most painful of paradoxes - the young widow. She knew that even her closest of friends fumbled for words to express their sympathy. She was too obvious of a reminder that at any moment, their lives could be thrown into violent disarray. So it suited her purpose when they seemed a bit too willing to distance themselves and she forgave them for their fear. One day, Katie awoke, clear-eyed and clear-headed - and with a strange sense of calm that she hadn't felt since before Peter's death. It was as if she had been handed a plan, detailed and complete, for what she needed to do. Everything at once seemed so obvious. She actually laughed that she had not thought of it sooner. She sprang from bed, showered and dressed - humming as she did so - then got into the car and drove to a bookstore. It didn't take her long to find the information that she needed, but assembling the required materials was a challenge. She spent the next several days prowling through antique shops, flea markets and garage sales. She picked through the cast-offs of many a life unknown to her, pondering this and considering that, often going back to the same store several times to re-examine a piece. She wanted to be sure of her purchases, after all, and besides, she felt as if she had all the time in the world to make the right decision. When Katie at last completed her shopping and put everything together as she had read, she spent an entire day in preparation. She first pulled on an oversized T-shirt, baggy shorts and tennis shoes and took an early morning walk to a nearby park. Sitting on a bench still damp with dew, she watched the sun burn off the mists that curled through the trees and down the shallow bank of the park's one small pond. When she returned home, she gathered her kitchen clock and digital alarm clock for storage in her bedroom closet. She also unplugged or concealed in some way every appliance that featured a clock. Satisfied that she had created an atmosphere of "timelessness," Katie then sat down to a breakfast of juice, toast and fruit, careful to avoid the usual two cups of dark black French roast that jolted her to wakefulness. The next couple of hours were spent thumbing through her favorite books. Amongst the works of Jane Austen, J.D. Salinger and Anne Rice were the precocious Calvin and Hobbes; the richly textured illustrations of Michael Hague, the innocence of Winnie the Pooh and Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit and friends. Lying on the sofa, Katie laughed as flipped from one page to the next - sometimes curled on her side, sometimes on her stomach, other times lying on her back with her feet propped on the sofa towards the ceiling. It was a bubbly, carefree laugh - a sound that had not been heard in the house in a long time. Later, Katie lay still, her eyes closed in blissful surrender as she listened to the otherworldly melodies of Constance Demby's "Novus Magnificat." She pictured herself rising with the music, her arms extended, twirling and spinning with the stars towards a great heavenly light - a light which held all the answers to all the questions that anyone had ever dared to ask. A light from which flowed the purest, highest form of unconditional love. When the music ended, Katie opened her eyes and wiped away the streams of tears that wet her cheeks and hair. She knew that it was time to act. She ran a warm bath, throwing in a handful of colorful, fragrant crystals before easing herself into the water's warm embrace. When she stepped out, she slowly dried off and then applied lotion to her now pink skin. She carefully put on her makeup and put up her hair, then stepped into a soft flowing emerald dress that complemented her pale complexion. Walking from room to room, she turned off the lights in each one, until at last she reached what used to be the spare bedroom. Slowly feeling her way through the dark, she stopped to turn on one of her latest acquisitions - a large Victorian globe lamp, decorated with pink roses painted across a background of pale green. The dim lamplight glowed warmly against the beautifully polished finish of the cherry table on which it rested. Reaching under the table, Katie pulled open a small drawer to remove a few items vital to the evening's activities. She studied them in her hands, turning them over and over, her forehead wrinkled by the pain that marred her newly established calm. It lasted only for a moment and then was pushed to a secret place in the deepest part of her heart. Drawing a long breath, Katie turned to face the two objects that dominated the room. In the room's center, upholstered in burgundy velvet, was a massive, high-backed claw-footed chair. Large brass upholstery tacks gleamed against the dark wood of its frame. Katie paused to run her hands over the rich fabric and across the carvings that highlighted the arms and back, appreciative of the time and craftsmanship invested in the chair's creation. With a small, satisfied sigh, she sat down, then raised her hips to curl her legs beneath her. She rested for a moment, her eyes closed, her breathing calm and even. When she felt she was ready, she slowly opened her eyes to gaze into what was, for her purposes, the room's heart. Hanging high on the wall was a huge mirror surrounded by an ornate gold frame. So large was this mirror that it was able to reflect most of the room's contents - thereby making the bedroom seem twice as big as it was. However, because of the height at which it was hung, Katie was not able to see herself in it. The mirror was the single biggest expense in Katie's plan, but she had not hesitated in buying it. She had been informed by the antique dealer that it was quite old, and so had probably witnessed as many quarrels, declarations of love, illicit trysts and family gatherings as one could imagine. It had a history - albeit one of a silent witness - but Katie felt that in reflecting those many lives that passed before it that it somehow retained a pale refection of each one. It was now her hope that the souls in the mirror would help her to find the one that meant the most in the world to her. Peter. XXXXX Katie sat bolt upright, her eyes and hair wild, her heart racing, before she realized where she was. Gripping the arms of the chair with white knuckles, it took a moment for her to see that she was in her newly redecorated guest bedroom. Her hands relaxed and her pulse slowed as she acknowledged that she must have fallen asleep, but for how long, she had no idea. Her brain and vision cobwebbed with drowsiness, she smoothed her hair, then rubbed her eyes, trying to clear them - and was astounded to discover that the room was filled with a thin, wraith-like smoke. Once again her pulse spiked, but this time with excitement, not fear. She sat still, barely breathing, in awe of what was taking place before her. The surface of the mirror was covered - _no_, the _interior_ of it, she realized, was filled with the same white smoke. Katie clasped her hands to her lips, at once afraid to laugh, for fear of disrupting what she so longed to achieve, then laughing for the sheer joy that arose from her heart. Almost instantaneously, the mirror began to twinkle with small stars of light, as if dozens of constellations danced within its silvered depths. A small sigh of wonder escaped Katie's lips. This was better than she could have possibly hoped for on her first attempt at contact. If nothing else happened, if she never saw Peter, she would have the memory of this spectral light show to fill her private thoughts and dreams forever. As it continued, she began to think that maybe _this_ was a sign in and of itself. A sign that Peter loved her still, even from the other side. Slowly, the luminescent pinpoints faded one by one, until a solitary light remained. Katie watched in fascination as the light began to grow larger - almost like the headlight of an approaching train. As it grew, Katie noticed that there was movement within it - a dark form that seemed to increase in size with the aura surrounding it. Larger and larger it became, until with a cry of happiness, Katie recognized the apparition. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she pushed herself out of the chair with trembling hands. Before her conscious mind registered the impossibility of what she saw happening, Peter stepped from the mirror and stood before her. Katie was speechless. Only in the freedom of her dreams had she had the opportunity to be with Peter, and now here he was - looking as human, as alive as he had been when he left the house on that terrible night. Slowly, Katie walked to him, her hands extended, her heart fluttering in her chest. For just the briefest second, she hesitated before reaching to touch his face, instead covering her lips with her fingers in an effort to contain her sobs. With a whimper, her love overcame her fear. She gently brushed his cheeks, the line of his jaw, his throat, all the while murmuring his name over and over. At last, she pressed herself against him, burying her face against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. When he encircled her with his arms, she stiffened slightly and then relaxed into his embrace, his chin resting against the top of her head, then sliding over her hair as he lowered his head to rest against her shoulder. To Katie, there was no one and nothing else outside the circle of their arms. They stood there for a long time, each leaning into the other's body, drawing comfort and strength from one another in silence. So intent was Katie on savoring the reunion with her husband that she hardly noticed how stiffly he stood, how still he had become. When she finally recognized the changes in Peter's demeanor, she pulled away, looking up at him with questions in her eyes. What she saw tied her stomach into knots of wild, raw panic. Peter stood over her, gazing into the mirror, his pupils dilated to the point that his eyes appeared black. All the color had drained away from his face so that it was a sickly bluish white. The skin on his forehead and neck was shining with a slick sheen of sweat. Katie reached up to touch his cheek, but quickly withdrew her hand when she realized how unnaturally cold he had become. Frightened, she stepped away from him, her heart threatening to pound its way out of her chest. With wide eyes, she slowly turned to see what held Peter's attention in a death grip... And realized that nothing in the darkest corners of her worst nightmares could have prepared her for what she saw. Drawn toward the monstrosity even as she tried to resist, the last thought that occurred to her as her consciousness flickered and disappeared into the void was that something had gone ...horribly ...hellishly _wrong_. XXXXX "Excuse me." The white-haired volunteer at the information desk looked up and smiled pleasantly at the soberly dressed young man and woman before her. The man spoke again. "We're here to meet Detective Dan Billard. Can you tell us where we could find him?" The volunteer's smile faded. Looking from the man to the woman, she said, "Oh, dear. You're not detectives, too, are you?" The young woman intervened. Pulling her ID badge from her coat, she held it up and said, "I'm Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Agent Fox Mulder. We were asked to meet Detective Billard here at the hospital, but we weren't told where to find him. I'm sure you can help us." Agent Scully accompanied the statement with a small smile. The older woman gave the younger one a worried look before dropping her eyes to scan the neatly arranged rows of notes on her desktop. Tracing up and down each column with a carefully manicured fingernail, she finally stopped and pried one note out from between its neighbors. She paused to read it to herself, then raised her eyes to meet Scully's. "You'll find him in the morgue," she said. Scully turned to Mulder, a question in her eyes, then looked back to the woman at the desk. "And how do we get to the morgue from here?" she asked. The woman hesitated, as if she couldn't decide whether to give the directions or not, then pointed over Scully's shoulder and said, "Take the elevator there. Two floors down. Follow the signs." Scully smiled briefly. "Thank you for your help," she said. Mulder and Scully turned away from the desk and headed across the lobby. Scully shoved her hands into her trench coat pockets and leaned towards her partner. "You didn't tell me there had been a death." "I didn't tell you because I didn't know about it until a minute ago," Mulder replied. "Billard was pretty cagey on specifics, but he did say there were interesting aspects to the case. Things that were unusual. Elements that would qualify it as an X-File." He stopped at the elevator and reached to punch the down button, then faced his partner. "But he didn't say that Katie Thornton was dead." "But she did end up here under mysterious circumstances?" Scully asked. Mulder looked upward and pursed his lips, as if scanning the ceiling for information. "Katie Thornton, 24 years old. Recently widowed. Found unconscious on the hospital steps three days ago. No indication who left her. Her driver's license was in her pocket, along with her late husband's wedding ring and his watch. She was in a coma when she arrived, although there were no outward signs of trauma and nothing in her medical history that indicated that outcome." Scully scanned the lights above the elevator doors, tracking the car's progress. "Only twenty-four years old and a widow? What happened to her husband?" "Traffic accident. Car jumped the interstate median, hit Peter Thornton's head on." The elevator doors opened and Mulder stepped aside as it released its passengers. He then gestured for Scully to enter. "Which just goes to show you that any of us can leave this life at any time." The doors closed and he selected the floor they needed. "That's not usually something I like to consider when I'm on an elevator," Scully replied, crossing her arms and leaning against the back of the car. Mulder smiled and cocked his head to one side. "Am I detecting a heretofore undeclared phobia, Agent Scully? Fear of being trapped in a falling elevator?" Scully uncrossed her arms and braced them against the car's steel railings. "No, not really. But I can think of a lot of other ways I'd rather make my exit." Mulder regarded her for a moment, then quietly said, "Scully, there are a lot of things that I'd like to know about you. How you'd prefer to die is not one of them." Scully turned to see Mulder looking at her with a soft, almost sorrowful expression in his eyes. She opened her mouth to respond when the elevator interrupted with a mechanical ringing and the doors opened wide. She was still holding Mulder's gaze when she stepped past him to exit. There was no one waiting to greet them, but it didn't take Mulder and Scully long to find Detective Billard. Signs posted in the hallways led them to the morgue. When they arrived, a serious young man in a dark suit was talking quietly and earnestly to a police officer. Scully noted that he seemed a blonde version of Mulder - the same square jaw, the same tall lanky build. As the officer nodded and walked away, the man turned to greet Mulder and Scully. "Can I help you?" he asked. Mulder extended his hand to shake Billard's. "Detective Billard? I'm Fox Mulder and this is my partner, Dana Scully." Billard shook Mulder's hand, then Scully's. His relief at their arrival was evident in the almost desperate way he clasped their hands. "Thanks for coming," he said. "I really appreciate your help." He lowered his voice and leaned in, as if sharing a secret. "Uh, I hate to admit this, but I'll be up front with you. I'm outta my depth on this one." "Oh, really? How's that?" Mulder asked. Billard stood with one hand at his hip, while running the other through his thick blonde hair. "It's all way too weird, too strange. Well, maybe not for you." He gestured to the two agents. "You probably see this kind of stuff all the time, but I...." His voice trailed off. He looked down at the floor and his eyes focused on something that only he could see, as if he were thinking of anything but where he was. Scully lowered her head, trying to catch his eye. "Detective Billard?" she said, her tone gentle. He turned and looked at her, but said nothing. Scully decided to press on while she had his attention. "Why don't you tell us everything you know, everything's that happened. Then Mulder and I will help you in any way we can. But first you have to tell us why we weren't notified of Katie Thornton's death." Scully's last statement seemed to bring Billard back to the present. He looked at Mulder and Scully with surprise, then perplexity. "Who told you that Ms. Thornton was dead?" He waited for either agent to respond, then pointing to himself, he added, "I know I didn't." "Well, we _are_ in the morgue," Mulder responded. "I can't think of anyone actually requesting to be treated here...." He stopped, his mind going back to Donnie Pfaster, who had desecrated the corpses of young women and who had turned to stalking the living, including Scully. "Okay, maybe I can think of one," he muttered. Billard sighed. "You're right. I guess I didn't tell you everything you need to know." He held his hands in front of him, palms up in a gesture of apology. "Let's start over. Katie Thornton is in the morgue, but she's very much alive. Quite honestly, she's down here as much for her safety as for anyone else's." "What do you mean?" Scully asked. "She's still in a coma, right? She's not threatening bodily harm to anyone?" "Well...no, not exactly." Billard looked away, unable to meet the scrutiny he was receiving from the two agents. He turned back to face them. "Look, come with me and I'll show you what I mean." With that, he walked past Mulder and Scully towards the end of the hall. Scully stopped long enough to shoot a glance at Mulder, who raised his hands in a "Who knows?" gesture as he stepped forward to follow her. When the three reached Katie's room, Billard said, "I'll wait out here." "And if we have questions?" Scully asked. Billard glanced nervously at the door, then back to Mulder and Scully. "Look, I'll be right here. Anything you need to know, you can come back out and ask." "But you're not going in with us," Mulder said. Billard looked Mulder in the eye, then shook his head. "No." The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Mulder said, "Okay, Scully, let's see what we got." He turned to open the door to Katie's room but was stopped when Billard grabbed his sleeve. "Wait a minute! I almost forgot." Billard held out his hands. "Give me your watches, pagers, cell phones. Anything like that. I'll hold'em until you come out." Scully looked from Mulder to Billard. "Why? What will happen to them in there?" she asked. Billard smiled weakly. "Trust me. I learned the hard way. You take them in there and they won't work again when you come back out." "Okayyy..." Scully replied, reaching into her coat pocket for her cell phone. "But why...?" She was silenced by a gesture from Mulder, who smiled to himself as he handed over his watch. Scully paused, then following her partner's lead, removed hers and placed it in Billard's waiting hands, to rest with Mulder's phone. "Anything else we need to know?" Mulder asked. Billard dropped the agent's belongings in the pockets of his jacket. "That's it, I guess. Don't stay in there too long. Well, you won't want to anyway." He looked down at his shoes. "I couldn't." Scully looked with sympathy at Billard, then to Mulder. Turning to enter Katie's room, Mulder said, "Okay, Scully. Time to find out what's waiting for us behind Door Number One." XXXXX Once inside, Mulder and Scully stood with their backs against the door, neither taking another step as if by mutual consent. Scully allowed her eyes time to adjust from the glaring fluorescent lighting of the hallway to the dimmer, warmer lighting provided by the camp lanterns placed on either side of Katie's bed. At the moment, however, she couldn't bring herself to comment on the strangeness of the room's furnishings. She was too busy forcing herself to breathe. Fear was assaulting her with an icy hand as surely as if she were receiving blow after blow to the chest. Shivering violently, she wrapped her arms around herself and asked, "Is it cold in here or is it me?" "I don't think it's you," Mulder said, briskly massaging his hands to warm them. "Shit, this room's like a freezer! You'd think there'd be a space heater, at least." "Maybe there's no heat because there can't be any heat, Mulder. Maybe that's why they've got those lanterns." Her brows creased together as she considered her next statement. "And maybe that's why there are no monitors hooked up to Katie." Mulder shrugged and blew on his hands, then shoved them under his armpits. Scully regarded their surroundings, all the while rubbing her arms in an effort to keep her blood flowing. The room was a windowless cinder-block cell painted in a dull institutional gray. She guessed that it probably had been a storage area before being converted to its present use. It wasn't the most cheerful of places to be housed, but it wasn't like Katie would notice, she thought to herself. Hadn't she been oblivious to everything around her when she was in the same situation? She trembled and pulled her trench coat closer around her. She didn't like what she was feeling. Her heart was constricted like a small, tight fist in her chest. She knew that she needed to make a closer examination of Katie, but she couldn't convince her feet to move. She licked her lips and tried to swallow, but it was as if she hadn't had anything to drink in days. Not that she would have been able to swallow anyway. Her esophagus felt like it was being crushed flat. It was irrational, illogical nonsense, she told herself, but she was absolutely, positively certain that if she took one more step towards Katie's bed that she would have a heart attack. When she found the breath to speak, her voice sounded strained and not anything like her own. "Mulder, let's make this quick, okay? I'm...I'm not feeling very well." When he didn't respond, she turned to repeat herself, thinking that he was too engrossed in his own analysis to comment. What she saw made her forget her own discomfort. Mulder was standing ramrod straight, arms held stiffly at his sides, fists tightly clenched, head tilted back, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he was breathing heavily after a hard run. Sweat stood out in beads along his forehead. When he swayed, as if he might fall, Scully reached out to grab him, thinking that she would help him sit down. And nearly got knocked on her ass for her effort. She hardly had time to get out of the way when Mulder came out of his fugue state. With wild eyes that didn't seem to recognize her, he shoved her hands away, then advanced and took a couple of swings. In the small room, she had little area in which to maneuver. When she raised her hands to defend herself, Mulder captured her left wrist. Tightening his grip, he pulled Scully towards him, ignoring her cry of pain as her wrist twisted in his hand. "Mulder, please!" Mulder's hand clamped harder on Scully's forearm and she bit her lip to keep from crying out again. "Mulder, stop. You're hurting me!" She felt Mulder's breath on her face as he bent over her, grinning with a dark cruelty that he had never shown before. She closed her eyes to keep from meeting his, stars bursting behind her eyelids from the pain he was inflicting. She imagined that she could hear the bones in her arm grinding together before they snapped. Keeping her voice calm, she said, "Mulder, it's me. Dana Scully. I'm asking you to please stop hurting me." Gradually, Mulder's grip on Scully relaxed. She opened her eyes to see him slumped against the wall, his face hidden by his hands. With a tentative, "Mulder?" Scully crossed the space separating them to gently place a hand on his arm. Mulder's hands dropped away to his sides, revealing eyes moist with tears. Putting her arm around his waist, she quietly said, "C'mon. Let's get the hell outta here." He gave a barely perceptible nod, then sweeping his arm around Scully's shoulders, he leaned into the strength of his partner's embrace. XXXXX Billard glanced up from his Styrofoam cup of coffee to see Mulder and Scully exit Katie's room. Scully helped Mulder to a chair, then leaned down to place a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" she asked softly. Without looking at her, he swiped a hand across his eyes, then nodded yes. "I'm going to get a look at Katie's chart. You need anything?" Mulder shook his head, then turned to look Scully in the eye. "Scully, I...." His mouth continued to move, but no words came. Scully could see that he was struggling to finds words in explanation for what had happened. She looked down at her wrist. The pain had reduced to a dull throb, but she didn't think there was any permanent damage. "Mulder, I'm fine. Really." Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she added, "We'll talk about it later." Then standing to face Billard, she asked, "Where can I find Katie's records?" "She's being treated by Dr. Laura Barnes. Back the way you came, then right. There's a makeshift nurse's station. Somebody should be there." Scully took one more look at Mulder, dipping her head slightly as if to ask, "Okay?" He smiled weakly - a smile that faded as watched her walk down the hall. Without taking his eyes from her, he said flatly, "You could have told us, Billard. You could have warned us about what to expect." He stood up, moving to stand toe-to-toe with the other man. Pointing in the direction Scully had gone, he raised his voice. "I could have hurt her!" Billard shifted from one foot to another, unsure as to how to answer. He broke away from Mulder's stare, then met it once more. "Look, everyone who has stepped into that room has reacted differently, all right? How was I to predict what would happen? Some people waltz in and out and don't feel a thing. Others come flying back through that door like the Devil himself was after them." "And you got a pitchfork in the ass," Mulder said, with a note of sarcasm. Billard's eyes narrowed slightly, then he snorted with disgust. "Yeah, that's right. I was hardly in there five minutes but it felt like forever." He leaned forward into Mulder's face. "I'll tell you something, Agent Mulder. I've been in law enforcement for fifteen years. I've been in situations where I've seen my life run in a screaming flash before my eyes. Been through times when I was certain that I was gonna be hauled home in a bag. _Never_ in all those years have I felt the kind of blind, naked panic that I felt when I walked into that room." He straightened again. "Does that make me some kind of a coward? Because I won't go back in there? You tell me." Mulder didn't answer right away, his own mind in turmoil over his rough treatment of Scully. After a moment's silence, he shook his head. "No, it doesn't make you a coward. For some reason that we don't know yet, you had an adverse reaction. All three of us did. We just need to determine the catalyst to the process." Relief eased the tension in Billard's face. He forced a smile. "I've heard a few things about you, Mulder. About your interests, your methods. Some pretty wild stuff. When it's all said and done, I don't care how this case gets solved. I just want to see an end to it. Doesn't matter to me whether you use tea leaves or Tarot cards to find the answers." "Well, I'm a Ouija board man myself," Mulder deadpanned, "although Scully's background in forensic pathology makes her predisposed to using the entrails of a goat as an investigative tool." Billard looked momentarily wary, but before he had a chance to respond, Scully rejoined them. "Find out anything?" Mulder asked. "Nothing beyond what Detective Billard already told us," she replied, crossing her arms. "There's no indication as to why Katie is in a coma. Urine ketone, plasma ammonia, blood ethanol - all normal. No history of seizures. Her pupils are responsive - no apparent pressure on the optic nerve, but without the use of a monitor, there's no way to determine if her intercranial pressure is within normal limits. No external signs of head trauma, although her doctor's been unable to do any type of scan which might reveal internal injuries." "Because the same phenomenon that would have affected our watches and phones affects the equipment used to conduct the scan," Mulder offered, looking at Billard. He switched his attention to Scully. "And the heat and the lights." "Yeah, big time," Billard replied, reaching into his pockets and handing over their belongings. "Luckily, the effect is localized. Only hardware and individuals in the immediate vicinity are affected. But no one wants to take a chance that whatever this is will shut down a respirator or a heart monitor or some other critical system. So she's down here, at least for now." "Umm, well, yeah, probably for the best," Mulder replied, as he strapped his watch onto his wrist. Suddenly thoughtful, he regarded it for a moment. Staring at its face, he asked, "Have Katie's neighbors and immediate family been interviewed?" "Her aunt lives here. Practically raised her, but she didn't have any info for us. Katie's parents are divorced. She hasn't seen her father in years. We're trying to locate him and her mother. She took off for parts unknown right after Katie got married." "And the neighbors? What did they have to say?" Mulder asked. Billard shrugged. "Didn't hear anything, didn't see anything. You know." "Still, we'd like the option of canvassing the neighborhood again, and re-interviewing the aunt," Mulder said. "And obviously we'll need to get into Katie's house." "Sure," Billard replied, taking a pad from his pocket and scribbling down an address. He ripped out the page and handed it to Mulder. "But I wouldn't advise going over there now, at night. Place is creepier 'n hell." XXXXX "So, what do you think?" Mulder asked as they climbed into their rental car. Scully reached behind her for her shoulder harness. "I think Billard has his own ideas about what's going on, but doesn't want to say too much for fear of sounding foolish." "While I, on the other hand, take that risk on a daily, sometimes, hourly basis, eh, Scully?" She smiled as she clicked her seat belt into place. "You do have your moments, yes." She turned to see Mulder looking at her in the most curious way - as if he were studying her face in order to commit it to memory. Bemused, she curled a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Mulder, what is it?" His gaze wandered from her eyes to her hair, her mouth, then her eyes again. "I was thinking about how much you have to put up with from me." When she remained quiet, he stared out through the windshield, into the night. "Back there" - he gestured with his chin towards the hospital - "I could have broken your wrist or your arm, without even a second thought." He raised his hands to tensely grip the steering wheel, then lowered them again to his lap. "I think that the only thing that kept me from doing it was hearing the pain in your voice." His hazel eyes found hers. "When I realized that you were pleading for me to stop, I hated myself, Scully. I hated myself for hurting you." Looking at Mulder in wonder, Scully's eyes threatened to spill over with tears. While she tried to find the words, she slowed her breathing to calm herself. Damn it, why did this man affect her like this? Swallowing hard, she said, "You couldn't help yourself, Mulder, and you can't be held accountable. There's something going on here that we don't understand - not yet, anyway." She placed her small palm against his forearm. "Trust me. I'm sure there's a reason for what's happened and, when we find it, we'll know how to keep it from happening again. So don't worry, okay? All's forgiven." The barest crook of a smile appeared at Mulder's lips. "If you say so. But as a token of my appreciation for your continued patience and understanding, how about if I buy you dinner?" "Sure, why not? But only after we go to Katie's house." Mulder's eyes widened with delight. "Ooooo, Scully, really? Even though, it's...how did Billard put it? 'Creepier 'n hell?'" Scully nodded emphatically. "Yep, creepier 'n hell." Mulder grinned and turned the key in the ignition. XXXXX "What have you got, Scully? Odd or even?" Scully peered into the darkness, searching for any sign of a house number. As her partner slowly inched the car down the street, she saw the flash of headlights on brass numerals. "Odd. The house is on my side," she answered. "I think I saw 2067 back there so Katie's house should...be...here." She pointed to a small red brick bungalow, hardly distinguishable from any of the other houses they had passed on the street. It reminded her somewhat of the cookie-cutter base housing that she and her family had lived in when she was a child. What did her sister, Melissa, used to call them? 'Ticky-tacky houses'? Bland, yes, but somehow comforting in their sameness. She smiled inwardly and softly said, "I don't know, Mulder. It doesn't seem so creepy to me." Mulder leaned over and craned his neck to get a better look. "Yeah, well, I bet the neighbors said the same thing about Jeffrey Dahmer's place." Then he straightened, shut off the engine, and proceeded to exit the car. Scully continued to gaze wistfully at the little house. Sitting snugly between its neighbors, it seemed to exude its own aura of normality and security. Maybe Katie and Peter had felt the same way about it. Perhaps they had planned on starting a family and raising children here. The tragedy was that it was just too easy to put things off when you thought that you would live forever, when you assumed that you were blessed with the invulnerability of youth. Scully had witnessed too many horrors to know that no one was safe, whether they chose to spend their life searching for the truth or sitting in a recliner in front of the TV. Too often the unimaginable happened in your own living room. Mulder knew that all too well. Scully's reverie was broken when Mulder tapped on the passenger window with his knuckles. She unbuckled her seat belt as he opened the door. As he waited for her he said, "This is historic, Scully. I think this is actually the first time I've ever opened a car door for you. Too bad there's no one here to take a picture for posterity." Scully looked at him smugly as she got out of the car. "I guess that means that you'll have to buy champagne at dinner to commemorate this momentous occasion." He closed the door and locked the car. With a mock serious expression, he said, "I don't know, Scully. I don't think my per diem will cover it." He watched as her mouth quirked to one side. That smirk was often as close as Dana Scully ever came to laughter. It was also the expression she exhibited when she thought he was full of it. As Scully stood at the end of the walkway to the house, Mulder popped open the trunk lid, took out two flashlights, then slammed the lid shut. He offered her a flashlight, then pulled it back, tapping it against his shoulder. He pursed his lips in thought, then said, "These may not work." "So we'll improvise," Scully responded, holding out her hand for the light. "But maybe we should leave our watches and phones out here, just in case." While Mulder deposited them under the front seat of the car, she asked, "Got a key to the house?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Opening it, he read, "Key is in the turtle." At the front door, the two agents scanned the ground at the foot of the bushes against the house. It was Scully who finally proclaimed, "Got it!" emerging from the thick shrubbery with a small plastic replica of a turtle in her hand. Holding it against her ear and shaking it, she heard the metallic clink of the key hidden inside. Stuffing her flashlight under one arm, she turned the turtle on its back in her hand and opened the small door on its underbelly. She extracted the key, placed the turtle on the ground, and unlocked the front door. As she stood in the doorway, Scully toggled the switch on her flashlight. It refused to work. "Hold on," she said, giving her eyes time to adjust to the inky blackness in front of her. A nearby streetlight cast an orange glow through the door into what appeared to be the living room. Eventually, Scully made out the shape of a sofa, saw a reflection off a glass-topped coffee table and a golden glint from brass candlesticks on the fireplace mantle. After getting her bearings, she headed toward a floor lamp, attempting to turn it on with no success. With a sigh, she put her flashlight on the coffee table, then turned back to the fireplace. On a hunch, she reached up to the mantle, and felt along its length until she retrieved a book of matches. As she lit the candles, Mulder entered the house and carefully closed the door behind him. As Scully handed him one of the flickering tapers, he said, "I think we're seeing the same effect that we saw back at the hospital." He held the candle up, as if to get a better look at her face. "What do you think?" Scully raised her chin a bit, her back stiffening. Mulder wasn't just asking for her opinion about his assessment of the situation: he was really asking for an evaluation of her emotional and physical state. He wanted to know that she was all right. Now that she thought about it, it did seem considerably cooler in the house than outside. That realization brought another - that her skin was tingling, as if being stimulated with a mild electrical current. "Mulder," she said, "I think you're right. I feel..." she stopped, not wanting to alarm him unnecessarily. She took a deep breath and released it. "I feel different. Not the way I felt back at the hospital, but not like myself, either." Mulder regarded her quietly. "Look, Scully, I don't want a repeat of what happened. Maybe it would be safer if you waited for me outside. I'll give a quick look around and tell you what I find." She considered his proposal for a moment. Coming from any other man, the suggestion to dismiss her from the scene of an investigation would have offended her. Mulder, however, wasn't just "any" man. He was the man to whom she entrusted her life on a regular basis. She saw the anguish in his eyes after the episode in Katie's room. She knew that he feared losing control and threatening her wellbeing. But although they were aware that there were forces at work beyond their present understanding, she knew that he would do anything to keep himself from hurting her. He was disciplined. He was focused. He possessed the ability to devote himself to a cause with a laser-like intensity that was frightening to observe. Scully trusted that he would bring all his will to bear on keeping his aggression in check. And yet...what if he couldn't? She had seen Mulder go over the edge before. Could she bring herself to put another bullet through his shoulder if she had to? Pushing that thought away, she tried to put a different spin on the situation. "I think we'll get more accomplished if we both search the house. It'll be done in half the time, and besides, something might get overlooked if only one of us walks through." She searched his face for any sign of agreement, but the creases in his forehead told her that he was still unsure. "Mulder, the quicker we sort through the evidence the quicker we'll understand what's happening here. And the most efficient way to do that is as a team." She took a step closer, the flame of her candle wavering from the movement. "You know I'm right. And anyway, I'm sure you'll warn me if you get ready to rumble." She gave him a warm smile of reassurance. He relaxed, if only by a fraction. By the dim light of the candles, Scully found it hard to read what was in his eyes. "Okay, for now." He pointed a finger at her for emphasis. "But if I give you the word, you haul ass outta here." She nodded in assent. "All right," Mulder continued. "Why don't you go through the living room, dining room, and kitchen. I'll take the bedrooms and whatever's left." Sheltering his candle with one hand, he turned and headed toward the back of the house. Scully slowly swung around to take in the living room. The furnishings were sparse, but revealed that the Thorntons possessed good taste. An area rug in muted earth tones lay on the hardwood floor. Oranges huddled together on a white platter atop a wicker chest. A beige couch and matching chair were grouped around a large square coffee table. Several books were scattered on its glass top. Carefully placing the candlestick on the table, Scully bent to look at them and was surprised to see that they weren't the usual overpriced fare that many bought for show and not for reading. "Sense and Sensibility" rested beside "Interview with the Vampire". "Winnie the Pooh" was nestled between "Catcher in the Rye" and an illustrated version of "The Hobbit". Worn covers and dog-eared pages indicated that these books were read not once but over and over. Someone obviously had great affection for them, but whether it was Katie or her late husband, Scully couldn't say. There were no names or inscriptions inside the covers designating to whom they belonged. She picked up the candle. Turning her attention to the rest of the room, she noticed a group of photos hanging on a fabric-covered folding screen that stood in one corner. When she got a closer look, it was apparent that this was Katie's version of a family photo album. There was a photo of a much younger Katie as she hugged Mickey Mouse at one of the Disney theme parks. In another, a man, whom Scully assumed to be Katie's father, stood holding the reins of a dappled pony while Katie, costumed as a cowgirl, sat beaming in the saddle. A later photo showed Katie and an older woman standing side by side at either Katie's high school or college graduation. The strong family resemblance told Scully that the middle-aged woman in the photo had to have been Katie's mother. Scully noticed that the smiles of the two appeared forced and strained, as if they were merely acting happy for the camera. They stood together, without touching, Katie clutching her diploma to her chest. Scully felt a twinge of sympathy for Katie as she gazed at the parent and child. Then she saw Katie's wedding pictures. In every one, Katie and Peter radiated happiness beyond any that Scully had ever seen from a bride and groom. Seeing the two laughing together, she couldn't help but smile. She continued to look at the photographs for a moment, her smile slowly fading. The she turned her attention to the other rooms. She had completed her inspection of the dining room and was in the kitchen when she heard Mulder. "Hey, Scully, c'mere!" Startled, she dumped the pile of papers she was examining from the counter to the floor. She dropped to her knees and hurried to scoop them up and into some kind of order. As she neatly stacked them, Mulder stuck his head in the door. For the briefest of seconds, Scully tried to read his face for any signs of the hostility that he had shown earlier. But she quickly realized that she had no reason to worry. Mulder was wearing the biggest goofy-kid grin that she had seen in a long time. "You gotta come see this." Intrigued, she followed him down a narrow hallway, their candles continuing to provide the only illumination in the darkened house. When they were in front of the last door on the left, Mulder stopped, then stood holding the doorknob. Standing in the closeness of the hall, Scully could see the twinkle in his eyes, the way he could barely contain his "I've- got-a-secret-and-you-don't" attitude. "So," he said, swinging the door open. "Tell me what you make of this." XXXXX Scully tore her gaze from his face and looked into the room beyond. At first it was difficult for her to determine just what she was looking at. She stared ahead of her in concentration, holding her candle in front of her. There was a little furniture -- a chair, a table. Antiques, perhaps. But mainly there was just so much. . .black. Black from floor to ceiling and on all four walls. "Oh my god," she whispered. Mulder leaned down to murmur near her ear. "Ten-to-one she didn't see this in 'Martha Stewart's Living.'" She turned her head a bit to acknowledge his comment, barely catching his eye, then walked in to get a better look. He remained near the door, watching in amusement as she ran her hand along each wall of the room, pausing briefly in front of the huge framed mirror. When she stood again at his side, he stayed silent, waiting for her reaction. There was a moment when all he could hear was her soft breathing as she pondered what lay before her. "Mulder, the Thorntons must have spent a fortune on this room alone," she said at last. "For one thing, the walls are covered with black velvet. I can't imagine how long it took to hang these, these. . . ." She gestured towards the room's interior. "Curtains, or whatever you'd call them." "And this furniture," she exclaimed as she moved to stand behind the large burgundy chair in the room's center. She turned to look at the cherry table and painted globe lamp. "Antiques, I think. Very nice, very expensive antiques." She rested one hand on the chair's carved back. "From what I've seen of the rest of the house, I'd say that the Thorntons did their furniture shopping at the Pottery Barn. Why should this room be any different?" Mulder tilted his head slightly. "Family heirlooms, maybe?" Scully drew her head back, her eyebrows raised. "Well, yeah, I guess, if they were handed down by members of the Addams family. Otherwise, I can't imagine what Peter and Katie would be doing with this stuff." Mulder left his post by the door and stopped in front of the mirror. He studied the depths of its black surface in silence, then turned to face his partner. "I'd say catoptromancy." "Excuse me?" "The practice of summoning an oracle from a mirror." Scully placed her candle on the table behind her, then crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side. She let Mulder's answer hang in the air for a couple of beats and said, "An oracle. From a mirror." Mulder looked up the mirror again. "Well, not always. Most oracles were summoned by staring into a pool of water - a process called hydromancy." He turned back to Scully. "Like at Delphi in Athens, Greece. But the same results can be achieved using a mirror." "And you think that's what Peter and Katie were doing? Asking questions and expecting to get answers?" "I don't know about Peter. But Katie - yes, I definitely think Katie was." Scully looked down at the floor and tried to suppress a smile. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Mulder. "What?" Raising her head, she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, Mulder, let's face it. You make this sound like an upscale version of an 'Eight Ball.'" When he didn't reply, she rested her hands on top of the high-backed chair and looked at them, lost in thought. A moment passed. "How do you know that she didn't use this room for meditation?" Mulder crossed the room to place his candle beside Scully's. He put his hands in his pockets, shrugged and stepped towards the mirror. "I suppose it's possible, but this setting is too Gothic. The point of a meditation room is to induce a tranquil, relaxed state of mind." He threw himself into the chair and then twisted around to look up at her. "The only thing that this place is gonna induce is nightmares." Looking around her, Scully agreed. The room's furnishings gave the impression that this area was far removed from anything happening beyond its walls. Under any other circumstances, she would have admired their beauty. Now, even the table and chair seemed ominous and foreboding, like props from the set of a Vincent Price film. 'It's these damn black curtains,' she thought. No doubt, most of her uneasiness came from those. They seemed to swallow up what little light was cast by the candles. Not only that, but Scully got the feeling that her voice was somehow muffled within the room's darkness - as if she were talking through the fog of a very bad head cold. And even though she knew, through her own inspection of the room, that nothing was hidden by those curtains other than a shallow closet and a window, she still felt anxious. Her rational mind told her that nothing was hiding behind those curtains. Her personal experience with the X-Files told her that anything could be hiding behind them. And then there was that mirror. While Scully didn't buy Mulder's theory that Katie was summoning oracles, she could easily imagine that this would be the type of mirror that one would use for that practice. With its imposing size and ornate frame, it looked like the kind of mirror that could hold secrets or answer questions, the kind of mirror that an Evil Queen would consult to find out who was the fairest of them all, the kind of mirror that Alice would have stepped into to enter Wonderland. She looked down at Mulder, his face hidden from view as he regarded the mirror. Maybe he was thinking the same thing. "Scully," he said, staring straight ahead. "What if this mirror is the key to what happened to Katie?" "What do you mean? Do you think she entered an altered state of consciousness by gazing at it? Some kind of trance that triggered catatonia?" "No, not exactly," he said, pushing himself out of the chair and facing her. His face was lit up with his excitement. Scully knew that look. It meant that he was about to propose a theory that ventured into the realm of extreme possibility. "What if Katie was affected not by what was _in_ the mirror, but by what came _out_ of it?" Before Scully could respond, Mulder held up his hand to silence her. "What if there was some process through which you could invoke forces or even entities to answer questions and provide help? The Greeks, the Celts, all kinds of people have looked into mirrors for a glimpse of the future, but there are also stories of beings that have stepped out of mirrors to interact with humans." He leaned closer to Scully, his voice raspy, his gaze intense. "What if something stepped out of the mirror - something over which Katie had no control?" Scully's eyebrows nearly climbed to her scalp. A tiny part of her screamed that this had to be some kind of a joke. Only she knew that Mulder wasn't joking. When it came to his beliefs about the abnormal and paranormal, he was serious to the bone. She just had a hard time reconciling that with her beliefs in the scientific method. Picking up her candle, she walked past him and stood in front of the mirror. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Of course, she hadn't had an opportunity to look behind the mirror's frame, but she didn't think there'd be any surprises there. Beneath the black velvet would be a perfectly normal wall that, upon inspection, would reveal no hidden cameras or other equipment -- and certainly no entrance to the Twilight Zone. "Mulder, this is just a mirror." She faced him once more. "I don't know what Katie was attempting to do here. I'm not at all sure how she even ended up in the state she is in now, but I can tell you this - I don't think it was because she had an altercation with the Mad Hatter or the White Rabbit." She made her statement matter-of-factly and without sarcasm. If Mulder was disappointed that Scully didn't embrace his theory, she didn't see any sign of it in his face. He turned from her, picked up his candle from the table and returned to stand in front of her. He looked down at her without speaking, the light from the tapers playing across his features but revealing nothing about what he was thinking. As she looked into his eyes, Scully regretted what she had said. With a few ill- chosen words, she had reduced his explanation for Katie's condition to the level of a child's bedtime story. She wanted to believe. But in order to do that, she required proof -- quantifiable, verifiable proof. How could she make him understand that she was willing to make the journey with him but not at the expense of her own need for hard evidence? Searching his face for any clue to guide her, she said in a low voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make light of your theory. It's just...." She stopped, hoping that he would say something so that she wouldn't have to keep talking. When he didn't, she continued, "Well, it's just that it's so damned hard sometimes, Mulder. I can't make the leaps that you're able to make. I can't jump from point A to point D without examining points B and C." She looked up at the mirror, swallowed hard, then turned back to him. "Give me time. Let me think about what you've said, do some research." The flame of her candle trembled with her breath. "I want the same thing that you want, Mulder. I want the truth. But I have to find it in my own way, on my own terms." There was the briefest pause before Mulder said, "Scully, anything less would be a betrayal of who you are. And that's a sacrifice that I would never ask you to make." At that moment, it seemed to Scully that all she could hear was the pounding of her heart, the roar of her blood in her ears as she and Mulder faced each other. At first, she attributed the effect to the intensity of their discussion. Maybe it even had something to do with how close she and her handsome partner were standing. Then she realized that something was wrong. "Mulder," she said urgently, cupping her hand around her candle and heading to the door. "We've got to get out of here. I think I'm having another panic attack." She was in the hallway before she realized that he wasn't behind her. Blowing out her candle and setting it on the floor, she turned back to the black room. She expected to see Mulder standing as he had in Katie's hospital room - with the same rigid posture and dark, fearsome eyes. What she saw frightened her even more. Mulder was squatting on the floor with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. As he slowly rocked back and forth on his heels, he made a soft moaning sound that sent trickles of ice water down Scully's spine. It wasn't a human sound. It was the sound that an animal might make if it were being tortured. Throwing aside any concern for her own safety, she knelt beside him, hesitating only briefly before wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Thankful that Mulder had had the presence of mind to set his own candle on the floor in front of him, she extinguished it with a puff of breath. She then pulled him to his feet, urging him on softly and swaying slightly with his weight as he leaned against her. Sometimes walking, sometimes stumbling through the dark house, the two agents reached the front door. As Scully locked it and returned the key to its hiding place, Mulder leaned against the doorframe, clutching his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Scully clasped his arm, concerned. Mulder waved her off. "I'm - fine," he wheezed between gulps of air. "Hit me - all of a sudden. But now...." He dropped his chin, still breathing hard. Scully found it hard to speak herself, so she was glad for Mulder's silence. It gave her a moment to regain her composure while she waited for a wave of nausea to pass. When he finally looked up and met her own weak smile with one of his own, she hoped that she didn't look as green as she felt. "Now that I'm outta there, I'm okay," he said. He raised two fingers in a half-hearted attempt at the Boy Scout salute. "Honest." He took a few more lungfuls of air and said, "Now, about that fancy dinner I promised you...." Scully watched him anxiously. "Do you really think that you want to go out to eat? Why don't we just grab something and take it back to the motel?" Mulder straightened, exhaled heavily, and took Scully's arm as they walked out to the car. "Look, Scully, no way am I subjecting you to another meal at Mickey D's. Not today, anyway. Besides, I made a promise and I intend to keep it." Despite his bravado, Scully wasn't entirely convinced that Mulder's recovery was genuine. When they reached the car, she held out her hand. "Okay, but at least let me drive." Mulder shrugged, dug into his coat pocket, then dropped the keys into Scully's hand. Once inside and buckled in she said, "Now, you're sure, right? You feel up to this?" Her partner grimaced as he bent to retrieve their watches and cell phones from under the car's seat. He handed Scully's belongings to her, then looked at his watch as he wrapped it around his wrist. "Scully, I'm fine. Anyway, I think that Uncle Sam owes us a nice meal. Maybe even a glass of wine." He twisted the watch around his arm and met his partner's gaze. "Or champagne." XXXXX Inside the Thorntons house, the air almost crackled with electricity. The black curtains billowed outward from the walls as if blown by a storm wind. The surface of the mirror sparked and glowed, zigged and zagged with the bright yellow arcs of static charges. The burgundy chair tipped backwards and fell as if shoved by a giant's hand. The globe of the Victorian lamp shattered, littering the floor with a million glittering shards of glass that danced in whirlwinds along the carpet. The spare bedroom became the center of a maelstrom, growing wilder and louder with each passing second and just when it seemed as if everything was going to be reduced to splinters of wood and ragged fabric.... There was a sudden and silent calm. It lasted only for a moment. The sound was barely audible. Someone standing outside of the room probably wouldn't have noticed it. And it would have been hard to determine from where it was originating -- and harder to believe. With a low and constant humming, the surface of the mirror slowly ripped from top to bottom, like the canvas of a painting being split. Then its silvered glass bulged outward, as if that same canvas were being pushed from behind. As the hum rose in pitch and volume, the halves of the mirror were parted and peeled back. And out stepped the impossible. XXXXX It quickly became apparent to Scully that dinner that evening was out of the question. They were on their way to check in at their motel when she realized that her partner had fallen peculiarly silent. Normally, Mulder would be bombarding her with his theories about their current case - goading her into a good-natured argument over their differences. She was sure that he enjoyed seeing her take the bait when he proposed some outlandish explanation for the oddities that they found themselves investigating. Sometimes, in the heat of their debates, she would catch him looking at her in a way that was hard to define. There would be a light in his eyes and a slight smile curving his lips. He would watch her as she tried to make scientific sense out of the fantastic, his eyes sweeping from her hair to her face to her lips to her throat and back again. Actually, she knew what that look meant - at least when other men looked at her that way. When it was Mulder...she wasn't so sure. Now, however, he wasn't looking at anyone. He was slumped against the passenger door, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. Scully pressed harder against the gas pedal, going as fast as she dared to get the two of them back to the motel. It was obvious that Mulder was ill, but the cause of his sickness was unclear. The latest incident pointed to a link between their symptoms and some causative agent in the Thorntons' house. If Katie spent a lot of time cloistered in her home after her husband's death, she would have been in close proximity to this agent for an extended period. Perhaps prolonged exposure resulted in the kind of serious debilitation that Katie was now experiencing. Only a thorough investigation of the home could provide answers, but although Scully felt that a quarantine was warranted, she was reluctant to press for one. There was no need to trigger a panic, especially given the fact that only persons in the immediate vicinity of Katie or the black velvet room were affected. What Scully didn't understand at this point was the seemingly selective nature of the agent or agents that were causing this sickness, if that was even what it was. Labeling it as such made it sound as if the source was bacterial or viral, when it could just as easily be chemical. In any case, she was puzzled by the symptoms displayed and their varying intensity - and very worried, particularly with respect to Mulder's reaction. All of the variables she could think of were still running through her mind as she pulled into the lot of the Peachtree Motor Lodge. She parked the car in front of the office and turned to look at her partner. His condition didn't appear to have changed. Scully reached across the seat to place a hand on his shoulder, then decided against it. 'No need to startle him,' she thought, her mind going back to his reaction at the hospital. Gingerly, she withdrew her hand and got out of the car as quietly as she could. She gritted her teeth when she closed the door, but as she bent and looked into the car, it appeared that Mulder hadn't even opened an eye. She hastily made the arrangements for their rooms and returned to the car. Mulder was now sitting up, blinking groggily and rubbing his hands over his face. His hair stood up crazily on one side, mussed from leaning against the door. "How do you feel?" Scully asked as she rejoined him. "Lousy," he mumbled. "Like I'm getting the flu. If I were you, I wouldn't waste any time getting us to our rooms. Not if you want to get the security deposit back on this car." "Why's that?" Scully asked, putting the key into the ignition. "Because I think I'm gonna hurl," Mulder replied, holding his hand over his mouth. Instantly, Scully threw the car into reverse and whipped it over to the two rooms at the far end of the motor lodge. Jumping out of the car, she scrambled to get a key in the room's lock, as Mulder stood behind her, antsily shifting from foot to foot. She had no sooner thrown open the door when he hurtled past her into the room. Stepping inside, she heard his distress as he retched in the bathroom, followed by the sounds of the toilet flushing and water running in the sink. "Are you all right?" she called, advancing into the room and turning on the lights. He appeared at the bathroom door, a towel clutched in his hand. She was shocked to see how ashen his skin had become. "My god, Mulder, you look awful," she said. "I feel awful," he replied, lurching over to the bed and collapsing onto it. Scully sat down beside him and placed her hand on his forehead. "You're a little warm." "That's probably from embarrassment," he said as tossed the towel in the general direction of the bathroom. He watched as it fluttered open and hit the floor. She reacted with surprise. "Embarrassment? Why should you feel embarrassed? I'm a doctor. These things happen." "Oh, sure they do. It's just that in my realm of experience it's happened after I've stood around with a bunch of hormonally hyper guys, telling outrageous lies and tossing down drinks that hit me like a blunt instrument. If I threw up in front of them, it didn't matter. None of them were gonna remember it anyway, and if they did, they weren't going to bring it up because then I'd retaliate by reminding them of some offense for which they could probably be arrested." Mulder looked at Scully pointedly. "Never, ever, have I gotten sick like that in front of a woman." Scully found herself with nothing to say. He really _was_ embarrassed, although she felt that he had no reason to be. He was admitting another idiosyncrasy to her, like his fear of fire or insects. Except this fear was not one hardwired into his subconscious, like the others. It was his very personal fear of being humiliated. Scully was moved but broke from his gaze. It was best to try to divert his attention from his own predicament. "Well, don't forget," she said, picking at something on the bedspread that only she could see. "I rushed into your motel room in my best from Victoria's Secret during our first case. As I recall, I was afraid that I was marked like those high school kids that were being abducted. Imagine my own embarrassment when it turned out that I'd only been bitten by mosquitoes." She met his hazel eyes again, her blue eyes mischievous. "I'd flashed you for nothing." Mulder rolled over onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. "Ah, but Scully, how do you know?" She felt the color rising in her face but didn't miss a beat. "Obviously, your fever has now made you delirious," she said as she arose. "I'll come back in later and check on you." Chuckling, Mulder rolled over onto his back as she closed the door. XXXXX Before going to her room, Scully retrieved their suitcases from the car. After giving Mulder his bag, she settled into her own temporary lodgings. It took her about an hour to store everything to her liking and then to trade her conservative FBI career clothes for jeans, boots, and a soft black sweater. Scooping some change out of her briefcase, she went in search of a Coke machine. When she found one by the office, she bought a couple of drinks and walked back to the rooms. Her knock on Mulder's door brought no immediate response. She had decided to return to her own room when he opened the door. "Hey, come on in," he said, sleepily. She stopped and turned to see him dressed in gray sweatpants and a rumpled T-shirt. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." "No problem." He held the door open as she entered his room, then closed it, and shambled to his bed. While he eased himself onto the mattress, she pulled up a chair. Mulder lay back with his arm across his eyes. Scully settled into a slouch, propped her feet on the bed, and popped open one of the sodas. After she took a sip she said, "I brought you something to drink. You don't want to get dehydrated." He mumbled his thanks. She took another swallow as she watched his chest rise and fall. Finally, she broke the silence. "Mulder, what the hell is going on here?" He raised his arm a bit and caught a glimpse of the concern on her face. Sitting up, he grabbed a couple of lumpy pillows, punched them into submission, and shoved them behind him for support. Then he gestured for her to hand him the other can of soda. After a few swallows, he set the can on the nightstand. "I don't know. I keep going back to what happened at the hospital. I don't like to think that I could react like that again." "But when we were at Katie's house, you didn't." Seeing the questioning look in his eyes, she asked, "Or don't you remember?" He shifted against the pillows, clearly uncomfortable at having to confront this aspect of the case. "I don't recall what I might have done. I know that I felt...afraid. Actually, I was terrified, like...." He picked up his can of soda and turned it around in his hand, as if he were studying the label. He took another sip and then looked at his partner. "I felt like an animal must feel when it's trapped by a predator and knows that there's no escape. I was sure I was going to die in that house. There was no rational thought involved, no higher Homo Sapien's reasoning, no inner voice telling me that my imagination was running a marathon - just some primitive prehistoric part of my brain screaming that I was about to become an hors d'oeuvre for a T. Rex." "That's how I felt at the hospital," Scully responded. "Scared out of my wits. Physically, I exhibited all the signs of a panic attack - accelerated pulse, esophageal spasms, clammy skin, shortness of breath." "And I acted like the Tyrannosaurus," Mulder said, under his breath. Both fell silent. Mulder became preoccupied with his can of soda again. Scully looked at her feet, turning them this way and that as she studied the shine on her boots. For a time, the only sound was the drone of traffic on the adjacent highway. Finally, convinced that the discussion was over for the evening, Scully took her feet off the bed, finished her drink, and stood up to leave. She was almost to the door when Mulder spoke. "Fight or flight." She turned around. "What?" "Fight or flight, Scully -- the two basic instinctual responses of an animal when faced with a threat to its life. An animal either stands its ground and engages in combat or turns and attempts to flee to safety. We've both felt compelled to act on those urges in the last 24 hours." "But why, Mulder? What would trigger that kind of a response? I suppose that we could have been exposed to a psychotropic chemical at the Thorntons, but that doesn't explain our behavior at the hospital." She considered the problem for a moment. "Residue of the chemical on Katie's skin or clothing could have produced the same effect on anyone entering her room and...what?" She saw Mulder's smile that threatened to break into a grin and crossed her arms over her chest. "You don't think that's possible?" He shook his head, the amusement plain on his face. "On the contrary, I think it's a perfectly logical explanation for at least the physical and emotional responses we've experienced." "But not necessarily the explanation that you subscribe to?" "No, not yet, but I could be persuaded." He continued his silent laughter. Scully stood her ground, her lips pursed. "So, what is it then?" He gestured towards her. "You. It's you, Scully. I just like the way your mind works. You dissect my theories the way you've autopsied the bodies we've encountered over the years." He sliced the air with the edge of his palm. "Cleanly, precisely. Then you objectively state what you see. And if it's crap, you call it crap. I can't help but respect your honesty. And now I've become...." He paused, his jaw working as he considered his words. "I've become addicted to it." She wanted to look away but couldn't bring herself to do it. There was something in Mulder's eyes that drew her in and held her attention - a kind of focus that narrowed the world down to just the two of them. She felt that she had been standing there a ridiculously long time before she cleared her throat and replied, "Thank you." Then, uncrossing her arms, she added, "Well, I guess it's goodnight." Mulder didn't move from his station on the bed. "Yeah, I guess so." "See you at what? Eight?" "Eight? Yeah, sounds good to me." She smiled and put her hand on the doorknob to leave. "Hey, Scully." With a small sigh, she faced her partner once more. "Thank you." She nodded slightly in understanding, then turned and left the room. Mulder lay still, listening to her footsteps on the sidewalk, the turn of the key in the lock, and the soft swish and clunk of the door opening and closing. Then all he heard was the sound of the cars on the highway as they roared into the night. It was a long time before he closed his eyes to sleep. XXXXX Scully was up well before eight. Her eyes flew open at some point between 5:30 and 6:00, and she knew after a few moments that it would be impossible to get back to sleep. Resigned to wakefulness, she clicked on the TV and surfed through the channels until she saw a commercial for an upcoming early morning workout program. She sat on the edge of the bed in her sleep T and boxer pajamas until the show started, then stood up and followed the movements of the overly-perky instructor. She never really enjoyed working out but knew that it was a necessity. Road food and time spent behind a desk tended to play havoc with her physique, and while she had been heavier when she began her work in the basement offices of the X-Files, exercise and hardship had given her a lean, toned look that she didn't want to lose. A few sweaty moments out of each day were certainly preferable to upsizing her wardrobe. By the time she had showered, dressed, and caught the latest news on CNN, it was almost 8 o'clock. She opened her door to find Mulder standing there, holding steaming paper cups of coffee. "Good morning, sunshine," he said, as he held out one of the cups to her. "Sleep okay?" "Umm, like a rock," she said, carefully lifting the coffee to her lips. "You?" "Yeah, eventually. Cars kept me awake for awhile, though." He took a sip, then said, "There's an IHOP about a half mile up the road. You hungry?" "Starving." A few moments later, they were in the pancake house and seated in a booth, surveying the menus. Mulder was torn between choosing healthy or hearty when he heard Scully snickering. "What's so funny?" She closed her menu and laid it on the table. "Oh, just something from my childhood." "What?" With a smile, Scully looked away and waved a hand as if to dismiss the subject, but a glance at Mulder told her that he wasn't going to let it alone. She clasped her hands in front of her and leaned into the table. "When I was a kid, Dad would pile all of us into the station wagon on Saturday morning and take us to an IHOP. You can imagine what that was like - Mom and Dad trying to control four hyper kids. I mean, it wasn't like we were out of control. 'Ahab' saw to that." "'Ahab.' Your father." "Yes. One look from him and you knew that it was time to shape up or ship out," Scully said with a smile. "We'd all squeeze into a booth and there would be this huge debate over what to eat. There were all these pancakes and waffles and combos and exotic syrups...." Mulder selected a bottle from the rack on the table. Waggling it, he said, "Boysenberry always did it for me." "I should have guessed. Out on the fringe, even as a child. As you might expect, I was a traditionalist, strictly maple syrup. And I always ordered the same thing. Chocolate chip pancakes and chocolate milk." Mulder let out a hoot of laughter. "And that didn't make you sick?" "No, never. More hyper, but not sick. And it was so cute, you know? The pancakes always arrived with this big whipped cream grin on them. I'm sure they were a nutritional disaster, but they were really good." "As always, Scully, I put my trust in your judgement," Mulder said, his eyes dropping to his menu again. "But today I think I'll pass on that particular culinary delight." It wasn't long before a waitress arrived and took their orders. While they waited for their meal, they reviewed the facts of the Thornton case. All discussion ceased, however, once the food was in front of them. Anyone watching the two agents would have thought that they hadn't eaten for days. When he had mopped up the last bit of egg from his plate, Mulder tossed his napkin onto the table. Closing his eyes, he relaxed against the booth's back. "Ugh. I don't think I can move now. I didn't realize how hungry I was." Scully finished a last bit of toast and pushed her plate away. "Well, it's no wonder. We hadn't had anything since we were on the plane and then no dinner last night. Plus, you lost whatever you had on your stomach. I just hope that you don't get sick now." Mulder opened his eyes and let out a sigh. "You know, I've been thinking about that. My being sick last night has to be tied in with whatever's going on at the Thorntons." Scully wiped her hands on her napkin and tucked it alongside her plate. "Nausea and vomiting are common side effects of an anxiety attack. But why you felt that way...." She stopped, raising her hands as a gesture of her frustration. Before she could continue, their waitress returned and asked if they needed anything else. When they both replied in the negative, she totaled their bill and deposited it on the table. As Mulder examined it and fished into his pockets for cash, Scully asked, "So what next?" "We should talk to Katie's aunt. I was also thinking that you could go back to the hospital and review Katie's records again." He placed his money on top of the check and without meeting Scully's eyes, softly said, "You could do your own physical examination, if you feel up to it." She shifted against the Naugahyde upholstery of the booth, distressed by the prospects inherent in Mulder's proposal. He was right. She knew that. She had to go back into that room and examine Katie for the record. She searched her mind for anything that could be used as a shield against the paralyzing anxiety she felt in Katie's presence. At last, she said, "Um, yes. I mean, of course. I need to do that - and I'm sure that Katie's doctor could provide an anti-anxiety medication. You know, as a preventive measure." Without looking up at her partner, she traced nervous circles on the tabletop with her fingers, preoccupied with her own dark thoughts. "But that won't make everything better, will it, Scully?" Realizing that she had betrayed her inner turmoil, she placed her hands in her lap and raised her eyes to meet Mulder's. Shaking her head, she said, "What do you mean? Medication will diminish the desire for 'fight- or-flight.'" Mulder regarded her with compassion. "But it won't change what you see, will it? It won't alter the fact that when you look at Katie lying in that bed, you feel that you're looking at yourself." Stunned, Scully met his gaze with wide eyes. He pressed on. "Look, I may have gone into my own private Idaho right after we walked into her room, but I was thinking clearly long enough to get a good look at her. Slim build, strawberry blonde hair, fair complexion - and then there's her condition." Mulder lowered his voice until it was raspy and barely audible over the din in the restaurant. "No one would blame you if you chose not to visit Katie again." Scully tore her eyes away from Mulder's to look first at her restaurant surroundings, then at her hands in her lap. 'He has a point,' she thought. Maybe the similarity between Katie's incapacitation and her own post-abduction coma was the basis for the primal fear that shook her to the core. What bothered her was that she had ignored or at least failed to recognize that very similarity. Leave it to her partner, the behavioral psychologist, to tell her what she should have figured out for herself. She bit her lower lip as she considered her reply. "I wanted to believe that my fear was only a result of forces that we don't yet have a name for," she said, haltingly. "And at the Thorntons' house, that was probably true." She raised her eyes to the ceiling and then lowered them to find Mulder's. "But when faced with a situation much like my own - I can't deny that it moved me in a way that I wasn't willing to acknowledge. On some deep level, it scared me and...." She stopped, unsure of whether or not to continue. Mulder sensed her reluctance. "And what, Scully?" She sat unmoving, her anguish apparent in her expression. He leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table, near its center, as if he sought to draw her answer from her by the force of his will. "You know that you can entrust me with whatever you're feeling - with whatever may be frightening you. After everything that's happened, you know that's true." She shook her head in the affirmative and drew a shuddering breath. Slowly, she brought her hands up from under the table and gripped its edge. "It made me realize that they could come back. Whoever took me could come back and abduct me again." There, she had said it. She had spoken aloud the thing that ripped her gasping and wet with sweat from sleep's embrace. It was the nameless, faceless horror that made her leave her weapon on the nightstand - loaded and at the ready - even though she suspected that it would provide little or no protection against her unknown attackers. Mulder said nothing, but looked at Scully with tenderness. "Why didn't you tell me this before now?" he asked. She found it hard to answer. She released her hold on the table and clasped her hands in front of her on its top. "We need to talk about this, Scully," he stated, earnestly. "We need to find out exactly what happened to you. We need to bring whoever did this to justice. I mean, the only way you'll be able to overcome the trauma is to try and understand it. Take away the mystery, and you'll remove the fear." She looked at him, clearly startled by what he was saying. "Look, Mulder," she said vehemently, "Right now, I don't need to understand it, and I don't want to talk about it any further. I don't really remember much about my abduction. I just have flashes of awareness, like images from a nightmare." Her voice softened. "Sometimes, I think - sometimes I'm not even sure that what I recall really happened." She considered for a second, then placed one hand over his. "I know that you're trying to help me, but I can't force this. And quite honestly, I can't consciously face it now, no matter how hard my psyche may be telling me to make the effort. Just please know that when I'm ready to accept the challenge, I'll tell you - and I'll want you to be there for me." He turned his hands over to hold hers in between them. "Is there ever a moment when I'm not?" They lingered for a moment over the caress, each enjoying the touch of the other. The chirp of Mulder's cell phone broke the mood. He didn't immediately move to answer it, but after several rings, he realized that he had no choice. Grabbing it out of his pocket, he snapped it open. "Mulder." Scully watched him as he listened to the caller, cocking her head with interest when he said, "Are you sure? That's what the kid said? You're certain?" "What happened?" she mouthed silently. He held up an index finger in a gesture of "just a minute," then said, "Yeah. Yeah, okay, we'll be there. Thanks." He closed the phone and picked up his cash and the bill for the meal. "Who was that?" she asked aloud. "Billard. He's at another house in Katie's neighborhood." He moved to slide out of the booth. Scully followed suit. "And what happened?" Offering no answer, Mulder stood and headed for the cashier. Scully caught up with him and waited impatiently while he paid the check. Then again, without speaking, he turned and pushed through the door to the parking lot. Once outside, he bent over, braced his hands on his knees and took a couple of deep breaths. When he straightened, he ran his hands through his hair and paced back and forth in front of Scully. She watched, concerned, and asked, "Mulder, are you all right?" When again she received no reply, she planted herself in front of him. "Damn it, Mulder, answer me! What did Billard say?" He didn't look her in the eye, but fixed on some point over her shoulder. "He said that a child has disappeared. A young girl." She knew how such an event could affect him. "Well, I'm sure that the police are doing everything they can to find her." "I'm not so sure that they will, Scully." "What do you mean?" When he looked in her eyes, Scully thought that she had never seen his as flat and lifeless as they appeared at that moment. "Because her brother watched her float out of the house on a beam of light. Because he thinks that she was abducted by aliens." XXXXX A police cruiser blocked the end of the street. Mulder flashed his FBI badge to the patrolman standing by the car. The officer examined the credentials, nodded, and then obligingly moved his vehicle out of the way to allow the agents' car to pass. Mulder saw Billard standing in the yard of a house on the opposite side of the street and a few lots down from the Thorntons'. He pulled the car to the curb and killed the engine. As Mulder and Scully walked up the sidewalk to join him, Billard extended his hand to shake theirs. "Thanks for coming so quickly." "We want to do whatever we can to help," Scully offered. "Look, I know that the FBI isn't usually notified about a missing person within the first twenty-four hours, but this case is pretty unusual. So unusual I think it warrants your immediate assistance," Billard replied. Mulder turned to survey the crowd of neighbors that had gathered in the street. Another police cruiser barred entrance at the other end of the block. Beyond it, a TV news van sat waiting to transmit the latest developments regarding the alleged abduction. As he continued to observe his surroundings, Scully sensed his preoccupation with his own personal history and decided to initiate the dialogue with Billard. "So what are the details?" she asked. Billard pulled a small pad from a pocket, flipped it open and began to recite the particulars. "Barry and Elise Johanssen. Married 15 years. Been living at this address for ten. Son, Michael, 12 years old, claims to have witnessed the abduction. Daughter, Megan, eight years old, appears to have been taken from the home sometime during the night by a person or persons unknown." He paused and studied his notes for a moment. "No forced entry. No signs of a struggle. Nothing to indicate that someone came in and took this child, unless we find physical evidence that tells us otherwise." He continued to leaf through the notebook's pages, searching for other information. Scully tried to catch a glimpse of Mulder's face, looking for any sign of anxiety caused by Billard's report. Her partner, however, remained impassive. Other than a tightening of his jaw, there were no obvious signals of distress, and no indication that he was disturbed that the abduction scenario at the Johanssens' seemed to mirror the one which took place in his own home so many years ago. His apparently newfound calm concerned her even more than his earlier expressions of anguish in the restaurant parking lot. She forced her attention back to the current situation. "Any problems at home? Any reason to suspect that a family member could have been involved in Megan's disappearance?" As he slapped his notebook closed and returned it to his jacket, Billard shook his head. "The family's been questioned. The son can tell you everything. Well, at least, everything that he _thinks_ happened. The parents claim that they didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary. As crazy as that sounds, my gut tells me that they have no involvement. Of course, we're canvassing the neighborhood. Something could turn up, but...." He stopped. "But what?" Scully asked. Billard rubbed his hand across his jaw, then chuckled to himself. "You know, before Katie Thornton turned up at the hospital, I don't think I ever gave a second thought to the supernatural. Not beyond what I had learned in church, anyway. Angels, devils, miracles, that sort of thing. Now I'm ready to consider the possibility that a girl was actually kidnapped by little green men." Scully, ever skeptical, met Billard's admission with a tight smile. "With all due respect, Detective Billard, I have to say that I think we'll find a solid, scientific reason for the anomalies occurring in physical proximity to Katie Thornton and the black velvet room in her house. And as to this supposed abduction by extraterrestrials...." She glanced in Mulder's direction but he was gazing into the distance, still absorbed in his own thoughts. "I think I'll reserve my judgement on the veracity of the boy's claims until I've had a chance to review all of the evidence. My partner, however, may have a different opinion on the subject." Her last statement brought a response from Mulder. "On the contrary, Agent Scully, I agree with you completely." He turned to face her, his eyes carrying a glint of their usual warmth. "We have to apply the same objectivity and investigative method to this situation as we would any other case before us. In fact, I'd say that the facts and the evidence have to be held to an even higher standard of testing and corroboration. And if, in the end, everything points undeniably to alien abduction, just think what it would mean in terms of confirming what so many have thought for so long -- that we are not alone." A few seconds passed as all three considered the implications of his words, then Billard said, "We should go in and talk to the family." Mulder nodded and started to follow, but stopped as Scully touched his elbow. "We'll be there in a minute," she called after Billard. The two stood on the sidewalk, toe to toe. "I know how difficult this must be for you," she said, at last. Mulder made no answer. Scully thought that his eyes had lost the hint of light that they had exhibited only a moment before. She pushed ahead, hoping that she would find the appropriate words as she went. "You have to apply your own logic to this situation, Mulder. You have to heed your own advice. What did you tell me at breakfast? 'No one would blame you if you chose not to visit Katie again.' Well, no one would blame you if you walked away from the investigation of this abduction." There was still no reply from him, only the slightest creasing of his forehead, as if he were physically pained. "On the other hand," Scully continued, "You also said that I could entrust you with whatever might be frightening me. You must know by now that the same is true for you." She drew herself up to her full height and raised her chin slightly. Her voice was firm. "Working with you may at first have been my duty, Agent Mulder, but now I consider my association with you an honor and a privilege. I would not do anything to violate your trust." Mulder sighed, then spoke, his voice weary. "For everything I've seen, Scully, I've lost so much. Sometimes I think that there's some cosmic balance sheet being kept. For every revelation, there's a price." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he looked down at her upturned face. "And yet, somehow, despite everything, I was given the greatest gift of all." His eyes softened. "I was given your friendship." "Then you know that you can draw whatever strength you may need from me," Scully replied, her voice low. Mulder's hazel eyes scanned her face. Then he accepted her offer with a small tilt of his head. XXXXX Once they stepped out of the blinding daylight into the darkened home of the Johanssen family, it took a few seconds for Mulder and Scully to process their surroundings. A cursory sweep of the living room showed Scully that it was similar in size and layout to the front room of Katie's house. The furnishings were more traditional, perhaps even a little worn. Beanie babies were heaped in one corner of the sofa. Schoolbooks were tossed carelessly across a cocktail table. There was a large grouping of framed photos on one wall. On closer examination, Scully saw that most featured the two children, Michael and Megan. Michael in a soccer uniform. Megan costumed for various dance recitals. Michael dressed for softball. Megan on the beach, grinning as she displayed the lopsided sandcastle she'd built. Throwing a gap-toothed smile into the sun, the little girl radiated life at its most innocent and uncomplicated, untouched by disappointment, betrayal, or violence. Scully closed her eyes and shuddered inwardly, hardly registering Mulder's presence as he joined her to look at the pictures. After a moment's study of the photographs, he said, "The parents are in the kitchen." The two found the Johanssens at the breakfast table. Billard was speaking quietly to them but waved Mulder and Scully into the room. They each displayed their badges and introduced themselves, then pulled a couple of chairs from the table and sat down. "As I'm sure Detective Billard has told you, every effort is being made to find your daughter," Mulder began. "I know that you've had to answer a lot of questions. I'm sure that some of them seemed intrusive, but the questions are necessary to help us establish what happened. All possibilities have to be considered." Barry spoke up. "Like the possibility that we would harm our own daughter?" he asked, his voice revealing his barely contained fury. Scully studied him. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. He had blonde boyish good looks but they were now obscured by desperation and anger. 'And if he's angry at anyone,' she thought, 'It has to be himself. Because he can't even protect his children from harm in his own home.' "No one's accusing you of any wrongdoing, Mr. Johanssen," she said. "Or Mrs. Johanssen." She turned to regard Megan's mother with sympathy. Elise nervously twisted a kleenex in her hands until it began to shred into white fragments which lay scattered across her lap. Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to keep a tight hold on her emotions. To Scully, she looked edgy and brittle, as if she might shatter into pieces at any moment. She leaned forward, trying to catch Elise's eye. "Mrs. Johanssen, I'm a doctor. May I make a suggestion?" She leaned to one side to bring herself into Elise's line of sight. "Mrs. Johanssen?" Elise stopped her assault on the tissue. Her eyes wavered, then seemed to focus on Scully. "You need to get some rest, Mrs. Johanssen. If you get some rest, you'll be able to think more clearly. You'll be better able to help us find Megan." Scully turned to Mulder, one brow raised in question as if to say, 'Okay?' He answered 'yes' with the barest hint of a nod. The notion that she had something to offer the agents in the search for her daughter seemed to bring some clarity to Elise's thinking. Sniffling, she shook her head in agreement with Scully's suggestion and shakily rose from her chair. Her husband took her arm and helped to steady her on her feet. As they passed the agents on their way out of the kitchen, Mulder stood. "Mr. Johanssen?" Barry stopped even with Mulder, gripping his wife's arm tightly. "May we speak to Michael?" Barry's lips were drawn in a tight line. "Sure. It won't matter if I'm there or not, he'll tell you the same story either way." He took a step, then spoke again. "Michael's a good kid, Agent Mulder, a smart kid. He doesn't lie. I know that what he's gonna tell you sounds crazy, but I'm almost to the point where I believe him. He's my son. I've got to believe him, even though I doubt anyone else will." The two men locked eyes. With sincerity born from the similarity of his own experience, Mulder said, "Mr. Johanssen, you have my word that I'll keep an open mind with regard to Michael's version of events." Barry watched Mulder, as if trying to detect any deception in his statement. Then, seemingly satisfied that the agent meant what he said, he turned his attention to his wife and guided her from the room. XXXXX Michael Johanssen was lying on his bed when Mulder and Scully walked into his bedroom. It was a typical boy's room - sports equipment flung into a corner, posters of althetic superstars on the walls, clothes strewn everywhere. Michael sat up and ran his hands over his hair, even though the gesture did nothing to flatten the wild strands that stood straight up on top. Scully thought that the cowlick, combined with the smattering of freckles across his nose, gave him look an endearingly "all American boy" look. She was concerned, however, about the condition of his skin, given the deep sunburn that colored his face and neck a flaming red. A sunburn on a kid who probably spent most of his free time outdoors swinging a baseball bat or kicking a soccer ball. Other than the long term dermatological consequences Michael might experience, what was significant about a sunburn? Scully filed the thought away for future reference. Yawning, Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed as Mulder and Scully sat on the twin bed parallel to his. "Are you the FBI agents that Detective Billard told me about?" he asked solemnly. "Yes, we are, Michael," Mulder replied. "This is Agent Scully and I'm Agent Mulder. Actually, you can call her Dana and I'm...well...you can call me...Fox." He almost winced as he revealed his first name to the boy. Michael's face lit up. "Your name is Fox? No kidding? Man, I bet you took a lot of heat from the other kids at school over that one," he said, grinning. Then, thinking that he might have hurt the agent's feelings, he quickly added, "No offense, but can I just call you Mulder?" Mulder looked relieved. Scully had to turn her face away to keep from laughing. "That's great. That would suit me just fine," he answered. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs and clasping his hands in front of him. He stared down at the carpet between his feet, then looked Michael in the eye. "I'm sure that you know that everyone's worried about your sister. And I'm sure that you're worried about her, too. Maybe there's something that you can tell us that will help us find her. What happened last night? What did you see, Michael?" The boy looked from Mulder to Scully and back again, as if trying to decide whether or not to confide in two more adults. "It's okay, Michael," Scully added, her voice low and soothing. "Really, it's okay. Just tell us in your own words what happened." She bobbed her head slightly in an encouraging "Go on" manner. Michael shrugged his shoulders, then scooted across the bed so that his back rested against the wall and his legs stuck straight out in front of him. Grabbing his pillow, he wrapped his arms around it and held it tightly in front of him, as if it were a shield. The gesture did not go unnoticed by either Mulder or Scully. "I woke up last night," he began, "but I don't know what time it was. It wasn't like I woke up little by little. I was dead asleep and then all of a sudden, boom! My eyes were open and I was wide awake. I sat up and looked at my clock. It wasn't working. The numbers on it weren't lit, so I figured that the electricity must have gone off. The lights in my room wouldn't come on, either. I looked out the window, but there were lights across the street. So I thought that maybe the electricity was off on just our side of the street." "Did you look at any of the houses next door or behind your house?" Scully asked. Michael shook his head "yes". "There are a couple of houses that have spotlights in the backyards. Those lights were on. It looked like we were the only house that didn't have power." He gripped the pillow tighter. "That's when I started to get really worried. I started thinking that maybe somebody had cut the power to our house, so I decided to wake up my dad." "That was the smart thing to do, but it must have been tough," Mulder said. "Especially if you thought that your family was in danger." Michael's eyes met Mulder's then flitted away. He moved the pillow up higher, so that it rested beneath his chin and partially covered his mouth. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows and his eyes seemed to take on a hollow look. A moment ticked by and then he replied, "That wasn't what scared me." Scully detected the hitch in Mulder's breathing, the way in which he swallowed hard to moisten his throat. He leaned forward, waiting for Michael to continue. When no other information seemed forthcoming, he tried to coax him into speaking. "What was it, Michael? What did you see? Anything you tell us could help us find Megan." There was still no answer from the boy. Scully watched Mulder in profile, his shoulders and neck tense as he waited for Michael to proceed. While she knew that he would not let his own personal history influence his objectivity in this investigation, she was also aware that he hoped for another piece of the puzzle - another bit of evidence or information that might help him understand his own sister's disappearance. "I stood at the door to my mom and dad's bedroom," Michael said, at last. "And I whispered, but loud, you know? 'Mom, Dad, there's something funny going on!' They didn't answer, so I figured that they didn't hear me. It was so dark in their room. I couldn't see if they were awake. I went to the bed -- I was gonna wake them up, only...." His eyes grew large and dark with fright. "Only what?" Mulder asked, anxiously. "You were going to wake them up but what?" Michael's eyes began to water. He fought to keep his composure but lost the battle as the tears escaped and slid down his cheeks. "When I got closer, I saw that they were lying on their backs with their eyes wide open, like they were awake and...and I kept talking, thinking they were hearing me, but they weren't. They didn't move or say anything. They didn't even blink. I grabbed my dad's arm and shook it but it was like he didn't see me. He felt so stiff and cold. I got really scared then. I thought that they were hypnotized or maybe, or maybe...." His voice broke as the fear he had felt returned full force. He buried his face in the pillow. Scully rose and sat down by him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Take your time. I know that this is hard. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Is there anything I can get for you? A soda, maybe?" Michael lifted his head, shook it "no", then gave her the best smile that he could manage. He sniffled as he quickly rubbed his eyes. "You know, " Scully continued, "A really good friend of mine once told me that the best way to get past something scary in your life is to try and understand it." She turned to Mulder, her eyes warm. "If you take away the mystery, you can overcome your fear. I think that's pretty smart. What do you think, Michael?" Her eyes stayed on Mulder, hoping that he understood that she appreciated his advice, even if she wasn't yet prepared to follow it. Michael gulped, inhaled deeply, then released. After repeating the action several times, he seemed more at ease. He relaxed his grip on the pillow and placed it flat across his lap, smoothing the pillowcase with his hands as he spoke. "When I couldn't wake my parents, I decided to call 911. I picked up the phone, but there was no dial tone - just this high howling sound. Really gave me the creeps. I stood there with the phone in my hand, trying to figure out what to do next, when I saw the light shining through the drapes. It kept getting brighter and brighter, and there was this loud roaring noise. Everything in the house started to shake and then, all of a sudden, I heard Megan scream." He raised his eyes and looked from Scully to Mulder, his eyes glistening again. "I thought, 'Omigosh, Megan! What about Megan?' I really felt bad, because I hadn't even thought about checking on her." "There was a lot going on," Mulder said, with compassion. "You shouldn't feel bad. You were only trying to protect your family. What happened when you went to look for your sister?" "I started to run to her room, but my feet felt so heavy. You know how hard it is to move around when you're in a pool? That's what it was like. Like being in water up to your chest. I didn't think that I was ever going to get to her." The tears began to spill again. "When I did, there was nothing I could do. They already had her." At this, Mulder strained forward, his eyes shining with keen interest. "Who had her?" "I didn't really get a good look at them!" he cried, anguished. "The light was so bright! It almost blinded me. I just saw dark shapes moving in it. They had Megan and she kept screaming and screaming and there was nothing I could do! I tried to run but I couldn't make my feet move! She started floating off her bed and they were floating with her and the next thing I knew she was moving through the window and then she was gone!" He collapsed face forward onto the pillow, sobbing. Scully wrapped her arm around the boy's shoulders, murmuring words of comfort. She looked at Mulder, who sat transfixed by Michael's emotional display. No matter the magnitude of the disclosures Michael might make, she knew that this interview was hell for her partner. She could only imagine the rush of memories that the boy's account must have invoked and with them, the emotions inherent in the remembrance - anger, terror, bewilderment, frustration, grief. Was it any wonder that he now sat speechless, apparently unable to continue the interview? She bent low and murmured near Michael's ear, rocking him gently as she spoke. "Michael, it's all right. Ssssh. It's all right. You did everything that you could. Everything in your power. You're very brave and very courageous. You can't blame yourself for what happened to your sister. It was out of your control. Okay?" She squeezed Michael's shoulders. "Okay?" Michael lifted his head, wiping his eyes. Looking to the nightstand, Scully spied a box of Kleenex and grabbed it. She offered it to him. He pulled a couple out, held them to his face and blew his nose. Breathing deeply again, he restrained his sniffling and continued his testimony. "After they took Megan, the bright light switched off and the roaring noise went away. And that's all I remember. When I woke up, I was on my bed but I was all twisted around. My feet were on my pillow and my head was at the foot of the bed. I jumped up and ran into my parents' room. I woke them up and told them what happened and they called the police. And they came and then you came." Nothing was said for a few moments. Then Mulder broke the silence. "Thank you, Michael," he said, quietly. "Thank you for helping us out." He rose from the bed. Scully gave Michael's shoulders a last reassuring squeeze, then stood to accompany her partner. She had reached the door when she turned back to face the boy. "You might want to get some aloe or Noxema to put on that sunburn. It looks pretty nasty." Michael reached up and grazed his face with his palm. "Oh, this? This isn't a sunburn. I think it must be some kind of weird rash or allergy or something. I woke up with it this morning." Scully stood wondering at the boy's statement for a second, then joined Mulder in the hallway. "So, what do you think?" he asked, his voice hushed, but unable to hide his eagerness. She pondered her answer. The similarities between Megan's disappearance and Samantha's were uncanny, but she could not allow this to sway her evaluation of the facts. She had to make an unbiased assessment of the matter, even though Mulder might perceive it to be a summation of his own tragic personal history. "Well, I think it's obvious, don't you?" she began. "At some point in the night, Michael was awakened by the noise of his sister's abduction and what he saw was too traumatic for his conscious mind to process. The aliens serve as a screen memory for the real abductors. It's easier for a child to rationalize aliens abducting his little sister than to think that another human being could be capable of such evil." "Now there's a helluva an irony," Mulder replied, dryly. "Aliens serving as a screen memory when a screen memory is usually created to camouflage them." He searched his partner's face before speaking again. "And do you think that's what happened to me? I substituted aliens for more terrestrial villains?" There was no hostility in his tone. Scully paused before answering, her eyes going deep into his. "Only you know the answer to that, Mulder. But even your own memories were recalled under deep regression hypnosis and thus subject to interpretation as to whether they were a true recounting of events or a means for your mind to assimilate a reality which was too terrible for you to consciously consider." She crossed her arms and propped herself against the wall on one shoulder. "And there could be other explanations. Walking hypnagogia, for example. At some point between waking consciousness and sleep, Michael could have heard the noises of Megan's abduction. When he got up to investigate, his unconscious could have interpreted the kidnapping as an alien abduction." "And his parents' immobility?" Arms still folded, Scully placed her back flat against the wall. Her mouth twisted slightly as she thought out her answer. "I think that could be another by-product of the walking hypnagogia. Maybe he only thought that he went into their room. Or maybe Michael's parents are deep sleepers." "And the power outage?" Scully sighed in mock exasperation. "Well, we only have the boy's word to go on so far, right? Although I did notice that the digital clock on his nightstand was flashing, so the power _could_ have been interrupted, like he said. Has anybody checked with the power company?" "You can bet I will," Mulder replied. "Meanwhile, why don't you scope out Megan's room? See if anybody missed anything." XXXXX Megan's room was on the other side of the hall but not quite opposite to Michael's. Scully reached out to open the door, paused to gather her thoughts, then extended her hand again. The door opened silently. Sunlight greeted her as it flooded in from an eyelet- curtained window by the bed. The pink and white spread and top sheet lay in a tangled heap that cascaded from its foot to the floor. A toy box sat in one corner, covered in stuffed animals of all species, colors and sizes. A small white chest of drawers gaped open, its contents threatening to spill onto the pink area rug in front of it. Whether the clothes had been hastily pulled out or stuffed in, Scully couldn't tell. Barrettes, brushes, and hair bows dotted the top of the chest. From her vantage point at the door, Scully could also see what appeared to be a barre for ballet exercises standing along the wall adjacent to the door. Intrigued, she stepped into the room for a closer look. In imitation of a dance studio, large mirrored panels had been installed. No doubt Megan practiced at the barre and watched herself in the mirror as she did so. Sighing, Scully turned her examination to the window over Katie's bed. Pushing the curtains aside, she inspected the lock, which showed no signs of tampering. In addition, she noticed that a strip of wood had been placed inside the track on both sides of the window frame, evidently to prevent the window from being opened from the outside. She found this odd. The strips had to have been replaced at a later time. They could not have been inserted from the outside, not unless there was some way for the top half of the window to be lowered. Silently, she considered the multitude of scenarios...until she felt the hairs rising on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. She knew it without even turning around. This wasn't the usual feeling she got when being observed - the feeling that someone's eyes were on the back of her head. This was no different from the anxiety that she felt in the Thorntons' house or the hospital room. She stared at the windowpanes, trying to catch a reflection of the person behind her, but the bright sunlight wiped out any images she hoped to see. Whoever it was, they remained silent and watchful, waiting for her response. She could feel her heart fluttering and her breath quickening. She wiped her hands along her sides, hoping to erase some of their clamminess. Steeling her nerves, she quietly ticked off a countdown to herself. "5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - ONE!" With a twist, she brought herself face to face with the wall of mirrors. And her dead father. XXXXX "Dad?" The word escaped Scully's lips in a whisper. She spoke in reflex, before logic could step in and tell her that the image before her could not possibly be her father - because her father was dead, cremated and cast onto the water that he loved so well. And yet there he was, smiling at her from the mirrored wall, looking just as he did when he had left her apartment that Thanksgiving before his death. Wearing the same blue jacket, blue sweater, and burgundy tie that he had worn on that last night. Giving her the same look of fatherly love that she had come to cherish as her last memory of him. She felt her eyes welling with tears and bit her lip as she struggled to control the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. All the while, the reflection of what appeared to be her father continued to observe her with a benign expression. She closed her eyes and raggedly drew in a deep breath, then released it. Slowly opening her eyes, she fully expected the apparition to have disappeared, but it remained, still watching her. Intellectually, she reasoned that the vision of her deceased father was an illusion, the hallucinatory by-product of stress and overwork. Emotionally, she wanted to believe that what she was seeing was an affirmation of the deepest articles of her faith - that there is a life beyond the physical and that those whom she loved on this earth were not lost to her in death. Eventually, the warring voices within her quieted and with a small sob, she took a tentative step toward the mirrors. Trembling, she raised one hand and with trepidation, lightly pressed her fingers against her father's image. As she expected, there was no warmth emanating from the reflection, but that did not stop her from gently resting her head on the cool surface. She closed her eyes, imagining that she felt and heard the strong rhythmic beating of her father's heart. Despite the silence, despite the fact that her "father" did not extend his arms to embrace her, she felt comforted. It was not unlike the feeling she had experienced when he had last hugged her and asked her about her work at the FBI - his roundabout way of expressing his concern for her wellbeing, even if he disapproved of her career choice. And although he had never explicitly told her that he was proud of her accomplishments with the Bureau, she knew in her heart that he was. After all, he was her father. Sniffling, she stepped back from the mirror, her eyes to the floor, her mind replaying memories of the time she had shared with him. She lowered her head to one hand, sinking under the weight of a grief that she had never allowed herself to fully express. Time. She hadn't spent enough time with her father. And now there was no possibility of having any more of it with him. She stood in the middle of the room and began silently praying for something for which she found hard it to believe she was asking. She wanted this vision to speak to her - to say anything, even if it was only her name heard within her own mind. She had denied herself that opportunity when it had been offered by a death row inmate named Luther Lee Boggs. At the time, she had told Mulder that she was afraid to believe and unable to accept that such a thing was possible. Even now, she was not looking for a confirmation of what she already knew - that her father loved her and was watching over her. She merely wanted to hear the sound of his voice one more time. She stood in the middle of the room, her brow creased with the effort of her pleading, every part of her consciousness focused on her one desire. She swayed slightly, her forehead still resting on her hand. The wooden floor creaked beneath her. The sunlight warmed her back as it streamed through the bedroom window. She heard muffled voices in other parts of the house, the occasional call of a bird outside. She shut herself off from her surroundings, her request becoming a mantra. "Please, Ahab," she whispered. "Talk to me. Please talk to me." Over and over she repeated her entreaties. She addressed them to her father, to the saints, to the angels, to the Holy Virgin, to God. Her voice lowered to a fevered whisper, the words of her requests slurring together. Her hand was hot as she clutched the tiny gold cross hanging on a chain around her neck. Her eyelids fluttered as she prayed with every atom of conviction that she possessed. Finally, her voice trailed off and she stood in the silence, waiting expectantly. Waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.... "Scully?" Dana looked up, startled, her eyes wide, her hair forming a copper aura around her head as she spun in the direction of the voice. Her lips were parted in an expression of surprise. "Are you all right?" Mulder said as he stepped into Megan's bedroom. He studied her with concern. "Jesus, Scully, you look spooked." Scully turned back to look at the mirrored wall. The image of her father had disappeared. All she saw was what she would have seen under ordinary circumstances - herself, her partner, and the furnishings of Megan's room. She blinked quickly to clear her eyes, then ran a shaky hand through her hair to sweep it from her face. "I'm fine, Mulder." She glanced back at the mirror, then faced him. "I'm fine, really. I was just thinking about what happened here. I guess I didn't hear you come in." "Guess not. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights," he said, acting as if he didn't buy her explanation. Hoping to end his questioning about her state of mind, she cleared her throat and asked, "So, did you find out anything from the power company?" His eyes lit up. "One or two interesting tidbits. So far, there's no confirmation of a power outage at this house last night. But there have been numerous surges and brownouts in this area during the last three days. And guess when the last reported blackout occurred." He stood expectantly, almost grinning in his excitement, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. Despite her pain, Scully was touched by his enthusiasm. She raised her hands, palms up, as if to say, "I haven't a clue." "The night that Katie Thornton turned up on the hospital steps." He nodded his head once, as if to provide a visual exclamation point. "So, what are you telling me, Mulder? That what's happening in her house and the hospital room is somehow affecting a wider area?" "Well, yes, but...." He raised one hand when she looked as if she were going to offer a rebuttal. "Wait. Just gimme a minute here." Scully stepped back from him and stood with her arms crossed, giving him her best "this-had-better-be-good" attitude. Mulder looked to the ceiling, pressed his palms together at his lips, sighed and then began. "Okay. We know that in both the hospital and the black velvet room that there is some type of force that jacks around with the phones, lighting, whatever. This implies that there's some type of electromagnetic, maybe even geomagnetic phenomenon raising some type of interference. If this phenomenon were powerful enough, it could conceivably affect the electrical appliances in this house or any other house along the street, for that matter." Scully pursed her lips and nodded. "All right. You've got me so far. But how are Katie and that black room linked? I mean, if this force is geomagnetic in nature, its influence would be limited to a particular area. But we've got two sites, at least a few miles apart. Three sites, if you include the Johanssens'. What's tying them together?" "I'm not sure, although electromagnetic disturbances are not uncommon at the site of a close encounter. There's no evidence that Katie went through anything like that. Besides, the interference would be limited to the duration of the event itself. It's intriguing to consider if you accept the idea that Megan is the victim of an alien abduction, but it doesn't begin to explain what's happening in Katie's situation." Nodding, Scully glanced around the room again, shooting what she hoped was a nonchalant glance at the mirrors. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She felt disappointed, even though she told herself that what she had experienced was no more than a waking dream. In actuality, she thought, it was little different from Michael's early morning nightmare. It was a random firing of neurons and a flood of chemicals into the brain which caused her to "see" something that did not exist. In essence, it was the ultimate in virtual reality. Except that the tiniest part of herself wanted desperately to believe that what she had just seen was real and not merely a trick of her mind's eye. If she had not felt so miserable, she would have laughed out loud. What would Mulder think if he knew? Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice very close to her ear. "Scully, are you sure you're all right?" She spoke without looking at him, annoyed and a little embarrassed for allowing her thoughts to divert her attention from the job at hand. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong. I...it won't happen again." "No need to apologize. There's a lot going on here, enough to put anybody on edge. The scuffle at the hospital. The panic at Katie's house. After hearing Michael's story, I'm not exactly firing on all cylinders myself." His voice was weighted with sadness. Scully met his gaze. His hazel eyes said what he didn't put into words - that this unexpected development involving Megan Johanssen had thrown him headfirst into the despair from which he had never completely escaped since Samantha's abduction. If ever Scully shared that feeling, it came in the realization that she had lost her father - again. She wanted to lose herself in her grief, but there was no time for that now. "So what next?" she asked. "Think there's anything else the parents can tell us?" Mulder shrugged. "No. I think Billard's instincts are right. They don't have a clue as to what happened. If everything occurred as Michael said it did, there's no reason to think they'll have anything useful to offer. I think the only way we'll find out anything else is if we have the boy and his parents hypnotized." When Scully's eyebrows raised with skepticism, he added, "But I won't suggest that until other investigatory methods have been tried. At this point, I think we've done all we can do here. Let's go talk to Katie's aunt. Maybe she can give us something to work with." XXXXX After telling Billard their plans, Mulder and Scully climbed back into the car and exited through the police checkpoint. They were a couple of blocks from the Johanssens' house when a young girl ran in front of the car, waving her hands and yelling "Stop!" Mulder slammed on the brakes, barely missing her. He rolled down the window as she approached. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he exploded. "I saw you two at the Johanssens. You cops or something?" she asked, breathlessly. "FBI," he replied, still angry, reaching for his ID, then added, "Agents Mulder and Scully." Her eyes grew large. "Feds! Even better!" And before either agent could say anything, she opened the car door and scrambled onto the back seat. "Drive," she commanded. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Mulder exclaimed, turning to look at their uninvited guest. "Do you see 'Uncle Sam's Shuttle Service' painted on the side of this car? How about telling us who you are?" Scully twisted around to get a better look at their passenger. She could have been sixteen, maybe seventeen, although her heavy makeup made her appear older. Her tiny striped T-shirt and oversized frayed jeans made her look waif-like, as if she had picked through someone else's clothes and found something close to but not quite her size. Her hair was straight and coal black - obviously dyed - and held away from either side of her face by tiny silver barrettes. Each finger was tipped by a glittering blue nail, and at least three studs decorated each ear. The girl rolled her eyes as if Mulder's question was the highest imposition. Sighing heavily and tossing her head, she replied, "My name's Shana, and that's all I'm telling you. Now if you want to hear what happened the night that Katie Thornton disappeared, start driving." Scully turned to Mulder, her eyes dancing with laughter. "You heard what the lady said, Agent Mulder." Realizing that he was outnumbered, Mulder sighed and set the car into motion. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "So where to?" Shana struggled with her seat belt, then glanced up at Mulder's reflection with a grin. There was no hiding her delight that she had two FBI agents at her disposal, but she didn't answer. Instead, she looked around the interior of the car and wrinkled up her nose. "This car is like, so out of it. I mean, a Ford Taurus? It just screams cheap tourist. Don't you ever get to drive anything cool?" "Sorry, the Porsche's in the shop so we'll have to make do with this," Mulder replied, dryly. "Now where are we going?" Faced with his irritation, Shana huffed, "Oh, I don't care. There's a 7-11 down the road. You can head there." She turned and gazed out the window at the passing houses. "Why did you flag us down?" Scully asked. "Why didn't you stop us at the Johanssens?" Shana continued to look out the window. "Mainly because my parents would have gone ballistic. And not just them, either. Personally, I think the whole neighborhood's completely paranoid." Curious, Scully looked over her shoulder at the teenager. "Why do you say that?" Shana leaned forward as much as her seat belt would allow. "Because the night that Katie ended up in the hospital, something happened. Something that nobody wants to talk about because nobody wants to look crazy." She flopped back against the seat with a look of smug superiority. A moment or two of silence followed her admission. When it was apparent that she was not going to volunteer any further information, Mulder spoke up. "Okay, so are you gonna tell us? The meter's running." Shana ignored his question and addressed Scully. "Has he got a stick up his butt or what? Is he always this much of a pain?" With as much solemnity as she could muster in the wake of Shana's assessment of Mulder, Scully replied, "I think you better tell us what happened." With a sigh, Shana began. "It was late. I don't know what time, way past midnight anyway. I remember there was a full moon that night because I sat out on the patio for awhile and looked at it. It was so silvery and beautiful and there weren't any clouds for it to hide behind. Anyway, I was alseep and then all of a sudden there was a really loud thump on the roof, like something had fallen out of the sky and landed on the house. It was quiet for a minute and then...." She shivered. "And then there was this, I don't know, scratching sound - like something was clawing its way across the roof." "Did anybody else in the house hear this?" Scully asked. "Yeah, my little brother. The little freak thought that Santa and his reindeer had landed." She crossed her arms, agitated. "Took my mom forever to get him calmed down. It was so embarrassing! He actually ran out into the yard. 'Santa! Santa! Santa!' Ugh. I'll never live it down." Scully continued her questioning. "Did you go outside, too?" "Not at first. I mean, it was bad enough that my brother was out there screaming his head off for the whole neighborhood to hear. I wasn't going out there and look stupid, too." She uncrossed her arms, her hands dropping to her lap. "But then for all I knew, there was some one-armed guy with a hook on the roof trying to find a way in. I couldn't turn on the lights - the power was out. No way was I gonna sit in that dark house! So, I went out to the front yard." Shana's tone was flip, but Scully noticed that the girl's knuckles were turning white as one hand gripped the other. Despite his earlier annoyance, Mulder's interest was piqued. "So what was on the roof?" Shana's mouth twitched in nervousness, all trace of adolescent bravado gone. "Nothing. Not a thing. My dad said that it must have been an animal or an owl or something like that. Until he realized that everybody on the whole block was standing out in their front yard looking at their roof, too." Scully's eyes widened. "All your neighbors? And no one saw anything?" Shana shook her head. "Not that anybody would admit, anyway. I talked to a couple of my friends and they heard something weird on the roof, too. But when they went outside, there wasn't anything to see. Then the next morning, we found out that Katie Thornton turned up at the hospital and no one knew how she got there. After that, my folks clammed up and wouldn't even discuss what happened. Like maybe they were too scared to talk about it." "And what do _you_ think happened?" Mulder asked. Shana dismissed his question with a wave. "How the hell should I know? All I can tell you is that it's got my parents acting even stranger than usual. Oh, hey! The store's up ahead." Mulder eased the car into the parking lot. Shana unfastened her seatbelt, released a heavy sigh, then propped her elbows on the top of the driver and passenger seats. "Look, I probably shouldn't tell you this," she said. "Katie Thornton seems like an okay person. I mean, I don't know her that well, and I feel bad about her husband getting killed and all...." She stopped and chewed her lower lip, as if she were anxious that she had already said too much. Scully stepped in to reassure her. "We want to help Katie in any way that we can, Shana. But we're not going to act on any information that you give us without good cause." Shana considered Scully's statement for a moment, then continued. "Well, this is only a rumor, okay? But I heard from a couple of people in the neighborhood that maybe she was mixed up in something dangerous." "Dangerous? Like what?" Mulder asked. "I don't know," she replied, squirming. Her reluctance to reveal anything gave her voice a whiny edge. "Witchcraft or devil worship or some shit like that. Her lights were on at all hours of the night. Nobody saw her much after her husband got killed and...well...." "Well, what?" Scully prodded. "Shana?" "I don't know any more, okay? I've told you everything I know! Whatever got her could come and get me next!" The words escaped in a rush and Shana, in embarrassment, hurried to get out of the car. She stood at Mulder's door, bending over and bringing her face level with his. He rolled down the window. "I hope you find out what happened to Katie. Like I said, she seems okay and she's been through a lot. No matter what she may have been doing in that house, she probably didn't deserve to end up vegged out in a hospital." She straightened, then stepped up on the curb. Before Mulder had a chance to back out of the space, she returned to the car, a wicked grin on her face. "Oh, and one more thing, Agent Mulder." He leaned out of the window, thinking she had more information to offer. "You're wound way too tight. Relax! Have a little fun. Do your partner a favor and get laid. At least then maybe you won't be such a pain in the ass." With a loud giggle and a toss of her head, she bounded away from the car and into the store. There was a moment of shocked silence, then Mulder, staring straight ahead, muttered, "Well there's something you'd never hear on 'Kids Say the Darndest Things.'" The remark was barely loud enough for Scully to hear, but she caught the note of hurt it held. "Mulder, I hope you're not taking that juvenile comment seriously." There was no reply. "After all, it was made by someone who doesn't even know you, right?" Then for emphasis, "Right?" She leaned toward him. "Mullllderrr?" She lingered over his name, almost purring it, the pitch rising on the second syllable, as she tried to coax him out of his sudden funk. She was puzzled and even a little disappointed when he merely put the car into reverse and sighed, "Sticks and stones, Scully. Sticks and stones." XXXXX The drive to the home of Connie Bertram, Katie's aunt, was a quiet one. Except for Mulder's cell phone call to confirm that she was home and a gas station stop to check directions, no words were exchanged between the two agents. Scully could only guess that Shana's comment had injured Mulder in some way that she herself had not witnessed until now. Not that Scully didn't wonder about Mulder's personal life or sometimes, if he even had such a thing, so fierce was his devotion to his quest for the truth. It was as if he were immune to the distractions that constituted everyday life for most people. He watched TV, she knew that much - even though she suspected his viewing was restricted to the collection of videotapes he owned, half of which chronicled historic events such as the Kennedy assassination and the other dubious cinematic achievements like "Cheerleaders in Chains." His predilection for porn had mystified her, at first. Not that she considered herself any kind of prude. It just seemed strange in view of the fact that Fox Mulder was handsome enough to attract the attention of any woman he wanted. Even from their first meeting in the office of the "FBI's Most Unwanted," Scully had noticed his lean good looks. She naturally assumed that other women noticed them, too and she was correct. She had seen the way that female co-workers watched him as he passed them in the hallway. There were appreciative glances on the sly and murmured hellos, most of which seemed barely noticed by Mulder. Occasionally, a woman would try to initiate a conversation with him, but the talk never seemed to advance beyond the level of mundane chit-chat. It wasn't that Mulder was rude, but he did give the appearance that he had other, more important matters to consider. Women quickly judged him to be uninterested or misjudged him as uninteresting and gave up the hunt. Of course, Scully knew that he wasn't a complete hermit. She had met Phoebe Green, Mulder's lover during his time at Oxford. Something in the woman's manner gave Scully the distinct impression that she was a man-eater, even though she could never determine for certain what it was. Perhaps it was her self-assured, almost proprietary attitude towards Mulder, as if she assumed that they could pick up where they had left off, forgetting the span of years in a haze of hormones. Or maybe it was the way in which she seemed to exploit their history together, appealing to Mulder's vulnerability, manipulating his memories of their relationship to her advantage. No matter what the reason, Phoebe's departure was a source of guilty pleasure for Scully. After that, she never saw Mulder exhibit any interest in another woman unless she appeared in a centerfold or on a VCR (except, of course, for Dr. Bambi Berenbaum, whose attractions were along similar lines). And that, for Scully, was where things got really strange. Because if Mulder found it easier to relate to women that he couldn't have, did that mean that he was actually afraid of a relationship with a living, breathing woman? Scully surreptitiously glanced at her partner. Mulder? Afraid? It didn't seem possible. After all, this was a guy who'd walked through the much- feared fire to rescue the children of Sir Malcolm Marsden. He had chased Eugene Tooms, the liver-eating mutant, into his bile- and newspaper-encrusted nest under an escalator. He had stared down "Pusher" Robert Patrick Modell in Russian roulette and had taken him out of the game with a gunshot. And there were other dangers, ones that Scully considered even more sinister because they carried the sanction of the Federal government - nameless men who stepped out of the shadows with the authority to impede or halt Mulder's quest for the truth. Men who were given permission to terminate with extreme prejudice. Time and again, he had faced death and lived to tell the tale, either through his own resourcefulness or sheer, blind, dumb luck. He could do all that, yet he couldn't seem to have a normal, healthy relationship with a woman. Incredible. It wasn't that he couldn't form strong relationships with women, Scully reflected. Certainly, he was very close to his mother, a rapport that probably deepened after his parents' divorce. And there was no denying his devotion to his absent sister, Samantha. But these were the expected bonds of blood, not the tender ties of choice. There was no question that the professional pairing of Mulder and Scully was a match made in heaven, despite the fact that she had been sent to debunk his work. Her skepticism balanced his belief in the unbelievable. He tempered her sometimes hard-nosed scientific reasoning with a playful acceptance of the absurd. They complemented each other perfectly, even if they didn't always agree. They also appreciated each other for the fact that they had saved one another's ass a time or two. It was an unfortunate but necessary part of the job. Scully looked out for her partner's back, and he watched hers. It was just that at some point after she had first held a gun on an assailant or Mulder had burst through a door to wrestle her attacker to the floor, she had realized that there was a very real, almost tangible connection between the two of them. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline that forged it, the knowledge that one of them had been so close to being taken away forever. Or maybe it was something else, altogether. Scully knew that it was a common enough phenomenon in law enforcement, so common that it had become stereotypical. Partners of the opposite sex will launch a torrid affair because the constant danger of their situation creates an atmosphere of erotic excitement. She sighed. The textbooks and classroom lectures and case studies made it sound so damn clinical, when there was really only one way to describe it. She knew. She had felt it, up close and personal. It was like lightning. It was a hot bolt of fire that struck her at ground zero between her thighs. She couldn't admit it to anyone. She could hardly admit it to herself. But it occupied her thoughts, more than anyone suspected or knew. It kept her awake at night. Twisted her in her bedsheets. Heated her to the point that she would frenziedly sit up in bed and shake herself out of her nightclothes, yank them over her head or squirm them over her hips and hurl them into a dark corner of the bedroom. Agitated her so much that she would collapse, exhausted, her chest heaving, her warm, sweat-moistened skin now cooling by its exposure. She would lie in the darkness, her breath slowing, her restless spirit growing quiet. And always, inevitably, she sought relief from the aching at her core, her hands and fingers working first tentatively, then feverishly, to release the tension that held her body rigid, her muscles taut. Pressing here, stroking there, Scully would find a rhythm that suited the moment and the degree of her need. With her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she would fight to hold off her climax, denying herself instant gratification in exchange for the greater satisfaction which she knew could be hers. But eventually, as her fingers kneaded her most secret flesh, now well-slickened with her excitement, her breathing would change to hoarse, rapid gasps. She would feel the telling knotting of her stomach, the veins standing out from her neck. For another moment, she would try to resist, writhing against the pillows in an effort to contain the impending explosion. And then, suddenly, there would come the split second of weightlessness, the blotting out of all sensation. No sound, no sight, no touch. Nothing other than the short- lived exquisite freedom of flight. After that, the freefall. With a rush of warmth, her back arching, she would be swept up and tossed by wave after wave of pleasure. And often - more often than not - she would cry out in her abandon. One word. One name. Mulder. Distracted by her thoughts, Scully didn't notice when Mulder slowed the car to a stop. He got out and she belatedly realized that they must have arrived at the home of Connie Bertram. Joining him at the curb, Scully took in the acres of manicured front lawn and the long, gently winding driveway that curved in front of a large, white-columned, red brick home framed by huge, majestic trees. Even from where she stood, Scully could recognize old money when she saw it. Old and a lot of it. Mulder apparently recognized it, too. "Great jumpin' Jehosophat, Miz Scully," he drawled. "We's in high cotton now." XXXXX As Scully turned to get back into the car, the flash of sunlight off glass caught her attention. Further along the curb sat two large garbage cans on wheels. Sticking out of one was a long, narrow mirror - similar to one that Scully had mounted inside her own bedroom closet door. Bending to peer into the can, she saw other mirrors of various shapes and sizes. All were damaged, marred by jagged breaks that zigzagged across their surfaces. Sharp edged shards of silver filled the bottom of the trash container. Surveying the damage, Mulder let out a low whistle. "Well, I'd say somebody is shit outta luck for about the next seven hundred years." "Mulder, look how many mirrors are stuffed in here. It's strange. Why toss them out?" Scully said, carefully picking through the debris. She held one up and looked into it, her reflection fractured into a jigsaw image. "Maybe the Bertrams are redecorating." "Yeah, and maybe the maid had a really bad day. But looking at this house, I get the impression that the Bertrams can afford help that isn't so clumsy," he replied. Driving up to the home, Scully pondered that statement. Mulder had a point. Based on her vision of her father in Megan Johanssen's room - which she still found problematic, given her need for a scientific explanation - and Mulder's fear in the presence of the mirror at the Thornton's, it was becoming apparent that mirrors somehow played an integral part in this case. Perhaps even Connie Bertram sensed a link between Katie's condition and the massive mirror in her niece's home. 'Only what the hell _is_ the link?' Scully silently mused. She was still considering the possibilities as Mulder rang the bell at the Bertrams' front door. A moment or two elapsed. Then, the door swung open, and they were greeted by a tall, attractive blonde woman, attired in a well- tailored pantsuit of ice yellow shantung silk. She had a look that Scully regarded as "well-tended." It was acquired through years of the right exercise, the right hair care, the right cosmetics and creams, the right massage - and all at exorbitant expense. "You must be Agents Mulder and Scully," she stated, as the two produced their badges for inspection. "And you're Connie Bertram?" Mulder asked. Nodding and stepping aside, she gestured for them to come in. "Why don't we sit out on the deck? It's such a beautiful day." The brief walk from the front to the rear of the home only confirmed Scully's initial estimation of the Bertrams' financial status. From the furniture to the paintings to the huge Oriental rugs in each spacious room, it was evident that a great deal of money had been spent to create an atmosphere of elegance and beauty. When she stepped out onto the patio, she was no less impressed. The back "yard," if such a large expanse of land could even be called that, was meticulously maintained and beautifully landscaped. Scully couldn't even begin to guess the cost of such an endeavor. What had F. Scott Fitzgerald said? "The rich are not as we are." "No," Ernest Hemingway had replied. "They have more money." She suppressed a chuckle. It sounded like something she and Mulder would say to each other. Connie Bertram motioned for them to sit down. "Can I get you anything to drink?" "No, thank you," Mulder said, selecting a chair. "I'm sorry to have to inconvenience you with more questions, Mrs. Bertram. I'm sure that Detective Billard had quite a few to ask." "No, it's not a problem at all," Connie replied. "I'm happy to provide any information that I can, if it will help you determine what happened to my niece. Although, I must tell you, I'm not sure that I have anything new to say." "Perhaps you might begin by giving us some idea of Katie's state of mind prior to her appearance at the hospital," Scully suggested. Connie smiled, wistfully. "She was very happy. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to see her that way. She was excited about life again, about living. It was if she had come to terms with what had happened." "Her husband's death?" Scully asked. Connie drew a deep breath and nodded. "She was devastated by Peter's death. For a time, I was afraid that she was going to kill herself. She lost so much weight - she's petite, like you, Agent Scully, and she became so terribly thin. She refused any kind of grief counseling - even tried to prevent anyone from coming into the house to visit. I did the best I could to comfort her, as much as she would allow, anyway. And then, one day, the strangest thing happened. She just snapped out of her depression." "Without any indication as to what brought about her change of mood?" Mulder asked. Connie shrugged. "None whatsoever. But I was too relieved to ask why. Afraid that I would break the spell, I suppose. Now, in retrospect, I wish that I had overcome my reluctance and discovered the reason. It might have spared Katie from this latest misfortune." Her eyes fell. There was silence, then Scully stated, "Detective Billard said that he's trying to locate Katie's parents." Connie looked up, her eyes blazing. "And I hope he finds them. If for no other reason than I have a thing or two to say to them myself!" She suddenly stood, walked to the edge of the deck, gripped the railing, and leaned against it. Then she turned to face Mulder and Scully, her face flushed with agitation. Her words were clipped in anger. "They abandoned her, you know. I'm sure that Detective Billard told you that. Katie's father left when she was still a child. Patricia, her mother - my sister - left without so much as a goodbye shortly after Katie and Peter were married. Patricia may be my sister but she was the worst kind of mother to Katie." She took her seat again, placing her hand flat against her chest in a calming manner. Her tone and expression softened. "Try to understand. Peter was everything to Katie. And she was the world to him. They were perfect for each other. When he was taken away...you can only imagine how she must have felt. She had been abandoned once again." Mulder pursed his lips in thought, then asked, "This feeling of abandonment...would it have driven Katie to take drastic measures? I realize that you had concerns that she would hurt herself. But could she have felt compelled to do...other things that she might not have done under ordinary circumstances?" "Such as?" Connie asked, looking from one agent to the other with wariness. Mulder spoke slowly, haltingly, as if reluctant to broach such a difficult subject. "Would she...have tried to make contact with Peter? Would she have tried to establish...some type of communication...with her dead husband?" Connie reacted quickly. "Oh, now really, this is preposterous! Accusing my niece of some kind of daytime- talk-show hocus pocus when you should be trying to find out why she's lying in a coma! Is this where my tax dollars are going? Because if they are, you can be sure that I'm going to write a letter to my Congressman!" "Please, Mrs. Bertram, I assure you that Agent Mulder meant no offense," Scully said, stepping in to mollify her. "But there are certain aspects of this case that are troubling and for which, at this time, we can find no explanation." Having noted a degree of bluster in Connie's outburst, Scully decided to play on a hunch. "And we did see the broken mirrors left at the curb." Immediately, Scully was aware that both Connie and Mulder were regarding her with amazement. Then, Connie sank against the back of her chair, her shoulders rounded with resignation. When she spoke again, Scully detected a change in her voice. There was an element of weariness, almost defeat. But there was something else - a soft slurring of syllables, a cadence of speech that revealed Connie's true origins. "Agent Scully, I won't tell you where I was raised, but it's a little town in the deep South that's not much more than a four-way stop. Probably isn't even on any map. At one time, there were maybe two hundred souls living there. There's nothing more than dust and dogs left there now." She moved to the end of her chair and leaned towards the agents. Lowering her voice, as if afraid that her neighbors would hear her confessions, she continued. "My grandmother used to tell me stories - stories that were passed down to her from her mother, who had heard them from _her_ mother. Stories about unimaginable monstrosities whose names weren't spoken aloud. Tales about things that lived where you didn't dare to go. Things that walked this earth long before God ever got around to making us. Maybe some of them were told to keep a rambunctious child in line, but a lot of good, no-nonsense Christian people were willing to swear to their truth." She moved even closer to Mulder and Scully, as if to share a guilty secret. "But despite our fear, we still wandered out into the night. We did it because there's a part of us that trembles from excitement like the kind children feel when they run through the haunted house at the fair. They know that something could catch them at any moment, but they're so eager to see what's around the next corner that they can't stop themselves." Connie's eyes were glazed, as if she were looking not at the two agents, but rather viewing some internal landscape. Her voice became so low that Scully had to strain to hear what she was saying. "And finally, at some point, we tell ourselves that we're beyond all that. No more searching, no more adventures. We'll just stay safe and sound where we are, thank you. We convince ourselves that education and money and experience can insulate us from whatever is waiting for us in the blackness, just beyond the glow of our porch lights. But too late we learn that we don't even have to step out of the house to find what we most fear." Her eyes regained their focus and she fixed Mulder and Scully with a hard, cold stare. "It finds us." The warmth of the mid-day sun did nothing to dispel the shiver that raised goosebumps along Scully's arms. Under different circumstances, the current situation might have evoked fond memories of childhood days when she and her siblings shared ghost stories around a campfire. But here was a seemingly sophisticated, well-educated, cosmopolitan woman telling her in dead-honest, swear-on-the- Bible, utter sincerity that she believed in... What? The Boogie Man? A shadow seemed to pass across Connie's face. She closed her eyes, as if the act of not seeing her listeners made it easier for her to speak her mind. "I think, Agent Mulder...Agent Scully...I _believe_ that there are beings that live among us, waiting to step out of the dark and strike us down." She opened her eyes. "I've been in Katie's house. I've felt the power that exists in the black room. I'm baffled as to what Katie was involved in, but it has got something to do with that mirror. It's...disturbing in the way it holds your attention. Quite...mesmerizing, actually. After seeing it, I found that I couldn't bear to have one in my presence. I couldn't escape the feeling...that...that I was being watched." Neither Mulder nor Scully had a reply to her admission. Apparently having nothing else to say, Connie stood up, tugged on her jacket, and smoothed the fabric of her suit. To Scully, it appeared that she acted self-consciously, as if by tidying her appearance she brushed off the remnants of her humble past and once more assumed the persona of the genteel socialite. In any event, it was clear that she was signaling the end of the interview. Mulder and Scully rose and stood with her. Without a word, Connie led them back through the house to the front door. "I regret that all I've been able to do is to allude to some rural folklore," Connie stated, apologetically. "What I've said must have sounded quite melodramatic, I'm sure. And probably none of it will bear repeating." She cast off the last statement glibly, and followed it with a nervous laugh, as if to say, "It can just be our little secret!" But Scully read the message quite clearly - "For God's sake, don't let anyone else know that I believe in monsters!" "We appreciate your insight regarding your niece," Mulder stated. "And if you think of anything else that you feel might be helpful in solving this mystery, please contact us." He handed her a business card. "In the interim, we'll keep you apprised of any developments." "Thank you, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," Connie said, shaking each one's hand in turn. "I can't tell you what it means to have so many people looking out for Katie's welfare. Right now, I feel so...so utterly powerless to help her, but I would give all that I have to see her smile again. All that I have and my very soul." XXXXX Mulder suggested that they grab some lunch and Scully murmured her assent. As they searched for suitable dining, he expressed his views on Connie Bertram's upbringing, calling her background "Southern Gothic" and even somehow pulling the "Swamp Thing" into his summation. Scully remained silent the whole time, never offering a word of comment or contradiction. "Hey, Scully," Mulder finally asked, taking his eyes from the road to look at his partner with concern. "What's the matter?" Scully wasn't sure that she could verbalize what she was feeling. Not without sounding maudlin, she feared. She opened her mouth to speak, paused, then started again. "I...I don't know, Mulder," she began, hesitating with each word. "This case...there's so much pain and anguish involved. Katie. Connie. The Johanssens." She turned to look at him, her throat constricted. "Your sister's disappearance. My abduction." 'The loss of my father.' To have voiced that addendum aloud would have required an explanation to Mulder. Mulder hazarded another glance at her while navigating a way through the thickening traffic, but said nothing. She twisted a lock of hair around her ear. "I'm usually much better at this," she said in a small voice. "I can avoid a connection between the circumstances of a case and my own feelings." She held her hands in front of her, making imaginary cubicles in space. "There's my job. There's my personal life. Such as it is." She dropped her hands into her lap. "Then I see Connie agonize over Katie's condition. I look at the Johanssens, who wonder if they'll see their daughter again. I hear you say that Katie did what she did because - why? She was abandoned?" She exhaled heavily. "I don't question my faith necessarily, but I start to wonder why all of this was allowed to happen. And I wonder how we're supposed to make sense out of any of it." Mulder didn't reply, instead driving the car into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. Finding a space, he pulled in and shut off the ignition. He unbuckled his seat belt and twisted to look at Scully. She didn't meet his eyes. "We'll make sense out of it, Scully." His voice was low, his tone intimate. "We've already started. It's just a matter of connecting the dots. We know for certain that the mirror at Katie's is a crucial element. Now we need to find out why. And while we're on that subject, what made you mention the broken mirrors to Connie? Decided to take a walk on the wild side?" He was smiling. A dimple appeared at the corner of Scully's mouth. She was unable to maintain her dark mood in the light of Mulder's amusement. "You looked like you needed some help." She favored him with the ghost of a smile. "That's my job. To help you." "No, Scully," he amended, his own smile fading, but his voice retaining its warmth. "We both know that's your _choice_. And it hasn't come without sacrifice." His hazel eyes searched her blue ones. "And that I choose to allow you to continue to help me...knowing how your association with me has affected your life...only emphasizes how much I _need_ your help." It never ceased to amaze Scully how Mulder could suddenly voice his keenest vulnerabilities. Out of all his eccentricities, she found this trait to be the most intriguing. And endearing. "Then take my help, Mulder," she replied with conviction. "Take it and don't question it." 'I would give you so much more than that if I thought that you would accept it.' She felt as if her heart were twisting in her chest. To Scully, the atmosphere in the car suddenly felt close and warm. She realized that only a few inches separated her and Mulder. And damn it, Mulder was giving her that...that look! That look that she thought meant that maybe, just maybe, he was looking at her as a woman and not just as his co-worker or his friend. It would be so easy to close the distance between them, to finally feel his lips against hers. To savor him, to taste him. To feel the warmth of his breath against her neck. To run her hands through the silky thickness of his hair. She leaned closer, perhaps by only an inch, afraid that any sudden movement might startle him, as if he were a skittish animal. He didn't back away, his own attention focused on her lips. She moved closer still, lightheaded at the prospect of converting her fantasy into reality. And then, she heard it. The fierce, grinding rumble of her stomach. Immediately, the tension between the two dissipated. She laughed, flustered and embarrassed, then realized that he was doing the same. The moment had passed. And with no small sense of regret at what could have been, Scully got out of the car and accompanied Mulder into the restaurant. XXXXX Over their burgers and fries, the two agents agreed that Scully should return to the hospital and conduct an examination of Katie. Mulder, for his part, had his own avenues to investigate. Calling a cab, he told Scully not to wait up for him. He wouldn't elaborate, but on the way out of the restaurant, he stopped to consult the Yellow Pages for bookstore listings. When Scully arrived at the makeshift nurses' desk in the morgue, she found Dr. Laura Barnes, Katie's physician, completing her latest notes on the young woman's condition. Introducing herself, Scully explained her involvement in the case of Katie Thornton. She added that she was also a medical doctor and inquired after Katie's health. "It's as good as can be expected, considering that I have as yet to determine what's wrong with her," Dr. Barnes replied. "We're keeping her hydrated and providing appropriate nourishment. Her vital signs continue to be strong. So, I'm optimistic for a positive outcome. However, at this point, hampered as we are in our ability to effectively diagnose her condition without the use of monitors or imaging..." She raised her hands in exasperation. "I'm sure that you understand the nature of the dilemma." "Would it be possible for me to make an examination of Katie, Dr. Barnes?" Scully asked. "I have some experience with patients presenting unusual symptoms. Granted, nothing quite like Ms. Thornton's situation, but I have seen stranger things." Dr. Barnes looked relieved. "I have absolutely no problem with that, Agent Scully. My own research into this woman's condition has turned up nothing. I would love to know what you think." Scully was glad to discover that Laura Barnes displayed none of the professional territorialism so common among doctors. "I can't make guarantees that I'll come up with anything. But I'll do my best." "You've been in Katie's room, I take it?" Dr. Barnes asked as the two walked down the hall. The recent terror of her experience washed over Scully anew. The wild pounding in her chest. The dead weight against her esophagus. Mulder's grip on her wrist. She nodded. "Yes. I'm fully aware of the risks." "Good, you're prepared. That makes it easier, although things shouldn't be too bad right now." "Oh, really? Why is that?" Dr. Barnes stopped at the door to Katie's room. "Because the physical effect exerted by...whatever the hell this is that has knocked Katie down...seems to diminish between sunup and sundown. And don't ask me why, because I can't explain it, much less tell you what causes it. I've considered everything from viral contagions to chemical toxins, and nothing provides an all-encompassing explanation, let alone one that even makes a shred of sense. Mind you, not all of the results are back yet on her labs, but I don't think there are going to be any surprises." Scully was stunned. In one fell swoop, Dr. Barnes had demolished all of the possibilities that she had presented to Mulder as explanations for Katie's plight. And this latest news about the reduction in the "fight-or-flight" effect was mind-boggling, to say the least. It definitely put a new spin on things. She tried to keep her tone as neutral as possible. "I'll...I'll keep all of that in mind as I make my examination." She reached into her pocket and removed her cell phone, handed it to Dr. Barnes, then gave the physician her watch, too. "Good luck," Dr. Barnes said over her shoulder as she walked away. "I'll be back at the nurses' station if you need me." Scully rubbed her hands against her suit, then gripped the doorknob, took a deep breath, and walked into Katie's room. XXXXX Two camp lanterns, just as before, illuminated the room. The temperature was cool, but not unbearably frigid. Scully paused, her senses alert. She ticked off the items on her mental checklist. 'Skin - tingling but not clammy.' 'Pulse - faster than normal. Could be due to anxiety stemming from the circumstances of my last visit.' 'Esophagus....' She swallowed without difficulty. 'Esophagus appears to be functioning normally.' 'Respiration - somewhat rapid and shallow.' But she again attributed this to anxiety. Overall, Scully decided that she felt much better than she did when she first set foot in Katie's quarters. All she could hope for was that her own condition remained stable. She walked over and stood by Katie's bed. From her new vantage, she was better able to observe the similarities between herself and the younger woman. By his own admission, Mulder had remained cognizant long enough to note their sameness of build, hair color, and skin tone. Scully could very well see how he had formulated the idea that Katie reminded Scully of herself. Helpless. In a coma for which no one could find a cure. She shuddered and pushed the memory away. It came to her unbidden often enough. 'No need to dwell on it,' she reasoned. 'This situation is completely different.' Adopting her most detached and professional manner, Scully proceeded with her review of Katie's physical status - and was taken aback by what she saw. On one side of Katie's face and neck - the side that had been hidden from view when Scully and Mulder had merely stood at the door - there was a dark, lobster red sunburn. Scully bent over Katie, gently grasping her arm to lift it and pull the sheet away. The skin along the top of the young woman's arm was a healthy color. But the tone along the arm's underside was similar to the burn on Katie's face and neck. Scully was even more surprised to see that the palm of Katie's hand was also a bright red. An examination of her other arm revealed the same type of burn. Then Scully realized where she had seen this discoloration - on Michael Johanssen. However, he had stated that it wasn't a sunburn at all, but some form of rash or allergy. A rash or an allergy that had suddenly appeared some time during the night. 'Surely this was noted on Katie's chart,' Scully thought, as she continued to inspect the woman's arm. It occurred to her that perhaps she had been so intent on learning about the nature of Katie's coma that she had overlooked any remarks about the sunburn. She rebuked herself for her carelessness, when she knew that any information, no matter how insignificant or mundane, might prove important in solving a case, particularly cases as bizarre as the ones that she and Mulder classified as X-Files. So it was with a heightened sense of vigilance that Scully contemplated the reasons for the sunburn along the underside of Katie's arms. It occurred to her that individuals, when attacked, raise their arms in a defensive posture, thereby receiving lacerations or blows across the palms and backs of the arms. In theory, then, Katie's arms could have been burned in a similar manner if she raised them to ward off an attack. It was also possible that a portion of her face and neck were unscathed because her arms and hands had shielded them. But from what? At this point, Scully could only guess. XXXXX After completing the examination, Scully returned to the nurses' station to confer with Dr. Barnes. The physician confirmed that she had also noted the unusual burns, but like Scully, had no explanation for them. Retrieving her cell phone and watch, Scully thanked Dr. Barnes for her time and requested that any change in Katie's condition be relayed to her. On the way to the car, Scully punched in Mulder's number on her cell phone, but received the message that the phone was turned off or out of the service area. For the moment, she decided that her best option was to return to the hotel and spend some time in front of her laptop. She could update her field journal and conduct an online search for information relating to Katie's condition. When Mulder showed up, they could compare notes and perhaps formulate some new hypotheses. Back at the Peachtree Motor Lodge, Scully changed into a sweatshirt and pants. Then, true to her plan, she spent the rest of the day and part of the evening hunched over a small desk, assembling her notes and poring over documents. Her net surfing led her to some esoteric, if not downright strange, web sites. Slowly and painstakingly, however, she constructed a premise that she believed would explain not only Katie's predicament, but the Johanssens' as well. She even thought she had an explanation for Shana's story. She did admit that there were holes in her reasoning. She believed she knew _how_ Katie was initially traumatized, but she had idea _why_ she was still in a coma. And though she felt that she could render Michael Johanssen's horrific experience comprehensible under scientific terms, she didn't know the whereabouts of his little sister. It also seemed more and more likely that the "visitation" from her late father was only a mirage or hallucination, clear and simple. Taking off her glasses, she massaged the bridge of her nose. She shut down her laptop, stretched, then looked at her watch. It was late. 'Where the hell is Mulder?' she wondered, not without a little irritation. She tried his cell number again with no results. Then, she dialed his room on her hotel phone. He didn't answer there, either. Yawning, she remembered that he had told her not to wait up for him. 'Oh well. Tomorrow morning is soon enough to let him in on what I've found,' she decided. She changed into her nightclothes and settled between the sheets with a contented sigh. XXXXX Scully's eyes flew open. 'No!' Her brain screamed. 'Please God! No!' Blinded by a brilliant white light, she struggled to move, but it was as if an anvil had been placed against her chest, preventing her escape. She gasped and choked, straining to breathe. She could not even turn her head; such was the totality of her paralysis. All she could do was move her eyes and observe the area directly above her. What she saw terrified her. Bearing down on her with a frightening whine was a drill, aimed directly at her face. In her panic, she tried to cry out for mercy, tried to escape what appeared to be the inevitable. But she was powerless and completely vulnerable. It was coming closer and closer, its sharp point whirring with deadly intensity. It was going to cut her! It was going to hurt her! She was going to die! She was going TO DIE! "NO!" With a shriek, Scully sat up in bed, flailing at the air to defend herself from harm. She struggled to breathe, gulping air in short, wheezing spasms. Her sleep shirt clung to her skin, wet and clammy with a fear-induced sweat. Her heart thudded crazily against her ribs. As tears streamed down her face, she slowly relaxed and bitterly realized that she had had another nightmare about her abduction. Sniffling, she angrily threw off the bed covers and shuffled into the bathroom for a Kleenex. And nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Mulder letting loose with a bloodcurdling pronouncement at the top of his lungs: "They're here! Oh my God, no! THEY'RE HERE!!" XXXXX Compelled to act by Mulder's screams, Scully raced out of the bathroom. Grabbing her SIG P229 from its resting place on the nightstand, she ran for the door, threw it open, and flew down the sidewalk to his room. Mulder's outburst drew other guests of the motor lodge to their windows, where they parted their curtains and peered curiously outside. Scully scarcely noticed them in her haste to reach her partner and calm him. "Mulder!" She pounded on the door with her fist, striving to be heard over his cries. "Mulder! I'm coming in to help you!" She frantically tugged on the doorknob, rattling the door within its frame. Its instability gave her some hope that she would be able to force the door free of its lock, but her continued struggle did not gain her the entry she so desperately sought. She then braced herself as best she could and tried to kick down the door, pouring every atom of her strength and will into her efforts. Still it remained closed. Suddenly, Mulder was cut off in mid-cry. Scully found his silence more terrifying than his shouting. "Mulder!" She resumed her assault, her concern for the man's welfare now escalating to panic. "Mulder, are you okay? Mulder, answer me!" She pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear a noise or a word, anything that might relay a hint of his condition. Hearing nothing to reassure her and fearful that he had come to harm, Scully wrapped both hands tightly around her gun and prepared to shoot off the lock. She was within a second of firing when she was startled by someone yelling, "Wait! Stop! Don't shoot!" Running towards her, huffing with exertion, was a man whom Scully recognized as the motel's night manager. Now, however, he seemed more like a guardian angel, a gift of a miracle wrapped up in a shiny polyester shirt and Sansabelt slacks. He was carrying a ring of keys. "Federal agent! My partner's in there!" she stated excitedly. "Give me the key, then step away from the door!" Her tone made it clear that she would brook no argument on the matter. She held out her hand as the manager fumbled with the clinking, clattering mass of keys. As soon as he separated the appropriate one from the group, she snatched it from his hand. Ramming it into the lock, she twisted her wrist, and heard the satisfying _clunk_ of the deadbolt as it slid back. She briefly pondered the need for her gun, then decided that it was better to err on the side of caution. After a slow turn of the knob, she applied just enough pressure to free the door from its frame. Her knuckles white as she gripped her firearm, she allowed herself a couple of deep, lung-filling breaths before thrusting her body against the door and propelling herself into the blackness. The knowledge that Mulder was not where she expected him to be - in his bed - came to her as a shock. She had thought to find him sprawled across the mattress, tangled in the sheets, maybe clutching a pillow for solace. It hadn't occurred to her that he might be anywhere else. Gingerly, she got down on her hands and knees and lifted one corner of the spread to check under the bed frame. She found nothing except an empty soda can and one shoe. Thinking that Mulder had fallen ill as he had previously, Scully pushed herself to her feet, and headed towards the bathroom. She was almost to the door when she heard it - a muffled thump, thump, thump that came from the room's closet. Steadying herself, she clamped her hands around the gun's butt, every sense on alert. Stealthily, cautiously, she padded across the carpet, the sound of her own breathing becoming deafeningly loud in the room's stillness. Standing to one side of the closet, she fitted two fingers into the handle that was inset into the door, praying that the door's track would be smooth enough to pull the panel towards her with a single jerk. In the moment of limbo that existed before she opened the door, it seemed to Scully as if everything slowed down or hurried up to synchronize with the thump-thump-thump that issued from the closet. Her heart eased its wild racing to beat in time with it. Her breathing fell into pace with it. Her fingers flexed-unflexed-flexed-unflexed around the grip of the SIG. Even the countdown that she had silently voiced to herself was assimilated by the syncopation. But what had begun as a parade of descending numbers in her head had morphed into a litany of decisions, a tick-tock, tick-tock of choices. "Now. Never. Now. Never. Now. Never." With one fluid motion, Scully yanked the sliding door towards her, regained her two handed clamp on her gun and pointed it towards the corner of the closet now exposed and illuminated by a shaft of light from the doorway - - And right at Mulder, who sat dazed and unaware, his knees drawn up to his chest and encircled tightly by his arms. He hunkered in the corner, clad in his T-shirt and sweatpants, bumping the back of his head against the closet wall over and over and over again, apparently oblivious to any pain that he might be inflicting upon himself. Like Katie and Michael, he too, was sunburned - his face and neck a bright, hot, sickening red. Scully had no doubt that the undersides of his arms and the palms of his hands were burned as well. She shuddered, relaxed her grip on the SIG, and dropped her hands to her sides. She swayed, as if her legs were going to collapse beneath her. All the while, Mulder maintained his unnerving, unsettling rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. She wanted to make him stop. She _needed_ to make him stop, but instead of offering to help him, she remained transfixed by the sight of the completely blank expression on his face, the deep black depths of his eyes. There was no recognition of her in them. There was no clue that he was cognizant of his situation or surroundings. Whatever Mulder had experienced or seen, Scully feared that it had pursued and tormented him until he had retreated into a psychological hiding place from which only he knew how to emerge, a state all too similar to Katie Thornton's. Tremors rolled through her body in waves, rousing her from her shock at Mulder's condition. She checked the bathroom and assured herself that there were no intruders hiding within. Then she returned to the closet to observe her partner. She attempted to distance herself from the situation, as she had done during her examination of Katie, to note symptoms and formulate a diagnosis. It occurred to her that Mulder's current behavior was a typical feature of autism, in which the individual engaged in a repetitive, self-injurious action such as head banging. Except, of course, that Mulder was not autistic. Scully's effort to maintain her professional resolve vanished before this new threat to Mulder's well being. 'Dear God,' she thought, blinking away tears, 'What do I do now?' A cough behind her diverted her attention from Mulder's plight. The night manager and a couple of guests stood gawking at her from the doorway. Turning away, she ran her hand over her eyes, then faced the onlookers. As she crossed the room, she stopped to lay her gun on the room's small desk, and to switch on a lamp. "Thank you for letting me in," Scully told the manager, trying to sound more upbeat than she felt. "Is everything okay?" he asked, straining to look past her shoulder. She closed the door as far as possible and wedged herself in the gap. "Yes, everything's fine. He...he just had a bad dream, that's all. He'll be fine." Pulling the key out of the lock, she dropped it into the man's hand. "Good night." Without further pleasantries or explanations, she shut the door. Pressing her back against it, Scully exhaled raggedly, and ran a trembling hand through her hair. Weariness washed over her, draining her of the will to do anything other than to sink to the floor in a tired, crumpled heap. In her dejected state, she realized that she had neglected to throw on her bathrobe when she had left her room. She snorted to herself in twisted amusement. What a spectacle she must have been to the other guests as she stood clad in her T-shirt and boxer shorts - braless, barefoot, and brandishing a gun. Her change in mood was short-lived. Mulder's incapacitation had to be addressed, and she didn't even know where to begin. As she approached him, Scully took a little comfort in the fact that the thumping had diminished in both tempo and intensity. Maybe he was coming back to her. Or maybe he was drawing further into his shell of safety - so far that perhaps even movement required more effort than he could expend. "Damn it!" She swore fiercely under her breath. She was not going to allow that to happen. When she was lying in the hospital, critically ill and comatose, disconnected from all life support, he had brought her back from the brink of death with the strength of his beliefs. Didn't she therefore owe him any help that she could give? Lowering herself to the floor, Scully sat cross- legged before Mulder. His shoulders swung forward and back, forward and back, his head now barely tapping the closet wall. His eyes stared ahead, wide and unfocused, expressing no acknowledgement of her presence. Extending her hand, she gently placed it on his forearm, barely brushing his skin with her palm. Her blue eyes never left his hazel ones, boring into them, waiting for any sign that he was returning to her. "Mulder," she began, her voice husky with exhaustion. "Mulder, it's me. I don't know if you can hear me. I have no idea what has happened to you. But I want you to listen to me, Mulder. I want you to concentrate on my voice. I want you to find your way out." She leaned closer, squeezing his arm as she did so. "Can you do that for me, Mulder? I know it may be hard. You feel secure and protected. Maybe there's someone there with you to comfort you, someone that you trust. Maybe you think that you can't be safe anywhere but where you are now. But believe me, Mulder. _I_ can protect you and keep you safe. And...and I can comfort you, if that's what you need." She held her breath, praying for a signal that meant he had at least heard her. Seconds slipped into moments, and gradually Mulder's rocking ceased. His eyes, however, remained glassy and fixed, seemingly looking in Scully's direction but not registering her existence. She scooted closer to him, raised herself onto her knees, and placed her other hand on his arm. "Mulder, remember how you came to me in the hospital after I was returned by my abductors? You spoke to me while I was in a coma. I couldn't move - couldn't even twitch a finger to let you know that I heard you. But your words came to me so strong and clear. You had doubts that you were helping me by staying by my bedside, but you _did_ help me! You threw me a lifeline, Mulder. I grabbed onto it and pulled myself back to my family, my work...and you." By now, her face was within an inch or two of his, her hair falling forward and grazing his jaw. "I'm trying to return the favor, Mulder," she continued, emotion choking her voice. "To give you the strength to fight off whatever it is that's frightening you. To help you draw on your courage, turn your back on your fear and leave it behind." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Mulder's arm. "I've never believed in predestination. Or fate or kismet or whatever you want to call it. And yet, I can't help but think that there's a reason that you and I were brought together, that there's a plan or a mission to be accomplished through our work." She raised her head, swallowing hard. Her voice sank to a throaty whisper. "We started on different paths but somehow ended up on the same road. And though we're far from where we started, we have so much farther to go. This is a journey that we were meant to take, Mulder - a journey that will _only_ end when we discover the truth." She leaned towards him, her lips close to his ear, her face so near to his reddened skin that she thought that she could feel waves of heat from his burn warming the cool, pale skin of her cheek. "Mulder, come back to me." Scully waited anxiously, hoping that somehow her words would bridge the gap between reality and the netherworld to which Mulder had escaped. The changes were imperceptible at first - so small that she was sure that she had imagined them. Little by little, however, she saw his arms ease their hold on his knees. His eyes regained their warmth as he took in his surroundings. Finally, they stopped and focused on her. Mulder squinted slightly, as if he were searching his mental Rolodex for her name. Then he coughed and spoke, his voice coming out in a hoarse croak. "Scully, what the hell are we doing in the closet?" Relief flooded her face, bringing on one of her rare, dazzling grins. "You had a nightmare and woke up practically everyone in the motel. The night manager let me in. I found you here, in some sort of altered state of consciousness." He shook his head, indicating that he had no memory of the evening's events. Scully looked down and away, then back at Mulder, her expression now serious. "You sounded as if you were scared out of your wits. You were shouting, 'They're here. Oh my god, they're here." Her tone was completely flat as she repeated his words. Mulder's eyes widened. He struggled to stand, and after nearly toppling over, accepted Scully's arm. She helped him to a chair, and remained by his side, allowing him a few moments to form his recollections. He gazed at a point in the distance as he told his story. "I remember getting in bed," he said, "and then I think I just zonked out. I don't know how long I was asleep before...before they came." An alarm went off in Scully's head, but she refused to let her voice betray her suspicions. "Before who came?" she prodded. "EBEs, Scully. Aliens." He became agitated, his tone strident. "I woke up. A bright light was shining in my eyes and then they were here," he pointed at the floor, "in my room. They stood around the bed, studying me, like I was some kind of bug trapped under a glass. Then, for some reason, they disappeared. One minute they're here. Then zap! The next, they're gone." He shrugged. "I don't recall anything after that." Scully sat down on the bed and faced him. "And do you have any idea how you got that burn?" She gestured towards his neck. He reached up and fingered the blistered skin. "Ow! What the...?!" He drew his hand away as if he had touched a hot burner on a stove. Jumping up, he moved by Scully and went into the bathroom to inspect the damage. There were muttered expletives of shock and surprise. Then she heard him rummaging through his belongings. He emerged with a small bottle of lotion. Scully recognized it as the type supplied by the motel. Throwing himself into the chair, he propped his feet on the bed by her, and twisted the cap off the bottle. "Here," she said, holding out her hand for the lotion. Mulder relinquished the container to her without comment, but the sparkle in his eyes spoke volumes. She shook out a portion onto her hand, then with feathery strokes began to apply it to Mulder's face and neck. As first, he sat alert, watching her. However, as she proceeded with her treatment, he closed his eyes and relaxed, his head lolling against the back of the chair. With the pads of her fingers, she spread the lotion over his cheeks, along the line of his jaw, and into the valley of his throat. Slowly, carefully, she massaged it into his skin from his elbows to his fingertips, her fingers tracing delicate patterns over the hard contours of bone, muscle, and sinew. She cradled first his right and then his left hand within hers, her thumbs tracing small circles over each palm as she kneaded moisture into the lines and mounds. Then she gripped each of his fingers between hers, gently pulling each one as she worked the lotion in from knuckle to knuckle. By the time she had completed the first aid, Mulder's breathing had become deep and regular. Thinking that he had fallen asleep, Scully quietly recapped the bottle and placed it on the nightstand. She tiptoed towards the door, intending to leave, when his voice rumbled out from deep in his chest. "Put another quarter in the Magic Fingers, will ya, Scully?" XXXXX Smiling, she returned to her seat on the bed. Mulder's eyelids cracked open. He pursed his lips, as if he wanted to say something but was hesitant to try. "What?" Scully asked. Mulder's gaze swept over her, then scrunching down into his chair, his lids dropped shut once more. A chilly blast from the room's A/C unit was a keen reminder to Scully that she had been running about in little more than her underwear. She crossed her arms in front of her in a gesture of modesty, knowing that it produced merely a token effect of concealment. Then she dropped them, mock annoyance creeping into her voice. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Mulder, you've seen me in less than this! I forgot my robe, okay? I had other things to worry about." Her tone switched to one of concern. "You _are_ all right, aren't you? I mean, other than the burn?" Mulder yawned, then regarded her sleepily. "Yeah, well, as long as I don't end up with skin as tough as beef jerky, I'll be okay." He sighed contentedly and clasped his hands over his stomach. "So other than the part that involved saving my ass, how did the rest of your day go?" A puff of silent laughter escaped Scully's lips. Mulder's self-deprecating humor remained intact - always a good sign. "I think I have an explanation for Katie's condition. And for Michael Johanssen's experience. And for what happened in Shana's neighborhood." She raised her chin a bit in pride. "I think I can even explain what happened to you tonight." Clearly impressed, Mulder mouthed a silent "wow!" He raised a hand, palm up in a gesture of encouragement. "You have the floor, Madame Chairman." Scully gave him a summary of her trip to the hospital, her visit with Dr. Barnes and her examination of Katie. She placed special emphasis on the revelation that the "flight-or-flight" effect diminished during daytime. She also related the coincidence between Katie's sunburn and the burns appearing on Michael and Mulder. "The burns were the starting point," she said, "A physical effect that linked Katie and Michael. In either case, they could have been the result of overexposure to sunlight or too much time spent in a tanning bed. But Katie's were atypical, as are yours." She raised her arms and placed her hands in front of her face in a defensive posture. Looking out from behind them, she said, "She was burned along the undersides of her arms and on the palms of her hands. So it appeared that she was shielding herself from injury or attack, as I now believe that you may have done." Mulder craned his head forward, as if to say, "Go on." Scully swiped a few stray hairs out of her eyes. "Given the...unusual events of the last day or so, I followed, what was for me, an unorthodox line of reasoning...and I assumed that you were right." "How so?" If Mulder was surprised or pleased, Scully couldn't tell. "At the Johanssens, you said that electromagnetic disturbances were a common side effect of a close encounter, that these disturbances had disrupted the power at their house during Megan's abduction and that they also explained the problems occurring at the hospital." She paused to swallow, her mouth suddenly dry. "Mulder, as it turns out, you _are_ right...but not for the reasons that you think." When he made no answer or rebuttal, she plunged ahead. "The burns are the result of electromagnetic waves, which can cause a burn similar to that produced by prolonged exposure to UV rays. They can also play havoc with any type of appliance or battery. That's why the power was down the night Katie turned up at the hospital and the night that Megan was allegedly abducted." Furrows appeared in her forehead as she thought aloud. "Although I still can't explain why the disruptions continue in Katie's room, I'm sure there's a valid cause stemming from purely normal, though unusual, phenomena." She stood abruptly and began to pace. "Current theory holds that some types of allegedly paranormal experiences are actually the result of geomagnetic events which release electromagnetic plasma. This could account for, let's say, a haunted house or a religious vision seen by thousands of people. Electromagnetic plasma is released through fissures, which in turn causes witnesses to see lights or even apparitions. There's a neurochemical reason for this that I'll get to in a minute." Scully ceased her pacing and faced Mulder. "Another theory dovetails into that one. It states that supposed psi experiences also occur during times of geomagnetic _inactivity_. The magnetic web surrounding the earth remains undisturbed, and the power of this force in turn causes what are perceived to be paranormal manifestations. And the only times that the web would be intact would be during an eclipse...or at night." She crossed the floor and reclaimed her seat on the bed. "There's a Canadian neuropsychologist by the name of Dr. Michael Persinger...You've heard of him?" Mulder blinked slowly in assent, his lips slightly parted. Scully had no doubt that he knew what turn her hypothesis would take, but she decided to reiterate the information for emphasis. "He's made a study of electromagnetic forces on the brain, particularly the amygdala - a section associated with mystical ecstasy and rapture. If an electromagnetic field is applied to this area, a person can experience any number of events normally ascribed to supernatural causes - post-mortem visitations, UFO encounters, meetings with angels or demons. Test subjects have also perceived auditory phenomena, such as buzzing, clicking, or knocking - perhaps like what Shana and her neighbors heard the night that Katie was found at the hospital." She shifted her position on the bed, trying to ease the tension in her back and spine. "Even within the UFO community, there are researchers who theorize that individuals can develop electromagnetic hypersensitivity. Given the fact that the environment is flooded with EM pollution, this is highly probable. In a person with this condition, EM waves stimulate the visual cortex, triggering seizures and hallucinatory sensations, including the perception of white light, the feeling of flying or floating, and a sense of 'presence' - like you're being watched by an unseen entity." Mulder's eyes broke from Scully's. She leaned closer, trying to catch his gaze. Her voice contained no trace of triumph or gloating. "Mulder, there's more. Human brain cells contain a substance called magnetite. It aligns itself with geomagnetic and electromagnetic forces. This causes a change in the neurochemistry of the brain, triggering massive internal events that are interpreted as occurring in the physical world, when in actuality, they take place only in the mind of the percipient. It's also postulated that the level of magnetite in the brain affects one's belief in the paranormal. The more magnetite, the more readily you believe in the existence of realities outside of the one perceived by the five senses." She tried to throw a playful spin on what was becoming an uncomfortable situation. "So maybe instead of 'Spooky' Mulder, you're really 'Fox Mulder, Man of Magnetite.'" Mulder propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his fist. His eyes slid around to meet Scully's. "Anything else?" he mumbled, with an attitude that stated that even if there was, he really didn't want to hear it. She jerked her chin down in the affirmative. "Yes." He dropped his arm to his lap, motioning with his hand for her to proceed. Scully sighed, partly because she sensed how she was deflating some of Mulder's most cherished beliefs and partly because she was annoyed that he was irritated at her for even suggesting a rational explanation. "Electromagnetic waves may also produce emotional responses, such as panic, paranoia or fear - which accounts for our experiences in the hospital and the black velvet room, particularly at night when we visited them. And it's conceivable that EM waves provoked the 'fight-or-flight' response in Katie, Michael, and in you tonight. You tried to shield yourself from a perceived attack - which was actually a neurological product of EM stimulation - and as a result, you were burned by the EM waves." She placed her hands flat on the bed behind her and leaned back. "By the way, that black velvet room is a story all by itself." She tilted her face upwards and looked at the ceiling. Then dropping her head, her blue eyes zeroed in on Mulder's hazel ones. "But you probably know that already." Mulder nodded. "I had a hunch. As I recall, I _did_ say that she was using the mirror to summon an oracle." "But she wasn't calling forth just anyone, was she?" "No, she wasn't. I think she was trying to communicate with her late husband, Peter." He sat up and leaned forward, his elbows stationed on his knees. "You know, Scully, I learned a lot today. I mean, while you were putting together your theories, I was discovering that in the New Age, we can be anyone we choose to be. A guy born Prince Rogers Nelson can become Prince, and then the Artist Formerly Known As Prince, and then The Artist. A clerk working in a metaphysical bookstore called 'The Golden Door' can transform herself from 'Dorma Krintz' into 'Silverhawk.' Hell, I'm even thinking of changing my name from Fox Mulder to Elvis Mulder." Seeing Scully's smirk, he countered, "No? You don't think it's a good idea? Well, maybe you're right. I'd have to change the monogram on my towels." He slumped back into his chair and hooked one long leg over the arm. "I learned that there's a booming new area of grief therapy which uses something called a psychomanteum. All you need is a dark room, the right state of mind, and a mirror. Dr. Raymond Moody - the 'Life after Life' guy - is the biggest proponent. Oprah's had him on her show. Joan Rivers has visited him. He's all the rage, mainly because he advocates using the psychomanteum to summon loved ones in order to resolve outstanding issues or to provide closure." Mulder became animated as he warmed to his subject. "What Moody doesn't publicize is that there's a danger in dabbling in the unknown. He claims that he screens his subjects that visit him for this type of therapy, and yet he's published a book that explains in clear detail how to construct a psychomanteum and use it. Obviously, Katie wasn't aware of the hazards. I think that she tried to talk to Peter. She may have even done it, for all I know. Although I think that the champions of your EM wave theory state that individuals see what they want to see, even in their hallucinations. So who knows what she really encountered? The main thing is that somehow, when Katie used the psychomanteum, something went wrong. Something that she didn't foresee. And she let loose a force over which she had no control. I think that it used her to get into this reality and I think it's using her to stay in it, maybe even to become stronger." Scully's eyebrows fairly jumped with her incredulity. "What? You're saying that there's some kind of intelligence involved in these incidents? That...that...some kind of sentient being from God knows where put Katie in a coma?" She sputtered in her attempt to get the words out, staring at him with wide eyes. Mulder appeared wounded by her response. "Well...yes." Scully threw her arms wide. "Okay, fine. I still think that she was traumatized in some way that we are as yet unable to determine. And you think she's what? Channeling?" "In a manner of speaking. I think that the intelligence that she brought into our physical reality is tied to her. Her strength of will is holding it here, allowing it to manipulate others. I'm betting that she possesses latent psychic abilities and that this being has tapped into them. Her brain probably holds the damn motherlode of magnetite." The two agents were obviously at an impasse, and yet, Scully didn't feel the need to budge from her explanation of the case. However, in the interest of bringing them closer to agreement, she decided to make one obvious concession to her theory. "Look, I realize that I don't have an explanation for Megan Johanssen's disappearance, but I'm sure that that poor little girl was kidnapped by humans, not aliens. Granted, I think, by sheer coincidence, that Michael and his parents may have had an electromagnetically induced vision such as the ones that I described. But I certainly don't think that Megan was sucked out of that house and into another dimension. For all we know, a family member may have been involved in her disappearance, despite what Detective Billard's instincts may tell him." Mulder made no answer. Hoping to bring some clarity to the situation, Scully altered her approach. "Mulder," she began, "You've asked me to accompany you on your quest. You've asked me to believe in extreme possibilities. You've told me not to betray myself by embracing what can't be proven to my satisfaction. You've even said that you admire the way that I think, that if what you're proposing is crap, you want me to call it crap!" She continued earnestly, her voice low, with an undercurrent of anguish. "Damn it, Mulder, I'm trying to help you here. I'm trying to come up with an explanation for what has happened that takes into account all of the evidence, all of the facts. Quite frankly, I think that I've done a helluva job. Everything can be tied together - maybe not neatly but I have no doubt that it's all connected. The reasons for all of these phenomena have a basis in hard, scientific fact. Does there have to be anything else to it other than that?" Mulder turned to her, sadness marking his features. "You know, Scully, after we got here and this case began to develop, I got excited. Actually, beyond excited, I was impassioned. This X-File had everything - the afterlife, unexplainable phenomena, occult practices, alien contact, possibly alien abduction. I saw this as an opportunity for the exploration of alternative realities and uncharted dimensions, a vindication of everything that I believe. I guess that I shouldn't have been surprised when you told me that you thought that it was all in my head." He tapped his forehead with his index finger. Then he shaped his fingers into an imaginary gun and _shot_ himself, making an explosive sound as he did. His hand dropped to the arm of the chair. "Here I was thinking that I had won the paranormal powerball. Then you tell me that my ticket is invalid. I feel disappointed, I guess, because I can see your point. I have my own theories and yet, everything that you've said makes sense. It'll sure as hell make more sense on the report we give to Skinner." His voice warmed with sincerity. "And...more than that, Scully. Maybe I think that you're right." Her expression softened. "It's not a matter of one of us being right and the other wrong, Mulder," she said. "It's a matter of being able to respect each other's opinion and keeping an open mind. I'm willing to do that. And when the time comes and I'm provided with irrefutable evidence supporting the existence of paranormal phenomena, I'll be right out in front, standing by your side." A sly smile turned up her lips. "Waving the pompoms and leading the cheers." Mulder's head fell back, a smile of his own taking hold. "Oh, Scully, stop! You're killing me! The image of you in a cheerleader's uniform!" His head rolled back and forth in mock agony. They laughed, until the shrill ring of the room's phone startled them both. Mulder groaned, then pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed the receiver. "Mulder." He was on the phone no more than a minute, then with "We're there," he returned it to its cradle. "Now what?" Scully asked. All traces of humor had fled Mulder's face. "Shana, the girl we chauffeured to the 7-11? Remember how she was afraid that what got Katie would come back for her?" "Yes." "Well, tonight, it did." XXXXX No words were exchanged between Mulder and Scully as their car sped along the silent, empty streets. As the headlights pierced the night, Scully pondered what Connie Bertram had said the previous morning - that there are inhuman beings waiting at the edge of the blackness, hungrily watching all with glittering eyes, willing the unwary to step from the safety of the light to the dangers lurking within the shadows. Illumination from the streetlights washed over Scully's face as she rested her forehead against the window, each wave of light followed by one of darkness. Light, dark. Light, dark. So much in this case seemed to fall to one side or the other of that dichotomy. And even though she couldn't buy into Mulder's theory of an as-yet unidentified entity influencing physical reality - or Connie's belief in monsters, for that matter - she nevertheless sensed that there was _something_ happening which certainly gave the appearance that events and forces were being manipulated and affected by an unknown intelligence. No matter the cause, the results were terrifying. She raised her eyes, studying the modest homes that lined the road. In the comfort of their beds, nestled under sheets and comforters, people slept on through the night, oblivious to everything but the dreams that played out within the neurological theater of their own minds. Undoubtedly, there were those who found sleep elusive, burdened by worries over work, or children, or finances. But eventually, even they were seduced by sleep's soft caresses. In house after house, neighborhood upon neighborhood, people closed their eyes and shut out the world for a few hours, trusting that they would stay safe and sound and hopeful that they would wake up to a better tomorrow. 'If they only knew,' Scully thought. 'If they saw the things that Mulder and I have seen....' She closed her eyes, trying to restrain the hellish images that exploded, snarling and snapping, from the murky depths of her worst nightmarish memories. Was the truth worth the knowledge of such horrors? Was she somehow better off because she had looked straight into the black, roiling heart of the Abyss and had not blinked? She was aware that there were those in positions of power that justified their secrets, lies, and subterfuge with the reasoning that all was done to preserve the sanity and well being of the people. Anarchy would reign, it was postulated by those who thought to know best, if the curtains of deception were thrust aside and the Common Man was allowed even a glimpse of the monstrosities with which he co- existed. The civil and religious mechanisms that held the populace in check would crumble, loosing panic and chaos of a magnitude that could destroy civilizations. Scully realized that such a philosophy masked arrogance of the highest order. Because what had begun with the best of intentions had all gone completely to hell. The beliefs of those who existed in secret, those men and women who covertly shaped national policy and influenced governmental agendas, were now used to justify excesses that were deviant and cruel, perhaps even bordering on the genocidal. The very citizens that they had once sought to protect had become mere cattle to be herded one way and then the other, kept ignorant and contented by the falsehoods they were fed. And occasionally, a few were led to the slaughter and sacrificed - all in the name of the greater good. Scully winced, the questions surrounding her own abduction causing her psychological pain. She straightened and flexed her shoulder blades against the car seat, using the movement to steal a glance at Mulder. The lights from an approaching car in the opposite lane briefly threw the lines and planes of his face into brilliant relief, framing him in a halo of white light. Despite the risks to his life, career, family, and reputation, Mulder continued and persevered, driven by a need to discover certainties considered too fantastic by some, too horrific by others. 'How does he do it?' she wondered. 'How does he go on day after day after day?' She chewed her lip, crossed her arms, and turned once again to stare out the window. Maybe because in the end, as unnerving and repulsive as the realities could be, it was more devastating not to know, to be robbed of the facts. To be denied the truth. XXXXX After the car's engine sputtered and shut down, Mulder guided it to a gentle stop at the curb. He attributed the incident to EM wave interference, and Scully nodded silently in agreement. Something similar to this had occurred during their first case in Bellefleur, Oregon. However, she now found it alarming that the engine had failed while they were still several blocks from Shana's house. It was a frightening indication that the EM waves were affecting a larger area than they had previously encountered. Getting out of the car to walk the last few blocks, she noted that the streetlights were dark, as well as any porch lights or security lights on the houses. Under the black velvet of the evening sky, hearing only the scuffing of their feet against the asphalt and the occasional barking of a dog, she imagined herself and Mulder as two of the last inhabitants of Earth, walking to an unknown destination and facing an unknowable future, with only the waning moon as witness. The thought of such a reality sent a frigid trickle of fear down her spine. It was a scenario made even more chillingly real when they came upon a police car and an ambulance, both of which appeared to have been affected like their sedan. Both were abandoned, their occupants presumably choosing to proceed on foot. Scully could imagine the driver's bewilderment, even anger, when the vehicle abruptly stopped running for what seemed like no apparent reason. Scully, however, now knew that there _was_ a practical explanation for the phenomenon, but one with which most people were unfamiliar or which they chose to attribute to more unearthly causes. The man walking with her was one of the latter, but Scully thought that for once, maybe just this once, she had been able to provide a completely rational and reproducible scientific explanation that even Mulder could accept. She lowered her eyes and studied the street as it passed beneath her boots. Somehow, she didn't feel the sense of victory that she thought would be hers at such an accomplishment. Her head whipped up as a shrill, high-pitched scream shattered the night's quiet. With a wide-eyed look at Mulder, she broke into a dead run. XXXXX Rounding the corner onto Shana's street, Mulder and Scully found themselves in the midst of a small but growing crowd of anxious bystanders. Two uniformed officers attempted to contain the group of gawking neighbors that stood clustered on the front lawn of a home that Scully assumed was Shana's. The screams continued unabated - desperate, hysterical keening from the depths of the darkened house that made the hairs stand up on the back of Scully's neck. Following the direction of the sound, she looked to an upstairs window, where she could see golden light and odd, misshapen shadows wavering against the sheer curtains. She and Mulder strode through the onlookers and were identifying themselves to the officers when Detective Billard waved them on to the front door. Scully was shocked at Billard's physical appearance. In the dim moonlight, he looked exhausted and wrung out, as if he had not slept in days. No doubt the original mystery regarding Katie Thornton and all its subsequent, seemingly related elements - the Johanssen abduction and this latest development involving Shana - were taking their toll on the young investigator. As a doctor, Scully felt the need to say something, even if it was merely as unthreatening and inane as inquiring after the man's health. But she checked the impulse. What was meant as concern could be misconstrued as a questioning of capability, even competency. From her review of the case and her contact with Billard, there was no indication that he had acted in any way other than professionally and efficiently. Nevertheless, she felt uneasy as he greeted them yet again. The detective indicated that the two agents should follow him into the living room. In the absence of electricity, a few stubby, flickering candles illuminated the area. "Well, I'd say that this is probably as weird as anything I've seen in the last few days." He had raised his voice in order to be heard over Shana's shrieking. "How's that?" Mulder asked. "I thought you said on the phone that she had been assaulted." "She was, or at least, she claims to have been." "You don't believe her?" Scully asked loudly. Billard shook his head in the negative. "She says that someone came into the house and attempted to force her to perform various sexual acts. But there are no indications of a struggle, no immediately apparent evidence of an attack, no bruises, no cuts, no lacerations - no reason to believe that she was sexually assaulted, either. There'll be a rape kit, just to be sure." Mulder looked around him, taking in surroundings much like those of the Thornton and Johanssen homes. "So what the hell happened here? The kid's wailing like a damn banshee. I don't think it's just a case of adolescent angst." In his need to be heard, Mulder was close to shouting, making his day-to-day dry wit seem hard, almost sarcastic. Billard squinted, his mouth drawn in a tight line, as if he didn't know what to make of Mulder's tone. 'Careful, Mulder,' Scully silently warned. 'We've gotten this far without pissing this guy off. Don't blow it now.' If Billard was offended, however erroneously, he decided to forego a retaliatory response. "Paramedics haven't tried to sedate her because they haven't ruled out that she's already doped up. And she keeps insisting that she was attacked by a friend of the family." "Then that would explain how the assailant got into the house," Scully offered. "And if it was someone she knew, someone she trusted, she wouldn't have expected to be harmed." "Agent Scully, she wouldn't have expected anything at all from this guy," Billard countered. "He's been dead at least five years." XXXXX Scully looked from Billard to Mulder. Her partner said nothing, his face assuming the deadpan look that Scully had long ago stopped trying to decipher. She redirected her attention to Billard. "Then, there must be some mistake. Either Shana misidentified the attacker or the family friend assumed to be dead is not." Billard reached up to scratch his forehead, then wearily rubbed his eyes. "Oh, he's dead all right. A college kid from the neighborhood. This girl - " he jerked his thumb in the direction of the commotion to indicate Shana - "had had a crush on him for years. Poor bastard went on spring break, got drunk, took a swan dive off a beach hotel balcony. I guess you could argue that it wasn't really him, except that there were at least a hundred other witnesses in the vicinity, plus his body was later identified by his family." He ran his hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it. "And as to a wrong ID by the girl, she said the guy called her by her childhood nickname - 'Bird Legs.'" He chuckled. "And that's a bit of embarrassing info that I don't think someone would reveal unless they had to. So I gotta believe she's telling the truth, on some level, anyway. Maybe when 'he' showed up, whoever, _whatever_ the hell he is, she was gonna show him a good time. Only something went wrong, and she started yellin' her head off." Before Scully or Mulder had an opportunity to question Billard further, they were distracted by Shana's cries, now coming from behind them. The paramedics had strapped her to a stretcher and were carefully maneuvering it down the stairs and into the foyer. Shana was wild, frenziedly tossing her head from side to side, her jet-black hair plastered to her head in sticky, sweaty strands. Scully raised her hand to halt the medics' progress, then stepped close enough to see that the teen's eyes were wide open and unseeing. Her breathing was shallow and quick, as if she were winded after a long run. Scully was sure that if she grasped Shana's wrist she would feel her pulse racing dangerously fast. It was as if she were in the throes of an extreme anxiety attack, far worse than anything that she or Mulder had experienced since their involvement in the case. Scully turned to step away, realizing that there was nothing she could do at the moment, when Shana suddenly called out, "Wait! Stop!" Everyone froze at the outburst. Shana struggled to catch her breath, while staring intently at Mulder and Scully. "Wait...wait. I know...I know you two. You're the Feds, right? You took me to the store?" Her brows knit together as she tried to put names with the faces. "Scully and...Mulder." Scully smiled and approached the stretcher. She knelt beside it, gently slipping her hand inside of Shana's. The teenager's skin was cool and clammy, yet another sign that she was in the grip of a panic attack. "We came to help you, Shana," Scully said, compassion lending warmth to her voice. Shana's eyes brimmed with tears, and Scully was afraid that she was going to lapse once more into cries of terror. "No one can help me. Or you." She looked past Scully's shoulder to Mulder. "Or you, Agent Mulder." She looked straight up towards the ceiling, her tears now spilling to the stretcher's pillow. "No one can help any of us." Scully squeezed Shana's hand, trying to keep her focused. "Why, Shana? Why is that?" The girl's eyes slid to meet Scully's. "Because they can be anybody they want." She turned her head to face Scully, her dark eyes riveted to the other woman's. "That's their talent, their trick. They think that they can be somebody we'll know, so we won't see them for what they are, only...." Her face screwed up as she began to cry harder - great, hitching sobs that threw her body into spasms. "Only...only they get it...wrong somehow. They think they're reading our minds but it's like...like they've got a bad connection, and they think we won't see them for what they are, but we do! Oh, God! We still do!!" Her back arched, and her eyes rolled upward, stark white and moist like boiled eggs stripped of their shells. Foam sprayed from her lips as she released an ear-piercing wail that startled Scully into dropping her hand. She stood and watched the paramedics shuttle the stretcher out the door. Scully felt, rather than saw Mulder standing behind her. "They're not going to get very far with her," she stated flatly. "No, but maybe they can get her far enough away from the influence of the EM waves to get her into a functional ambulance." He put his hand on her elbow and pulled her out of earshot of Billard. "Meanwhile, we gotta get back into Katie's house." "To do what?" "I'm not sure, but I think the mirror is the key. I think it's acting like some kind of gateway into this reality. Maybe that particular mirror, combined with Katie's latent psychic abilities, attracted this force, then acted as a prism to refine it, strengthen it. Maybe it's gotten into this world and now it doesn't want to leave." He waited before proceeding, as if giving Scully ample time to jump in and contradict him. When she didn't, he plowed ahead. "You know how Shana said that she heard noises on the roof the night that Katie was supposedly channel-surfing the other side? I think that whatever Katie conjured up was playing 'knock-knock' and waiting for someone to say 'who's there?' It was asking to be invited in and Katie and the looking-glass were as good as standing there with the door wide open and the red carpet rolled out." Scully hesitated to respond. There wasn't time to battle with Mulder over theories and hypotheses. Too much seemed to be going wrong too fast. If she hadn't seen the stricken look on Shana's face or heard her heart-wrenching screams, she might have thought twice about what the man before her was proposing. But now she only sought an end to the whole, horrifying mess. She crossed her arms and studied her partner's face, the seriousness of her body language in contrast to her response. "So what are you suggesting? That we go kick some ass from the afterlife?" Mulder smiled. "Scully, if anyone were to ask me who was up to the task, I'd say it would be you." XXXXX When the two agents informed Billard of their intentions, the detective reacted with a nod and what looked to Scully like relief, maybe even gratitude. But there was something else in his eyes, too. Guilt? Chagrin? She saw the subtle tensing of his jaw muscles, watched his lips purse slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't form the words. She considered probing further, encouraging him to speak, but before she had the chance, his features again assumed the world-weariness that was the standard for police detectives. She turned and fell into step with Mulder. When they were a few yards from Shana's house, she said, "I'm worried about Billard. I think he's overwhelmed." "Yeah, well, he probably is. He's been in the game from start to finish without a timeout. I don't doubt the guy's got the stomach for blood-and-guts, but alien abductions, ghosts, shrieking psycho teenage girls? Even _I'm_ starting to feel a little whacked out. With any luck, we can put a stop to the weirdness now and we can all get some rest." "And how do you propose to do that?" she queried. He made no reply at first, a heavy sigh his only response. When he spoke, his voice was small and worried. "To tell you the truth, Scully, I don't have the slightest idea. I just hope that when the moment arrives, the right thing will come to me." To Scully's ears, he didn't sound like the Oxford-educated, crusading, conspiracy-hunting G-man that she worked beside, day in and day out. Instead, there was the hint of Fox, the boy, shaken and bewildered, whose life had been forever changed one harrowing night years ago. Although under different circumstances, Scully might have offered comfort or advice, a shudder now passed over her as she digested Mulder's words. Without intending to, he had revealed his unspoken fear regarding the task they now faced. In her own nervousness, she fingered the gold cross at her neck, seeking comfort from its familiarity as well as its symbolism. They arrived at Katie's house a few moments later. This time, Mulder rummaged through the bushes and retrieved the turtle keykeeper. He started to unlock the door, then stepped back and faced Scully. "Look, I think we agree that we've seen some pretty strange shit during this case, even if we may not completely agree on where it came from. No matter the cause, we already know the effect. Shana said that there was something wrong with the apparition, like it appeared to be one thing but was actually something else. If nothing else, I think that tells us that we can't trust our eyes. So, question everything you see." Scully hesitated before nodding her head. She wondered if now might be the time to tell Mulder about her vision of her father at the Johanssens', but before she had a chance to volunteer the information, he spoke again. "And, Scully, no matter what happens, I want you to get to the hospital and check on Katie Thornton. I have a feeling that whatever we do here will influence her condition." She was unnerved by the implications of his request. "Why, where are you going?" When he offered no explanation, she became even more alarmed. She gripped his arm, anchoring herself to him for support, as well as out of a sense of urgency. "Mulder, are you holding out on me? Is there something else I should know?" She searched his face for clues, as if expecting to see them written there, but the darkness hid whatever answers she might have hoped to find. Mulder swallowed hard, then reached up to push a stray strand of Scully's hair away from her face and behind her ear, smiling as he did so. "You know, I think it's funny, Scully. You're so organized and precise, 'the-place-for- everything-and-everything-in-its-place' type. Confident, self-assured, the spittin' image of 'grace under fire'. And yet, somehow, no matter how hard you try to control it, you always have this little bit of yourself..." he smoothed her hair with his hand, "that refuses to be tamed or confined." Scully closed her eyes to savor the touch of his hand as it slid from her hair to caress her face. She wished that they were anywhere but where they were - about to confront a foe that neither one of them completely understood nor knew how to conquer. Extraordinary lives allowed for few ordinary moments such as this one. So, for just an instant, she allowed herself the luxury of taking what little pleasure she could take from the situation, filing away the memory with other stolen moments of intimacy that she had shared with Mulder. And prayed to God that it would not be their last. XXXXX The door swung inward, releasing a whisper of frigid air that ruffled Scully's hair. Its chill startled her and Mulder into immobility. "Jesus, Scully, we could probably hang meat in there," Mulder commented. For once, Mulder's sarcasm didn't provoke a response from her. Given the way things were proceeding, she hoped that it didn't become some sort of macabre, self-fulfilling prophecy. They were in the living room, standing in the dark, before Scully realized that the candles they had used during their previous visit had been left in the hallway and the black velvet room. The fact annoyed her, angered her, reddened her face with rage. They would now have to stumble through the unlighted house, risk running into furniture and God-knows-what-else, all because she hadn't had the presence of mind to return the candles to their original location. Scully regarded this as an inexcusable mistake that would cost them time, perhaps even their safety. She berated herself, her inner voice hurling insults in terms that were both graphic and succinct. Her irritation at her oversight was diverted to the pain that crept up her arms from her hands. Slowly, she opened her tightly clenched fists, her palms burning as she did so. She held one hand up to her face, and traced a finger across its surface. Wincing, she detected four crescent- shaped indentations welling with blood. In her blind fury over the candles, she had cut herself with her fingernails. As she tried to rein in her anger, she recalled that she had left the candles in their present locations with good reason - because she had had to assist her panic-stricken partner out of the house. "Mulder. The way I feel...the effect...it's worse this time." She ground the words out, trying to maintain an even, measured tone of voice. A grunt from Mulder was all she received in reply, and under the circumstances, all she could expect. The lack of light and the struggle with her own runaway emotions left her with no alternative but to focus on her tenuous self- control. She raised her hands in front of her, trying to recall the placement of the furniture in the Thorntons' living room. Taking small, uncertain steps, she groped ahead. Making contact with nubby fabric, she patted the unseen obstacle and realized that it was the chair in front of the fireplace. Working to her left, she made her way around it, cursing colorfully when she banged one knee against the corner of the book-strewn coffee table. A few more steps and she was at the mantle, hastily grabbing the matches she had discovered on their first visit. She carefully turned to rejoin Mulder - - and drew back, as if reeling from the force of a skin-numbing, brain-rattling, teeth-chattering slap across the face. Mulder was no longer in the living room, and something was very, very wrong. She had no way to verify what she knew. She couldn't see her hands in front of her face, much less confirm that Mulder was or was not where she had left him just a few seconds ago. But the nausea-inducing twist of her gut was enough to convince her that she and Mulder were in danger. Clutching the matches in a sticky, blood-smeared hand, she alternately shuffled and stumbled toward the black velvet room. Each step forward was a battle between her drive to protect her partner and the millennia-old ingrained instinct for self-preservation. Her skin twitched with the sensation of millions of ants swarming over her, seeking refuge in her hair, her ears, her nose and mouth - creeping and crawling into the crevices and curves. She threw herself against the wall, her back flat to it, her chest heaving, stifling a scream and fighting the urge to scratch herself until rivulets of blood ran from her neck and arms. A moment passed, then she gritted her teeth and with a cry of determination, pushed herself away from the wall. Almost immediately, a dazzlingly bright, golden light streamed through the open doorway of the black velvet room. Startled, Scully shielded her eyes with an arm, temporarily blinded by the brilliant glow. She stood frozen in the hallway, giving her eyes time to adjust, unsure of how to proceed but certain that she could not remain where she was. Then she heard the voices. She first recognized Mulder's. He seemed to be in conversation with someone, but Scully couldn't understand what he was saying, nor could she hear clearly the reply of the person to whom he was speaking. There was no mistaking Mulder's tone of voice, however. He sounded completely comfortable with the situation, despite the obviously bizarre current circumstances. Her eyes squinted tightly, Scully took a couple of steps forward. "Mulder? Mulder, are you all right?" She waited for a reply, but there was no interruption in the exchange between Mulder and his unknown associate. Perplexed, she added, "Mulder, I'm coming in," then haltingly, she stepped into the blaze of light streaming from the black room. Once inside, the shock of the scene before her forced Scully's breath from her lungs in a rush. Since her visit, the room's furnishings had been nearly destroyed. Glass from the Victorian lamp crunched beneath her shoes. The table on which it had rested had been broken into kindling. The black drapes hung in shreds. Its back to the door, the burgundy chair appeared to be intact, although its beautiful upholstery was ripped and tattered and the intricate carvings, once fluid and graceful, were now gouged and scarred. The only item that survived in its entirety was the mirror, which continued to watch the room with its unblinking, silver eye. The light that bathed the room poured from it, washing everything in warm luminescence. A movement by the chair caught her eye. Mulder stood up from where he had been kneeling at its side, smiling as he did so. "Scully, you won't believe it. It's the damnedest thing. I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but well...." He gestured toward the chair. A mass of long, dark, curly hair appeared from behind the chair's high back, and Scully immediately recognized the face it framed. She had encountered her on a bridge in Bethesda, Maryland, while being held hostage by an alien bounty hunter. The woman had ultimately given her life to save Scully's, leaving Mulder to grieve once more for her loss. Samantha. "Agent Scully," she said, a warm smile dimpling her cheek. "Fox and I were just talking about you. I'm so glad to see you again." Scully reeled from shock, looking from "Samantha" to Mulder in amazement. Only a few moments ago, Mulder had instructed his partner not to trust anything that she saw while in the house. But _he_ now appeared to have no doubt of the identity of the woman seated before him - to have been completely taken in by an illusion. Scully knew that what they were seeing was no more than an electromagnetically-triggered mirage, the scientifically reproducible result of EM waves acting on neurochemistry. But even knowing that did nothing to quell the growing anxiety that Scully felt when staring into "Samantha's" eyes. Her mind raced as she tried to pinpoint exactly what it was that made her so nervous, and then it dawned on her. It was as if she were looking at someone who was wearing a mask, and an ill-fitting one at that. It brought to mind a ghost mask that Scully had worn as a child, and how it had spooked even her when she looked in the mirror and saw her own eyes gleaming from the shadows of the mask's larger eyeholes. But this was much more frightening, because for a split-second, Scully saw what lay behind "Samantha's" disguise. It was a distorted, hideous caricature of a human face. With a huge leering grin, it laughed silently at her terror. Spittle ran from between yellowed, crumbling teeth and hung from the quivering chin below. Its large, porcine nostrils snorted and flared like an animal's as it takes in the scent of its prey. Its withered, pockmarked jowls shook with amusement at the fear generated by its appearance. The hair that had at first appeared thick and luxurious now seemed to move and undulate with a life of its own; lifting and waving in the air, it reminded Scully of so many blind earthworms. But the eyes were the worst feature of all - dark, cold, pitiless, remorseless. Scully felt drawn into them, pulled against her will, as if she were tumbling into a bottomless well from which there was no escape. She swayed with vertigo and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, then closed her eyes and shook her head to clear her vision. When she opened her eyes once more and stepped closer to the chair, the face before her seemed to ripple and change even as she watched. Now it assumed the appearance of Mulder's deceased government contact, Deep Throat. "Perhaps you find this more palatable, Agent Scully," the specter said, waving a hand at its face. "An old, trusted friend who sacrificed his life in the pursuit of the truth. A well-meaning man, but rather enigmatic, wasn't he, Agent Scully? Not unlike yourself." It regarded Scully with an oily smile. "You have your own secrets, don't you? The nightmares that make you sleep with the lights on; the loaded gun you keep on your nightstand should your abductors return, even though you suspect its ineffectuality." "Deep Throat" settled back into the chair with a contented, self-satisfied sigh. "Ah, but the most delectable secret of all is the one you cherish concerning our noble Agent Mulder." The older man beamed congenially at the younger one, who appeared not to have noticed the change from "Samantha" to fiend to "Deep Throat," but who returned the man's attention with an affable grin of his own. "Apparently under all those smartly-tailored designer power suits of yours beats the heart of a hormone-drenched, sex-starved, depraved little slut who'd enjoy nothing more than being thrown onto her back by Agent Mulder and ...." "Deep Throat" held up one hand, dismissively. "But, it's all too sordid for me to go on. Let's just say that in view of your late-night autoerotic aerobics all that piety and faith and religious dogma that you periodically proclaim as yours sounds like so much hypocritical horseshit to me." Despite her best efforts, Scully found herself fighting tears. Every pragmatic instinct, every bit of scientific training told her that everything that she was experiencing was occurring only in her mind. Nothing was being revealed to her that was not a twisted version of her own thoughts. And yet, all her rationalizations did not prevent her from muttering, "Damn it, what in _hell_ are you?" Once again, the vision changed, this time shaping itself into a pale, attractive young woman with red hair the color of Scully's. Melissa. Scully's "sister" threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, now, that's a good one, Dana! What in hell am I? What in _hell_ am I? Since when did you become psychic, little sister?" Scully stood, speechless, tears now running down her cheeks at the sight of her dead sibling. "Melissa" rolled her eyes. "Oh, please spare me the melodramatics, will you? If you're gonna cry for somebody, cry for yourself and your pathetic lack of a life. I may have been the free spirited wild thing in the family but at least I got out there and had a good time." The woman sniffed. "You wouldn't know a good time if it walked up and bit you in the ass." She crossed her arms and threw a look of defiance at Scully. "Anyway, where I'm from doesn't matter. The point is that I'm here and I'm not leaving." She looked around the room at the damaged furnishings. "The place could use some work, of course...." Her gaze settled on Mulder. "Oh, but it definitely has its attractions." She leaned forward and placed a hand on Mulder's thigh, stroking it appreciatively. "What do you say, Dana? We could share him, hmmmm? Mom and Dad always taught us that sharing was a good thing. I could show you how a real woman would handle him. None of those longing looks and insipid innuendoes. Just two individuals reduced to the level of panting animals in heat. Or better still...." She stood up and pressed herself against Mulder, ran her hands over him, then looked slyly back at Scully. "Why don't I just keep him all to myself? He'd be wasted on you anyway." At the sight of the monster masquerading as Melissa putting its hands on her partner, Scully choked back a sob, then reached behind into the waistband of her slacks. Drawing her SIG, she leveled it at the phantom's face and intoned, "Get your filthy hands off of him, you bitch, before I blow you back to the hole in hell that you crawled out of." XXXXX The phantom with Melissa's face threw back its head and let out a full, throaty, shoulder-shaking laugh. "Oh, Dana! Sweetheart, you really disappoint me! Do you honestly think that your little toy gun will have even the tiniest effect on me? And besides, won't you just be firing into thin air? This _is_ all in your mind, or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself to keep from going stark, raving mad. Like a bad dream full of scary monsters, only you can't wake up." Scully's aim wavered, shifting ever so slightly in the direction of Mulder. "Melissa" brightened. "Oh, yes! Good! Shoot your partner! It's not like you haven't done it before, so it should be easy." She stepped behind a still-smiling Mulder, gripped him by the arms and pushed him toward Scully. "There! That should do it. You can't possibly miss now. Just one good shot and the poor son-of-a- bitch will be on his way to all the truth he can handle. Oh, and Dana," she said, "I know you're considering another target, as well." She appeared from behind Mulder, her eyes narrowed. "But what if there is no mirror?" In the blink of an eye, Scully plunged into hell. She dropped to her knees, terror and disorientation instinctively telling her to make herself as small of a target as possible. She was crouched in the middle of a desert plain, its barren vista broken only by gnarled, leafless trees and jagged boulders thrusting upward through the glittering sand. A full moon looked down upon the scene, its surface red and glistening, as if its familiar dusty canyons were engorged with blood. A hot, howling wind threw dirt into her eyes and mouth, blinding and gagging her as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Coughing, she crawled to a large rocky outcropping, where she sank to the ground, her back pressed against warm granite. It provided minimal shelter against the elements, but enough for her to catch her breath and think. She gripped her gun with white knuckles, rocking back and forth as she lectured herself aloud. "This is all in your head, Scully. All in your head, damn it! You're still in the room at Katie's house. You've never left. This is not real, for God's sake! THIS IS NOT REAL!" She stopped to run a hand through her tangled, gritty hair, then swiped the back of it across her tear- moistened eyes. There had to be some way to return to Mulder and the black velvet room. "Jesus. Mulder," she whispered, remembering that her partner had been left vulnerable and alone with the shape-changing demon. "What the hell has happened to Mulder?" She had no choice. Whether this world was real or not, she couldn't remain where she was and wait for something to happen. There was too much at stake, and there were too many people who were now unwittingly dependent upon her to put an end to the terrors that had crept out of their dreams and into their night-darkened homes. Steeled with this knowledge, Scully gripped her SIG, then rose and stepped out from between the rocks. The heated wind tore her breath from her lungs. The dead trees groaned and rattled under the onslaught, scratching at the sky with clawed branches. Above, the moon continued its vigil, flooding the desert with garish, crimson light. Scully looked around, and spotted a solitary boulder that towered far above the others. Slogging through the drifts, she made her way to it. It was tall, but she had done her share of climbing in her tomboy days and was not intimidated by its height. Stuffing her SIG into the waistband of her pants, she carefully selected toe and hand holds, then began her ascent. Several times, wind gusts threatened to seize her off the rock's face and hurl her to the sandy floor, but she clung to it with a determination born of the certainty that her life - and the life of her partner - depended upon her success in this neuron-jangling netherworld. When she pulled herself over the lip of stone at the summit, she collapsed onto her back, gasping for breath, and stared at the scarlet-tinged, starless sky. This was not the sky as Mulder believed it to be - rich with the promise of other worlds from which other beings gazed in wonder at the Earth, Sun, and Moon. It was not the canopy of night that inspired poets and playwrights to rhapsodize about its beauty and mystery. Lovers did not walk under it, hands clasped and heads together, exchanging tender words. It was an ever-hungry void, existing through eons of time to suck all life and light into its open, gaping maw. There was no paradise or punishment within its far-flung boundaries - only cold and silence that stretched into the oblivion of eternity. Scully was damned if she was going to go quietly into it. Pushing herself to her feet, she threw her arms upward in defiance of the darkness. "I'm not afraid!" she screamed into the wind. "Do you hear me, you bitch from Hell?!" She turned to face the opposite horizon. "I'M NOT AFRAID!" The force of the gusts escalated. For a brief, dizzying moment, Scully stood at the center of a tempest, shouting her challenges to the sky, whipped by storm- flung sand that scraped her skin raw. Suddenly, there was silence. As the last echoes of her cries died, Scully strained for any sign of movement on the land below. She heard the approach before she saw anything. It began as whispers and unintelligible murmurs, familiar on some deep primal level that froze Scully's blood. As the noise grew in volume, it became a cacophony of screeching, chittering, buzzing, and hissing that surrounded the promontory on which she stood. Scully whirled about, realizing that she was trapped on the rocky point by the dark, boiling wave of movement that advanced from all sides. Under the bloody light of the moon, she could pick out details - squirming, spindly legs and snapping claws; eyes that gleamed in pairs and quartets and octets from waving stalks or antennae or pallid malformed faces; wriggling segmented bodies that were furred, scaled, fleshed, or chitinous or a bewildering combination of all four. Jaws stretched open, revealing row upon row of razored teeth and fangs, dripping with gore and venom. Tails slashed the air; some tipped with stingers, others with plates or spikes of horn. It was evolution as engineered by Hieronymous Bosch. It was the genetics of the Apocalypse. Above it all hovered the smell of the slaughterhouse - blood and sweat and shit and rotting meat. It was the smell that Scully routinely encountered in her work as a forensic pathologist. It was the odor of the autopsy. It was the rank, stinking presence of Death. "Dear God in Heaven," she rasped. She surveyed the horrifying mob as it stopped at the base of the rock. Its wild, inhuman cries threatened to drive every sane thought screaming from her brain. In pain, she pressed her palms against her ears in an attempt to muffle the bedlam. When that was unsuccessful, she added her own voice to the din, yelling until she was hoarse. "Mullllderrrrr! MULLLLDERRRR!" The only response she received came from the monstrosities below. With a roar, they surged onto the stone, crawling over and squashing each other to a pulp in their frenzy to reach the top. "Oh! God! No!" Wide-eyed and frightened, Scully grabbed her SIG, hurriedly twisting and turning from one compass point to the next as she tried to anticipate the arrival of her attackers. She had nowhere to hide and no escape route. Frantically, she reviewed her options, only to find that she had none. In moments, the beasts would reach the summit, finding Scully armed with nothing but a few bullets - and her faith. She lowered the gun, smiling. How could she have been so quick to forget? Her blue eyes filled with the serenity that comes from hope, she gazed across the cursed hordes that extended to the horizon. "I am not afraid," she said quietly. "Do you hear me? I am not afraid." She didn't flinch when the first hideous deformity hauled itself over the edge, followed by another and another. She found that she couldn't tear her eyes away from the pinpoint of pure, gleaming light that had suddenly pierced the reddened sky. Like the morning sun, it grew brighter as it rose, even as the first insectoid aberration scurried to Scully's feet. Scully thought she felt a cool breeze across her cheek as she stared at the glow. It carried with it the luscious fragrance of the first flowers of spring, and her eyes moistened at the memory of sunny days spent with her father, her mother, her brothers and sister - and Mulder. The thought sustained her and strengthened her, filling her heart with a bittersweet joy, and as the demons clambered onto her body, she slowly raised her gun and fired. XXXXX The blast from Scully's gun exploded over the screams of the writhing mob of creatures and shocked them into silence. Reduced to a heaving mass of uncertainty by Scully's action, they ceased their assault on the promontory. Those that clung to her body cautiously released their grip and inched their way down to her feet, stopping to cower in the dirt but watching her with wet, wary eyes. Above them, Scully gazed to the ever-brightening horizon with a small smile as she lowered her gun. The breeze lifted her hair, and she closed her eyes to savor its sweetness. On the red, desolate world where she found herself, there was quiet. Within her heart, there was a peace such as she had not felt in a long time. She released a long, whispering sigh. Claws clicked against rock. Scales scraped against sand. There was restless movement all around her, but Scully took no notice. The moment was hers and hers alone. She allowed herself to enjoy it, knowing that she was prepared for whatever was to follow. At the sound of a lone, shrill wail of anguish, Scully's eyes snapped open. With renewed fury, the monsters leapt forward, once more threatening to rip her flesh from her bones. Without a sound or a struggle, she gave herself over to them, lowering herself to the red soil. They swarmed to cover her with their bodies, fighting among themselves for the right of the kill. As the first mutant reached her throat and blew its stinking breath into her face, Scully looked upward to a sun-drenched sky and smiled. In the space of a heartbeat, she found herself lying on the floor of the black velvet room. "NOOOOO!" The creature that had assumed Melissa's likeness stood screaming with her head between her hands. "You bitch! What have you done?!" Eyes wide, Scully scrambled to regain her bearings. Mulder stood as she had left him, smiling in the midst of the strangeness. He swayed a bit on his feet but otherwise appeared no worse for the experience. At the tinny crackle of breaking glass, she shifted her attention to the giant, ornately framed mirror. Wonder changed to understanding as she realized the source of the apparition's rage. The bullet from her gun had struck the silvered surface dead in the center. Scully lightly brushed her fingers over the cross at her throat. Her faith had given her a sign, and she had trusted it for her deliverance. She knew that she had to hold onto that trust in order to save herself and her partner. "You self-righteous little shit!" "Melissa" bellowed. The veins in her face and neck threatened to pop through her reddened, blotchy skin. She advanced on Scully, her eyes blazing. "You've ruined _everything_!" She stopped to stand face to face with the agent. Scully would not allow herself to be intimidated. She had managed to escape the horrors of the crimson glimmer-world. She certainly was not going to be defeated by one lone hound from Hell. The phantom's breathing slowed as a cunning smile of knowing crept across her face. "Oh, so you think you've got me beat, huh? Well, little sister, it ain't over yet. If I'm going down, you're going down with me." She gestured with her head in the direction of the mirror. Sparks had begun to skitter across its surface, forming clusters that burst outward in fiery showers. There was a hum that grew quickly in volume, like a gathering swarm of millions of insects. Bits of debris began to flutter across the carpet as a hot wind blew into the room. Recognizing that there was no time to waste, Scully pushed past "Melissa" and held a hand out to her partner. "Come on, Mulder. Time to go." So confident was Scully in the strength of her faith, it didn't occur to her that Mulder would not respond. When he made no attempt to take her hand, her stomach wrenched as she considered her alternatives. Strong as she was, she knew that she could not physically force him to leave with her - and if she was not able to do that, then, by God, she would not leave at all. At the instant of Scully's decision, the briefest flicker of awareness returned to Mulder's eyes. Straining with effort, he slowly extended his hand to her. As she fought the urge to grab it, Scully willed him to close the gap between them. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, running down his face to his neck. As the wind grew in strength and volume, Scully struggled to remain on her feet. The litter of the room's furnishings swirled around her, and more than once she had to shield her eyes from the splinters of wood and glass that threatened to blind her. "Come on, Mulder," she urged under her breath. "Come on. You can do this. You _have_ to do this, for the sake of both of us." Above the wail of the wind, there was the chanting of unseen entities, mumbling in an unintelligible chorus of insanity that was punctuated by screams and shrieks. Raising her hands above her head, "Melissa" joined them, first merely moving her lips, but soon elevating her voice until it cut through the cacophony with a piercing, high-pitched screech. Throwing her head back, she twitched and undulated as if in the throes of erotic ecstasy. As the voices rose and fell, she writhed with their rhythm, spinning in delirium and stamping her feet, her cries of triumph becoming more primitive and animal-like. In answer, the chants of the chorus became a frenzied gibberish - its surreal taunting so loud that Scully could feel each unidentifiable word pounding upon her chest. "Mulder, please!" She watched her partner as his arm began to shudder, muscles twitching underneath skin. The words of the unknown entities were a roaring ocean of sound that washed over her and onto her, crashing down with a force that threatened to drown her as it overwhelmed her senses. Her fear mounting, she turned to watch as "Melissa" doubled over, then, with a scream, threw herself upward, her hair flying about her like so many fiery serpents. "Mulder, now!" Scully shouted. He gritted his teeth, groaning with pain. Then, as if suddenly released from invisible bonds, he lurched forward and threw his hand into hers, entwining cold, shaking fingers with her slim, warm ones. Hoping to make himself heard over the chaos, Mulder leaned over to bring his mouth close to Scully's ear. "I'm sorry I let you down, Scully. I'm sorry I wasn't able to help you." She looked up at him, her eyes shining, then squeezed his hand, genuine affection in the gesture. "Come on. We gotta go." "The hell you do!" The apparition screamed, planting itself in front of the door. It had ceased to bear any resemblance to Melissa. The familiar face of Scully's sister had been replaced with a visage that looked more like what the agent had seen on the desert plain - multiple eyes springing from bone and gristle, rows of teeth bathed with putrid froth. "You owe me for the mess you've made of everything! And I'm not leaving without payment!" Scully gripped Mulder's hand more tightly, her spine stiffening at the threat. A brief thrill of fear weakened and immobilized her, then was replaced by a rushing torrent of anger greater than any she had ever known. Liquid heat raced through her veins, flushing her skin and clouding her vision in red waves. There was a pounding at her temples, as if her heart were beating so hard that it would force the blood through the pores of her creamy skin. She blinked - once, twice - trying to see through the adrenaline-fueled haze of her rage. She lowered her head, darkening eyes still trained on the apparition. "I don't think you heard me," she hissed. "We're going." She took a step forward, ready to charge upon the demon and plow her way through to freedom, if required. But before she was able move further, it plunged forward and grabbed Mulder's free hand, yanking him towards the mirror. With a yelp of surprise, Scully was thrown off balance, losing her hold on her partner. Mulder struggled to escape, trying to gain purchase on the debris-littered carpet, but could not break the vise- hard grip of his paranormal captor as it dragged him before the flashing, crackling mirror. Fighting the freakish, howling wind, Scully lurched to her feet and threw herself after Mulder. Once more, she clasped his hand in hers; cries of anguish escaping from between clenched teeth as she anchored herself to him. Whipped by jagged bits of glass and the splinters from the room's smashed furnishings, she had no thought for what the demon was going to do next - but she was in no way prepared for what she saw. Raising its free hand, the monster gripped the edge of the mirror's frame and began to heave itself upwards, as if to climb into the space within its glowing depths. Its body took on a sinuous, reptilian flexibility as it thrust its head forward to pierce the surface of the glass like a snake gliding into a pool of water. Neck, then shoulders, then waist disappeared, and as they did, Mulder was drawn ever higher and higher, stretching until finally he was standing on the tips of his toes. Scully clung to him, bracing herself against the wall with her feet. Despite her efforts, she felt his hand slowly slide from hers - palm then knuckles then fingertips slipping away - until suddenly it snapped out of her grasp. Horrified, she watched as he was inexorably sucked within the mirror. With a desperate, keening cry of "Mulderrrrr!" she threw her arms around his legs, determined either to haul him back into the familiar reality of the waking world or to follow him into what was sure to be a terrifying unknown. It was only seconds before she realized that she could not stop the pull that the demon exerted on Mulder and herself. Even now, she could not see Mulder's body above the waist. However impossible it seemed, he had been drawn after the phantom into the mirror. Resisting as best she could, Scully angled her shoulders and head away from the wall, hoping that she would see something, anything that would save herself and Mulder. When nothing presented itself, she clenched her teeth, every muscle aching with her exertions. And when she at last felt the first ragged edges of the glass melt against her cheek like slivers of ice on a warm summer day, she closed her eyes and prayed that no matter where she and Mulder were going, that they would always be together. As if in answer, there was a blinding flash and an earthshaking crash of thunder. Then all was darkness and silence. XXXXX Scully felt the pain exploding in a nova-hot starburst against the back of her eyelids. Then, she felt nothing at all. When she opened her eyes, she once again found herself in unusual surroundings. She was standing in the midst of a whitened plain that stretched in all directions, going on and on into infinity, a pale opalescent sky arching over it. Despite the absence of the sun and the moon, the landscape glowed with a cool, pearly luster, its illumination seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. At first, Scully scanned the area for landmarks, but found the effort too disorienting to continue. The land and the sky seemed to blend together and blur the horizons so that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. It was a landscape as different from the crimson hell as she could imagine, and yet, there was something oddly familiar about it. Her forehead crinkled in thought as she tried to remember. It was the quality of the light, perhaps - the way everything shimmered through a chalk-white haze. She knew she had seen this luminescence before - if she could only -- The memory came to her with a cold, nauseating wrench of her gut. She was strapped to a table, conscious but paralyzed and crazed with fear. She was bathed in this same brilliant light. There was the whine of the drill as it sped inches above her face. Her eyes were wide open, unblinking and glassy with terror. There was no hope of twisting away, of turning from the inevitable. She wanted to cry and scream until her throat was raw, but she couldn't even open her mouth to make the smallest plea for mercy. Her shrieks of horror were confined within her mind, where they echoed and reverberated, mocking her until she thought she would go mad with the sound. Standing in the bleached wasteland, Scully looked about her wildly, gulping back the bile that rose and burned her throat. As during her abduction, she felt trapped in a situation from which she saw no escape or hope of rescue. She knew, without knowing how or why, that she was completely and utterly alone - the sole inhabitant of this bleak, stark universe. Her trembling began almost imperceptibly, with tiny shivers of fear that cascaded through her in waves. But the tremors soon turned into a full-fledged earthquake that racked her body from head to foot and shook her teeth in her head. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to somehow contain her fright before she flew apart in all directions - a Scully-shower of flesh and bone and blood raining down on the unstained desert floor. She closed her eyes, squeezing out hot tears of sadness and frustration, mourning the loss of everything and everyone she knew - and what could have been. If she had been brave enough and bold enough, she thought with regret, she could have had a life with Mulder. She could have had a _REAL_ life, not the half-life that they had shared - the one that was spent in the dimly-lit basement office and rental cars and cheap, taxpayer-funded hotel rooms while they chased Flukemen, death fetishists, Sasquatch, shadow conspirators, and the occasional shape- shifting alien. True, it was a purposeful life, a useful life, but not one filled with joy. It was certainly not the kind of life that she had dreamed of for herself when she was younger and more hopeful, ready to make her mark upon the world. But how could she have had that kind of life, once she had seen the evil of which her fellowman was capable? Her blissful ignorance had been replaced by the harsh knowledge that there was precious little justice dealt out to those who deserved it and plenty of pain to go around to those who didn't. She angrily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Who was she to have ever questioned Mulder's behavior around women? She had a lot of damn nerve assuming that the only thing that kept them apart was his fear of intimacy. In reality, she was as emotionally crippled as he. She could hold his hand between hers, enfold him in her arms and press him against her breast so that he could feel her heart thudding against his cheek, or touch his face with heartbreaking tenderness. Hell, she could even shoot the infuriating, exasperating, aggravating s.o.b through the shoulder, for God's sake! But she could not force herself to admit out loud what she had known for years, the one fact above all others that had changed and shaped and altered her life forever - that she loved Mulder as surely as she loved her own life. Even more so, in fact, because she knew that she was willing to give her life to save his. And, now, thanks to her pride or fear or out and out cowardice, she would never have a chance to tell him that. He would never hear her speak the words that she always imagined herself saying in a thousand different ways under as many different circumstances. She would never feel his lips pressed against hers, or wake up to the warmth of his body cradling her own in the dark. There were no more chances to laugh with him or cry against his shoulder; to sleepily rest her head against him during a long flight, or to enjoy the millions of other simple, day-to-day pleasures that they could have shared together. With a low moan of anguish, Scully lifted her eyes to the sky. She was in hell. She was sure of it. She was dead and in hell and this was her everlasting fate, an eternity without Mulder born of her own inaction. She had only herself to blame for such damnation, she thought, and the realization pierced her heart with despair. There would be no second or third or fourth chances, and why should there be? She had had ample opportunity to speak aloud the secrets of her soul, and yet, she had remained silent, while the minutes and hours of her life ticked away. The time that could have been spent loving Mulder was forever lost to her. Suddenly, the wail of a thousand sirens split the silence. With a cry of fright, Scully clapped her hands to her ears, trying in vain to block out the screams that rose and fell in maddening rhythm. Layered over the noise was the blaring of horns, the chiming of clocks and the incessant beeping of alarms. She fell to the ground, the sound of her own strangled pleas for help blending with the riot of noise that threatened to deafen her. Another memory from her abduction came to her with painful clarity. Alarms. There had been alarms. Now she was sure she was damned. Alone. In pain. She was trapped in a world that reminded her over and over again of an episode from her life recalled only in the nightmare shadows of sleep. She curled into a fetal position, trying her best to tuck her knees under her chin, her hands cupped over her ears. She tried to think of something else, to focus her concentration within herself, to do anything to escape the onslaught that was slowly shredding her sanity. But something kept impeding her escape, kept tugging at her to stay. She strained to remember. The alarms. She heard them during the tests - the horrific tests that were performed during her abduction. A man came to her during the alarm. He placed his warm hand against Scully's cool forehead with a fatherly concern that even now made her skin crawl. "Are you all right, Agent Scully?" he asked. She wanted to spit in his face, to rake her nails across his cheek as she scrambled off the table and away from the chamber of horrors in which she was trapped. "Agent Scully, can you hear me?" She tried to wriggle her fingers and found to her surprise that she had regained movement. This could be her only chance. She would wait until he got closer. Then she would strike. "I'm here to help you, Agent Scully." Scully curled her hand into a fist, her knuckles straining tight and bone-white against her pale skin. He was mere inches from her now. Closer. . .closer. A few seconds more. . . . "Agent Scully, I think you need a doctor." With a rush of strength, Scully hurled herself upwards, her hands pounding against the man's face and chest, pummeling him in wild hatred even as he yelled out for her to stop. "Agent Scully!" he cried, as he alternately tried to shield himself and catch her wrists. "Agent Scully, please! It's Detective Billard! It's Dan Billard!" Scully hesitated a moment as recognition of the man who had assisted her and her partner crept slowly into her fury-glazed eyes. Then, with renewed effort, she jerked against Billard's hold on her, trying one last time to break his grip. He held on tight, all the while whispering assurances of safety to her, as if he were trying to calm a wild animal. Soothed by his words, Scully stopped her struggling and slumped against the wall, her eyes closed. Then, with a start, she bolted upwards. "Mulder! What happened to Mulder?" she cried. Mulder lay on his back atop the glittering fragments of the mirror now scattered across the carpet. Scully knelt by him, stroking the hair away from his forehead to examine a nasty bruise. A cursory visual examination revealed no further injuries, other than the deepened red of Mulder's already burned face and neck. Curious, Scully grazed her face with her fingertips, then recoiled with a hiss of pain. She too had been burned, just as Mulder had at the motor lodge. Sighing, she continued her appraisal of his condition. There was no indication that he had suffered fractures or was in shock. Gently prying open one eyelid and then the other, Scully saw that his pupils were of equal size and reactive to the golden sunlight that now streamed through the room's one window. With relief, she placed her hand on as his chest and felt his heart beating strong and steady against her palm. Through fate or grace, they had been given another chance, another opportunity to be together in the way that they always should have been. She would never again deny herself the destiny that she knew was hers . . . and Mulder's. She heard Billard cough, and looked up to see him quickly shift his gaze away from her and Mulder. Realizing that she must have revealed her true feelings, Scully stood up and assumed the brisk air of the concerned professional. "Mulder seems to be okay, but I'd like to get him to a hospital, just to make sure," she said. Then she tilted her head, her eyes shifting upwards as she listened intently to the sounds that filtered through the bedroom walls. "Car alarms," Billard said, supplying the answer to her unspoken question. "Well, car alarms and security alarms and alarm clocks and just about any other damn thing you can think of. They all started going off at once when the power came back on. I was already on my way over here to check on you two." Billard shoved his hands into his pockets, as if he was embarrassed by the admission. "Don't know why, really. Worried, I guess. Before I could get inside, all hell broke loose." Scully noted the bemused expression on Billard's face as he surveyed the damage in the black velvet room. "Quite a mess, isn't it?" she offered. Billard turned to her, his face a mask of seriousness. "Agent Scully, just what the hell happened here?" She shrugged, feeling no closer to an answer than she had been when she and Mulder had taken the case. She had been so sure that an explanation would be found in the realm of science, and yet, she could not deny what she had felt and seen. Unless, of course, it was an illusion, a trick of the mind created by the delicate ripple of electromagnetic waves across the brain's ridges and wrinkles. Her blistered skin and that of her partner were irrefutable evidence of the presence of strong EM waves. But still. . .it had felt so completely, utterly, undeniably real. "What happened?" she said, finally. "I have my theories, but. . . ." Her reply trailed away into nothing. Who the hell was she kidding? She didn't have a clue as to what had occurred. Maybe she never would. "If I call the paramedics, can you stay with Mulder until they arrive?" she asked Billard. "Sure thing. Where are you going?" She looked down at Mulder as he began to awaken. "Back to the source. Back to Katie Thornton." XXXXX Even before she entered the lobby of the hospital, Scully could sense that some indefinable change had taken place. Granted, she hadn't felt anything unusual the first time she walked through the front doors. There had been no hint of the horrors to come. In fact, beyond Billard's vague intimations, absolutely nothing had clued her in as to what to expect. Even if she had been adequately briefed days in advance, nothing could have prepared her for her own heart racing anxiety or Mulder's mindless attack in Katie's room. But there was something different now, and as Scully strode purposefully toward the elevator, she struggled to put a name to it. She sensed that a change had occurred and that somehow, in some miraculous and unexplainable way, everything that had gone so terribly wrong in the last few days had been put right again. Theoretically, it was completely possible and plausible that the earth forces that had triggered the bizarre events surrounding Katie Thornton had diminished. If so, Scully reasoned, that could account for the euphoric rush of energy that she felt. She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to take her down to the morgue. As the car made its descent, she laughed softly. She was kidding herself, and she knew it. There was only one reason why she felt the way she did, and it had Mulder's name written all over it. She was in love. Completely, utterly, hopelessly in love. The elevator doors opened with their familiar metallic chime, and Scully sighed as she exited. There was no question that she had to tell Mulder how she felt. It was obvious that they couldn't continue coasting along in this peculiar partnership where they were more than friends but considerably less than lovers. If her experience in the white desert hell had taught her anything, it was that her life meant nothing to her without Mulder in it. But, telling him how she felt was not without risk, and the mere thought caused her to slow her pace towards Katie's room. Had she truly thought this through? What if she and Mulder _did_ become lovers? Any one of their enemies might use the knowledge of their relationship against them. To act upon what she felt might place the two of them in even greater danger than they now faced from those who sought to destroy them. She had no fear of death. Her mystical experience following her return from her abductors, coupled with her own faith, had finally dissolved whatever terror the unknown had held for her. Exposure of their secret, however, could damage her and Mulder in a way no weapon could. It could mean the loss of the X-files. The thought stopped Scully cold. She could live without the X-files. Her career at the FBI was important to her, but she could always find fulfillment elsewhere. Her talents as a forensic pathologist would be useful to any number of organizations, and if she had to, she could teach or practice medicine. But Mulder. . .to Mulder, the X-files were the key to everything. For him, they held the answers to his sister's disappearance, but more than that, they were a symbol for everything in this life that was mysterious, beautiful, and even terrifying. She knew that he often browsed for hours through the battered manila folders, occasionally relying on his wire-rimmed glasses to bring the fine print into focus. He searched for links between incidents, evidence, and motives, looking for anything that might provide solutions when often there were none. More than once, Scully had entered the basement office to find Mulder asleep, his head resting on a stack of files piled several inches deep on his desk. The first time it happened, she immediately turned away to leave. But after hearing him sigh and shift in his slumber, she stopped and quietly closed the door, then crossed the office and carefully sat in the chair in front of his desk. He was so still, more like an exhausted, innocent boy than the man who questioned everything around him with passionate intensity and intelligence. Scully wondered if she should wake him, worried that someone, maybe Skinner, would walk in and find him sleeping, and stranger still, her watching him sleep. But she quickly decided that it was worth the risk to see Mulder in this way -- free of all the memories and responsibilities that took their toll on him everyday of his life since that night when his sister had been stolen from him. By his own admission, he suffered through terrible nightmares, but when Scully saw him sleep as he did in the office, he seemed completely at peace. She could only guess that he found some comfort in his closeness to the files, that somehow they provided a solace to him that he couldn't find in his waking hours. Occasionally, when she was certain that she wouldn't disturb him, she would rise from the chair and move to stand by his side. She would silently observe from her new vantage point, hardly daring to breathe for fear that she would wake him and be caught in one of the few simple pleasures that she allowed herself. Then, slowly, carefully, she would bend down and softly graze the smooth skin at his temple with a warm, gentle kiss. It was not only a gesture of affection, but of blessing and benediction as well. Scully sighed heavily as she turned the last corner to reach Katie's room. How could she dare to presume that it was her right to rob Mulder of everything that motivated and sustained him, merely so she could satisfy her need for his love? Couldn't it be enough for her that they were together, even if it was only as friends and partners? A movement at the end of the hall caught Scully's attention, and she looked up to see a man exiting Katie's room. He briefly turned toward her with a broad, friendly smile. Reflexively, she returned the gesture, realizing as she did so that there was something naggingly familiar about his dark hair, his build, the engaging grin. . . She spoke his name in a disbelieving whisper, "Peter," then picked up her pace. "Peter! Peter Thornton!" The young man casually turned away from the room, crossed the hall, opened another door, and disappeared from Scully's sight. Now traveling at a full run, she flung herself into the room after him. And got the wind knocked out of her when she collided with the sink in the janitor's closet. Sputtering, she doubled over, trying to catch her breath. For several agonizing moments, she coughed and wheezed, her lungs and diaphragm refusing to work in conjunction. Finally, she straightened and drew a deep, shuddering breath -- only to see her reflection in the hazy, speckled mirror mounted above the washbasin. Scully stood unmoving, stunned by the implications of what had just occurred. Then, mechanically, without thinking, she turned on the faucet and ran her hands under the cool water. She watched the liquid as it played over her fingers and palms, then bent and splashed her face with it. Stopping to grab a couple of paper towels, she dried herself off as she crossed the hall and entered Katie's room. There, sitting up in bed, smiling and conscious, was Katie Thornton. Approaching the bed, Scully produced her badge. "Hello, Katie. I'm Special Agent Dana Scully." She paused, seeing the same happiness on Katie's face that she had exhibited in her wedding photos. "My partner and I were called here to investigate some unusual events in your neighborhood. Do you remember anything that happened prior to your arrival at the hospital?" Katie nodded, then tilted her head as she gazed at Scully. "I. . . know you, don't I?" "I was in your room, yes, on a couple of occasions." Scully thought back to the previous visits. "You might have heard me say my name." Katie studied Scully's face, her eyes narrowing. "Yes, I suppose, but. . ." "But what?" Katie waved the thought away, laughing as she did so. "Oh, geez. Sorry. I think I'm just goofy from sleep." She ran her hands over face, then turned to Scully again. "You want to know what happened to me? To be honest, I don't remember much. One minute I was in my house. Now, I'm here. And somewhere in between, a miracle occurred. I saw my dead husband." To Scully's surprise, Katie took one of her hands in her own, as she spoke in earnest. "He came to me, Agent Scully. He came to me, and he told me that I don’t have to be afraid. That _we_ don't have to be afraid. We die. We leave this existence, but we continue. The love that we create for ourselves here on this world is carried with us to our next destiny. We may be separated for a time from those we love, but it's love that binds us together, here and in the life to come. Don't you see, Agent Scully? We are never far from those we love. And we have nothing, absolutely nothing, to fear." Katie's eyes fell as she stroked Scully's hand reassuringly. "But then, you already know that, don't you?" Scully gazed at Katie with wide eyes. While her statement was a confirmation of everything that Scully believed, it was still based merely on the subjective reality of Katie Thornton's experience -- an experience that Scully firmly believed was the result of nocturnal electromagnetic influence. Except, Scully realized with a start, that she herself had just witnessed Peter Thornton's apparition in broad daylight, as she had the vision of her father at the Johanssens. Neither appearance conformed to the parameters of the scientific explanation that she had provided for Mulder. In neither instance had she suffered a panic attack or observed a power outage. Although given the current state of her sunburn, she couldn't be sure if her skin had suffered more damage. She only knew for certain that she had experienced no ill effects in the presence of her "father" at the Johanssens. Furthermore, Scully considered that if she applied her own beloved logic to the situation, Katie's experience was no different from her own as she lay in a coma following her abduction. Scully's glimpse of the unknown and the resultant revelations could have just as easily been caused by oxygen deprivation or endorphin overload or a multitude of other factors. There were too many paradoxes. Once again, she had no idea what to think. As if in answer, Katie patted Scully's hand. "We live in a world of wonders, Agent Scully. And we leave it to face greater wonders still." The younger woman looked deeply into Scully's eyes, as if Scully's innermost thoughts were written there for her to read. Then, her eyes lit up as recognition flooded her face. "I do know you! You _were_ in my room. I remember hearing your voice. You didn't feel very well. You were. . . afraid." Scully looked away, momentarily embarrassed by the memory. She cleared her throat, trying to cover her unease. "Did you hear anything else?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Yes. There was a man with you. Your partner, I think. He tried to hurt you. He felt so terrible about it afterwards. I mean, he would never consciously plan to harm you. You know that, don't you, Agent Scully?" Scully swallowed hard, then gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "Yes." Katie leaned toward Scully, trying to gain her attention. Her voice was low and conspiratorial. "He loves you, you know." Scully's eyes snapped up to meet Katie's. Then, realizing her error, she released the young woman's hand and took a step back from the bed. Her face was a mask of composure as she said, "Well, yes, I suppose you could say that Agent Mulder has a certain. . ._regard_ for me. We've worked very closely together for several years. Our professional relationship is built on a solid foundation of mutual respect, and admiration. . . and. . . and. . . ." Her voice trailed off when she saw the look of amusement on Katie's face. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged one corner of Scully's mouth upwards. Chagrined, she said, "How do you know that? What you just said. . .what makes you so sure you're right?" Katie shrugged. "I honestly don't know how I know. I just know. I've always had these feelings. This way of knowing things. Woman's intuition, or that's what I told myself. But when I was in the coma, it was like I had all this -- well, power is not really a good way to describe it." She turned onto her side, the better to look at Scully. "It was like I was standing in the middle of a river. The water was rushing past me, full of plants and fish. I could feel the water, but I could feel everything that was in it, too. The water and the fish and the plants weren't just washing over me -- they were washing _through_ me. It sounds weird, I know, but I had this incredible feeling of oneness with everything. And somehow I knew things that I wouldn't have known otherwise. Still do, I guess." Scully looked down at the floor, then back to Katie. "Agent Mulder suspected that you had a high degree of psychic aptitude." Katie grinned. "Yeah, well, any minute now I'm bound to sprout a third eye or something." Her expression softened as she studied Scully with compassion. "You're hesitant to tell Agent Mulder how you feel, Dana. Don't be. If dying doesn't scare you anymore, why should living?" Scully's chest tightened with anxiety, then relaxed in grateful surrender. Katie was right. Scully's excuses for withholding her feelings for Mulder were trivial. She had let her fears control her, instead of trusting in her faith that she and Mulder would be cared for and protected. There was no cause to doubt her instincts - or her heart - any longer. The time had come to tell the truth. XXXXX Scully pushed open the door to Mulder's hospital room. Her partner was seated on the edge of the bed, looking wind- tossed and rumpled, his hair falling shaggily across his bruised forehead. He greeted her with a warm smile, which she matched with one of her own. Without a word, she walked to the bed, her eyes sweeping over him as she surveyed his condition. Then, slowly, carefully, she reached up to brush aside his hair with her fingertips in order to get a closer look at his injury. The sight of the purplish-red lump made her wince, but she knew that things could have turned out much, much worse. She started to withdraw her hand, but Mulder grasped it gently, turning it palm up and cradling her delicate fingers as he did so. He gazed at it for a moment, then slowly traced the lines and whorls of its furrowed surface with his index finger. When he bent and placed a soft kiss in the tender skin at its center, Scully closed her eyes, savoring the warm velvet caress of his lips on the hollow of her hand. She was intoxicated by Mulder's touch, but the low rumble of his voice tugged her back into reality. She studied him with cat-lazy eyes. "So, Scully, here we are again -- in a hospital, hundreds of miles from home, waiting for me to be discharged because some X-file kicked my ass." He stopped to enfold her hand with both of his, appearing to study the arrangement as he did so. "You deserve better. You deserve a life that makes sense." "And what kind of life would that be, Mulder?" Scully asked. "A life that's got. . .what? A house and a dog and an SUV and 2.2 kids?" She slipped her hand from between his and swept it under his chin to raise his eyes to hers. "After all I've seen. . . after all I've experienced. . .how can I ever hope to have a life that makes sense?" At Mulder's look of hurt and regret, she clarified her statement. "Since we've been on this case, Mulder, I've encountered phenomena that even I can't explain, things for which I have no scientific reference. Things that a small part of me accepts at face value because, for right now, I have no other choice but to do so." She dropped her hand to her side. "I won't deny that I think there is a way to explain everything we saw here, but I'm willing to consider the possibility that there are realities beyond what we now know." Mulder looked at her gravely, appearing to evaluate his words before speaking. When he did, he spoke haltingly, as if unsure that he was asking the right question. "Scully, is all this because of that morning. . . when we were at the Johanssens. . .when you were in Megan's room. . . did something happen?" When she made no answer, he slid off the bed and stood close to her, so close that she could feel the heat rising from his reddened skin. "Scully, did you see something?" She did not meet his eyes, choosing instead to study the linoleum as she traced a complex pattern with the toe of her boot. To relate the vision of her father to Mulder was almost as difficult as declaring her long-buried, true feelings for her partner. Yes, he would believe her and provide validation for her experience. He'd listen with that earnest expression she'd seen a thousand times and nod his head, all the while reassuring her that what she'd seen was well within paranormal parameters, but it was more than she wanted to share with him today, given her task at hand. She opted instead for an answer that told everything but, in the end, revealed nothing of her experience. "Yes, I saw something." Scully met Mulder's eyes. "But I think it's like what you said about the EM wave hallucinations. Maybe sometimes we see what we most want to see. And if our visions bring us comfort or hope or love, well, maybe it's enough to be given those gifts without questioning where they come from." Mulder continued to study her, and Scully felt her mouth go dry. He was almost touching her now, so close that she was sure he was able to hear the staccato thumping of her heart. What should be so easy was proving to be more difficult than she had ever imagined. She took a deep breath and released it. "That's not all, Mulder. Later. . . I. . .I saw what my life would be like without you in it." Her throat constricted and she almost choked with her next words. "It was hell, Mulder. Hell as far as the eye could see, and I was alone in the middle of it, alone with my pride and fear and cold-hearted logic to keep me company." Her eyes shone with tears. "You weren't there with me, Mulder. You weren't ever going to be there. I shut you out, and I was paying the price." She tore her eyes away from his. "I swore to myself that I wouldn't let that vision become a reality. And I won't," she said fiercely, almost to herself. Then, more softly, "I won't." When she spoke again, her voice was so low that Mulder had to bend closer. "I love you, Mulder." She raised her eyes to meet his. "Do you hear me? I love you." She held her breath, waiting for his response, terrified that she had made some dreadful, horrible mistake. The seconds ticked by, and she felt queasy with anxiety. She was ready to apologize, stammer some lame excuse for her behavior, promise to make amends or take a transfer to another field office or move to another country altogether. But Mulder smiled softly and said, "I love you, Scully. I've always loved you." Her heart hitched crazily, and before she could think, she was in his arms, her hands against his chest, her lips tilted up to his. His kiss was at first tentative and tender, his lips barely brushing hers. He felt as if he were on fire and smelled faintly of vanilla and coconut, fragrant remnants of the lotion that he had been applying to his burn. She reached up to entwine her fingers in his hair, pulling him tighter against her, asking without speaking for more of what he could give. With a moan, he responded by gripping her to him, molding her small, pliant body to his own. He crushed her lips beneath his, burying his hands in the auburn silk of her hair. Scully pushed hard against him and grabbed his lower lip between her teeth. She pulled on it slowly, nibbling and nipping at it, then cautiously slid her tongue into Mulder's waiting mouth. The contact was pure electricity, and both jumped as if they had been shocked. Then Mulder melted into her, kissing her wildly, gasping as he pulled away from her lips to rain kisses on her cheeks, eyebrows, and neck. Scully arched against him, whispering his name. Mulder chuckled at her impatience. Pulling her shirt farther down her shoulder, he stroked the pale, silken skin with one finger, then warmed it with a swift lick of his tongue before he carefully bit down. With a low shuddering groan, Scully fell against him, every nerve awake and charged with desire. She held on tight and wrapped one leg around him, melding her hips to him in a vain attempt to find some relief for the blinding ache she felt. She moved against him, striving for release. It was exquisite, painful torture that only increased her need. In response, Mulder slowly slid his hands over her body, acquainting himself with the curve of her breasts, the small of her back and the slope of her hips. The sensations pushed Scully to new heights of arousal. She was ferocious in her lust, ready to devour Mulder if given the chance. She wanted to take him and to be taken. . . Except she heard a now-familiar voice outside the door. "Wait, Mulder, wait." She stopped, panting, pushing him away. "Billard. I can hear Billard." Frantic, she scrambled to tuck her shirt into her slacks and distance herself from her partner. She swept her hands through her hair, struggling to rearrange the tousled strands. Mulder's own breathing was labored, but his concern was for Scully. "You okay?" She nodded, then turned to face the door as Billard entered. She felt lightheaded with exhilaration. "So how are we doing?" Billard asked. "Other than having sunburns that'll probably age us by about 10 years, I'd say we're okay," Mulder answered, breezily. "Scully was just about to bring me up to date on Katie's condition. Weren't you, Scully?" Scully looked at Mulder blankly, and then she jumped in. "Katie's condition? Yes! We were just about to talk about that, weren't we?" She brightened. "By all appearances, she's fine. She's a little confused by her experience, but she's conscious and talking. I'm sure her doctor will want to run some tests, but I have a feeling that they won't reveal any abnormalities. Of course, we have no idea what the long-term effects of her continued electromagnetic exposure will be." She briefly considered relating her vision of Peter Thornton to the two men, but decided it was a story better left for Mulder's ears only. "Electromagnetic exposure? Is that what you think caused all this?" Billard asked. "It's one theory," Mulder replied. He looked at Scully with a smile in his eyes. "We're considering several hypotheses at the moment." "Did he tell you about the little girl?" Billard gestured at Mulder. Scully shook her head. "Megan Johanssen - they found her. She's okay," Mulder said. Scully opened her mouth in surprise, then found herself smiling. The anxiety that had coiled tightly around her heart like a snake loosened its hold and slithered away. "That _is_ great news. So where was she?" Mulder looked to Billard, as if expecting him to pick up the thread of the story. Not surprisingly, Billard looked away, leaving the responsibility to the agent. Mulder laughed. "In her room. Under her bed." Scully crossed her arms, her head cocked to one side. She regarded Mulder through narrowed eyes. "Uh huh. And let me guess. She has absolutely no idea where's she been." Mulder nodded in the affirmative. "You got it." She looked down at the floor, and shook her head. "I don't know, Mulder. This sounds suspiciously like something I saw once on 'The Twilight Zone.'" There was not a trace of mockery in the statement. She said what she said because it was required of her in the complicated tango of give- and-take that she and Mulder danced each day. Amusement crinkled the corners of his green eyes. "What have we ever run across that didn't?" Scully reacted with barely-audible laughter. "Yeah, well, ya got me there," she replied. "And what about Shana?" Billard grimaced. "That one's not so easy. I mean, she's okay. Well, sort of, anyway. She's not screaming, at least, which is a blessing. But she's a long way from well. Her doctors think she had some kind of breakdown." He shrugged. "Time will tell, I guess." The news was sobering, dampening the trio's happy mood. Billard broke the momentary silence. "Hey, look, I gotta sit down and start trying to put all of this on paper. Gonna be a helluva job, but I guess I don't have to tell you that." Mulder extended his hand to Billard. "Detective Billard, you've been given yet another opportunity to excel." Billard chuckled as he pumped Mulder's hand. "Yeah, or make a damn horse's ass outta myself." He turned to grip Scully's hand. "The risk we take everyday, Detective Billard," Scully replied. The detective crossed the room and reached for the handle of the door. Then he turned to face the agents, his expression somber. "You know, everything that's happened. . .it still doesn't make sense to me. I don't know if it ever will." It was clear that his bewilderment pained him. Scully spoke up. "'The most beautiful thing we can understand is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.'" After a beat to ponder her words, both men looked at her quizzically. She supplied the attribution: "Einstein." Billard grunted. "Einstein, huh? Well, I guess he woulda known." Then he was out the door. There was quiet in the wake of Billard's departure, then Mulder and Scully spoke at once. "Mulder, I --" "Hey, Scully --" Both laughed, then Mulder said, "You first." Scully stepped back to the bed, and sat on the edge of the mattress, bouncing a bit as if she were testing its firmness. She looked at Mulder with mischief in her eyes, and held out her hand to him. He took it and eased himself into the welcoming embrace of her warm thighs. "You know, Mulder, we could take care of this right here, right now." Scully said, glancing back at the bed. "But I don't want our first time to be in a hospital room, or in that cheap little motel." Mulder reacted with mock horror. "You're not saying we've gotta wait until we get back to D.C., are you?" When Scully smiled coyly, he sighed. "Shit, you win. We've waited this long. What difference will a few more hours make? We've probably already set some kind of world record for the longest foreplay as it is. My luck, we'll end up as an X-file." One delicate eyebrow arched. "And why's that?" "Because by the time we finally do make love, we'll both probably spontaneously combust." And Scully surprised Mulder with a long, loud, gloriously sexy laugh. XXXXX FROM THE FIELD JOURNAL OF SPECIAL AGENT DANA SCULLY There is as yet no satisfactory explanation for the events that occurred in the vicinity of the Thornton residence. Predictably, Agent Mulder expresses a preference for the paranormal possibilities, maintaining his opinion that Katie Thornton summoned and channeled an entity of unknown origin. Although I cannot deny my own experiences while in the presence of this alleged entity, it is still my belief that Agent Mulder and I were subjected to electromagnetic influences that altered our perception and consciousness in such ways as to make it difficult to separate hallucination from reality. Agent Mulder and I have expressed an understanding and tolerance for each other's viewpoint, although we acknowledge that neither of our theories provides a thoroughly plausible solution. In the end, however, perhaps both theories contain some fraction of the truth. While we must speculate as to the source of the energy that was unleashed to wreak havoc in a quiet neighborhood, we have the indisputable evidence of its destructive capability. We are searching outside of ourselves for answers, and yet, it can be postulated that there are forces springing from within ourselves that are able to influence the world in ways that we can only dimly understand. If that is so, we must not only examine the unknown regions of the mind, but also the uncharted recesses of the heart. For within its fragile structure of tissue and blood are hidden unfathomable mysteries and unimaginable power. XXXXX The End "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known." I Corinthians 13:12 AUTHOR'S NOTES This story percolated in my mind for a _long_ time, so my recollection of all of my source material is a bit sketchy. However, if you want more information on electromagnetic phenomena or the use of the psychomanteum, may I suggest the following books: The Omega Project: Near-Death Experiences, UFO Encounters, and Mind at Large by Kenneth Ring Electric UFOs by Albert Budden Reunions: Visionary Encounters with Departed Loved Ones, by Raymond Moody Grand Illusions: The Spectral Reality Underlying Sexual UFO Abductions, Crashed Saucers, Afterlife, Sacred Ancient Sites and Other Phenomena by Gregory Little People of the Web by Gregory Little I cannot begin to thank all of the people who have labored with me as I birthed this story, but I can try: Much gratitude to Sheryl, the world's best beta; all of the wonderful people who took the time to e-mail me along the way; the whole cast of "Unusual Suspects" at Sterling and NWA; Jen, who had enough faith in me to put together a beautiful web page; my old and new friends in Orlando, who cheered me on; my family, especially Pop, who never stopped asking, "Have you finished that story _yet_?"; and Craig, who never once questioned why I started this crazy project in the first place. May 18, 2000