"Childhood Chums" 
Willa Dedalus

Okay here we go, but not to grandmother's house. INSERT EVIL LAUGH HERE.


MSR, , Anguish, Samantha returns.

No third season spoilers, minor "Anasazi," reference. 100% cancer free. 
Mulder/Scully/Mrs. Scully/Bill Mulder/Mulder's poor name less
mom/Samantha/Ellen/Trent are all the drug dealer <love him, hate him, still
need him!>Chris Carter's, and 10/13's. 
However, "I made this."

Big old thankful kisses go out to my friends, Macspooky, and Susan Proto. 

Summary: Mulder's personal ties to a serial killer and his victims put a
new spin on hitting closer to home.

Email me!!! Willa = Jonjack@galenalink.com 


"Childhood Chums" Willa Dedalus



Bill Mulder's house July 23, 1973
Martha's Vineyard

"Fox would protect me," Samantha Mulder said, all fired up and ready to
show it to her now former best friend's older brother.
"Why didn't you protect Pamela, Michael?" she continued. Michael Marsden,
12, only could shrug and whip away the tears. An 8 year
old girl was posing the questions he couldn't answer.
"Sam, come on, Michael couldn't help it, he loved his sister, he did all
that he could." Her brother Fox reassured her.
"But Pam was my best friend," the girl said now , on the verge of tears
herself. Her brother hugged her, and Michael left kicking rocks on the
ground and muttering to himself.

Bill Mulder's house November 20, 1995
Martha's Vineyard

Fox Mulder woke up in a cold sweat. "Oh shit," was his first thought. He
had finally fallen asleep from exhaustion about an hour before his alarm
went off. He had spent the last two days helping VCU again, Fox "Golden
Boy" Mulder. This time though the hard part was over, or so he thought. I
mean the subject was in custody, he couldn't hurt people anymore, or so
Mulder thought. Instead, they wanted him to study the prisoner, as
profilers did with Ted Bundy. However, Mulder would have preferred the
chase. 
The agent formally in charge of this area he had inherited was the one who
caught him, but not before his own daughter died. The subject that he now
was studying had killed Agent Atticus Hendricks's 9 year old daughter
Stella, just days before his own arrest. She was his last victim, spanning
a time frame since 1973. However, he knew this killer, they grew up
together on the Vineyard, good friends who drifted apart. As if that wasn't
bad enough, things kept getting worse with this case. "And as always when
things get bad, they are always directed straight back to what I pretend is
my childhood," the psychologist in him thought. He then began to think
about the dream he had had last night. In the dream he and Samantha, and
his childhood friend Michael Marsden were standing in front of his home,
and she was showing the fire in her belly. The dream was memory, only a
couple of months before she disappeared, but it still hurt. The killer in
custody was the very same Michael Marsden, who had killed anywhere from
18-32 little
girls since age 18, or so the F.B.I. thought. 
Mulder had not only hit rock bottom, but was in a million pieces as a
result of the crash. When he had left D. C he had felt such betrayal.
Michael and he had been good friends, and they both had known the same
heart wrenching loss of a sister. As boys Michael and Fox had spent many
hours together talking about this. Michael was the first person Fox had
ever talked to about it. The fate of 8 year old Pamela Marsden was now
known, and it made him wonder about his own sister's fate. 

Marsden household July 14, 1973

"Michael!"... "Michael Joseph Marsden!"
"Yes, mom coming," Her nearly 13 years old son responded.
"There you are, finally," said Susannah Marsden, his mother. 
"Do you have everything Pammy needs?", she asked with a faint smile.
"Yes, sun block, towel, goggles."
"Mom," the 13 year old boy started. 
"Yes," she answered her son, not really paying attention. 
"After I take Pam to her swimming lesson, I am going over to Fox's house,
okay?" 
"Well okay, his mother is a little odd, but nice enough, is his father ever
home?" asked the curious housewife. Her husband John worked 9-5 everyday,
and never had to make business trips, she had the perfect family, she
thought, a perfect life. 
"I don't know mom," stated the boy matter of factly. 
"Pammy!" There was a pause in the great big house, then another attempt.
"Pamela Claire Marsden!", shouted Susannah.
"Please mom don't yell anymore, I'll go get the slow poke," said the boy
calmly. Just then 8 year old Pam appeared around the corner, and ran to her
mother for a good bye hug. 
"Have fun precious darling one." The little girl smiled and nodded. 
"Here's your bag, " said Michael handing the bag to his sister. 
"You're not going to walk me the whole way?", she asked with a tremor in
her voice. 
"Pam, gosh, it's right there, just cut across the wooden area around the
Fitzgerald's yard and you're there."
"Oh, oh ,okay." The little girl said. Susannah Marsden would never she her
8 year old daughter alive again.

Bill Mulder's house November 20,1995

Fox rolled out of bed, his head spinning with the questions this case had
raised. He had first tried to fall asleep last night on the couch with the
TV blaring, but that had failed. He wanted, no he needed, to feel her
beside him. In the bed it was easier to imagine her there. He thought of
married life, all it's glory and happiness ended by the stupid fight he and
his wife had two nights ago. It wasn't really the fight that had been the
problem, actually he could hardly remember how it started, it was how
angry he had gotten, and how that had scared him . He knew why it had
scared him , but he couldn't tell her, not yet, even though he wanted to.
Whenever he even slightly resembled his father, he lost it, he panicked,
that had been the problem, but she didn't know that. For all he knew, she
could be at her mother's crying her eyes out thinking "What happened? What
did I do?" 
Her mother was a kindred spirit, everything a mother should be, and he too
called her mom now. "What the hell am I waiting for?", he thought. "Why
don't I call Dana, and tell her it's not her fault?" He sighed. He knew why
he hadn't called her, he was afraid, but he also felt guilty that she had
to do the making up when he was the problem. He just didn't deserve her.
Then the phone rang. Hoping it would be her, he lunged for it. "Hello",
wanting to apologize and right the wrong. 
"Fox, this is your birth mother." He thought back to the beautiful wedding
that he and Dana had, on his birthday, and how his mom heard him call
Maggie "Mom." Now his mom was not going to let him forget it. 
"Yes, mother what is it?" he asked, tensing up. He had been adamant not to
call Maggie "Mom" at first, but it felt good. However, he also knew if his
mom found out there would be hell to pay. That had been why he had fought
the need until the last minute.
"Are you finally going through your father's things so we can sell that
darn house?" 
"No, Mother, I am working in the area and all the hotels were booked."
"Besides," he said, "The market isn't very good right now." He lied,it had
been 8 months since his father's death, and he hadn't even begun to sort
through his father's lifetime of collections; worst of all, he didn't think
he wanted to...ever. 
"I, I just got the strangest call, Fox, it scared me." she said. He
understood his mother very well, and loved her deeply, it wasn't even that
he got sick of taking care of her. It was that she had always maintained a
distance from him. She would never come to him and hug him, or even smile
at him. She was afraid, but he never knew of what. 
"What?" he asked. "Who was it,Mom?" he asked concerned. He wanted to help
her in any way he could, especially if she was coming to him first. 
"It was Susannah Marsden,. Do you remember her,Fox,you used to play with
her son Michael, and Sammy ......." She choked back tears. He gulped, "Not
this, please not this," he thought, but continued to maintain an in control
sounding voice. 
"Yes, mom it's okay,I remember, go on." he said, now himself, but wiping
away a few tears. "Well, she, um she told me that Michael was in custody
for murder, and you were working the case." The frog he had been tying to
fight off , jumped into his throat, it was too much, he couldn't stand it
anymore.
She continued, wanting to just get it out quickly "Well Fox, she asked me
how I raised a brilliant son, and she raised a murdering son? Fox, are you
there?" she asked. 
He coughed and then tried to speak, "Yes." was all he could manage.
"Do you want to know what I told her, Fox?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"What?" his curiosity winning the battle over his fear. 
"I don't know. I told her, I don't know. I never knew, you were your own
little person, so intelligent it scared me, so I would, I would back away,
not wanting to interfere with my stupid thoughts to you." 
He had expected to be speechless after her revelation, but he wasn't, it
meant she did care, but thought herself not worthy of him, "What a turn
around". he thought. "Mom, I would have always wanted to hear what you
said, I mean without you I wouldn't exist, I am yours." He hesitated saying
the last part, but hoped she took it the right way, his family members had
the unique ability to misinterpret anything, and everything he said. 
"No, Fox your father never wanted to hear me, why should you." she
stammered.
That brief feeling of relief was gone, and again he was hit with another
blow straight to the heart. His parents were a weird
couple, they both had truly loved each other, he thought, but their silence
split them down the middle, till they had nothing to talk about except his
failures. 
"Mom," he said hoping to get back to more of what Mrs. Marsden had said. 
"Yes, Fox, she said after a minute. 
"Mom, what else did Mrs. Marsden say, please tell me everything you can
remember, I need to know." If only he could have seen the look on his
mother's face at that moment, she was smiling, a deep, a happy glow about
her, someone was going to listen to her. 
"She told me her son had told her that you were trying to understand him.
She also said Michael said he killed Pamela, that summer before Samantha
disappeared. Is it true, it couldn't be, could it?" she asked. He knew it
was true, and he hoped she hadn't thought of what he was thinking. 
"Yes," he sighed "It's true, Michael killed his baby sister, they found the
bones a year later, remember Mom?"
"Yes, Fox, that was horrible,. I, I..." She took a deep breath. "I expected
them to find baby Sam's bones after that too.....", she trailed off. 
"I did. too, Mom, I did too., but they didn't, she still could be alive
Mom." The tone of his voice, though was shaky, and he himself wouldn't have
listened to such a shaky voice, he almost didn't want her to place all her
hopes in Sam being alive.
"What if she has been dead all these years, and I convinced her to believe
she wasn't", he though. His relationship with his mother couldn't survive
such an ordeal. Mulder shook his head, trying to clear it. "Anyway mom,
they took the bones and ran some tests, and they found just what Michael
told them they would, he knew all the wounds, and cuts. This was stuff he
could have only known if he did it, Mom." He heard a bell ring, and he
panicked. 
"Oh dear," Mulder heard his mom say in the background.. 
"What's going on? Are you okay mom?" He rushed the words out, he was always
fearing the worst. 
"Yes, Fox...I am trying to cook, and well the dingy thing went off." 
His mom cooking he thought, he had never known his mom to cook. Of course,
that didn't mean she didn't want to, his father was awfully controlling. He
really didn't want to hang up, now that he and his mom could talk, but he
couldn't stand it any longer, he was already was worn thin and it was only
8:30 am. "Mom," he started , feeling kind of guilty for hanging up on her,
after only talking for a few minutes. 
"Yes, Fox." 
"Mom, I have to hang up, I'm sorry, I would like to talk to you more soon."
he told her, wanting to learn more, not only about what Mrs. Marsden had
said, but about his own mother's feelings. 
"Okay, Fox, Good-bye, and thank you."
He sighed, and let out a yelp as if he had stubbed his toe, but he hadn't.
He was sitting there motionless, thinking about what had just happened and
what had happened in the past.

Mulder stumbled into the shower and blasted the hot water on high, hoping
to rinse away his fears with the beading water. He didn't want to work on
this case anymore. For the first time he didn't want to know why people
became killers. All he knew was he missed his wife. When he had learned of
Michael's confession that he killed his sister, it had felt like betrayal.
All those times he had spent with Michael when they talked about losing
their sisters, had been a hoax. When he had worked beyond that idea,
another aspect of the story hit home; the report that Michael killed his
first victim Alexandra Homer, age 9, when he was 18 was now incorrect.
Michael Marsden's first victim was his very own sister, Pamela Marsden, and
he wasn't even 13 when she died. There was a projection that he had killed
as many as 32 girls, from the time he was 18. Now the door was open for
many more victim's to be discovered. However, his latest revelation was the
kernel of an idea:could Michael have killed Samantha?
Samantha fitted his other victim's type, all little girls with long hair,
no older then 12. But to believe Michael did it, would not only change his
quest with the x-files, but put a new spin on hitting closer to home. 
The idea that lead him to believe Michael could have done it, was, "Could I
have done it?". Then however, he hadn't understood Michael did this of his
own free will. He had wanted to believe that he had. 
The known facts of the case showed Pamela disappearing, with her brother
the last to see her alive. Then Samantha disappearing, and her
brother the last to see her alive. After he had ruled the idea mostly out
of his head that he killed his sister, the idea of Michael doing it was
born. He remembered a dream he had about 2 days after Samantha disappeared,
He dreamed that he had gotten his father's gun and fired it into the
darkness,his sister's calls for help stopped. The lights came back on,
there had been a power surge, that's why they went off, then back on. There
she was soaked in blood, dead, from the bullet he had fired in the
dark.
"I didn't kill my sister," he muttered to himself under his breath, in a
determined voice. Mulder dressed in a hurry, and left his father's house.
He looked back at the house. He really should sell it,but hell,it wasn't
going anywhere,was it? He could feel the need to know growing inside him
like a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode. He got into his car, and
didn't have his keys, everything was ganging up against him he thought, it
was as if his brain wasn't speaking to the rest of his body.

He finally found his keys. "Of all places to find them," he thought. "in
the refrigerator." He drove to the prison to see Michael Marsden. The
silence was fitting, the wind blew in his ears. Yet, he didn't hear the
winds harrowing screams, because he was too consumed in his thoughts of
another's screams from long ago.

Mulder Residence, November 20,1995.

Dana lay on her...no...their bed, sleepy and befuddled. She rolled over and
he wasn't there. It made her ache inside and she was instantly awake. The
last time she had seen her husband was three days ago. Dana drew his pillow
up to her face and smelled it, a sweet perfume of Mulder flowed into her
nose. They'd had such a good time that day, it was their day off, a
Saturday, and they had rented a movie of her choice, then her bubble was
burst. The day went through the regular motions, nothing out of the
ordinary. Snuggling on their coach watching a movie after eating their
simple home cooked dinner, Dana was happy, content, and in her comfort
zone. More importantly to her though, so was he. Lately there had been a
lot of friction directed his way from work and from his mother. That night
it had been good to see him finally unwind. Whenever they parted for more
than a weekend they left notes and letters around the house to each other
as pick me ups. 
Dana's best friend Ellen was shocked at how much they fell apart without
each other. Since first hearing about him, she had been intrigued by the
development of their love. At the time of her son Trent's birthday party,
she had teased Dana about him saying "What about the guy you work with? I
thought you said he was cute." He was great with Ellen's children, Trent,
and her baby girl Mallory. When she and her husband Luke, had problems she
had lived with them after they were first married. Many times
Ellen and Dana would go out, and leave Fox to baby-sit, because he was so
good at baby-sitting and so bad at socializing. 

Ellen as a housewife had spent a lot of her time reading books. Now,
though, she read Mulder and he was better than a book. The first real talk
they had together came after he was baby-sitting Mallory who was not yet 2.
Ellen and Fox knew each other, but that isn't saying much, for it takes
time to really know a person. Up until that point they had only said casual
remarks to one another, as comments at parties or people just passing
through. Fox was kneeling on the ground, his head on the bed, just barely
peeking over the edge in pure awe. Ellen had watched from the doorway
wondering "Why was a 34 year old FBI agents frozen by a sleeping baby
girl." What was it about women and this man? Every Scully women loved to
dote on him, of course his wife, but people like Maggie were always showing
up, and mothering him as well. While Ellen watched, he just sat their
hunched over, a hand raised up and he ran it through Mallory's hair. She
stirred ,and reached out for him, saying "Mommy?" 
"Shh,little darling, she'll be home soon." He gently said to the child
lovingly. From what Ellen knew of this man from Dana's ramblings, he had
had no family life, yet was so comfortable with it. They had talked about
his life and her life; the contrasts. She kidded him about his name. Fox
didn't explain it, he couldn't, he only joked back, "Well,you did a bang up
job, trench, and duck." Just as Ellen was beginning to see what the Scully
women saw in this man, her husband Luke showed up and she
went home. She had missed Luke, but, not at all the way this two seemed to
miss each other. She would have rather stayed around to talk with Fox a
little while longer, but duty called.

After Ellen left, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder were between cases. Then, the Michael
Marsden case fell into their laps. They had fought like a baseball player
and a ump arguing over a call, right in each other's faces. Fox had a mean
temper he kept well hidden. His father, on the other hand, wore his temper
on his sleeve, instead of his heart. The fight was stupid, his temper was
the scary part. It was one day till the anniversary of Samantha's
disappearance, 8 days before her 30th birthday. Fox and Dana had only been
married since October 13, 1995, on his 34th birthday. It took a lot to get
him mad. It took pressing a perfect sequence of buttons. The fact that it
was November didn't help any. He was not mad at his wife, but she was the
only person available, so he yelled at her. The fight had started over
Mulder not remembering to get a present for Dana's nephew, whose birthday
was next week. She thought, "It was such a simple deed, why couldn't he for
once do it, instead of me?" 
He had been thinking all day about a candle light dinner for two. When the
calendar page was turned to November, he remembered how old his sister
would be on her next birthday. She would be 30 years old, and that was such
an intimidating number. Mulder couldn't believe it had been that long ago,
because the pain was still so fresh. Now Dana was alone in the huge
apartment they had been living in since they returned from their honeymoon
in Hawaii. She loved this apartment. It had her bed from her
old apartment, and the Jacuzzi in the connecting bathroom. However, she had
learned very quickly that nothing was the same without him. Now Fox was
alone in Boston working on a case that was the very picture of insanity.





When Mulder finally arrived at the prison, he went right to Michael
Marsden's cell. As he was standing there, he saw a women
in her fifties exiting Michael's cell. She approached him and said, "Are
you Fox Mulder? My how you've grown." 
"Yes, who are you?" Mulder asked, fully expecting her to reach out and grab
his cheek any minute. 
"I'm Michael's mother, Susannah Marsden, when you understand him, please
let me know." Fox was stunned, how was he to
understand him, if a mother doesn't understand her creation , then who
could? Actually. that's not fair. His mother and he had
never had that kind of relationship. What is it about a person that
determines how a person will be as an adult.? "He's all i have
left, my husband John died two years ago. I need him, I'd do anything for
my son." Now he knew why his mother thought she was a
troubled woman. 
"I'm here to help understand him, Mrs. Marsden, but it will take time.
There's a lot about Michael that needs to be figured
out, we'll be in touch," Mulder said, and then offered her a business card.
Well, it was now or never to see him. He had not yet
spoken to him face to face. He hadn't wanted to; for the first time in his
life he was afraid of the truth. So many times in his
life he had wanted to remember, now it looked as he wouldn't have to.
Someone else would do it for him. What a turn around for
him, what a turning point for his life. He took a deep breath and tried to
step away from his thoughts and feelings, his personal
quest, and be a average agent. So many questions were racing in his head,
and he did just what he needed to do: ask them. 
Knowledge is indeed power, but in being powerful means you have to be ready
to sacrifice your self to it. 35year old Michael
Marsden sat in his cell, and when he saw Mulder his brown eyes glowed. 
"Did you see dear old Mum, on her way out?" Mulder knew how smart Michael
was, and he remember his unique ability to make
people tell him their secrets and fears. The man before him was as good at
mind games as Phoebe Green, and that was not a
comforting thought. Michael seemed so saintly when they were boys, one who
would always help, listen to you, and care. 
"Yes, I saw your Mom," Mulder answered him, not wanting him to know how
scared he was. 
"Oh, that's nice, maybe you will do better than her, in the understanding
game."
"What do you want me to know?" Mulder. 
"You want to know what makes a person, who they are, right?" Mulder sat
down at the table in front of him, having a feeling
he was going to be here a long while. "Well", continued Michael. "An easy
way out would be just to say names are identity, a
connection with your future. However, if that was true. Mulder, and we
changed one letter in your last name to Murder, you would
be me. Although, I will admit names do connect with associations, Smith,
Baker, Fisher, but they don't make a person, so scratch
that option." 
"What's the point your edging around here Michael?" asked Mulder. 
"Oh getting a little impatient in your old age there, MUL-DER? Okay, Fox,
you mind if I call you that old buddy? Hey, by
the way , how's your sister? We should really do lunch one of these days,
oh wait, silly me, what am i thinking? She's gone, and
I'm in here, poor Fox all alone." rambled Michael. 
"I am no longer Fox to you, I am Agent Mulder, Michael." 
"Well, it's a nice title, Agent Mulder, but you and I both know you are
still that scared boy who gushed his heart out to me
during the fall of 1973, no sense hiding it, pal." 
"I am not hiding anything from you Michael." 
"Ohhh" sighed Michael ,"Yes, you are a naughty boy, I see that wedding
ring! I was wondering when I would get to met the
wife, oh where are my manners, congratulations! You see, I don't get out as
much as I used to."
"Michael, your idea of a good time was killing innocent little girls, it
was not a night on the town." 
"Well, Agent Mulder, we all have our own ideas of a fun evening! I suppose
the next thing you will say is everybody should
have blond hair and blue eyes, and do exactly the same things." 
"Being different in intelligence, ideas or thoughts is one thing, but views
on who should die, and who I am going to kill is
another thing," said Mulder, continuing with his thoughts. "Michael, you
said earlier that a name is an association, then what
about your first name? Correct me if I am wrong, but in Hebrew doesn't
Michael mean ' Who is like god?', said Mulder. 
"Agent Mulder, tut, tut, do not bother with minor details such as that. Let
me ask you a question, I know you'll find
interesting." Mulder sat forward in his chair, breathing in the stale air
of the cell, fingering his wedding ring for comfort. 
"When did you know you were good at profiling? Something no one else you
knew could do?" 
Mulder looked into Michael's glassy cold brown eyes, and replied. "What is
it career day at the prison? Why do you
care?" 
"Before you can understand me, you must understand yourself, we are so tied
together my friend." Mulder couldn't think of
a way to answer that, he didn't know exactly. He thought perhaps it went
back to finding his sister, not wanting anybody else to
go through what he did. "Okay, while you think about that Agent Mulder I'll
tell you how I became a 'night lifer', or as you
professionals would call me, a serial killer. However, serial killer just
doesn't have the same poetic ring to it though." 
Mulder's eyes shot to Michael's face, and all of his attention was focused
on this revelation, that he hoped would explain a lot. 
"Are you ready Agent MUL-DER?" Michael said again accenting once again how
his name could be said as murder. 
"Yes, Michael quit beating around the bush, go on." 
"Okay, no need to get snippy, Agent Mulder you might want to write this
down ." 
"No, Michael, I have a photographic memory, thank you." Mulder said. 
"I think not , Agent Mulder, if you did you would remember who killed your
sister. " 

"No one killed my sister. Leave her out of this." Mulder said through
clenched teeth. 
"Well, okay but don't say I didn't warn you. Here it is folks, drum roll
please. I killed my darling little sister and
liked it. From then on I knew all I wanted was to kill until I was caught.
Let's be modest even the best man from his trade makes a
slip in the end. My ultimate goal was 73, because it was a pleasant
reminder of the year that started it all. Sadly enough
though, I just missed it ."
Mulder was sure he would have either pass out, right then from the shock
and the fact he hadn't eaten yet today, or slugged
Michael. Neither option would be pretty. Luckily enough, the door opened
just then and a guard said, "Agent Fox Mulder you have a
phone call one line one." 
"Oh, lucky break on your part, come again soon , Agent MUL-DER," said
Michael Marsden, while waving good-bye, and blowing
him a kiss. 
The last person in the world Mulder expected to be on the other line of the
telephone was his mother, and yet it was her. 
"Fox, hello, I'm sorry to call you at work, but I just talked to Susannah
Marsden again, and well, I thought you might want
to hear what she said," his mother rambled out in one breath. 
Still in shock that his mother was on the other end, he asked, "How did you
know I was here and what the number was?" 
"Fox, I am not as dumb as I look! You said you were working the Michael
Marsden case. I figured out that he would be held
in the best prison in Boston. Then, all I had to do was find the phone book
and look up the number." 
"Oh, I'm sorry Mom, I wasn't implying that you're dumb, it's just that your
call came at a vital time." 
"I'm sorry Fox, I only wanted to talk." 
"No, Mom, what I mean is I needed to get out of the room for a couple of
minutes, without using a lame excuse." On the
other line Mrs. Mulder blushed, she had helped him out in his time of need
without even knowing it. 
"Fox, Mrs. Marsden was telling me she would do anything to save her little
boy, Michael, from the madness that is the
adult Michael. He's foreign to her." 
"Mom, she told me something similar, I hope she isn't serious." 
"I don't know Fox, a mother always loves her child no matter what.
Sometimes, however, it's hard to show this." There was a
silence. 
"Did she state any plans, to you, Mom?" asked her son. 
"No, Fox. I think, she has lost her marbles, she doesn't even remember her
daughter." 
"What?" asked Fox, hoping he had heard wrong. "You just don't wake up and
forget your one child killed the other." said
Mulder. 
"Well, it depends on your loyalty to either the living or the dead.
Somewhere along the way you have to make a choice; to
live in the past, or the future. She's in neither." Then, Mrs. Mulder
continued showing increasing signs of openness her son had
never felt before, but had always wished for. "When, I was listening to
her, Fox, she never talked about Pamela. She is forgotten
to her, since Michael's alive. He's all that's important to her now."
"How far do you think a mother would go for her child, Mom?" 
"As far as she could, Fox, as far as she could."
"Would she give her life for her child?" 
"Fox, I gave life twice, and there isn't a minute I don't want to go back
and take my lost child's place." 
"You too, huh Mom?" Mrs. Mulder was shocked, and felt ashamed. Of course,
he would feel the same as me, he loved her
too, I wasn't the only one. 
"Fox, anyway, I just wanted to let you know about Susannah so that you're
ready." 
"Ready?" asked her son. 
"Well, she sounds as if she might try the old file in the cake trick to
me." Mulder couldn't believe it, he was working a
case with his mother, and not only was he enjoying it, but she had some
good instincts. 
"Mom, thanks for calling, you've been a great help on this case. Maybe when
this is all over, we can get together and I can
try your cooking." 
"I would love that Fox, and , um if you want, you could bring your wife,
too." 
"I'm sure Dana would like to really get to know you as I would." Where was
this lovable, smart mother when I was growing up?
thought Mulder, I sure the hell needed her. Just then, however, he realized
now was better then never, but he was still too
shocked for words. 
"Good-bye Fox William." she started, and the phone gently slid into a dial
tone. 
Mulder was rather caught off guard by the use of his middle name, yet still
managed to stammer 
"Good bye Mom." before they hung up. He was still holding the phone, as the
dial tone continued and the woman at the desk
asked for it back. He sheepishly handed her the phone, and went to the
bathroom to hide. To hide from everything, the world, the
pain, the fear, the knowledge, the longing for his wife, and especially
this case. He was just sitting in there on the sink, when
a man he had known at the academy came in. 
Jaykob Collier entered the bathroom and took one look at Mulder before
saying, "Fox Mulder? Is that you?" 
"Hi, Jay," said Mulder, not really in the mood for a jolly old academy
reunion. 
Although Jay and Fox had been good buddies at the academy, Michael and Fox
had been good friends as children. Mulder was
not very trusting of his old friendships now. 
"So, I hear you're working the Michael Marsden case, how's it going?" asked
a very chipper Jaykob Collier. 
"Jay, I'm sorry, but I really don't want to talk about it, not now, not
ever," replied Fox. 
"That good huh?" asked Jay. "I'm sorry if I seem a little hyper, it's just
that my wife gave birth to our second 
child two days ago, and I'm still pumped up about it I guess." 
"Congratulations," said Mulder feeling somewhat human again. "What was it?"

"A girl, 7 lbs., 4 ounces, Zoe Abigail Collier, she's amazing. My son is
almost 4, his name is Owen Nicholas Collier. 
He's got those rugged good looks that will stop hearts when he's older,
hell, he stops hearts now. All Owen wants to do is hold
Zoe, here look at this picture, is that a big brother smile or what?",
rambled on Jay, pulling out the picture from his wallet.
Time had taught Jay that he could sound as if was getting a tad carried
away, so he changed the subject. "How about you Mulder, 
got any kids? Jeeze. kids change everything for the best, I think. I
haven't seen you in years. I mean, it's not like I wasn't
ever a bachelor, I've only been married 5 years to my wife Carolyn," said
Jay. 
"No, I don't have any kids, yet. I am married, though, to Dana Scully." 
"I have to get out of here," Mulder thought. Although Jay Collier was a
good guy and very intelligent he was like the
pink energizer bunny, he just kept going. Jay's reputation was second only
to Mulder's Spooky nickname. When Jay approached,
people coughed "Stay!" because Jay never wanted to let you leave. 
"Dana Scully, why does that name sound familiar?" asked Jay. 
"Probably because I just said it," Mulder feebly joked. 
"Ha, ha, I can see you haven't lost that killer sense of humor Mulder. Dana
Scully, I know her, I think she taught at
Quanico right?" 
"Yes, for a while, till she met me." 
"Quite a ladies man aren't you Mulder?", Jay said, while pretending to jab
Mulder in the ribs. 
"How weird can one day get?", thought Mulder. "I'm sitting on the sink in
the men's bathroom of the Federal prison in
Boston, discussing married life with someone I haven't seen in several
years. Then to make things worse, my own mother, keeps
calling me about leads she has learned from the mother of the subject I am
supposed to be profiling, Of course, things could be
even crazier if my mother was my link to the subject. Well, if that was the
case I would hopefully have woken up from the
nightmare." Mulder could only think one word, "Overload," "Jay, nice to see
you again, I'm really not feeling well, maybe we can
get together in the future." Why was he always extending inventions as a
way to end conversations? thought Mulder. Jaykob Collier
jumped off the sink and followed up right behind Mulder. 
"Hope it's nothing serious" But Agent Fox Mulder was already out the door.
"Was it something 

I said, people are always leaving in a hurry?", Jay said as he put away his
precious photo. Naturally, not before he let out a
large smile at the sight of it one last time.

Fox Mulder finally found his car, (he couldn't remember was it red, blue,
or gray, in the parking lot, or on the street).
".I've rented too many cars in my life"! He started to drive. After
wandering aimlessly for about an hour, his stomach reminded
him he hadn't eaten today. He pulled off the main street to a little back
road diner. The name of the restaurant was "The Spring
Chicken, "and despite how it looked at first glance, it was comforting and
clean. It reminded him of the first non-work related
trip he took with Scully after their engagement in May. They rented a
cottage on Lake Michigan. He had never been there and
couldn't believe how much it looked like Martha's Vineyard. She would sleep
late, and by some miracle he would sleep, without
nightmares. After lying in bed late, they would go to the beach, and lie
there. They spent days baking in the sun and
building sand castles. Afterwards, they would go out to eat, in places such
as this. Maybe that was why he had been drawn here. 
He sat himself at a booth and started staring out the window, vaguely
noting the waitress approaching. All of a sudden he wished
the room would stop spinning, and he felt awfully dizzy. Actually, he just
felt down right awful. 
"Hello, my name is Samantha and I disappeared 22 years ago, tomorrow is my
birthday, I will be ..........." 


"Sir, Sir, are you okay?" 
Fox Mulder's head was spinning. He shook it again to try and clear his
thoughts, bad idea. "Sir, you fainted, but I
think your okay now." 
"What did you say your name was?"Mulder asked the young waitress with long
dark braided hair. 
"My name is Sarah, sir, do you want to hear about our special? It's a
chicken sandwich with baked potato, and salad for
$5.95" Sarah Benton was genuinely concerned about this man, she saw a lot
of homeless people come in, and she served them all,
when the boss wasn't looking of course. However, this man was not homeless,
in fact he was wearing a serious business suit. Mulder
ordered the special, just so she would leave. He distinctly remembered her
saying her name as "Samantha", or was he just hearing
what he wanted to hear when he was deep into thought? 
After his choice, Sarah smiled and said, "That combo has been tradition
here for 22 years, it's sure not to disappoint,"
and then she left. If Scully could have seen him at that moment she would
have told him,"Mulder you are not a cod fish, close
your mouth." After he had somewhat eaten, paid, and left a big tip to cover
his embarrassment, he returned to his car. Upon
reaching it he realized he couldn't stand not telling his wife he was
sorry, and having her away any longer. Mulder hit #1 on the
speed dial, and got their answering machine. He paused and then spoke,
"Dana, it's me, God, I can't believe I got so angry over
nothing the other day, I forget all about Ethan's birthday present. All I
could think about was the candle light dinner I had been
planning for us. I wish I had told you sooner, hell, I wish I'd told you
right at that moment. However, sometimes my genes get
the better of me. Please come up to help me on this case, I don't know how
much longer I can stay sane in this physical and
emotional state, without you." 

As he drove back to the prison, turning a corner he saw a group of people
on the street selling "Star Maps." They were
screaming about the end of the world. But, that wasn't the funniest part,
the funniest part was that they were dressed like wanna
be monks. Just down the street on the other side, he saw two Jehovah's
witnesses going about their business. "Oh Lord," said
Mulder, then he chuckled about what he had absently mindedly said. "The map
vendors must have just had a visit from the
witnesses." He laughed the rest of the way to the prison, and it felt good,
until he pulled in. "Man's gotta face his demon's
sooner or later," he thought.

There was a huge maple tree in the parking lot in front of the prison, and
the fall leaves with all of their magnificent
color, were just barely maintaining their grasp on the trees through the
ripping wind. As Fox Mulder approached the entrance to
the prison, he saw Susannah Marsden sitting on a bench underneath the tree.
Her eyes were tear stained, but she smiled and said, 
"It will be Samantha's birthday tomorrow won't it?" The question caught him
off guard, he had forgotten that. 
"Yes, yes it would be, Mrs. Marsden." he said. He sat down, not because he
felt like having this conversation, but
because his legs weren't listening to his brain. 
"Pamela," Susannah faltered, but then found her voice again. "My daughter's
birthday, is today, I remember that your
sister and my little girl were best friends. Always together, sometimes I
thought they were joined at the hip. They even would
celebrate their birthdays together." He remembered that. It was as if while
she was talking he was walking down memory lane. The
most vivid memory he had was Pam and Sam Trick-or-Treating when they were 7
years old. They had on identical outfits, and were
calling each other their, "Twin."
"I'm sorry Fox, I , I" Susannah wasn't crying now, though, she was
struggling to phrase her thoughts. 
"What is it Mrs. Marsden?" he asked, and just as he did, he felt twelve,
she calling him Fox, he calling her Mrs.
Marsden. 
She must have noticed that feeling as well, for she replied. "I don't have
to call you Fox, you know, and you should
call me Susannah, please." 
"All right Susannah, Fox, is fine by me. What are you trying to put into
words?" 
"When Pamela was a little girl, she was my baby, I was never sure how to
spend enough time with two children, since
they fought a lot," she sighed. "My little girl was easier to handle, and
so sweet, Michael, he was, um troubled." Now Mulder was
confused, Michael always seemed so calm and orderly, whereas, his mother
went around screaming most of the time. She took out a
handkerchief out of her purse that had her husband's initials on it and
rubbed her eyes. A silence fell over them, as the wind
whipped the multicolored leaves around the faded bench. "He was 5 when she
was born, and very spoiled. I wasn't very organized,
and John was very frail health wise, neither of us planned on the second
child, but she was a miracle. " 
"I know how you feel, Mrs. Marsden, I mean Susannah, I saw my sister as a
miracle." 
"I know you did, Fox. That's why I want to tell you about that time. I'm so
ashamed of how I acted when you were
younger. I thought you would grow up dysfunctional. I mean, I heard rumors,
and I, thought nothing could go wrong with my
family." 
"Susannah, every family is dysfunctional, there are just different levels
of it, you know why?" 
"No, I don't Fox, and I'm scared." 
"It's simple Susannah, because nobody is perfect, that's why people put
erasers on pencils, because life's messy." 
"What about pens?" she asked.
"Well," Mulder grinned, "They do make erasable pens too." 
"They don't work, it's still there and you have to write over it." How
poetic, this conversation was becoming, and
she had no idea, well better stay on track, he thought. 
"Did you talk to Michael more?" asked Mulder. 
"Yes, Fox, yes, I did. I want to strangle him, he's not my son." This was a
change, he had thought Susannah had
forgotten her first born child had killed her second. A politically correct
Cain and Abel, making her Abela "What did you talk about with Michael?,"
the gears in Mulder's head were working overtime. 
"He called me his partner. Did I help him kill those girls? And my Pammy?
Oh, could he hate Pammy, his little
sister?" 
"Susannah," he started, but she cut in on him before he could finish.
"I always wished my children had the relationship you and your sister did.
But I was a snob, I thought if John and I
were there, and home a lot, they would be perfect. I didn't realize
children raise themselves, you taught me that." 
"What?" asked Mulder. He was starting to reconsider how aware she was of
the symbolism of their conversation. 
"I wish my son could have been more like you. I'll be frank, I was
embarrassed by having such a son. When you were at
our house I showed you no real courtesy. as I should have. I just couldn't
understand where I went wrong, I mean, I read all the
literature, what more could I do?" My own birth mother, except for the
little fiasco today, doesn't show me courtesy, why should
she, thought Mulder. Well that's not true, Meg Scully treats me like her
son. 
"You've done nothing wrong here Susannah, Michael's to blame, not you,"
said Mulder. It just went to show that not all
serial killers are products of their environments. 
"But I created such a monster, my sweet 8 pound bundle of joy, born on
Halloween, grew up to kill all those
children.... and Samantha." He knew it had been coming from the start but
that didn't make it any easier. It was fascinating
though, that he and Michael were so different, considering his childhood of
abuse, and Michael's of warmth. "What had steered him
one way and Micheal another?", Mulder wondered to himself. 
"What about Samantha? If he touched her......" 
"No, please don't hurt him," Susannah said, trying to make sure Mulder
didn't leave. "Wait, sorry, I shouldn't try to
protect him anymore. Maybe he needed to be hurt to see how lucky he was, as
you did." Mulder had had enough of her knowledge of
his childhood, and even though she didn't mean it, her remarks, cut like
knifes. That was all he needed right now, to be reminded
of his father on a drunken binge.
"Susannah, don't you ever say a child should be hurt, children are
innocent, they should be nurtured and loved. 
However, that doesn't always happen, so they just grow up sooner. Instead
of being carefree, they learn to survive, as if they
were stuck in the desert without water, don't wish that," finished Mulder.
When he was done, he felt like a minister preaching
about love thy neighbor, but he didn't care, it was the right message. 
"See what I mean! I would try anything for him, but everything's taboo.
Nothing works, I'm done trying. I give up,
unless you can bring back Pammy. I'm tired and I want to go home." 
"Susannah, I can't bring back Pam, she's dead. There's more to life,
though, never give up hope." 
"How do you do it?" She asked him with a quiver in her voice sounding like
a child asking about a magic trick.
Looking over at his puzzled face, however, she rephrased the question by
adding, "Your passion, how do you keep it alive?" . 
"I want to believe that the truth is out there, and one day because of my
personal quest my sister will return." He
said this in his typical tone, his voice filled with confidence. Behind
that confident voice, though, was a heart ripped to
shreds each day. 
"Well, get ready Fox, nobody's going to get out of this night without
losing something. No one thinks about death till
the last minute. I spent all those years wondering about who killed Pam,
and it hurt. " 
Mulder knew a 'but' was following. "But", Susannah started. "Knew it,"
thought Mulder. 
"I would have rather spent the rest of my life picturing her happy, then
imagining her death at the hands of her brother,
every time I close my eyes. I'm sorry to say it, but, I take no comfort in
the truth. The odds don't look good for you, either 
Samantha did disappear, when..................." Susannah couldn't finish,
her soul was heavier than lead. However, she vowed she
must tell him what she knew about that night before she left.
"What are you trying to tell me?" Fox Mulder asked, feeling extremely
nervous. 
"I covered for him, on the original police report in 1973, he wasn't home
in bed that night, I never thought it meant
anything till afterwards." He was glad she just kept on talking, because he
was too tongue tied to speak. "Samantha was so
beautiful, and always talked about you, never about your parents, always
you. I'm sorry....." Susannah Marsden got up, tears
streaming down her face, and started to walk away. The wind was whipping
her brownish-gray hair in her face when she turned
around and told him, "I hope she got away and just ran, and never came
back, she always did have such a strong will, like her
brother." 
The slender form of Susannah Marsden faded into the foggy gray background.
Everything around him was getting blurry, then
he realized why, he was crying. Did he really want to know how his baby
sister had been murdered? Was that the truth, should he
just leave and pretend that this wasn't happening. Ignore the facts because
they would hurt too much. He thought he would never
have to deal with her death, he believed she was alive, he hadn't prepared
for the other side of the coin. It was all too much,
he couldn't breathe. The icy November air stung and set his throat on fire,
but he didn't care, it took his mind away from it's
focus for a few blissful micro seconds. Fox Mulder was so engrossed in the
gross he didn't see a familiar silhouette approach him.

Earlier that day, Mulder residence
Three bottles of empty Murphy's oil soap sat on the kitchen table, every
last drop used. Dana Scully-Mulder was disgusted, she was
all out of cleaning solutions. The whole house looked like the top of Mr.
Clean's head, and yet she couldn't stop. Then a smile
crossed her face, and she went into their bedroom. When she returned she
had brought out a couple of his suit jackets that were
her favorites. She draped them over the furniture. Then she made iced tea
and poured a glass. Finally, she opened a bag of
sunflower seeds, and placed them in front of the TV. Now the picture was
complete, she had done what he would be doing if he
were home, but of course it didn't work. She couldn't stop thinking about
him. Then the door bell rang, it was not a traditional
ring though, it sounded spooky. Oh. her heart ached, and she couldn't
believe she had been so mad at him, she felt totally mad at
herself, now. I mean, had he done anything really wrong? What had he done?
He forgot a present, oh, call CNN, that's headline
news. She sighed as she approached the door, trying to look as if the world
hadn't collapsed around her. Before she unlocked the
door, she looked through the peephole, only to see the concerned glance of
her mother's eyes. The peep hole brought up more
memories. When they had first started renting this house, he joked her it
was because of the, "Top notch peep hole." Upon seeing
such a welcome sight, she unlocked the door. Before Dana could lock it
though, her mother was already hugging her, saying, "Hello
honey, where's Fox?" 
"How does she do that?" Dana wondered, must be an x-file, she thought to
herself. 
"Um, Fox isn't here, I haven't seen him in three days, we had a fight you
see and ......." her mother would listen, and
back her up, she knew it. 
"Don't tell me, honey, let me guess, you had a stupid fight, and no he's
off working till he makes himself sick."
replied Margaret Scully, she knew her son in law, very well, and her
daughter even better. This was not the response Dana had
planned on, though. 
"Oh, I hate that mom! How do you do that?" Dana yelped, sounding like a
teenager caught lying about where she had been
last night. 
"I know you, Dana Katherine, and I know Fox, too. Tell me, what happened?"
Meg Scully asked her daughter. 
"Want some Iced tea, mom? I just made it." Dana offered, realizing it was
still just sitting on the counter. 
"Is it that long a story dear?," she joked, then advised, "Save that for
the person you made it for. By God, Dana, do
you think you could have cleaned a little more?" quipped Meg Scully, until
she noticed her daughter's attempts to mess it up. That
made her smile "All right tell me this story." commanded Meg. Dana was
pretending like she had more important things to do,
but the truth was she really did want to tell this story.
"Well, Mom, the day started out great. I had told him to pick up a present
for Ethan's birthday next week. So that we
could mail the present before we left for Vermont " Dana stopped when she
heard the scream of the tea kettle in the kitchen. She
returned a few minutes later with a mug of hot chocolate. Her mother
pressed her to continue, giving what Mulder called,"The
Scully eye". 
"You're not going to go to Ethan's party?" asked her Mother. 
"See, mom we booked the lodge on a whim,wanting to just escape and relax.
When I remembered that we would miss
Ethan's party, I knew we had to get the present in the mail soon. But he
forgot to get one, and I blew up at him. Then he got
mad, and, well, that's how everything got all screwed up." 
"That sounds like the most feeble excuse ever, 'relax', honey that's not in
his vocabulary. What is the trip really
for? I don't care so much about you skipping your nephew's birthday honey,
I just want the truth." said her mother. Dana
giggled, she couldn't help it, the story she was telling was lame, and her
mother was right. The word, 'relax', wasn't in his
vocabulary, it was as absurd to him, as aliens are to most people. 
"Mom, I knew he, even if he didn't admit it, needed to get away when
November was finally over. He hates this month,
he..... Oh my God." Dana stopped a look of pure panic in her eyes, when she
asked,
"What's today's date Mom? Please tell me it's not the 21th." 
"Today's the 20th, what's wrong with the 21st," asked Dana's curious
Mother.
"Of course he forgot the birthday present for Ethan, how could I be so
stupid?" Dana said aloud, but not particularly
for her mother to hear. 
"Honey, what are you talking about? Why is November a bad month for him?"
Meg Scully asked, it was serious, if it made
her daughter this distressed. A sad look was glazed over Dana's eyes, as
she explained.
"Tomorrow's his sister's birthday, she disappeared 6 days later. She was
only 8 years and 6 days old the last time her
saw her alive." 
"Oh my," said Meg. "Why hate time though, a date is nothing more than the
same event rebroadcast every year,?", she
asked. Dana was up and running, now walking a million miles an hour. When
she reached the steps to go upstairs she stopped. 
"Mom, don't you get sad on the day dad died?" she asked. "Mulder gets sad
on her birthday and around it because he
doesn't know her fate, he's in the dark." Meg didn't want to respond to her
question. Dana was right, she thought, no matter how
hard she tried, she did get sad on the date her husband died. Therefore,
since Meg didn't want to think about that anymore, she
changed the subject. 
"I can't believe you still call the poor guy by his last name!" Meg shouted
after her daughter,. It was her favorite
subject to tease her about. Dana came back to the edge, to reply, 
"What's in a name mom?" she called down the stairs. Then she continued to
pack, was ready to leave in under 15 
minutes. During, this time though, she was running around like a chicken
with it's head cut off. She always kept a spare bag
packed, working with Mulder had taught her to think ahead. Just as Dana was
shutting the door, the phone rang, and the answering
machine picked it up.

Near Dusk November 20, Boston.
"Is this seat taken," asked the familiar silhouette of the red headed
woman. He didn't look up, at first, but his head
turned to the side. Mulder immediately noticed who it was. She smiled, and
sat down next to him, she could tell he had been
crying. Then she realized how she could break the ice, and told him, 
"Mulder, you are not a cod fish, close your mouth. " He laughed, and rested
his head on her shoulder sighing, 
"You got my message." Dana could hear the tone in his voice screaming for
forgiveness. She shifted, and put her arms
around his frame. 
"If you mean that psychic message of 'I love you' yes," she joked. " I've
read the x files on psychic phenomena, but I
didn't believe it tell I got your message," she teased him.
"I admire your gung ho, nature, but, what did you do with my wife?", Mulder
came back with. Then he asked her, "You
didn't hear my answering machine message then?" 
"No, I came of my own free will. We need to talk, I'm so sorry about the
fight." she soothed, running a her hand across
his back in circles. 
"Dana, I should have called earlier, hell , I should have just told you
what was on my mind at the time. However, my
genes just got the better of me." He thought for a second he should move,
but then when she started to caress his back, he
couldn't bear the idea, so he stayed put. 
"I know now what you were thinking about, it being that time of the month
and all," Dana said. 
"Scully, as far as I know your the one with the bad times of the month,
pms, not included," he rallied. 
"Very funny," she said, glad to see his dark humor again. If this was any
other marriage, the remarks he made would
all be taken as avoiding the subject. She saw them as what they were, he
was only trying to lighten the mood. 
"Scully, I wasn't thinking about that, then. You're warm though," he said
while snuggling into her more, so that she
would get the double meaning. "Oh, he smells good," her mind was screaming.
"Hmm, and he tastes good too, her body reminded her.
Too bad you can't have make up sex, before the make up," she thought to
herself. "Oh really Sherlock, do go on," she said in her
best cheesy British accent. He laughed, then told her what he had been
scheming, 
"Well, Watson, I had plans for a candle light dinner for two." Whatever,
people might think about this man, he was
very much a romantic. As Dana had found out, there was this side to him,
where the passion he felt for his work was rechanneled
and collected all for her. 
"That's so sweet," she sighed. "Thank you," she said into his ear. 
"Hey, that tickles," he said as if he was embarrassed because people were
starring at them. "Then we'll make out, ---, I
mean up then?" Mulder asked her, trying to keep a serious face, like a high
school teacher who says,"Sex" instead of, "Six", in
math class. The seriousness didn't last though, it caved into a huge grin. 
"Must be a Freudian slip huh, Mulder?", she managed to kid him, before she
burst out laughing. Then she became serious,
this however, didn't last either. "I think we already did make up, the
other part, is still open." 
"I don't want to stay. Scully, but I must. There's a chance that the man in
there knows what happened to my sister," he
said, his voice sounding as hollow as the wind. 
"Well, if *we* don't find out soon, Mulder, we won't be able to spend her
birthday tomorrow in peace, and not pieces,
sweet cheeks." 
"Scully!" Mulder exclaimed, as if he was an embarrassed preteen, whose
mother was trying to edge around explaining the
birds and the bees. 
"Oh, I'm sorry Mulder, but don't worry, no one heard my nasty little
nickname for you. Except maybe if I am a spy
after all. Nope, too bad! Although that would be more exciting, instead we
will just have to live happily ever after," smirked
Scully. 
"I wish," was all he said, as he reluctantly sat up. 
"What's the game plan , coach?" Dana asked, slipping her arm around his. 
"I'm going in," he told her, with his best "Secret Agent," grin. "I want
you with me, but Michael, the subject, would
then have his attention focused on you. Believe me, I know, you're a head
turner," Mulder said, hoping she wouldn't be hurt. He
wanted to do this alone. She blushed a tiny bit, but decided he was just
staging this. Or, `maybe he really didn't want her in
there. After all, he did have a tendency to ditch her, no matter what the
circumstances. "How, do you know, Michael will react
that way?" she asked. 
"Because, if Phoebe Green, was a serial killer, this would be her twin
brother," he said joking.
. "If????" Dana pondered out loud, she was only half serious. If she ever
saw that woman again, that fight would be pay
per view material.
"Point noted," he said, as a brief smile crossed his face until he
refocused again. "Dana, I need him focused,
please, you can watch through the glass. That way I'll know you're there,
and Michael won't, Okay?" Mulder asked, desperate for
her approval. Dana nodded in agreement with his wish. Although it was very
tempting to her to see how much power she had over
him. Whoever said "power corrupts," was more right than even they knew,
when it came to Fox Mulder. He was about ready to get up
when she straightened his tie and brushed a stray lock of hair off his
forehead. It was such a simple act, but a heartfelt one,
and he thanked her with a kiss.

When Fox Mulder entered the prison again, somehow it didn't remind him of
an insane asylum as it had before. 
Everything was neatly organized and freshly painted white. He wasn't sure
white was a good color for a prison, though. When he
reached the man guarding Michael's cell, he asked if they could move him to
a interrogation room, or anything with two-way glass. 
The guard only shrugged and said he would have to ask his superior. When
Neil Task, the warden, approached Mulder, he was very
eager to help, more so then Mulder would have expected. Mr. Trask arranged
everything, but he seemed to be doing it for himself
more than for them. Just as Mulder was preparing to go in, Mr. Trask said, 
"That son-of-bitch killed my niece, Isabel, she was 12."
"I'm sorry." Mulder and Scully said at the same time. Mr. Trask looked at
the two people in front of him. They
looked like a married couple, and he knew Michael had killed another FBI
agent's daughter. He asked them, "Did that bastard kill
your daughter too?" 
"No," Mulder stammered a little, uncomfortable with his assumption. "But,
he may have killed my sister," he
finished. 
"Your poor folks, I mean having a kid that late in life, and then having
her killed," replied Mr. Trask. Mulder
didn't want to get into his personal history right now, and have to explain
it, but he would try his best, he vowed. 
"No, Mr. Trask, my sister would have been Michael's second victim in 1973,
if he did kill her. However, I don't
believe he did." Then the urgency to know what happened once and for all
pulsated through Mulder's blood stream like a rush of
adrenaline. 
"Is it all set up in there? I don't want anybody in the other side of the
glass room except Agent Scully here,
please," he said to Mr. Trask. 
"Oh, yes it's all ready go in. I hope you find about your sister. I know I
would rather know about Isabel than wonder
every night myself. Imaginations can play some cruel tricks on you," said
Mr. Trask as he extended his hand to shake Mulder's,
and then Scully's. 
"Thank you for all your help in setting this up," said a very formal
Mulder. He didn't want to sound too
impersonal, but he needed to concentrate. Within a blink of an eye, the
warden was gone.
The toll of the dead was rising, how many people's lives did Michael
change? How many families did he tear apart? It was with
these thoughts Mulder stepped into the interrogation room, with Michael
waiting. 
"You know MUL-DER, I have a hankering for a red head, you wouldn't happen
to know any would you? That's the one
flavor I never tried, alas I was so hooked on long dark braided hair I
never got to try anything else," smirked Michael Marsden, 
sounding a lot like he was reviewing restaurants. Mulder was not going to
let him disturb him, not now. He had to find out the
truth. 
"Michael, I had a good talk with your mother earlier today, and she says
you weren't home in bed the night of 
November 27, 1973. Do pray tell where you were, old 'buddy'?, " inquired
Mulder. The earlier quiver in his voice was hidden far
away, and he sounded more confident. 
"I would prefer you didn't mock our friendship, Mul-der, I hold it dear to
my heart," said Michael a tad
disappointed Mulder wasn't an emotional wreck by now. 
" "Oh, you took that as seriously as "love thy sister," retorted Mulder,
moving from his chair, and walking around
the table. On the other side of the glass, Scully was trying to keep up,
but she couldn't Mulder had given her a file on him,
but it was very vague. For once she was glad she wasn't in there,because
this file made no indication the two men even knew each
other, let alone had been childhood chums. 
"I loved my sister, I just loved her even more when I watched the blood
drain out of her. It was amazing, the
stupid kid was so shocked, she kept saying, 'Michael, stop it, I have to
get to my swimming lessons.'" The impression that
Michael did of his sister's last words, was as bone chilling as seeing an
act of slaughter.
"What did my sister say when you killed her?" Mulder asked, trying to catch
Michael at a weak moment, knowing he
wouldn't expect him to be so blunt.
"Ah, sweet little Samantha. She was a beautiful girl. Did I ever tell you
the day I knew I had to try her next?",
Michael asked Mulder, trying to sound like he wasn't shocked at his last
remark.. 
"That's impossible for me to guess, Michael, I saw you every damn day that
summer," ranted Mulder. He hoped this
technique wouldn't backfire. 
"Yes, that may be true, but Samantha and I only had one real talk, ever.
You're the detective, you figure it out,"
challenged Michael, hoping this would torture Mulder for a long time.
Meanwhile, Scully had finally found something useful inside
the file. It was a hand written explanation by Mulder left for her about
his connections with Michael. The note was very short,
and read : "Michael was my best friend on the Vineyard, his sister Pamela
disappeared in July '73, then mine in November. Up
until now I never knew I had been discussing all my fears, and sorrows with
the person who might have been responsible for them. 
Pamela's bones were found in '74, the only bones of any of his victims
found. She was Sam's best friend."


Contrary to Michael's plan, Mulder came up with the date almost at once,
because of the dream he had had last night. 
"I remember Michael, it was a week or so after your sister 'disappeared',
and Sam pissed you off. She was yelling
at you for not protecting her friend," Mulder said. proud of himself for
ruining Michael's fun, for a moment.
"You wouldn't believe how hard it was for me to keep from laughing then. It
just shows how stupid little kids are,
what did she say? Oh yeah, how could I forget? Samantha said, 'Fox would
protect me, why didn't you protect Pamela, Michael?" 
Instead of the mocking voice he had used for his sister, this time he used
a damsel in distress voice. "Samantha really was proven
wrong about her safety when with you huh, Fox?" Michael teased him again.
For the first time since he entered this room, Mulder
looked through the glass, glad to see those warm blue eyes, waiting to
reassure him, and she did just that. 
"Where did you bury her?" asked Mulder, hoping he would get annoyed and
said he didn't kill, it was a long shot, but it
had worked before. 
"Who, Pamela or your sister? Mr. Fancy Pants FBI needs to be more specific!
But, I'll indulge you in my plans just
the same, because I'm a nice guy." Michael Marsden contorted his face, as
if he was having a hard time remembering. These
actions brought out the depth of his chin, the flatness of his face, and
the curling of his chapped lips into a devilish grin. 
"Well, as you know, they found my dear sister's bones a year later. That
was sloppy work on my part. Everybody
makes mistakes, though, right?" asked Michael, unhappy that Mulder was
still confident and not in tears. 
"Yes, luckily enough, Michael they do," said Mulder.
That hurts MUL-der. Let's stick to the case okay. Anyway like I was saying
before, I planned to bury
Samantha next to Pamela, as a gesture of good faith. They were such good
friends, I thought, why not really make them 'twins'?" 
"You planned Michael? What the hell does that mean?" Mulder asked, not able
to alleviate the irritation from his voice before
spoke. 
"Well, why don't you just give me a nice paper cut, and pour lemon juice on
it while your at it!" Michael said, Mulder was suppose
to feel this helpless, not himself. Fox Mulder then realized that he had
Michael cornered, and to pounce while he had the chance.

"What happened then?" Mulder asked Michael.. 
"Oh, you'd like to know won't you, like to hear that I didn't kill your
sister. I told you before I wanted to kill '73, that bitch
wrecked my god damn plan, by... " he stopped realizing he had already said
more than he wanted to. 
"She got away................." Mulder whispered to himself, thinking about
how his father always said Samantha was going to be a
track star, when she grew up. 
"Wait just a minute MUL-der, now I have to clear up this mess. I can't let
you to be having the wrong idea about me," said
Michael who then looked back at Mulder and said, "For Pete's sake Mulder
sit down, before you fall down." he said mockingly. 
Instead, Mulder just leaned against the mirrored wall, fingering his ring
again. It would have been better to sit, but he couldn't
let Michael know that. "Okay, let's see it was a peaceful Saturday night,
and I was outside your house at around 8:30. The stars
were out, the crickets were chirping, and I was about to attack. I knew
your fucked up family to well, this would be easy. Your
parents would be getting drunk of their ass's at the neighbors, you should
be at Marty's, and Samantha should be at home with a
sitter."
Michael let a audible sigh, and then continued. "You fucked up the plan
early, by being the baby-sitter. Poor Marty was too sick
for company. Darn the luck. So, I'm outside and I throw the power switch to
the house, and then it happened." Michael almost
stuttered his last syllable. 
"What happened?" Mulder asked, but it was barely more then a whisper. 
"You know MUL-der, I'm not sure. It was just a frucking bright light. I
burst in and there you were with a gun in your
hands and there was no trace of her. What scared me the most, though you
prick, was that you fired the gun, and it grazed me in
the head! See?" Michael asked showing the small scar on his scalp. "I
wanted her, but it was not to be, I knew I should have come
earlier, then I could have fucked with her, real good. Although that night
was not without it's perks, remember? She kept yelling
to you, 'Fox, I'm afraid, Help me Fox. Protect me. Please Fox.' I almost
peed my pants it was so funny, all you did was just sit
there like a bump on a log. Some brother you are!" Michael retorted. With
that, Mulder pulled himself over the mirror, and went
over to Michael. 
"Oh shit", thought Scully, "He's going to hit Michael", as she raced from
her room. However, Mulder just stood there,
frozen, just as before, starring at Michael, trying to see if he was just
playing with him. If this was the truth, he was happy,
but he needed evidence, something to hang on to, Scully had taught him
that. 
"What shirt was I wearing Michael, you seem to remember everything else so
well, tell me?" challenged Mulder. 
"Oh, big man wants to play hard ball huh? Okay, It was a sports shirt, some
stupid team, like the Knicks right? I'm I
good or what? You loved that shirt, because my dad took you and me to a
game once." Michael said leaning back in his chair
gloating. 
"Thank you, that will be all," said Mulder as he walked to the door.
Michael shot up from his chair, angry, confused
and annoyed. 
"Why the fuck are you so happy?" Michael screamed at the top of his voice.
"You think the space ship people got her, and
anything's better then me?" 
Mulder just was about to reach the door, when Scully pulled it open. "After
you Agent Mulder," she said in a dry
manner", trying to pretend she was just another guard or regular agent. As
the door was closing Michael Marsden just sat there in
defeat, out foxed by his own talking. "Damn," he thought, "Prison is too
lonely." 
After the door shut they embraced, and then she asked him, "Do you believe
him?" 
With that her husband touched her check and said, "I want to believe." Then
they walked out of the prison hands,
hearts and minds entwined.

December 1, Vermont
Crunch, crunch, crunch went the sunflower seeds as Mulder lay on the bed
waiting for Dana to be dressed for dinner. 
They had thought about spending this time at his Mother's, but his Mom said
she was renovating the house. "How about some other
time?" He had felt mixed emotions about her excuse. He couldn't help but
think how things would be different if they were at
his Mom's house. Crunch! Mulder was deep into the thought when, Scully came
out of the bathroom. She was looking good, she was
giving Audrey Hepburn a run for her money. 
She picked up a seed, and popped it in her mouth. Then, after one she tried
another, then said, "Hmm, salty
lips, tasty, although I've had better," she said looking straight at him.
He smiled, picking up his coat, remarking, "Let's go, we'll be late for
dinner." Actually, he just wanted to keep her all
for himself, right here, little did he know she had the same plan. 
"No rush," she said coming up to him, "What do you think about the name
Grace?" 
"What?" He asks, still a little dazed by her appearance, not to mention the
fact she's was all his. She kept
approaching, thinking about how handsome he looked in his suit. 
"Well," he continued, "It's okay, you mean like Amazing Grace right?" he
asked, intrigued. By now Dana had strung
herself around him, much to his delight. 
"Yes, my love exactly!" She smiled, if he only knew how hot he was, she
thought. "It was my aunt's name, and speaking
of 'families'. "she said, putting his hand on her belly. "We've got it all
now," beamed Dana, with that same look he remembered
from Alaska. 
"And then there were three," he laughed, and they didn't make it to dinner.


Finis
"Where's the writer? I wanna speak to the writer." Mulder in PMP
 X marks the spot....Jonjack@galenalink.com