Title: Split Second (1/1) Author: aka "Jake" Rating: PG (language) Classification: MSR, X Spoilers: Vague references to several episodes through season 7. Takes place before SUV. Summary: While investigating a kidnapping case on an island off the coast of Maine, Mulder and Scully are separated -- by 178 years. Scully is desperate to solve the case and get Mulder back to the present. Split Second by aka "Jake" Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, AD Kersh, and the Lone Gunmen are the property of Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit. SPLIT SECOND Little Blue Island, Maine May 20 9:32 AM "Don't go too far," Katherine Hall warned her three children. She crossed the front porch to the clothesline, a basket of wet, clean laundry perched on her hip and a bag of pins in her hand. "Ah, Mom." Nine-year-old Justin frowned at his mother. He stood on the grass at the bottom of the steps. Dew soaked his sneakers. The damp ocean wind badgered his hair and he swiped a dark lock from his eyes. "We're goin' to the pond," Courtney said. She was dressed in Justin's hand-me-down jeans and blue flannel jacket. She might have been mistaken for a boy if not for the braids that hung over her shoulders, tied with bright red ribbons. "Go pon'," two-year old Julie said around the thumb in her mouth. Wispy blond hair sprouted from her head like a dandelion gone to seed. "Watch your sisters! You hear me, Justin?" Katherine said. "Watch your sisters. Watch your sisters," Justin muttered. But he obeyed and took Julie by the hand. Together the three children walked the short path to the pond. "Justin, I can throw a rock further than you," Courtney said once they stood at the water's edge. "Not likely, Courts." He released Julie's hand. The toddler bent to examine a bright yellow flower. "Wanna bet?" "You're gonna lose." "Gone looz," little Julie repeated. She plucked the bloom. "No I won't," Courtney said. "Come on, Jus. Let's bet." "If you insist," the boy said, confident he could out- throw his younger sister. "Whaddaya wanna bet?" "If I win, I get to use your new microscope for a week." "No way. You're not touchin' my microscope." "Justin's afraid he's gonna lose! Justin's afraid he's gonna lose!" Courtney called out in a singsong voice. She flipped her braids over her shoulders. A flutter of ribbons settled on her back. "I am *not* afraid I'm gonna lose." "Then let's bet! If I win, I get to use your new microscope for a week and if you win..." "You clean my room for a month." "A month!" "Including the closet. Is it a bet?" Courtney studied the pond and considered her chances of winning. "Yes. It's a bet. You go first." Justin kicked at the shore and loosened a stone. He hefted it in his palm, testing the weight and shape. Satisfied, he pitched it high over the water and it landed with a plunk just beyond the pond's midpoint. "My turn." Courtney searched for the perfect stone. She chose a flattened pebble that fit smoothly in the crook of her finger. With a nimble flick of her wrist, she sent the stone skimming across the water's surface. The rock skipped six, seven, eight times before it disappeared into the pond, several yards beyond Justin's stone. "That's not fair," Justin said. "You cheated." "I did not cheat. I beat you fair and square." "Did not." "Did so!" "Didso. Didso. Didso." Julie spun in a circle, her arms spread wide. Dizzy, she toppled and landed on her bottom. She looked up in surprise. "Ooooo! Sheep! Sheep!" she squealed with delight. "Julie, what are you talking abou...." Courtney followed her little sister's extended finger. A black-faced sheep grazed at the edge of the garden. "Justin! Look!" Justin already stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the mysterious sheep. "Where did it come from?" "She belongs to me." A young woman stepped from the trees and approached the children. She had a friendly smile and pretty green eyes. Her auburn hair was pinned on top of her head in an old-fashioned style. She wore a high collared blouse trimmed in white lace, and her skirt was so long it skimmed the wet grass, soaking up the dew. "Her name is Angel. Would you like to pet her?" "Yes!" Courtney ran to the sheep. "Who are you?" Justin asked. He stood his ground. "My name is Sarah. I live on the island's north end," she said. Justin looked doubtful. Little Blue Island was not very big, less than eight hundred acres, with only six houses on it. Two homes were occupied year round, including his; the others were used strictly as summer places. The summer visitors rarely showed up until after Memorial Day. Sarah smiled at the children. "What are your names?" "Courtney." The older girl ran her fingers through Angel's hair. "She's soft!" "What about you?" The woman knelt in front of little Julie. "What's your name?" "Julleeee," the toddler said. She reached out her arms to be picked up. Sarah stood and hoisted the girl comfortably to one hip. "And you?" Sarah looked at Justin. He hesitated before answering, suspicious of the friendly woman. "Justin Michael Hall. Come on, Courts. We gotta go home." "Come see Angel's baby first," Sarah said. "Angel has a baby?" Courtney asked. "Yes, he is only three days ago. Come see. Help me choose a name for him." "Justin, I wanna see the lamb!" "Seeelamm." Julie reached for the cameo pinned at Sarah's lace collar. She gave it a delicate twist. "Mom told us not to go far," the boy said. "Oh, it is not far," Sarah said. She adjusted Julie on her hip and reached for Courtney's hand. "This way." She tilted her head toward the trees, inviting the boy to follow. He stood for a moment, watching the woman and the two girls cross the lawn. When they reached the trees, he broke into a run and caught up with them. A drape of blue-gray fog clung to the cedar trees. Sarah and the three children stepped through it and disappeared. The sheep trailed after them and abruptly vanished, too. ____________________ Machias Bay, Maine One week later 10:10 AM Scully gave up trying to speak and hear over the chugging din of the lobster boat's engine. She stood at the stern, her arms crossed and her jacket pulled tightly across her chest in an effort to keep out the chill. An easterly wind stirred the gray sea, rolling the boat; the breeze whipped her hair. She stared back across the bay, watching the engine churn a wake away from Machiasport. Under the low, open overhang of the cabin roof, Mulder ducked his head to listen to the Captain, who shouted over the roar of the engine. The man was Richard Hall, father of the three missing children. He was a small man, younger than he looked. Constant exposure to the sun and wind had creased his face beyond his years. Sleeplessness and grief dulled his sky-blue eyes. Meeting Mulder and Scully on the Machiasport pier twenty minutes ago, he'd asked the agents to call him Rick and extended a leathery hand to Mulder. Years of hauling lobster traps had given him a powerful grip and Mulder tried not to wince from the forceful handshake. Rick hadn't offered his hand to Scully, but had tipped his faded Red Sox cap in an old-fashioned greeting instead. Behind the wheel, Rick Hall now pointed out a distant island to Mulder. Scully guessed the island was Little Blue, their destination. It lay several miles out from Machiasport and southwest of a peninsula where the U.S. Navy had built a station back in the late '50s. Providing communications to the Atlantic Fleet and region's shore commands, the Naval Computer and Telecommunications Station remained operational. Red winking lights outlined its massive antenna towers. As the boat neared Little Blue, the blueberry barrens for which the island was named came into view. Low-growing bushes clung to the granite slopes above the shore. A forest of pointed evergreens rose from the island's center. Rick steered the boat into the calm of the leeward harbor and reversed his engines at the dock. When the boat stopped, Mulder hopped over the rail and tied the fore line to a cleat. Scully grabbed the aft line, stepped onto the dock and tied the line off. Nodding his thanks, Rick hoisted the agents' duffel bags from below deck and handed them across the rail to Mulder. The tide was low and the aluminum incline rose steeply from the dock to the pier above. Scully stared up the precipitous, narrow ramp. Mulder leaned close, dipping his head to her ear. "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go," he sang. "Which dwarf are you, Mulder?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I think that's pretty obvious." He smiled in mock shyness and gazed through his lashes at her. "I'm Bashful." "More like Dopey," she said, causing him to mug an expression of exaggerated hurt. Scully reached for her bag, but Rick said simply, "I got it." So she climbed the ramp empty handed. "You're no Snow White, you know," Mulder said to her back, and climbed the ramp behind her. ____________________ Hall Residence Little Blue Island, Maine 10:34 AM "Kath, these are agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully from the FBI," Rick spoke softly to the woman who stood at the livingroom window scanning the empty yard. It took her a moment to focus on her husband's words. "Mrs. Hall, we'd like to ask you a few questions." Scully stepped forward. "May we sit down?" "Yes, of course." Katherine gestured dully at the couch. "Please, tell us what happened the day the children disappeared," Scully said. Katherine thought back to the previous week and her brow creased with grief. "I was hangin' clothes and the kids were headin' to the pond. I told 'em not to go far..." The care-worn woman's face crumpled. "I know this is difficult, Mrs. Hall, but can you tell us anything more?" Katherine shook her head. Rick cleared his throat. "Uh...Warren an' me hunted for the kids all evenin' 'til well after midnight." "Warren?" "Warren Bailey. We lobster together. He lives down island 'bout a quarter mile. We took his dogs and searched the whole island, callin' the kids' names, checkin' the vacant summerhouses, goin' through the woods. We came up empty handed. Next mornin' we went out again, with the Sheriff this time. He come over from the mainland shortly after sunrise. Same thing. No sign of the kids. The Sheriff called the Coast Guard, thinkin' the kids mighta drown..." Rick swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing conspicuously above the open collar of his shirt. "The children weren't found," Scully said. It wasn't a question. "No. But we did find the letter." From the file folder in his lap, the tab marked with a bold red "X," Mulder withdrew a clear plastic evidence bag containing a single sheet of paper. "This one?" he asked and passed the page to Rick. The man nodded, recognizing the careful handwriting. He reread the familiar message: The children are safe. They will not be coming back. The day the letter had been found, it was sent to the Maine State Crime Lab in Gray for analysis, where it was dusted for fingerprints. Two distinct sets were discovered. A thumbprint belonging to an adult had been run against the database. No match was found. A child's palm print, however, matched little Julie Hall, whose fingerprints had been taken, along with her brother's and sister's, at the Machiasport Fire Department the previous summer as part of a child safety campaign. The crime lab also analyzed the notepaper and the ink used to write the short letter. The tests unexpectedly revealed both the paper and the ink were of a type more than one hundred and fifty years old. "Where did you find the letter, Mr. Hall?" Mulder now asked. "Down at the north end of the Island. There's a stone foundation there; what's left of an old farmstead. Two days after we found it, somethin' even stranger showed up," Rick said. "The lamb." "Ayuh. The lamb. It was wanderin' around the old foundation, cryin', probably lookin' for its mother. We found an older sheep's hoof prints on the ground outside the foundation. Agent Mulder, there are no sheep on this island. Haven't been for more'n a hundred years." "There used to be sheep on Little Blue?" "Sure. Little Blue was used for sheep farming back in the 1800s, just like a lot of Maine islands were. Islands are great places to raise sheep. No need for fences. No predators." Mulder pulled another evidence bag from his file folder and held it out to Rick. "You found this tied around the lamb's neck?" he asked. "Ayuh. Kath recognized it as one of Courtney's hair ribbons." Katherine Hall's eyes filled with fresh tears at the sight of the ribbon in the evidence bag. "I tied that ribbon in Courtney's braid myself the mornin' the children disappeared," the sad woman remembered. "Where's the lamb now?" "Warren Bailey's been keepin' it in his shed. But it disappeared a couple of days ago," Rick answered. "Mr. Hall, will you show us where you found the letter and the lamb?" Mulder asked. "I'll take you now." ____________________ North end of Little Blue Island, Maine 11:10 AM Rick parked his pickup truck alongside the crumbling foundation. Dried ferns and ragweed poked through the stones. Across the road, nothing more than a mossy pit remained of the original farmhouse. A few scabby overgrown apple trees in full bloom dotted the slope behind the house. Mulder stepped from the truck and held the door open for Scully. The morning fog had burned off and the spring sun felt warm. Scully slid across the dusty vinyl seat. She hopped to the ground beside Mulder. "This way," Rick said. He led the agents to what used to be the back of the old barn. "The note was tucked in that jar." A glass canning jar, tinted pale blue, sat on the sill. "Why wasn't the jar sent to the crime lab?" Mulder asked. "Guess we figured it wasn't important." "Bag it, Scully. I want it dated, if nothing else." "Dated?" "Mmm. I've got a hunch." He walked away, eyes combing the foundation. Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, Scully slid the jar into an evidence bag and wondered what Mulder's hunch might be. With Mulder, anything was possible. "Where did you find the lamb?" Mulder asked. "Over here." Rick climbed up and over the low foundation. "You can still see the tracks." Mulder joined Rick outside the stone wall and squatted to examine the two-pronged hoof prints pressed sharply into the spring mud. "Are there other foundations like this on the Island?" Mulder tilted his head at the stone structure while running his fingers over the hoof print. "Ayuh, there are others. Maybe a dozen or so. At one time, Little Blue was quite a successful farm community." "When was that?" "'Bout a hundred-fifty, two hundred years ago mebbe, give or take." "What happened to the families who farmed here?" "I'm not sure. People stopped raisin' sheep, I guess, and moved to the mainland to make a livin' some other way." "Can we see the foundations from the road?" Mulder stood. "Ayuh, for the most part." "Scully, lace up your hiking boots, we're going for a walk," Mulder said. "Agent Mulder, it'll take you more'n an hour to get back to the house on foot. You sure I can't give you a lift?" Rick asked. "No, thanks. After spending the morning in a tiny commuter plane from DC to Bangor, then driving two and a half hours to Machiasport in an economy class car, I'd welcome the opportunity to stretch my legs," Mulder explained. "You wanna walk, too, don't you Scully? Stretch those little legs of yours?" Before she could reply, Mulder plucked the evidence bag from her and passed it to Rick. "I'd appreciate it if you'd take the jar back with you, Mr. Hall." Rick looked at Scully. "Ma'am, you really wanna walk?" "She loves to walk," Mulder assured Rick, grasping Scully by the back of her arm and propelling her several steps away from the truck. "I love to walk," Scully repeated and shot a questioning look at Mulder. ____________________ Island Road Little Blue Island, Maine 11:50 AM "Mulder, what was that about?" Scully asked him once Rick's pickup had pulled away and was out of sight. The agents walked side-by-side along a narrow dirt lane that cut north to south across the island. Evergreen trees crowded close to the edge of the road. The scent of pine and sea filled the spring air. "Don't you wanna walk, Scully?" Mulder asked. "It's an hour-long hike." He leaned close to her ear. "Just the two of us. Alone in the woods." He waggled his brows. "Mulder..." She shook her head. "To be honest, I wanted to get you alone to tell you my theory. I think I know where...or rather, *when*...the missing children are." "When? Do I dare ask what that means?" "Scully, what if some kind of tear or rent has developed between the present and the past -- maybe the early 1800s -- and the children stepped through it?" "On what are you basing this theory, Mulder?" "The appearance of the lamb." "Mulder, maybe someone -- in the present -- abandoned that lamb here on the Island." "Wearing Courtney Hall's hair ribbon around its neck?" "Maybe Courtney tied her ribbon to the lamb before she disappeared." "What about the sheep, Scully? Its tracks suggest that a full-grown sheep appeared and subsequently disappeared from the old farmstead." Mulder sidestepped a mud puddle. "From the farmstead, yes. But not necessarily from the island. That sheep might be wandering in the woods right now." Scully gestured at the thick pines growing on all sides of them. "And the appearance of the sheep and the lamb might be completely unrelated to the disappearance of the children." "I don't think so." "Fine, let's ignore the science for a minute and assume what you say is true. Why the early 1800s?" "Because that's when sheep farmers lived here. And that's the age of the paper and ink used in the note. The canning jar, too, I think we'll find." "Mulder, has it occurred to you that the children were kidnapped and the kidnapper happened to use old ink and paper?" "Why would a kidnapper remove three children from an island, then return two days later to leave a note, written on old paper or new paper? It doesn't make any sense." "For all we know, the kidnapper left the note at the same time the children were taken. The letter may have been simply overlooked for a couple of days." "Maybe," he said. "Hey, there's another foundation." He jogged to a stone-lined hole and hopped down into it. Scully waited at the lip while Mulder poked his fingers into crevices and prodded beneath layers of dried leaves and tangled weeds. He found nothing but a crushed beer can. Scully turned her attention to the surrounding woods. Twenty yards to the east, an odd upright stone caught her eye. It was approximately two feet high and a foot across, and was flat. When she spotted several others scattered evenly among the tree trunks, she left Mulder to investigate. On closer inspection, she realized she wasn't looking at a natural formation at all, but a long-forgotten graveyard full of worn headstones. ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine 12:30 PM The little cemetery contained about two-dozen headstones, tipped at haphazard angles and tinted green with moss and lichen. Scully ran her fingers across the carved face of the nearest marker. Years of exposure to the elements had worn the shallow letters smooth; the dates and names were barely discernable. She went from one stone to the next, deciphering the faded print on each. //James Turner// //b.1760 d.1833// //Elizabeth Turner// //Beloved Wife and Mother// //b.1779 d.1822// //TURNER// //Sons and Daughters// //Died 1822// //Thomas, age 9// //Daniel, age 7// //Mary, age 6// //Abigail, age 4// //Andrew, age 3// //Baby Girl// //"Thou art the God of my salvation;// //For Thee I wait all the day long."// "What did you find, Scully?" Mulder appeared behind her. "James Turner lost his wife and six children in 1822." "Kinda puts the Knicks season into perspective. What killed them?" "The Knicks or the Turners?" "I was asking about the Turners." "Probably a communicable infection like scarlet fever. Penicillin is used today to treat streptococcal bacteria, but in the 1800s, before the discovery of antibiotics, scarlet fever was a deadly plague." Scully moved to the next gravestone. "Mulder, look at this." He joined her. Reading the inscription, his eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. //MERSEREAU// //Justin Michael, age 9// //Courtney Elizabeth, age 7// //Julie Marie, age 2// //And loving mother, Sarah b.1797// //Died 1822// "Mulder, aren't those the names of the Hall children?" "Yes, they are." "That's a coincidence." "It's more than coincidence, Scully. I'm thinking the Hall children went back in time, where they are...or *were*... living with a woman named Sarah Mersereau." "Mulder, if that's true...and I'm not saying that it is...the children, and Sarah Mersereau, are going to die from the same communicable infection that killed the other inhabitants of the Island in 1822." "We've got to find that portal." "And do what?" Scully's eyes rounded in alarm. "Go through it and bring the children back. We--" Mulder was startled into silence by the unexpected appearance of a black-faced sheep in the trees. "Scully," he whispered, "Do you see it?" "I see it." The two agents remained frozen in place, their eyes fixed on the animal. The ewe's ears twitched when a lilting voice called from the forest's shadows. "Angel. Aaangellll. Well, there you are..." Sarah Mersereau emerged from the trees, the hem of her long dress caught in one fist to keep it from dragging across the muddy ground. Her expression transformed instantly to panic when she noticed Mulder and Scully watching wide-eyed from the cemetery. "Oh!" the young woman gasped, stumbling several steps backward before bolting into the woods. Mulder and Scully moved in tandem, quickly crossing the small graveyard to pursue the woman into the forest. Mulder soon outdistanced Scully, his long legs carrying him swiftly through the thick underbrush. He could see Sarah about fifty yards ahead, her billowy skirt slowing her escape as she tried to maneuver over a downed tree. A ragged limb jutting from the prone evergreen caught the fabric of her dress. As Sarah struggled to yank her skirt free, Mulder closed the distance between them. Tearing the cloth, the frightened woman freed herself and darted into the forest's shadows. Mulder leapt over the blowdown, but slowed to a stop on the other side. He scanned the woods. Sarah had disappeared. "Where is she?" Scully asked breathlessly when she caught up with her partner. Mulder shrugged. He paced a wide arc just beyond the blowdown, searching for a footprint or broken branch that would indicate the direction the woman had taken. There was nothing. "She's gone." Stymied, Mulder threw up his hands. "Well, she left this behind." Scully plucked a square of torn fabric from the branch of the downed tree. "We can have the lab analyze it. It might tell us something," she offered. "Yeah. I guess. Shit!" Mulder kicked at the blowdown, sending a splintered limb spiraling through the air. Scully placed a hand on his arm to calm him. "Come on, Mulder. Let's head back," she suggested. He took one last frustrated look over his shoulder before reluctantly following Scully along the return path. As they neared the cemetery once more, the agents heard a child crying, its fitful hiccoughs echoing through the trees. They quickened their pace, hurrying toward the sound. In the graveyard, they discovered little Julie Hall sitting between the headstones with tears streaming down her cheeks, sorrowfully protesting her abandonment. Upon seeing Mulder and Scully, the toddler wailed louder and reached her arms toward them. "Mummamummamumma," Julie fretted, her face red, her nose running. Scully scooped the girl off the ground and settled her on one hip. Immediately the toddler ceased crying. She collapsed tiredly against Scully's shoulder and stuffed a tiny fist into her mouth. "Well, what's your name, sweetheart?" Scully asked the little girl. "Jullleeee," she sniffled. "Where did you come from, Julie?" Scully smoothed the child's fine hair, not expecting an answer. "Hey, Scully. Look at this," Mulder indicated the Mersereau headstone at their feet. Scully bent and reread the inscription. "My God," she gasped. "Julie's name is gone!" "Do you still doubt my theory?" Mulder asked. "Julie has returned to the present. Her name has disappeared from the tombstone because she didn't die in 1822." "I don't know what to say, Mulder. This defies logic. As far-fetched as it seems, time travel appears to be the only possible explanation." "Right on, Girl!" Mulder pumped his arm and grinned. "Wanna hear what I'm thinking now?" "Oh, Lord." "I'm thinking that the barrier between our current time period and the year 1822 may not have a single tear or breech, but several...maybe many...holes." "What...like Swiss cheese?" she asked causing him to smile. "Well, possibly. I was picturing something kinda shredded, but you may be right. Either way, I think there are several portals through time existing on this island. The woman we just saw disappeared through one. Julie here, came back through another. The question is, how do we find one of these portals?" "The question is, how are there portals at all? What caused them? Why here on Little Blue Island?" "That's more than one question, Scully. And maybe we can work on those later, but right now I want to get the Hall children back in the present where they belong." "You really plan step into another time?" "It may be the only way to save those kids." "How can you be sure we'll end up in 1822? A connecting passage between time periods is an unexplored phenomenon. We don't know anything about this. Hell, no one knows anything about this. We could end up walking into the...the Ice Age." "Not we, Scully. I'm going alone. There's no sense in us both taking a risk." "Mulder, I don't want you going alone. There's no guarantee you'll be able to get back." "Julie came back," Mulder indicated the little girl clinging to Scully. "Why shouldn't I be able to do the same?" "I don't know. And the truth is, you don't know either." Scully shifted the sleepy child in her arms. "Right now, we need to get Julie back to her parents." "You take her back, Scully. I'm going to stay and search for one of the portals. We know there are at least two in this vicinity." Mulder was already twisting to survey the area. "No, Mulder." Scully was worried. "Please. If you're going to do this, I want to go with you. Let's take Julie home then return here and search the area together." "Uh uh. I'm flying solo on this one." Mulder was resolute. Beyond the gravestones, a thin blue-gray haze wafted inexplicably in the still air and caught Mulder's eye. He moved closer to investigate, cocking his ear toward the anomaly. He thought he could hear the faint bleat of a sheep emanating from the narrow drape of fog. "This is it, Scully," he breathed excitedly. "Mulder, don't," she warned. He raised his arm and pushed his fingers through the mist. A strange tingle crossed his palm and he smiled. "Hi ho, hi ho, Snow White." Mulder didn't look back. "Mulder! No! Please!" Scully watched helplessly as her partner stepped through the translucent wall of vapor and vanished. ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Mulder gingerly stepped out on the other side of the sheer layer of fog and was a little surprised to discover that he didn't feel changed in some way. The graveyard had altered however, even if he hadn't. The headstones were pristine, the inscriptions crisp and deep, and there weren't as many markers as there had been in the present. //In the future,// he corrected himself. He was relieved to see that the Mersereau tombstone was missing. Also missing were most of the trees and scruffy underbrush. The view from the cemetery was unobstructed and he could clearly see a small church nearby. //The old foundation,// he thought, remembering the rectangular depression he had explored only a half hour earlier, a moment in time that wouldn't arrive for another hundred and seventy-eight years. He spun to look behind him, half expecting to see Scully holding young Julie Hall and anxiously watching him through the lucent veil of mist. Of course she wasn't there. Neither was the hazy doorway between time periods. He felt a sudden pang of guilt for leaving his partner so abruptly. And a little fear at being alone in a time decades prior to his own birth. The clear bleat of a sheep brought him out of his solemn reverie. In the field between the church and the cemetery, a lamb cried for its grazing, black-faced mother. ____________________ Hall Residence Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 3:10 PM "I'd strongly suggest you take Julie off the Island," Scully cautioned the Halls. "Agent Mulder and I have reason to believe the kidnapper is here on Little Blue and may try to take Julie again." Katherine Hall hugged her child tighter. "Agent Scully, are you saying you think Justin and Courtney are still on this island?" Rick Hall was incredulous. "Yes, we think that's a possibility." Scully decided to omit Mulder's theory about time travel and portals into the past. "But Warren and I searched this Island up one side and down the other. We didn't find a trace of the kids. The Island's not very big. I can't think of a single place where the children could be hidden where we wouldn't have found 'em." "Mr. Hall, we spotted a young woman, possibly the kidnapper, at the old graveyard on the Island's north end. That's where we found Julie, too. Agent Mulder is searching the area right now and I want to get back to help him. Please, take Mrs. Hall and Julie off the Island where they'll be safe." Scully wished the Halls would go, allowing her to return to the cemetery. She had every intention of joining Mulder, wherever or whenever he had gone. "I think I should stay, Agent Scully. I know this island like the back of my hand. I could help you find the children," Rick entreated. "I'm sorry, Rick, but you can't help with this. We have no idea if the kidnapper is armed. It's too dangerous. You're wife and daughter need you right now." She could see from his glance at Katherine and Julie that she had convinced him to take what was left of his family and leave the Island. She thought briefly of the other year-round residents living on Little Blue, wishing they were safely off the Island too, but she couldn't worry about them right now. She had to get to Mulder. ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 4:50 PM Scully downshifted the old pickup and pulled to a stop near the overgrown foundation. She hastily slid from the seat and hurried the short distance through the woods to the cemetery. "Mulder? Mulder!" her voice echoed through the trees. There was no sign of her partner or the translucent haze through which he'd stepped. "Damn it, Mulder." She paced the graveyard's short length once more. "Mulllderrr!" she yelled again and paused to listen, hoping to hear the familiar sound of his voice responding to her call. Her shout was answered only by the squall of seagulls. It was late afternoon. She didn't have many hours of daylight left before the sun set. "Mulder, where are you?" she muttered, throwing up her hands in exasperation. Desperately she swiveled, her eyes sweeping across the collection of graves around her, searching frantically for any clue to the whereabouts of her partner. An agonizing contraction squeezed achingly in her chest when she spied a previously unnoticed headstone set firmly in the tangled roots of an ancient oak. //Maybe it was there all along,// she tried to convince herself, fearful of the grave's implication. //I just didn't see it before,// she thought as she hesitantly approached the marker, reluctant to read the inscription. Scully's knees buckled and her stomach lurched when she confronted the tombstone and finally deciphered the faint epitaph. //Fox William Mulder// //'He who believes will not be in haste.' -Isaiah 28// She ran her fingers over the shallow letters and tears burned her eyes. "Oh, Mulder." ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 The sun balanced on the horizon and the sea sparkled in the late afternoon light. Mulder left the cemetery and crossed the narrow field to the church. He circled to the front door. Lifting the latch, he freely entered the austere structure. "Hello?" he called. "Hello? Is anyone here?" "Yes. Who is asking?" a placid voice replied from somewhere beyond the pulpit. A gentle-faced man in black stepped forward and met Mulder halfway down the pew-lined aisle. "Fox Mulder with the F...uh...I'm looking for someone. A woman. Sarah Mersereau? Do you know her?" "Yes. She lives a short distance down the road." The minister eyed Mulder curiously. "Forgive me for my discourteous manners, sir. But your attire is quite strange. As is your accent. From where do you come?" "Uh...Massachusetts. Chilmark, Massachusetts," Mulder named his childhood home, hoping the location would be far enough away to be unknown to the pastor but not so distant as to be unbelievable. "Ah hah. Would that be near Boston?" "Yes. I...uh...sailed north last week. I'm looking for Sarah Mersereau." "So you said." The minister smiled. "My name is Daniel Johnson. You may call me Father Daniel." "Father Daniel, would I turn north or south on the road to find Sarah Mersereau?" "Are you a believer, Mr. Mulder?" the clergyman smiled tolerantly. "A believer?" Mulder repeated, momentarily confused by the minister's question. His first thought was of the poster that hung on his office wall depicting an unidentified flying object and declaring 'I want to believe.' "Yes, I guess you could say I'm a 'believer,'" he answered. "'He who believes will not be in haste,'" the minister quoted. "Isaiah 28," Mulder's photographic memory supplied. He was now thankful he had taken that undergrad course in comparative religion. The minister's face brightened. "Yes. I see that you are a believer, indeed. Have you supped?" "Supped?" Mulder was once again confused. "Dined?" "No, actually. I haven't had anything to eat since early this morning." "Then you must join me. Sister Abigail prepares my meals and always supplies more than I can possibly eat. She is an excellent cook. Please, sit down with me." Father Daniel took Mulder's elbow and smoothly guided him to the back of the church. "But...Sarah Mersereau..." Mulder reminded the minister. "Sarah will not be going anywhere, Mr. Mulder. You have plenty of time for a meal. Remember, 'He who believes...'" "'...will not be in haste,'" Mulder completed the phrase. ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 6:20 PM Scully often found her faith in a scientific and orderly universe challenged by the cases she pursued with Mulder. In fact, she was almost becoming accustomed to entertaining her partner's radical perspectives. But the serious import of Mulder's disappearance and the significance of his headstone were possibilities she could not bear to consider. She refused to allow herself the idea that Mulder was dead, gone permanently from her life. She was so familiar with his everyday presence -- the smooth cadence of his voice, the masculine smell of his aftershave, the comforting feel of his hand at the small of her back -- she couldn't imagine life without him. Over the last seven years, their professional relationship had evolved into an indefinable dependence of desperate depth. After all they had been through together, their extreme experiences were so interwoven, they had become two parts of a singular whole. Each was incomplete without the other. For her, a lifetime without him was unthinkable. Scully stared at the inscription carved in the marble marker. //'He who believes...'// She pictured the UFO poster hanging on the wall behind Mulder's desk in Washington and recalled the first time she saw it. The day she met him. She had walked into his cramped office in the basement of FBI Headquarters, no more than a closet really, where he sat with his back to her beneath his poster that proclaimed 'I want to believe.' She thought for sure he must be a nut case. He was so cocky and openly hostile that day, she considered turning on her heel and requesting an immediate transfer back to Quantico. But she was as stubborn as he was unconventional and she stayed on as his partner. She soon came to appreciate his open-minded brilliance as much as he relied on her scientific exactitude. They made a perfect team, complimenting each other in professional manner and personal style. Not that they didn't butt heads. Often. //Why Isaiah 28?// Scully wondered, reading the inscription for the umpteenth time. She tried to remember the rest of the passage but came up blank. Mulder rarely did anything without a purpose and he loved mysteries and hidden meanings. She guessed he must have requested the inscription. He knew she would find the headstone, read the message. What was he trying to tell her? Scully straightened from her crouched position, uncertain what to do next. Her gaze lingered on the headstone. At last she lifted her eyes to the ancient tree above the stone. Etched deeply into the bark decades ago, surrounded by a lop-sided heart, were the initials 'FWM + DKS.' She blinked back the sudden tears that filled her eyes. Several yards away she spotted an identical heart incised into the trunk of another long-standing tree. Astonished, she scanned the graveyard and realized all the trees were engraved with the hackneyed image. Dozens of trees. Hundreds. Stunned, Scully covered her mouth with her hand to keep her cry inside, and although no sound escaped her lips, two enormous tears spilled down her cheeks. ____________________ Sarah Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Mulder knocked on the front door of Sarah Mersereau's home. While waiting for an answer, he peered through the dark at the large barn across the narrow dirt road. He recognized the layout of the farmstead from the old foundation he and Scully had explored earlier. They had collected the empty Mason jar from the sill of that barn's stone underpinning only a few short hours ago. //In another century,// he thought, trying to keep it all straight in his exhausted mind. A light moved steadily through the small house toward the front hall and Mulder heard the snick of the latch as the door swung inward. Standing before him, holding a kerosene lamp, was the young woman he and Scully had pursued through the woods. She recognized him immediately and hurried to shut the door. He stopped her by thrusting out an arm and placing his palm firmly against the wooden panel. "You do not belong here," she told him urgently. "No kidding," he answered flatly. "Invite me in," he insisted. She shook her head but he ignored her protest and pushed past her. "Where are the children?" "I have no idea what you are talking about." She shut the door and nervously followed him inside. "Spare me. I know they're here. I'm taking them back." "No!" Her eyes widened with fear. "The children are mine!" "The children are Rick and Katherine Hall's. You know it. You took them from their home, their parents," he said angrily. He leaned over the spare woman, blatantly intimidating her with his physical size. Her brow creased but she stood her ground. "Why? Why did you kidnap the children?" he demanded. She shrugged. "Does it matter? Is there any reason I can give that would convince you to leave them here with me? Do you care that I lost my own child two years ago? Last Christmas, I watched my little girl die, unable to help her." The memory of Scully's daughter Emily came unbidden and hit Mulder like a blow. His breath rushed audibly from his lungs and he took a step backward. //Mulder, I need you to come to San Diego,// Scully's voice had sounded so far away over the phone. //I...I have a little girl.// Emily, the pretty blonde three-year old, a victim of alien/human hybridization experiments carried out at the request of a secret Syndicate, had died in a California hospital two Christmases ago. He and Scully had buried her there after watching her suffer and die. Two years had passed since her death and they still didn't talk about it. "Justin and Courtney are the only children I will ever have," Sarah continued, angry tears springing to her eyes. "Do you care if I am unable to have children of my own?" He cared more than she realized. Medical experiments, performed against her will, perhaps by the same secret Syndicate, had left Scully sterile. Another subject they didn't discuss. "I do care. Really," his voice softened. "But the children aren't yours to keep. They have a mother and father who love them and desperately want them back." Sarah frowned at the floor, a look of guilt settling over her features. "Let me take them home," Mulder urged. "That is impossible," Sarah murmured. "The way is closed." "What?" "The way is closed," she repeated and locked eyes with him. "I don't understand. What do you mean the way is closed? You were in the woods just this afternoon. I saw you there. I chased after you." "That was the last time I came to your world. For several days, the openings have been growing smaller, closing shut. I do not know where these openings came from or why they are shrinking, but they are. Now the openings are very small, too small for even a child to pass through." She sounded relieved. "You're lying. I came through just a few hours ago." "Yes, from your world to mine, the openings are larger. But you cannot go back the way you came. There are openings for going and openings for coming. The openings for going are smallest, but all are shrinking. Maybe by tomorrow, there will be no openings at all." "Then I'm taking the children right now," he insisted and started toward the back of the house. "Please, no. The children are very sick." He turned to look at her and could tell from her stricken expression she was telling the truth. "Where are they?" he demanded. She led him to a small bedroom in the back of the house. She held the lantern so he could see Justin and Courtney lying feverishly together. The children's damp faces were covered with a fine, red, rough-textured rash. He put the back of his hand to Courtney's forehead and was startled by the heat that burned in the girl's skin. "They have scarlet fever," he said and she nodded. "I know." "Is that why you returned Julie to my world? Because she hadn't become sick yet?" "Yes." "We have to get Justin and Courtney back to my world," he used her expression. "They're going to die if they stay here. I've seen their grave in the cemetery. Your grave," he told her. ____________________ Hall Residence Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 9:34 PM Scully dialed the phone and listened impatiently to AD Kersh's answering service. "This is an emergency," she insisted when the service operator told her the Assistant Director was unavailable. "It's a matter of life or death." She left her number with the service and sat nervously drumming her fingers while waiting for Kersh to return her call. AD Kersh was a by-the-book player with a profound appreciation for Bureau protocol. Scully didn't look forward to the stern rebuke she was sure to get for calling him so late in the day. She decided to pace. She checked her watch every few minutes. Scully's fretful pacing took her through the Hall's livingroom into the kitchen and back again. On a pass through the livingroom, she noticed a copy of the Bible on the bookshelf. Curious, she lifted the book down and thumbed to Isaiah 28. She skimmed to the line she had seen carved into Mulder's tombstone. //'He who believes will not be in haste.'// //And I will make justice the line,// //And righteousness the plummet;// //And hail will sweep away the refuge of lies.// Why had Mulder chosen this extract? What did it mean? Was he referring to their seven-year quest for the truth and their ineffectual battle against the Syndicate? She didn't need any reminders of their fruitless search for proof of a global government scheme, a conspiracy to hide the existence of an insurgence of alien colonists to the planet Earth. She skipped to the passage above the line carved into the grave marker. //Behold, I am laying in Zion for a foundation// //a stone, a tested stone,// //a precious cornerstone, of a sure foundation:// //'He who believes will not be in haste.'// That was it! He wanted her to look in the old foundation, at the cornerstone. She was certain he must have placed something there for her to find. Forgetting AD Kersh, Scully grabbed a flashlight and headed for the pickup truck. ____________________ Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 "If Mohammed can't come to the mountain...I need some paper and ink," Mulder told Sarah, turning from the sick children. "For what?" "A message to my partner. In my world there are medicines that will save Justin's and Courtney's lives, cure the scarlet fever. If the children and I aren't able to return to our own world, I'm hoping Scully can send some antibiotics here before it's too late." "This way." Sarah led Mulder from the children's bedroom, down the hall to a small study. She set the lamp on a desk and pulled a sheet of stationery from a drawer. She uncapped the ink well and slid a quill pen to Mulder. Mulder quickly scrawled a message to Scully. While he waited for the ink to dry, he considered how he would get the message to her. He'd have to hide the note where it would remain unfound for a hundred and seventy-eight years, in a place that would still exist in the year 2000. //The old foundation.// If he sealed the letter in a canning jar like the one they had found earlier, and hid the jar behind the stones in the barn's foundation, it should remain protected until Scully could retrieve it. //But how will she know where to look,// he worried. His mind raced through a dozen possible scenarios, rejecting each as he played it out until it dead-ended. He was running out of time. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the desktop. He had to come up with a workable solution quickly. //'He who believes will not be in haste,'// he remembered Father Daniel quote Isaiah. "That's it!" he muttered. "What?" Sarah asked, confused. "Nothing. I just figured out how to tell Scully where to find my note. Do you have a glass canning jar?" ____________________ North end of Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 10:13 PM Scully left the pickup parked on the dirt road and pointed the beam of her flashlight at the old foundation. She carefully crossed the uneven ground to the stonewall where she and Mulder had found the Mason jar earlier that morning. She methodically cast her light over the crumbling sill, carefully searching the row of stones. She knelt at the corner of the old structure. //'A precious cornerstone, of a sure foundation.'// Setting down her flashlight, she tugged at one of the stones. It was locked tightly in place. She tried another and it easily pulled free. Rolling the rock aside, Scully aimed her flashlight into the dark crevice. Its beam glinted off the smooth surface of a glass jar. She smiled and withdrew the canning jar from its antiquated hiding place. The lid was stuck fast so she threw the jar forcefully against the stonewall, smashing it open. She lifted the note from the shards of glass and gently unfolded it. //Dear Snow White,// //The portals to the future are closed and those to the past are getting smaller. The children are sick with scarlet fever and need medicine. We can't get back. Find an opening near here and send antibiotics.// //Guess you can take my cell phone number off your speed dial.// //--Dopey// Scully stared at Mulder's handwriting, blinking in disbelief. We can't get back. Her cell phone chirped loudly, startling her. Pulling it from her pocket, her first thought was that the incoming call was inexplicably from Mulder. "Scully," she answered in a rush to hear his familiar voice. "Agent Scully, this is AD Kersh returning your call." Scully slumped in disappointment. "Yes, sir. I was calling to request a forensic evidence recovery team." "A recover..." he shuffled some papers. "Have you located the children's bodies?" he asked gruffly. "No. I've located Agent Mulder's body. I'd like it exhumed first thing in the morning." "Agent Mulder?" Kersh sounded confused. "Send his dental records with the team, sir," she added. "Please." "Of course, Agent Scully." Kersh's intimidating tone softened with concern. "I'll send a couple of men out ASAP. Is there anything else you need?" "Penicillin." ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Early Morning Mulder leaned against the trunk of a young oak and watched daylight creep into the fog-shrouded cemetery. He was stiff from spending the night on the ground and weary from lack of sleep. He pulled his jacket tightly across his chest and shivered from the damp chill. He missed Scully. Mulder had spent most of his life alone. After his sister's abduction when he was only twelve and until Scully stepped into his office twenty years later, Mulder had felt profound loneliness. Accustomed to fighting his own battles, he developed a defensive cockiness that kept everyone at arm's length. He purposefully avoided connecting emotionally with others in a not-so-subconscious effort to avoid the pain of eventual loss. Until Scully, that is. Her entrance into his life had struck him like a Peterbilt without breaks heading down Mount Washington. Flattened him completely. For their first two years together, Mulder tried to ignore, avoid and deny his feelings for his partner, with some modicum of success. But when Duane Barry kidnapped Scully from her apartment, Mulder knew he couldn't be without her. He had nearly gone mad. Eventually, she had been returned to him and he exulted in his relief. But it was short-lived. A disease next threatened to take her from him. She fought and won the battle with her cancer, only to be abducted yet again. Fighting a nightmare, he managed to find her and save her one more time. Now, he couldn't bring himself to consider the years that stretched ahead of him without her, the nearly two centuries that lay impossibly between them. //I'll never kiss her again,// he thought with regret. //I should have kissed her more.// He had, in fact, kissed her several times -- on her forehead, on her cheek, on her fingertips when she was sad, or hurt, or dying. And then once on New Year's Eve. But not as her lover. Never as her lover. Gripped with a sudden impulse, Mulder dug in his pocket and removed his penknife. He faced the young oak and tried to determine where Scully's eye level would be in relation to the trunk. His petite partner was a good nine inches or so shorter than he was. He chose a likely spot and began carving the first thing that came to his mind -- their initials within a heart. Cliché, he knew. He wanted to add something with more meaning, something that would demonstrate more accurately the feelings he had for her, but he was at a loss. It was as difficult for him to write a heartfelt sentiment as it always had been to say one. Mulder recalled his final words to Scully with dissatisfaction. //Hi ho, hi ho, Snow White.// A joke, spoken without much thought, as usual. She would understand and forgive him, of course. She had forgiven him far more than a simple, off-the-cuff remark. But his flippancy irked him non-the-less. He stood before his unimaginative declaration and considered cutting both of their initials into every tree on the Island, with the hope that the sheer number of repeated images might convey the depth of feeling he had for her. //I love you, Scully,// he thought and, moving to another tree, began to scribe the bark with his knife. ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 6:50 AM Scully leaned wearily against the old oak as two men worked at its roots to unearth Mulder's remains from his grave. The early morning fog clung thickly to the old headstones around them. She gazed at the carved tree bark while absently fingering the little jar of penicillin pills in her pocket. As soon as she was finished here, she would search for one of the remaining portals between time periods and try to send the medicine back to Mulder. "Agent Scully, we're pretty much done here," one of the young men informed her. She steeled herself to examine what was left of her partner's skeleton. Uneasily she scrutinized the bones, packaged neatly in evidence bags. All meticulously labeled. All photographed in situ before being bagged. Tenderly she lifted the skull and turned it over in her hand to examine the even row of upper teeth. A left molar containing a filling matched exactly the one in the x-ray from Mulder's dentist. She set the bag carefully down among the others and wondered when and how Mulder had died. No dates were carved in his headstone. She frowned at the marker's inscription. "A cryptic message from the grave, Mulder," she muttered, "That is so you." "Agent Scully? Where do you want us to send the body?" one of the men asked. She almost laughed. The notion that anyone could remotely consider the pitiful collection of bones wrapped so precisely in plastic to be a body, struck her as ridiculous. "To his mother. Tena Mulder. Chilmark, Massachusetts." Scully strode away, crossing the short distance to the road. "Agent Scully?" the young man called out to her. She halted, but kept her back to both him and the dismal cemetery. "AD Kersh said you'd be returning with us to DC." "I'll be back in half an hour. We'll go then," she told him irritably. She climbed into the cab of the pickup and slammed the door shut. A cloud of dust billowed out from the truck's rear wheels as she tore down the road to the Island's north end. ____________________ Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Mulder paced around the barn again, more slowly this time. He thoroughly searched the surrounding area for the pills from Scully. He was certain she would figure out the meaning behind his epitaph and be led to the note he'd tucked into the barn's stone foundation. "Come on, Scully. Don't let me down." As he kicked through the grass it occurred to him that any number of things could have gone wrong. The note he'd placed in the jar may have been discovered by someone years before he and Scully ever arrived on the Island. Or maybe Father Daniel would ignore his dying wish to have the line from Isaiah inscribed on his tombstone. Or it was possible that all the portals between the future and the past had already closed and Scully had no way to get the medicine to him. Disheartened, Mulder heaved himself onto the ground and leaned exhausted against the barn's cornerstone. The fog had finally burned off and the sun warmed his face. He ran a hand wearily over the rough stubble of his unshaved chin. //Without the medicine, the Hall children will die,// Mulder thought bleakly. //I'll have come here for nothing.// ____________________ North end of Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 7:39 AM Scully paced around the foundation one more time. Discouraged, she sat down with her back against the sun- warmed cornerstone. She let the stone's heat radiate into her. "What am I looking for, Mulder?" she asked the empty landscape. She worried that she was too late, that the last portal had already closed. Forty-five minutes had passed since she'd left the forensic evidence recovery team at the cemetery. They would be looking for her soon, to take her off the Island and back to DC. The idea made her nervous. She was concerned that her memories of Mulder would evaporate once she left the Island. A sequence of events played out in her mind. If Mulder had died in the 1800s, that would mean she would never have been paired with him at the FBI in 1992. They never would have worked together on the X-Files. But, if they had never worked on the X- Files because Mulder had died in a previous century, then he would not have come to Little Blue Island in the first place. Which would mean he never would have traveled back in time and died in the 1800s. And in that case, he'd still be working at the FBI and she would be his partner in the Bureau's X-Files Division. Scully's head began to ache as her thoughts ran in confused circles. There was no logical way to wrap her mind around the idea of time travel. She propped her chin on her fist and stared out across the bay. The lights on the enormous communication towers in Cutler blinked hypnotically at her from the nearby peninsula. She considered the Cutler Naval Computer and Telecommunications Station, poised there on the eastern edge of the continent, able to pick up and send messages to Naval craft throughout the Atlantic. On a hunch, Scully pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched in Melvin Frohike's number. Frohike, along with John Byers and Ringo Langley, produced a conspiracy- oriented magazine known as The Lone Gunmen, named for the alleged second assassin in the Kennedy assassination. The three strange and decidedly nerdy editors had contacts and knowledge in a diverse variety of fields. Mulder and Scully often called on the three specialists to ferret out technical or sensitive information of a highly illegal nature. Although Langley was the communications expert, Scully knew Frohike had an unquestionable penchant for her and was more likely to respond to her request for information. "Lone Gunmen," Frohike's voice croaked in her ear. "Turn off the tape, Frohike," Scully demanded, fully aware that the paranoid Gunmen recorded all of their phone conversations. "Ahh, the beautiful Agent Scully. To what do I owe this pleasure?" he crooned. "Turn off the tape." She heard the click when he hit the switch. "I need your help." "Oooo. A damsel in distress. What can your Prince Charming do for you today?" "Can it, Frohike. I need some information on the Cutler Naval Computer and Telecommunications Station." "The Station in Maine?" Langley's nasal twang cut in. "Yes. I want to know exactly what they do there. I also want to know if they've performed any out-of-the-ordinary tests or activities during the past two weeks. Can you get me that information?" "It'll mean hacking into the U.S. Navy's databases, but I don't see that as a problem," Langley told her. "You want us to call Mulder when we've got something?" "You'll have to call me. Mulder is..." She was uncertain what to tell them. "He's not available. Thanks, guys." Scully disconnected her cell. A thin blue-gray haze drifted in the air just beyond the foundation. Scully rose from the cornerstone and pulled the container of pills from her pocket. She stared through the veil of fog, but could see nothing unusual beyond it. She was certain this was one of the time portals, although the patch of vapor was considerably smaller than the one Mulder had stepped through the day before. She pitched the canister of pills through the fog and it disappeared in mid-air. "Mulder?" she shouted into the mist, "Mulder, I'm going to get you home! Do you hear me?" ____________________ Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 //"Mulder? Mulder, I'm going to get you home! Do you hear me?"// Mulder's head snapped up at Scully's faint call. "Scully? Sculleee!" He was instantly on his feet. "Scully, are you there?" He paused to listen, but was answered only by the sound of the ocean waves slapping against the shore to the northeast. Spying the container of pills in the long grass, Mulder scooped up the bottle and popped the lid off. He was a little disappointed to find that Scully hadn't included a note in the small canister. He recapped the bottle and crossed the road to the farmhouse. He wanted to get the medicine to the children as soon as possible. ____________________ Island Cemetery Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 8:06 AM "Agent Scully. We were just coming to look for you," the young man from the evidence recovery team said as Scully hopped from the pickup. She brushed past him without an acknowledgment and went directly to the Mersereau tomb, leaving the bewildered young man trailing after her like a lost puppy. She knelt before the stone and exhaled her relief. //SARAH MERSEREAU// //1797-1822// The children hadn't died. Mulder had gotten the penicillin. "Agent Scully? We need to go," the young man urged. "I'll be staying here," she said flatly. "But...uh, ma'am...AD Kersh...?" Scully leveled her eyes sternly on the young man. "I said I'll be staying here," she repeated in a steady, low tone that indicated there would be no argument. The young man nervously scratched his head, reluctant to disobey Kersh's orders and leave her. "Go," she insisted. "I'll speak with Kersh myself." "All right, ma'am." He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he eventually backed away from her angry glare. ____________________ Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 "These will make the children well?" Sarah stared at the pills Mulder held in his palm. "Yes. Help me." Mulder gently tugged Courtney into a seated position on the bed. The semiconscious girl lolled hotly until he settled her in the crook of his arm. Courtney's neck and face were red with a bumpy rash, although an area around her mouth remained clear and unaffected. Her inner elbows were lined with bright red streaks. Mulder had no idea if this was to be expected when someone contracted scarlet fever. He tipped her head back and opened her mouth with his thumb. Pressing down on her strawberry-colored tongue, he nudged a pill to the back of her throat. The girl started to gag. Mulder took a glass of water from Sarah and held it to Courtney's fevered lips. He poured the cool liquid into the girl's mouth and she swallowed thirstily, downing the pill at the same time. Carefully, he laid her back against her pillow and repeated the procedure with her brother. "Now what?" Sarah asked. "We wait." ____________________ Hall Residence Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 10:06 AM Scully hated idly waiting for Frohike's call. Once the Bureau's evidence recovery team had left, she was at her wits end. Twice she started to dial the Gunmen's number to get an update, only to hang up before punching in the last digit, chiding herself for not trusting them to call her as soon as they had something to report. She wasn't sure what she expected they would find. She had no evidence to suggest the Cutler Naval Station was in some way involved in the anomalous events on Little Blue, only a gut feeling. If he had been with her, Mulder would have enjoyed poking fun at Scully's uncharacteristic perceptions. She dropped herself heavily onto the Hall's sofa and sighed loudly. She crossed her arms. She uncrossed her arms and sighed again. She picked up her cell phone from the coffee table and stared at it. "Ring, God damn it!" The phone chirped loudly in her hand and she almost dropped it. She fumbled to press the receive button. "Scully," she finally managed to answer. "I gotta hand it to you, Agent Scully, you really know how to pick 'em," Frohike spoke with admiration in his voice. "How'd you know?" "Know what? I don't know anything. What did you find out?" "Are you on a secure line?" he asked in a hushed tone. "Hardly. This is my cell." "You gave us your cell number?" Frohike asked incredulously. "And you're practically sitting on the U.S. Navy's premier telecommunication systems station?" He was all but calling her nuts. Now she knew how Mulder felt when she used the same tone with him. "I don't have a lot of options, Frohike. Can you tell me anything or not?" She could hear him confer with Langley and Byers in the background. "Yeah. I guess it'll be okay. After what we uncovered, we figure the Navy is much too busy to be monitoring our little phone call." "So..." she prompted. "So, the Navy has been conducting some very unusual tracking tests," Langley cut in. "What was so unusual about the tests?" "Well, once I hacked into their database...which was a piece of cake, by the way; they've got the poorest excuse for firewalls I've ever seen...we could see that they're scrambling to make sense of their own results." "Back up, Langley. What have they been doing?" "Oh. Using Doppler shift they were expanding low frequency sound waves to fill more time. And I don't mean filling time like wasting time, I mean filling time like in the physical sense...not that you usually think of time in a physical sense..." "Why would they do that?" Scully interrupted. She had very little patience for Langley's annoying habit of meandering off the subject onto meaningless tangents. "Why do they do anything? Who knows? What we do know is the sound originated on a sub moving away from the Cutler tower array. A series of short, high-intensity bursts, magnified by what I can't imagine...water's a great conductor for sound, much better than air, but that alone isn't enough to explain what happened..." "Langley, what //did// happen?" "I'm getting to that. They echoed the sound back to the underwater array. They have miles of antenna cable laid out on the ocean floor from the Station. Some are more than three miles long..." "Langley! The point, please!" "Oh yeah. Somehow...and they're still trying to figure this out...they managed to expand the sound so much it actually stretched time and tore it." "Tore it?" "Yeah. You know. Ripped. Shredded. Punched holes in it. Whatever." "Do they plan to try this again? Conduct some more tests?" "Are you kidding? They don't know what to make of the data they have right now. I think the results have scared them." "Damn it. Is there any way we can recreate the Navy's test?" "Now you are kidding, right? Hell, they don't even know what they did." "Oh." "Why? What's happened? Where is Mulder by the way?" Langley asked, suspicious. "Langley, look up Little Blue Island, Maine in your online atlas." She waited while he rapidly tapped his keyboard. "Oh." "Yeah. Well. I appreciate the information, guys..." Scully paused, at a loss for words. "We weren't really much help, were we?" Byers' voice came on the line for the first time. Scully could picture his gentle, sympathetic face. "I guess not." "What's happened to Mulder?" he asked softly. "I like to think of him alive and well in the year 1822. But I just sent his bones to Massachusetts. I'm sorry, guys." They were quiet on the other end for a moment. "Agent Scully?" Frohike asked at length. "Is there anything we can do? For you I mean." Scully was touched. She realized they'd all suffered a loss. "No. Thanks. I'll see you when I return to Washington." She disconnected the call. ____________________ Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Mulder hated idly waiting. He knew it was too early to expect a change in the children's condition. It would probably be days before they recovered, but he was anxious to see some results. "Mr. Mulder, nice to see you again." Father Daniel strolled down the road and joined Mulder sitting on Sarah Mersereau's front step. "She would not let you in?" the minister tilted his head at Sarah's front door and winked. "Yeah. She let me in," Mulder nodded. "Who is DKS?" the minister asked, startling Mulder. "I saw your handiwork at the cemetery," Father Daniel explained. "Do you plan to carve every tree on the Island?" "I guess that depends on how long I live." "DKS must be quite remarkable." "She is that." "Why are you not with her?" "Because I'm one sorry son of a bitch." ____________________ Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 11:46 AM Scully set her duffle next to Mulder's on the dock. She had phoned Warren Bailey, the Hall's nearest neighbor, and asked him to ferry her back to the mainland. "Sorry about your partner," Bailey told her as he lifted the two bags over the side rail. She wondered how many times she would hear those words over the next few weeks and how she would possibly endure it. She thought about taking some time off from work, maybe staying with her mother, but rejected the idea when she realized it would fall on her to clean out Mulder's office. Probably his apartment, too. She doubted Tena Mulder was well enough after her stroke to handle the job. And it would be a big job; Mulder had always been such a pack rat. Scully also doubted Mulder would want his mother to see some of the junk he stored in his apartment. His back issues of Celebrity Skin would be enough to give his mother another stroke, not to mention his dubious triple-X video library. Scully considered having Mulder's entire pornography collection cremated with him, but figured he probably willed it to Langley and Frohike. //His will,// she thought with dread. That was another item she'd have to face. Mulder had made her executor to his 'estate' after his mother's stroke. Bailey was holding out a hand to help Scully board the boat when her cell phone rang. "Sorry," she apologized before putting the phone to her ear. "Scully." "You still on Little Blue Island?" Frohike asked in a rush. "Yeah. I was just getting on the boat to leave. Why?" "Well, don't go yet. It appears the Navy has plans to recreate its earlier tests." "When?" "Oh-two-hundred. Need any help?" "No, thanks. I got it. And Frohike?" she smiled. "Yeah?" "I owe you a big kiss." "Aaawesome!" he breathed. "Oh, Agent Scully?" "What is it, Frohike?" "The Navy's only going to send out one low-frequency burst. You may not have a lot of time." ____________________ North end of Little Blue Island, Maine The Present 1:51 PM Scully checked her watch and paced the road beside the crumbling foundation that had once supported the Mersereau's barn. She was worried. She couldn't be certain if the Cutler Naval Station's mysterious test would recreate the anomalous condition on Little Blue exactly as it had happened earlier, allowing her to step back into 1822 and return Mulder and the Hall children to their own time. She had no idea where the time portals would open, or if they would open at all. And she didn't know how much time she'd have to get everyone back. She checked her watch again. Three minutes to go. She stared across the bay at the Cutler Station on the nearby peninsula. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. The towers' tiny lights winked predictably on and off. She could detect no signs that the station was gearing up for a top secret, experimental operation. Two minutes more. She scanned the area around her, familiarizing herself with the layout. The shallow pit that was once the farmhouse would look much different in the year 1822 and she didn't want to become disoriented, wasting valuable time. She tried to picture the farmhouse facing the large barn across the road. One minute. Scully nervously shifted from one foot to the other. Needlessly smoothing her coat, she double-checked the location of her weapon at the small of her back. She laced her fingers together and loudly cracked her knuckles before shaking the kinks from her hands. She held her breath. Two o'clock on the dot. Nothing happened. Scully released the air from her lungs and grunted in frustration. She swiveled, searching in all directions for the telltale veil of fog that would indicate an opening to the past. There was nothing. "Damn it," she swore, frowning in disappointment. Frohike's information must have been incorrect. She yanked her cell phone roughly from her jacket pocket only to slide it slowly back in place when she saw the blue-gray drape of mist drifting between her and the old foundation. She grinned and strode through portal, vanishing from the year 2000. ____________________ Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Scully emerged on the other side of the foggy portal and inhaled the familiar scent of pine and sea. Although she could still hear the ocean waves lapping rhythmically at the nearby shore and the gulls squalling overhead, her surroundings appeared completely changed. The large barn was practically new, as was the farmhouse behind her. Sheep grazed contentedly on new spring grass to the east and neat rows of apple trees bloomed on the gentle slope behind the house to the west. Ignoring it all, Scully mounted the front steps of the farmhouse and knocked loudly on the door. Impatient, she was about to rap again when the door swung inward and Sarah Mersereau peered out. Recognizing Scully, the young woman froze. A look of fear settled across her features. Scully recognized her, too, remembering her from their brief encounter in the woods. "Sarah Mersereau?" Scully took a guess. The woman nodded once. "Where are the children?" Scully asked. Sarah decided it would be useless to lie to the determined red-haired woman and stepped aside so Scully could enter the house. "This way," she said, reluctantly leading Scully to the back bedroom. Courtney and Justin Hall lay awake but exhausted in the small bed. Scully crossed the room and placed a hand on Courtney's forehead, checking her temperature. The girl felt warm but not feverish. "Have you been giving them the pills?" Scully turned to Sarah. "Yes." "Who are you?" Courtney weakly asked Scully. "Dana Scully. I'm a doctor. I've come to make sure you and your brother are getting well." Scully smiled and decided not to tell the children they might be returning to their own time, at least not until she was certain she could make it happen. "How do you feel, sweetheart?" "Better. See my new doll?" Courtney held up a pretty rag doll for Scully to view. "She's very pretty," Scully said. "Does she have a name?" "Not yet. I just call her Baby." Scully turned her attention to Justin. The rash of scarlet fever was fading from his cheeks. "How about you? Are you feeling better?" she asked him. "I want to go home," he replied glumly, glaring angrily at Sarah. Scully tilted her head toward the door and told Sarah, "Let's talk." Sarah paled. She didn't want to lose the children, especially now that they were getting well. But she moved to the hall and Scully followed. "I'm taking them back with me," Scully told Sarah in a low voice. "No. Please," Sarah begged. "They don't belong here. As soon as I find Mulder, the four of us are going back to our own time. Now, tell me where I can find him." "I do not know where he is," Sarah thrust out her chin defiantly. "You're lying." "No. I am not lying. He left here this morning with Father Daniel." "Where did they go?" "They did not say." Scully was getting angry. "Where //might// they go?" she asked insistently. Sarah shrugged. Scully wanted to shake the unhelpful woman. "I'll find him and when I do, we'll be back for the children," Scully warned the woman. ____________________ Island Road Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Scully stalked angrily down the narrow road, heading away from Sarah Mersereau's farm. Since this was the single road on the Island, Scully felt confident she'd find her partner if she just kept walking. The dirt lane looked much as it did when Scully and Mulder walked along it the day before. The landscape was more open; far fewer trees, especially evergreens, crowded the center of the Island. Sheep were everywhere, grazing freely in open fields or under the oaks. Up ahead, Scully could see a small church, plain in design and capped with a modest steeple. Judging from the distance she had come, she decided this must be the building that had once stood on the rock-lined pit she and Mulder had searched near the overgrown cemetery, the pit in which he had found nothing more than a Bud Light beer can. Looking past the austere church, she glimpsed a neat tree-lined graveyard, its little fence freshly painted and standing straight. Sarah had mentioned that Mulder left with someone named Father Daniel. Scully figured the church was a logical place to look for a clergyman, so she went to the church and climbed the short set of stairs. She opened the door and let herself in. "Hello?" she called down the shadowed aisle toward the pulpit. "Is anyone here?" "Yes. Hello," a man's voice answered behind her, startling her. He closed the door behind him and joined Scully halfway down the aisle. "I apologize. I did not mean to frighten you," he smiled warmly. "My name is Father Daniel. Is there something I can do for you?" "I'm Dana Scully. I'm looking for Fox Mulder. I was told he was with you earlier today." "Ahh! So you are the enigmatic DKS," he laughed. "Excuse me?" she was confused. "Mr. Mulder has immortalized you on many of the local oaks," he smiled widely and she blushed at the memory of her initials joined with Mulder's on so many trees. "Where is he?" she asked breathlessly. "Probably slicing into another tree," the minister's tone was tolerant. "Your Mr. Mulder is certainly single-minded. You might try looking out back." Scully hurried down the aisle and out of the church. Jogging around the building, she crossed the short distance to the graveyard and slowed when she spotted Mulder lying on his back beneath the tree that would one day shade his tomb. He was asleep, an arm thrown carelessly over his brow to block out the bright afternoon sun. Scully approached, trying to calm her ragged breathing as she deliberately closed the distance that separated them. Her pulse thundered in her ears, she was so glad to see him. Although they had walked side-by-side only yesterday, it felt like years had passed since she watched him step through the time portal and vanish from her life. It seemed impossible that one split second could thrust a hundred and seventy- eight years between them, threatening to separate them permanently and completely. Carefully kneeling at his side, Scully traced her finger lightly along the stubble of his jaw. He stirred and when his lashes lifted, she smiled into his sleepy green eyes. "Snow White?" he murmured. She reached for him, sliding her hands over his rib cage and around his back. She hugged him hard. In response, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and buried his face in her bright hair. "I didn't think I'd see you again," she said and he felt her breath hitch against his chest. "Shhhh," he breathed into her ear. "That's the trouble with you, Scully. You don't believe in extreme possibilities. Now me, I've been sitting right here waiting for you to come save me." "You don't understand," her voice was muffled against the rough skin of his cheek. "I saw your body. I...oh, God, Mulder. I sent your bones to your mother." "You didn't give Frohike my video collection yet, did you?" he pushed her back just far enough to look at her face. "You really are 'the fairest of them all,' you know," he said with a lop-sided grin. He decided he was going to kiss her. As a lover. Right now. On the lips. //Now,// he told himself. //Now would be the time.// A look of alarm settled over Scully's face and she abruptly stood up. He glanced down at his empty arms and wondered if she had somehow read his mind. "Mulder, we have to hurry. We don't have much time to get the children and return to our own century." Mulder scrambled to his feet. "I thought all the portals were closed. Not that I'm complaining, but Scully, how did you get here?" "I'll explain later. Right now, we've got to get the children." ____________________ Mersereau Farmstead Little Blue Island, Maine 1822 Mulder pounded on Sarah Mersereau's front door with the heel of his hand. "Sarah!" he yelled. He tried the latch and found the door locked. "Sarah!" It was Scully who yelled this time. "Try telling her you're from the FBI," Mulder suggested. "Very funny. Got any other bright ideas?" "Yep. Stand back," he warned and heaved his shoulder into the door. The latch splintered and the door burst inward. Mulder and Scully hurried to the children's bedroom, only to find it empty. "She can't have gone far. This is an island, after all," Scully stated the obvious. "She may try to leave by boat. Let's check the shore," Mulder recommended and moved down the hall to the front entrance. With Mulder taking the lead, the two agents jogged along the gentle slope of field to the shore below where a crescent of pebbly beach stretched before them. At the far end they spotted Sarah tugging hard on Justin's arm, trying to get the boy into a long wooden dory at the water's edge. The sick boy was protesting loudly. Courtney already sat perched in the boat's pointed prow, her face flushed and frightened and her rag doll clutched tightly against her chest. The agents never slowed, running full tilt down the beach toward the children and their kidnapper. Halfway there, Scully drew her weapon and aimed it at Sarah. "Let him go!" Scully shouted across the distance. "No!" Sarah screeched back. The boy, weakened from his illness, struggled unsuccessfully to free himself from Sarah's grasp. "You will not take them!" Sarah screamed. When Mulder reached the woman and boy, he hooked an arm around Justin's waist and easily yanked the boy loose. He carried Justin up the slanted beach and deposited him safely in the field grass above the shore. Seeing that she had lost the boy, Sarah turned to the dory carrying little Courtney and shoved it into the outgoing tide. "Stop!" Scully demanded. Sarah ignored the agent's command and continued to push the boat further out to sea. Knee- deep in icy water, the waves swirling her long skirt around her legs, Sarah clutched at the dory's gunwale and hauled herself up and over the side. Mulder splashed into the water after the boat, but Sarah was already seated, an oar in each hand. She leaned back, using her weight to draw the long oars firmly through the water, increasing the distance between her and her pursuer. Mulder waded up to his waist, then lunged for the starboard oar, plunging himself neck- deep in the frigid seawater. A jolt of cold slammed painfully through his clothes, across his skin and into his cramping muscles. He stretched a hand toward the oar. "No!" Sarah stood upright in the flat-bottomed dory, slid the oar from its lock and lifted it high. She aimed a swing at Mulder's head, catching him painfully across his chin. Blood gushed from the wound. Sarah raised the oar a second time and Mulder brought up an arm to protect his head. Mulder heard a blast. Scully's gun. He saw Sarah crumple and drop into the boat. Mulder dove forward, ignoring the blood spurting from his chin, and latched onto the dory's starboard gunwale. With effort, his fingers numb from the chilly water, he hauled himself aboard and set the oar back in its lock. He rowed the dory back to shore, beaching the boat above the waterline. Scully lifted Courtney from the prow. "Hurry, Mulder. I don't know how much time we have," she urged. Mulder knelt in the boat to feel for Sarah Mersereau's pulse. The woman was dead. Mulder's expression told Scully all she needed to know. "Leave her," she said. "There's no time." Mulder nodded and jumped from the dory, joining Scully and the children on the beach. Still in Scully's arms, Courtney was now crying. Scully passed the frightened girl to Mulder and reached for Justin's hand. "Let's go," she said and they hurried up the beach to the farmstead beyond. When they reached the buildings, Scully and Mulder began frantically looking for a passage back to their own time. They rounded the barn's cornerstone, the children in tow. There behind the barn hung a diaphanous drape of mist, a portal home. "Women and children first," Mulder smiled and he set Courtney on her feet. Scully took the children's hands and led them through the blue-gray haze. Mulder followed closely behind, his hand pressed lightly to the small of Scully's back. ____________________ FBI Headquarters Washington, DC The Present 3:30 PM "There's no place like home, Scully," Mulder leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. She smiled at the sight of him, comfortably sitting in front of his 'I want to believe' poster, three black stitches lining his chin. She leaned a hip against his desk and watched him aimlessly twist a pencil in his fingers. "You know, Scully, I have a question that's been bugging me." "What's that?" "Why..." he paused and took his feet off the desk. He leaned toward her. "Why didn't you include a note in the penicillin bottle?" "A note? Saying what?" "Oh, I don't know. Something like 'I miss you, Mulder.'" "Mulder, you were the one who wrote to me saying I should take your number off my speed dial. If you wanted to be pen-pals, you should have said so in your own note." "If I had to ask you to write to me, it wouldn't be the same as if you'd thought to do it yourself." "What? Why not?" "Because, Scully. Let's say you asked me to...to bring you flowers and you asked it every day for a week. Then on Friday, I presented you with a bouquet for your desk. Would the flowers have any meaning?" "My desk would look nice with flowers on it." "That's not the point." "What is the point?" "The point is," he rose from his chair to stand beside her. He touched the point of his pencil to her small nose. "The point is, if you have to be asked, the gesture isn't genuine." "Genuine what?" She grabbed the pencil from him and set it on the desk. "A genuine representation of a real feeling." "What feelings are we talking about here?" He cocked his head and locked eyes with her. "Your feelings." "My feelings? My feelings about what?" "You realize, don't you, Scully, you're making my point right now by asking me to give you the answer to that question." "What? I don't get it." "Point and match. Fox Mulder wins the round, but loses the game." He moved away and heaved himself into his chair with a dissatisfied sigh. "I have no clue what you're talking about, Mulder." "Obviously." She waited for him to expound, but when he said nothing more, she prompted, "So are you going to tell me?" "No." "No?" "No. Scully, if I ask you to feel certain feelings, it doesn't have any meaning when you feel them." "Huh?" "Nothing, Scully." "Mulder, are you saying you want to bring me flowers?" "No." "You want me to bring you flowers?" "No, this has nothing to do with flowers. It has to do with the note. Or lack there of." "You want me to write you a note? I can write you a note if you want one. Do you want a note?" "Not...if...I...have...to...ask...for...it!" "What difference does that make, Mulder?" "Scully...Scully," Mulder rose from his chair again. He tugged her upright from the desk. "Scully, how do you feel about me?" "I feel like you're driving me nuts." "No, what I mean is...and it really burns my ass to have to ask...what are your feelings toward me?" "Feelings?" "Yeah, you know, like love...or hate...or love?" He twirled a lock of her hair around his index finger. She swallowed. "I guess I'd have to say I care a lot about you." "You care a 'lot' about me. What exactly does that mean? Does that mean maybe...you might...maybe...sorta love me?" He was nervous. That made her nervous. She hesitated. This was going a little further than she felt comfortable. "I...guess you could say I love you." "I don't wanna know what I could say. I wanna know what you say." He stood so close, she could feel the heat radiating off his chest. "Are you asking me to tell you I love you?" She was flustered. "No, I don't wanna ask, 'cause then your answer won't be genuine. It won't represent your true feelings; it will only be a weak reflection of my request. Get it now?" "Yeah, I get it." She peered up at him. "So, Mulder, are you asking me to tell you I love you?" "Oh, Christ." Mulder decided he didn't need to know. He placed his mouth over her lips and kissed her. Like a lover. THE END "Mmmm...ah...Mul...mmm...Mulder." "Shut up, Scully, I'm trying to kiss you." "Mm...yeah...I...mmm...know, but..." "But what?" "Mmmmmm...did you...mm...ah...remember to call your...mmmm...ahh...mother?" "Oh, shhhhit."