TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (1 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

RATING: PG-13

CLASSIFICATION: S, Crossover with "The Sandman"

ARCHIVING: All yours, if you want it.

SPOILERS: PAPER HEARTS

DISCLAIMERS: "The X-Files" is the product of Chris Carter. "The Sandman" is
the product of Neil Gaiman. Both have ruined me in ways they can't imagine.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Coals to Newcastle, coals to Newcastle...

It is perhaps gratuitmous to add to the heap of kudos piled up for "The
Sandman" comic book series but I will throw in this -- "The Sandman" comic
book series ranks as one of popular culture's best, most fascinating, most
fully realized works.

For those of you unfamiliar with the series, you don't need to know much
about it in order to understand this story. I believe that I answer most
questions you might and those I haven't...well, you probably can come up
with the answers by yourselves.

Once again, I'm indebted to Abigail for her swift and helpful editing job.
Thanks, m'lady.

Now, close your eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first girl to be taken was named Alice -- Alice Thorne. Before she was
taken, the biggest problem on her mind was feeling bored.

Her parents were chattering away in the front seat of their car. Or, to be
more precise, Alice's mother was talking with Mr. Thorne interjecting a "hm"
in the right places. He seemed to be more interested in the road that was
taking them from London to Bridport.

"It would be so wonderful to see Katherine again," she chirped. "We always
have such a marvelous time with her, don't we?"

"Hm," Mr. Thorne commented.

"And you enjoy playing with little Maggie, don't you, Alice?"

"Yeah, sure, mom," Alice answered without looking up from her magazine.
Maggie was the three year-old daughter of Mrs. Thorne's  sister. Whenever
Alice's parents visited Aunt Katherine, Alice was put in charge of the
little girl while the adults had their "grown-up" conversations in the
kitchen. (To be precise again, the only voices heard to speak were Mrs.
Thorne and her sister sounding like a garbled operatic duet.) Taking care of
Maggie wasn't that much trouble. Just pop in a videotape of "Teletubbies"
into the VCR and the brat would sit still on the rug, mesmerized by the
bouncing, giggling creatures. Of course, Alice had to put up with the sounds
of "Eh-oh!" and "Big hug!" as well, but it was a superior experience to
being trapped in a room with her mother and Aunt Katherine. The latter woman
just couldn't keep her hands from squeezing Alice's cheeks. ("Oh, you are
getting so big! And only nine years old!")

"Oh, by the by..." Mrs. Thorne said. Alice looked up, a sharp expression in
her eyes. Whenever her mother started a sentence with "Oh, by the by...", it
meant trouble.

"We're all going to the Halton Belvedere with Katherine tomorrow. I've
always wanted to see that place. I've heard it's the most interesting piece
of architecture..."

Alice closed her eyes and held back a groan. What actually compelled her
mother and her aunt to visit every ancient building, tower and monument on
the island of Britain? Alice's personal conception of Hell was to be on an
eternal guided tour through some dark, ugly ruin as her mother and Aunt
Kathy continually delayed the whole group with their questions to the
exasperated guide. ("I was just noticing that most interesting insignia.
What does it mean?" "And how many servants did the family have?" "Is it true
that Queen Elizabeth often visited here?")

Alice didn't want to think about it. She shoved the headphones of a yellow
Walkman into her ears. The tweeting and yipping of Mrs. Thorne was replaced
by the comforting melodies of The Young Lovers, her favorite group. They
were also the biggest band among girls of her age now. (A month ago, Fun
Boys had the most feverish devotion in her school, but that was...well, that
was a month ago.)

"Let Me Please You" was the song running now through her ears. This was her
favorite because Kyle took the lead vocals. Of the five young men who made
up The Young Lovers -- Johnny, Dan, Kyle, Max and Frederick -- Kyle was her
preference. Most of the other girls preferred Johnny, the one with the pink
cheeks and sensitive blue eyes. Kyle, on the other hand, had a little bit of
mystery about him. His brown eyes were moodier and his tiny goatee made him
look more grown-up...intense...knowledgeable.

Behind her closed eyes, Alice was seeing Kyle and he was looking back at
her. Those brown eyes had expectation in them but also caution. His heart
was still feeling the sting of some lost romance. He wanted Alice to love
him, but would she hurt him, too?

"Would you, Alice?" he asked.

Alice didn't answer. She was a little surprised to hear Kyle just come out
and ask her. He wasn't the type to directly express what he felt. Yet here
he was, opening himself up as his fellow Young Lovers sang the chorus. ("Let
me please you...I won't tease you...")

"Would you hurt me?"

"No, Kyle."

Kyle sighed and looked away. "It's so hard for me to trust anybody..."

"I won't hurt you. I promise." Her voice was almost tearful. She wanted him
to believe her so badly.

He turned back to her. As he looked back at her honest face, a smile shined
on his somber face. "I believe you, Alice. You know why?"

She shook her head.

"If you weren't telling the truth...you wouldn't be here."

He held out a hand. Her heart thudded in her chest as she touched that hand.

"Come," he said. "I have a wonderful place to show you."

("Alice, here we are! Wake up!")

"Where is it?" she asked.

("Alice, wake up now...")

"Oh, somewhere very far and very close."

"What do you mean?"

("My goodness, she's sound asleep. Alice!")

Kyle smiled and said, "Oh, you'll understand." For just a moment, there's a
brief spark of light in his eyes...

(Mr. Thorne reached back and shook Alice on the arm. "Alice, wake up this
instant!")

...like a shooting star at night. Then he takes her away.

("Alice?")

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At the same time Alice T. was dreaming of Kyle, Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI
was dreaming, too. He was dreaming with his eyes open and his hand using a
pen to scribble on a napkin.

"Mulder?"

He didn't look up or speak.

"Mulder, is this where I have to stamp my foot and throw a tantrum?"

Still, he didn't look up, but he did say, "Only if you want to."

"How about if I stab you in the nose with my salad fork?"

Finally, Mulder looked up. He had a smile on his face. His partner, Agent
Dana Scully, wasn't smiling, She wasn't quite angry yet, though. She had
weathered too many of Mulder's erratic mood shifts to get mad at him when he
wasn't paying attention to her.

Which he hadn't been.

"Okay, Scully," he sighed. "give me the lecture."

"I'm not going to lecture you, Mulder. I don't have to tell you that I've
been talking for the past five minutes while you've been doodling on your
napkin. Or that I've been attempting to get you interested in this case
assigned to us. Or that we've been requested by a United States Senator to
investigate paranormal phenomena in his own house. Or that this presents an
opportunity to ingratiate yourself with a potentially useful ally which
would be preferable to your usual procedure of flipping-the-bird to every
governmental representative in sight. So I will spare you a lecture."

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"By the by, for the record, I've only flipped the bird once to a
governmental
representative."

"I was speaking in broader, metaphorical terms."

"Ah."

Mulder looked back down at the table.

Now, Scully was getting close to angry. Throwing a scene here in the
cafeteria of the FBI headquarters wouldn't be the best idea, but Mulder was
currently driving his car over thin ice with a piano strapped to the hood.

She stabbed a cabbage leaf out of her salad, lifted it to her mouth, then
dropped it uneaten and said, "Just what is it, Mulder?"

Mulder added one more line to his drawing, then let the pen slip from his
hand to the table. He raised his face back up. This time, he wasn't smiling.

"I've been thinking about Roche."

The anger receded from Scully. Concern and a little fear caught up with her.
She hesitated briefly before she asked, "In what way?"

"I've just been...thinking."

Roche...

John Lee Roche...

The maker of little hearts...

The man who played a head game with Mulder like no one else...

"Have you discovered anything new about the case?" Scully asked.

"No. There have been no new revelations. There's nothing special about the
day that relates to his murders. I haven't even heard his name mentioned.
But I've been thinking about him. Of course, when do I ever stop thinking
about him? After all, he was the one who got inside..." Mulder tapped his
brow. "...here."

What could she say to that? Mulder, I don't believe that. I don't believe
that your profiling skills enabled a serial killer to sneak inside your own
unconsciousness. "Get inside your head" is just a metaphorical term. There
was no psychic link between you and Roche that allowed him knowledge of your
sister's abduction.

She didn't say those things. Because saying them would beg the question
"What then?" What other alternatives could be considered?

What other ideas could she dare face?

Instead, she said, "Are you worried?"

Mulder lifted an eyebrow. "About what? That he might be still in there?"

"Roche is dead," Scully said in a firm voice. "He's gone to a hell where he
can hurt no one else, much less you."

But hell can be found in a dream, Mulder wanted to say, but, instead --

"Yeah. I know." He stuffed his pen back into his pocket. "I guess there's
nothing to it. I was just...you know..."

"Thinking."

"Right." Mulder got to his feet, picking up his tray. "Tell you what...I'll
head on back to the office and look over the Senator's files. If there's
anything to this...well..." He shrugged.

"Your enthusiasm is heart-warming, Mulder."

Mulder gave her a small, polite smile. Then he left with his tray. Scully
watched him push it into the slot for the dishwashers and then exit the
cafeteria.

She pulled the napkin over to her. She had never known Mulder to be a
particularly good draftsman, but the drawing on the napkin was actually
quite distinct and well-defined. It was of a scarecrow with a carved pumpkin
head. The scarecrow was leaning on a hoe with a nonchalant air as he puffed
on a cigar.

Cute, Scully thought. How did Mulder think that one up?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The second Alice was taken during the night. Her full name was Alice Faludi
and she hated "Les Miserables."

Alice F. was the member of a touring company whose current location was in
Syracuse, New York. As she had in Boston, Westport and Providence, she was
kneeling on the stage, "projecting" the kind of meek, pitiful looks she had
been trained to convey and chirping the world's worst song.

Yeah, well, maybe there are worse songs than "Castle on a Cloud," but you
couldn't tell that to her. It had made her sick from the moment she heard
its tinkling keyboard introduction. Depicting the pathos of a little girl
forced into servitude for a mean couple was not a problem. Neither was
hitting the notes. What was difficult was resisting the urge to vomit.

That was an image for you -- little Cosette suddenly spewing a long, green
mess onto the revolving stage. Alice F. rather liked the image. In fact, she
wished that she could cough up a whole swimming pool of puke. She wanted a
great wave of digested food to wash over the whole theater, drowning
everyone -- the bored pit band, the little old ladies and their homosexual
sons, the middle-class families out for some culture and...if possible...her
parents, even though they were back home in Connecticut.

"You have such a gift, Alice. You should share it with the world!" That was
the conclusion of Mr. and Mrs. Faludi after Alice had wowed a grade school
auditorium with her strong, clear solo rendition of "Send in the Clowns." It
was true that she did like singing and she did like being on stage. Back
then, at least. Unfortunately, several voice lessons, acting coaches,
auditions, miles on the road and renditions of "Castle on the Cloud" later,
that initial pleasure was like a faintly-remembered dream.

"You should feel lucky," her parents told her. "You have advantages that
other children don't have." Maybe so, but one of those advantages wasn't
being in contact with other kids. The only other child she knew was Matt
Billingsworth, the boy who played Gavroche. Unfortunately, he was a mean
little snotburger. Not to mention, a preening sawed-off diva. He milked his
death scene like it was a cow with sore udders.

Add Matt, "Castle on the Cloud" and the standard tedium of a touring
company; it comes out to a nine-year-old girl who wanted to scream her head
off. The only thing keeping her spirits up was Keith Gibson. Keith played M.
Thenandier, the greedy man who abuses Cosette. However, in one of those
ironies which flourish in the theatrical world like roses in a greenhouse,
Keith was a kind, generous and funny guy while the man playing saintly Jean
Valjean was a grown-up version of Matt Billingsworth.

Besides being a source of comfort and humor, it was Keith who introduced
Alice F. to the great jazz singers. Backstage, Alice F. would put on her
Walkman and listened to Sarah Vaughn, Billie Holiday, Dinah Washington, Ella
Fitzgerald, Carmen McRae, Cassandra Wilson. She loved all those great
ladies, but it was a man whom she loved most of all.

Louis Armstrong...oh, that warm, expressive voice...sounding so joyous one
minute and then so melancholy the next...and the scatting..."Bo-bo-waaa..."

Sometimes, she fantasized about singing "Castle on a Cloud" like Louis
Armstrong. In her dream, she would tell the audience "I done forgot the
words..." and start building her own melodies over this grating
faux-lullaby.

"Well, why don't you do that, little lady?"

Before an audience of two hundred, Alice F. stopped singing. The conductor
of the pit band groaned. Just what he needed, another kid who has forgotten
the lyrics right in the middle of the performance...

Alice F. hadn't forgotten the lyrics. Instead, she was being distracted by
the grinning black man who stood before her. He carried a trumpet with a
handkerchief draped over the keys.

"Go ahead and let loose," he said. "You don't owe nothin' to anybody here,
much less your momma and your daddy. Sing, girl, sing!"

The pit band continued on with the tinkling music, expecting Alice F. to
jump back in. She did, but not quite in the way they expected.

Alice F. jumped to her feet and flung off the grey cap on her head. Her
soot-covered face grinned at the audience. Everyone in the theater stared
back in astonishment. The crew and cast jerked in surprise. The pit band
fell into silence as she sang --

"Oh, yeah, there's a castle on a cloud, oh, yeah, a castle on the cloud,
da-ba-do-be-wa-wa..."

She went on like this for about a minute. No one backstage or in the pit
thought to stop her. The audience sat and listened with bewilderment except
for one ten-year-old boy who was dancing in the aisles.

Alice F. concluded her scatting with an "oh, yeaahhhhh!" Then she gave the
audience one last grin before she collapsed under the hot lights.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Over Alexandria, Virginia, a raven flew.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 19:32:30 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (2 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (2 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fox Mulder played nice with the Senator. He gave his own conjectures for the
strange noises in the Senator's house and Scully gave hers. Mulder also
said, "If your house is experiencing spectral phenomena, then you probably
should call in an exorcist or some kind of specialist." He gave the Senator
the names of a few trusted "specialists," promised  he would stay mum about
the Senator's worries and that was that.

He could now go back to his dreams of John Lee Roche.

A parade of psychotics, monsters and criminals had marched through Mulder's
life. However, none of them -- not even a certain nicotine-addicted
fellow -- had struck so close to his own heart like Roche. Nobody had
exploited his weaknesses so thoroughly. Even after Mulder had put a bullet
in Roche's brain, the smug little smile of that ex-salesman still lingered
over Mulder like a grey sky.

Yes, Roche was dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead like Jacob Marley. If those
plain features never appeared on door knockers, then they were certainly
imprinted on the FBI agent's memory. He was Mulder's own personal ghost.

Scully would say that ghosts were waking dreams. Even if they weren't the
product of "an undigested bit of beef," their origins could be found in our
hopes and fears. The people who communicated with dead family members were
talking with themselves and their own memories.

Maybe ghosts are just dreams, Mulder thought. But that doesn't mean they're
not real.

After coming back from work to his apartment, he ate an indifferent dinner.
Then he turned on the television and let a porridge of sitcoms, old movies
and well-groomed news anchors seep into his mind. Around eight o'clock, he
was surprised to feel himself getting sleepy. Mulder had always been a light
sleeper, capable of maintaining consciousness with the demands of work or
watching late-night infomercials.

Yet his eyelids were closing, his body was relaxing and his head was filling
up with a heavy yet comfortable feeling. He had forgotten what it was like
to just let slumber take over you. Usually, he fought it, only succumbing
out of absolute physical necessity. However, there was nothing like fading
away from the "real world" and not being afraid of what your dreams will
show.

Of course, then, the phone rang.

It took three rings before Mulder tore himself away from his soft inner
darkness. "Hello?" he grumbled into the receiver, not really wanting to hear
from anyone and certainly not from the voice he heard.

"A-g-g-g-gent M-m-Mulder?

"Uh...yeah. That's me."

"I. um...I have s-s-some impor-t-t-tant f-for you."

"Do you now?"

"Uh, uh, yes. Y-yes."

Mulder tapped a finger on his knee. "All right," he said. "Where are you?"

The man gave the name of an all-night burger joint which took awhile with
the man's stutter. "D-d-do you, uh, need   d-d-direct..."

"No, no, I know where it is. I'll be there."

Mulder hung up the phone and ran a hand through his hair. He had a strong
feeling that he was going to regret this. How many late-night meetings had
he gone to, only to learn out the "informant" was deranged, foolish or both?
On the other hand, if he didn't go, he would always have a nagging doubt.

Oh, well, he thought. There will be plenty of time for sleep later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Alice Faludi was playing the role of an orphan, Alice Perez was
actually being one.

Alice P. had ran away from her parents' apartment six months ago. At the age
of ten, Alice P. had her fill of life with Mr. and Mrs. Perez. She had
enough of the smelly, dark apartment, enough of her mother's bleary eyes and
foul breath, enough of her father's hands. Now, she was wandering the
streets of Los Angeles, which presented their own discomforts and dangers.
She had to learn which trash cans provided the most nourishment and who was
most likely to offer their loose change. She developed a sixth sense for
when gunfire would erupt or when a knife would shine in the moonlight. She
also knew that there would come the day when she would get into one of the
cars driven by men with sweaty palms and nervous eyes.

Occasionally, she would stay in a shelter. She met nice priests and nuns.
However, she had grown too suspicious of walls and promises. Her parents had
given her promises, over and over again. Could she trust that the shelters
would never turn against her as Mr. and Mrs. Perez did? The street never
gave promises. It grinned at you with its iron teeth and neon eyes as it
said, "I offer no hope. I give you quick pleasures, fear and an early
death." It didn't lie to her. That's why Alice P. trusted no one except the
street.

And the man with stars in his eyes.

He had been appearing to her ever since she felt the evil in her father's
hands. The man's skin had been white as paper at first, but then had become
brown. His hair remained the same black, tangled mass. Black also remained
the color of his long jacket and pants. Sometimes, he wore a strange mask
with glass eyes and a long tube hanging from its mouth.

He never spoke to her. Sometimes, she wasn't even sure that he could see
her. He would often walk past her and vanish through a door. Once, she saw a
raven on his shoulder. She knew nothing about him except that she loved him.

Then, on the same day that Alice T. was sleeping in the back seat of her
parents' car and Alice F. collapsed on stage and Mulder was going to met a
secret informant, the man with stars in his eyes said to her, "Why did you
never speak to me, Alice?"

She was too startled to reply.

"I passed by you so many times, yet you never called to me. Why?"

"I...I was scared. I was afraid that you would just ignore me and I would
look stupid."

The man smiled. "Kings must always listen to the counsel of children. Did
you not know that?"

The stars shimmered in the man's face. Alice T. gave him the smile she never
showed anyone else.

Then he held out his hand. "Come. Let me take you to my castle."

For a moment, she was doubtful. "You will see many great wonders," the man
assured her. "I promise."

She took his hand. She couldn't decide if it felt insubstantial like mist or
strong like metal.

Hundreds of people walked past the tattoo parlor on Vine Street every day.
Their shadows passed over the sleeping girl in front of the parlor. They
took no more notice of her than their shadows did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder's "informant" lived up to expectations. He was an overweight, sweaty
man with a twitching face. The Victorian outfit -- checkered vest, high
collar, wide cuffs, the tall hat shoved down to the tips of his ears -- was
not unexpected, either. Mulder looked at the man from the other end of the
burger joint, sighed again and walked towards the man's table. He walked
past walls holding photos of the past. Charles Lindbergh standing by his
plane...Oliver North with his hand raised...a rocket leaving the ground on a
tower of smoke and fire...Donkey Kong throwing barrels...the front cover of
"Tropic of Cancer"...a headline declaring V-J day...all of them memories
ready to be transformed into talking ghosts.

"Sir?"

The fat man coughed up a big wad of meat and bread, creating even more of a
mess on his ketchup-splattered vest. He spun towards Mulder, his nervousness
only somewhat abated when he saw the FBI agent. "I'm s-s-sorry," he
sputtered as he wiped off the mess from his pointed beard and mustache. "I
thought you m-might have...uh...might have b-b-b-been..."

"Someone from the government?"

"Uh...no."

Mulder almost asked "Who, then?", but decided to get straight to business.
He sat down in a chair across from the fat man.

"So, what do you want to tell me?"

The fat man took a sip from his soda, his trembling hand shaking the ice in
the glass. Then he put down the glass and said, "Every-th-th-th-thing."

"Everything?"

"Everything. About, um, th-th-the a-a-aliens and, and, and Sam-m-mantha and
the v-v-virus. All of it."

And with a sudden burst of clarity, Mulder realized that this man did, in
fact, know every secret he wanted to know and more. He didn't know how he
knew this so clearly, yet the knowledge was undeniable.

Mulder placed his hands on the table, leaned towards the fat man and said,
"What do you know?"

"W-w-would you like something t-t-to eat?"

"No. Just tell me."

The fat man nodded, cleared his throat and said, "Well...to understand all
of it, you have to go way back. It all began with the ancient Egyptians..."

"You!"

Mulder turned to the voice. The fat man didn't. He grabbed the edge of the
table and ducked his head below his shoulders. It was safe to presume that
the man who entered the burger joint -- a tall, thin individual with a long
beard, two flat horns of red hair and pointed ears -- was the person that
Mulder's "informant" feared to see.

"You walking pile of elephant dung! You sneaky, mistrustful waste of flesh
and bone! You wide-bellied, simple-headed, dirty-arsed excuse for a
brother!"

The fat man did nothing except wheeze and sweat. It looked like it was up to
Mulder to provide a defense. He stood up and faced the thin man. "Sir, my
name is Agent Mulder. I would ask you to...

"I know who you are, you silly oaf," the thin man shot back. "That's
precisely why I'm here." He strode towards the table, a shopping bag
swinging in one hand.

Mulder got in his way. "Sir, please stand back."

The thin man smiled in a most unpleasant way. His eyes looked right at
Mulder over his spectacles. "It would be a horribly...terribly...most unwise
idea to defy me, Agent Mulder."

With the same strange clarity as before, Mulder knew that the thin man was
speaking truthfully. Some form of protection was over this man, one that no
person could withstand.

Mulder looked behind him at the fat man, still shaking and sweating.

Then he stood aside and watched it happen.

The thin man leaned towards the fat man. "Well, well, well. And well,
again." He looked down at the half-eaten burger on its plate. "Still the
meat-eater, I see."

"I...I..."

"But, brother, you shouldn't neglect the other food groups." The thin man
reached into a bag. His hand rose back up with radishes in its palm.

"You must always get your vegetables," the thin man informed his brother and
then leapt upon him.

Before Mulder's eyes, the thin man stuffed the man's nose and mouth full of
carrots, broccoli, potatoes, and corn-on-the-cob. The thin man then pressed
his hands over the man's clogged orifices, growling, "Eat it! Eat it!"
Mulder watched the fat man's limbs shake and his face turn blue. He watched
and found himself doing absolutely nothing. He noted that the fat man's hat
had fallen off, and his ears were revealed to be pointed like the thin
man's.

Then it was over.

The thin man stood up and sighed, "That was fairly original, I guess." His
manner no longer resembled a Hammer movie villain. He just seemed a little
tired and maybe a little sad.

"Why...why did you do that?" Mulder said.

"Because he was going to tell you all the secrets. And I, for one, value you
more as a man facing mysteries. So do a lot of other people." The thin man
took off his spectacles and wiped vegetable matter from them. He shrugged.
"Besides, I'm supposed to kill him."

The thin man placed his spectacles back on his nose. "Don't worry yourself
too much. He'll be back on his feet in awhile, stuttering his words and
stinking up the room. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

A phone rang. It was the shrill chirp of a cellular phone. Mulder
instinctively checked his own pocket, but he wasn't carrying his phone.

The ringing came from the long jacket of the thin man. With a baffled look,
he reached into a pocket and pulled out a cellular phone. He unfolded it and
tapped the 'talk' button. "Hello?"

The thin man's neck stiffened. "Yes, my lord!" he said. "Oh, yes, my lord,
he's here...Yes, my lord, I'll bring him at once..." Then he disconnected
the call and turned to Mulder.

"Come with me," he ordered, then went to the front door. He held it open and
looked back at Mulder.

The FBI agent remained on his own spot. "Well?" the thin man said.

Mulder looked at the fat corpse at his feet, then back up at the thin man.
"This is a dream, isn't it?"

"Of course, it is, you dolt. Now, are you coming or not?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 19:34:52 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (3 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (3 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alice Marsh hated tarot cards, healing crystals and yoga. She despised
meditation, the Great Goddess Ishtar and Carlos Castenada. She loathed
anything with the word "organic" attached to it. She wanted a bomb to wipe
out the entire city of Sedona, Arizona. Most of all, she hated the life of a
commune.

"I think Alice has been watching those cowboy movies again," Mrs. Marsh
warned Mr. Marsh. "She's developing some very aggressive and phallocentric
attitudes."

"For chrissake, mom!" Alice M. wailed. "How can you be phallocentric when
you don't even have a phallus?"

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Mr. Marsh said. "And I agree with
her. John Wayne is not a good role model for a ten-year-old girl."

Alice M. couldn't disagree more. That big, stiff-jawed man with the
ugly-yet-handsome face and the determined stride was everything she wanted
to be. No, she didn't want to be a man. Don't be stupid. She wanted to be
the female John Wayne. She wanted to lead a herd of cattle over the desert,
shoot down Lee Marvin (without giving the credit to that pansy Jimmy
Stewart) and eat beans over a camp fire. In her dreams, she was a
tall-riding, two-fisted, straight-shooting, tobacco-chewing cowgirl.

"John Wayne," her mother said. "is a symbol of male domination over female
wisdom and Native American cultures."

Okay, okay. Yeah, Westerns weren't the most accurate portrait of history.
Yeah, cowboys and calvaries had committed their own atrocities on Indians.
But, hell, John Wayne was a lot closer in spirit to those old "Native
American cultures" than Mr. and Mrs. Marsh's "experiment in alternative
living." You think Indians wasted their time fretting about "ecologically
sound" forms of waste disposal and underlining parts of "The Celestine
Prophecy?" No, they were out there killing buffalo and scalping any white
man who dared to cross them.

Alice M.'s parents were unpersuaded by her reasoning. They decided to put a
ban on the John Wayne videotapes she had brought to the Golden Flower
Commune. "Your VCR drains too much power from the generator anyway," her
father added. "Well, maybe if we had a real generator instead of one that
runs on manure, we wouldn't have this problem!" Alice M. shouted and stomped
out of the cabin.

She kicked at the dirt, her face as red as the setting sun. Under her feet,
the brown land expanded past the Commune and made a long flat line towards
distant mountains. She used to be able to see the beauty in the wide spaces
of Arizona. Now, she only saw a prison with no rescuer in sight.

That's when John Wayne rode in. He reined in his horse right in front of
her. "Well, what are ya...standin' around here for?" he asked.

At first, she couldn't speak. "Look, little lady," he said. "if your eyes
get...even bigger, they're gonna pop right outta your head."

"I'm not a little lady!" she snapped, talking back to the man who towered
above her on his horse.

"Well, maybe not, but there's only...one way to prove it. Now, we got a big
mess stirrin' out West. Ya comin' or not?"

What else could she do? She held out her hand and John Wayne plucked her off
the ground like a rose. He placed her right between his legs. "Giddyup!" he
commanded. The Golden Flower Commune only took a few moments to become a
faint memory.

"What is the problem?" she asked, the horse's muscles throbbing against her.

"You'll know it when ya...see it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The thin man hailed a cab. After he and Mulder got inside, Mulder noticed
that the cab driver had a safe for a head, two dogs for hands and a nice
blue uniform.

"The castle," the thin man ordered. "And step on it."

The dogs poking out of the cab driver's sleeves grasped the steering wheel.
The cab left the burger joint behind as it passed by lamp posts and stores.

"So, who are we going to see exactly?" Mulder asked.

"You'll know when we get there," the thin man answered, looking away from
Mulder. The FBI agent studied the thin man's feature for a minute, then
said --

"You're Cain, aren't you?"

The thin man sighed and rolled his eyes. "Very good. And your prize for
guessing correctly is me continuing to ignore you."

"And that was Abel back in the restaurant."

Cain said nothing.

"Why did you kill him?"

"Because that's what I'm supposed to do!" Cain snapped. "Now, is it too much
for you to remain silent?"

Mulder decided to leave Cain alone. He turned his attention to the outside.
He noticed that the cab had turned into a horse-drawn carriage and the
streets had changed into a forest. When did this happen? he thought. Or was
it like this all along? Since an answer didn't seem forthcoming, he just sat
back and enjoyed the sights -- trees in colors ranging from deep black to
light yellow, birds colliding in mid-air and exploding in a puff of smoke, a
badger running a souvenir stand, Robin Hood and his band of naked female
outlaws. On the way to the castle, Mulder also rode on a train gliding
through a diamond tunnel, a balloon passing by clouds where armies fought
each other with their poisonous tongues and a submarine swimming through a
giant bowl of soup. Then he and Cain were riding in a cab again and that's
how they arrived at the castle.

The gate of the castle was guarded by an unicorn, a gryphon and a wyvern.
"Who is this you bring to the castle of our lord, Cain?" the unicorn asked.

"I have brought Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. His presence here has been
requested by Lord Morpheus himself."

The three guardians hesitated as if they were in silent communication with a
person. Then the gryphon nodded his lion's head and said, "You speak the
truth, First-Born."

"Well, why wouldn't I, you bloody winged post-scratcher?" Cain muttered
under his breath.

"You may enter, Agent Mulder," the wyvern said. "I must warn you -- stay
only on the path upon entering the castle." The wyvern squinted its shiny,
black eyes at Mulder. "And you seemed to be having enough trouble as it is,"
he commented.

"Uh, thanks. And thank you, Ca..."

Mulder turned to the thin man, but Cain was already walking off, hands in
his pockets and grumbling about something. The cab-driver was still waiting
in his cab.

"I think he needs his fare," Mulder said.

"He shall be compensated for his service," the unicorn assured him. "Now,
enter."

Mulder passed through the black wooden doors of the castle. He found himself
in a maze of corridors and passageways, but candles were lit along the path
he had to take. He was grateful for this, since voices and sounds
echoed from the dark hallways -- voices and sounds that made his body turn
cold.

"Burn it!"

"One pull of the trigger..."

"And I say to myself it's wonderful, wonderful..."

One voice in particular frightened him the most. It almost had a friendly
air and it spoke of things that maybe you should know already. "You need
more than that..." "Trust a child molester?" "I hear things about you,
Mulder. I hear you like to go after flying saucers..." More than anything,
this voice made Mulder stick to the lighted path.

He turned a corner and saw a scarecrow with a pumpkin head. The scarecrow
was leaning against a wall with a broom at his side. Apparently, he was on a
break, smoking a cigar and reading a porno magazine.

It took a few moments for Mervyn Pumpkinhead to notice Mulder staring at
him. "What the hell is with you?" he asked. "You look like you never saw a
talking pumpkin before."

"Uh...well..."

"Whatcha want, anyway?"

"I guess...I'm here to see Lord Morpheus."

Mervyn jabbed a thumb towards a iron door at the end of the hallway, then
went back to his porno magazine. Mulder walked past him. He knocked on the
door. His knocks sounded as loud as church bells.

There was no answer.

"If the boss is expecting you, go right in," Mervyn told him.

Mulder hesitated, then took the wooden (wait, hadn't it been iron...?) door
by the knob and opened it.

A great hall appeared before him. It was made of white marble with a network
of jagged lines indicating where each big and each little stone met. Strands
of ivy looped around pillars supporting a black ceiling. In that blackness,
purple and red lights streaked, spun, twisted, then died.

"Hello?" Mulder called out. Hello, his echo responded. "Is anybody here?" Is
anybody here?

"Yes."

Mulder spun around and saw a man in a white robe. The color of white spilled
all over his body, even his mass of wild hair. He could have blended into
the marble if it weren't for his black eyes and the stars inside them. A
small, gentle smile on his young face. He was holding a branch of holly.

"Are you Lord Morpheus?" Mulder asked.

"I go by many names. Lord Morpheus is one of the oldest."

"So...it's all right to call you that."

"Certainly." Morpheus turned away from Mulder. He walked slowly towards the
center of the hall, studying the branch of holly. He seemed to have
forgotten about the FBI agent.

"Um...excuse me, but didn't you invite me here?"

"More likely, you invited yourself."

"Ah. If I weren't dreaming, that answer would really piss me off."

"Indeed."

Morpheus held up the branch. He released it. The moment he let go, it
turned into a kite and flew out a window. The man in the white robe turned
to Mulder and said, "But you are dreaming, nevertheless."

"Well, whether I was invited or I came by my own choice, I'm still here for
a reason."

Morpheus nodded and indicated a throne. A green gem hung from one of its
arms on a chain. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked.

"Isn't that your throne?"

Morpheus turned to look at the throne. He seemed to be recognizing it for
the first time. "Yes...yes, it is." He turned back to Mulder. "Then...you
should remain standing."

"Fine by me. So, why am I here? And if I have to ask that question again,
I'll..."

Morpheus stopped smiling. His face wasn't exactly what you would call angry,
not in the loud-voiced and bulging-vein sense of the word. He just
looked...displeased.

And displeasure is not an emotion you want Morpheus to feel, especially not
when you are on his grounds.

Mulder cleared his throat and looked away. "I...I...I just want to know...I
want to know why I'm here."

The smile didn't return to the face of Morpheus, but his features relaxed.
He said, "I have a case for you, Agent Mulder."

Mulder turned to the man in the white robe, more than a little surprised. "A
case?"

"Something...very unexpected has happened." Morpheus lifted a hand to
indicate the hall and, by extension, the land around the castle. "This is
the Dreaming. All dreams originate here and the twilight half of every mind
is connected to it." He lowered the hand. "Four girls have entered the
Dreaming. I could sense their coming...sense their passage across my
borders...but..." He looked down at the floor as if his problem was lying
there. "...I cannot make contact with them. They are in a part of the
Dreaming that has been blocked off to me."

"Where?" Mulder asked.

"In you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully stopped flipping television channels and got up to pace. After she
had paced for some time, she made a call to Agent Mulder. Only his answering
machine talked to her.

Okay, she thought. That doesn't mean anything. He could be out. Try him on
his cellular phone. Boy, won't you feel sorry when you call him up and find
out nothing's wrong and have to explain you suddenly felt worried about him,
everybody laugh, ha-ha.

He didn't answer his cellular phone. That doesn't mean anything, either, she
reasoned. He could have just gone out and not taken it with him. Of course,
she and Mulder hardly went anywhere without one of those damn phones, but
that doesn't mean he didn't leave it behind for some reason. Maybe he just
doesn't want to be bothered. Maybe he's somewhere getting laid. Leave him
alone.

A few seconds later, Scully was in a car and well above the speed limit.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder touched his forehead. "In...here?"

"Yes. I am...absolutely sure."

"But how?"

"They're being brought there. By John Lee Roche."

There were a thousand things Mulder could have said right then, but the
Dream King lifted a hand to silence him. "Yes. I know. Roche is dead. But
he...lives on...in your mind."

Morpheus pulled a mirror of the air. "Look," he told Mulder.

Mulder stared at his reflection. For a moment, he could only see his
bewildered face. Then...

He turned around and leaned against a pillar. He looked like he was going to
vomit. "God..." he whispered.

"You did something...very few humans can do," Morpheus said. "You formed a
nexus through the Dreaming...into the mind of Roche. As well as with someone
else."

Mulder was too horrified to ask who the other person was. "Are you saying
that he got into my own mind and stayed there?" he asked with a hoarse
throat.

"Is that what happened?" Morpheus asked the question as if he was talking to
an invisible person and hearing a response. He nodded and said to Mulder,
"Yes. I suppose that's it. Yes."

Mulder turned to the Dream King, wondering just what was going in the pale
man's head. "All right. He's inside me. How is he able to take these
children?"

"That...I don't know."

"Can't you stop him?"

"Perhaps. If you are willing..."

"I am."

"...to die."

"Uh...maybe I should have let you complete that sentence."

"Yes."

Mulder was as silent as stones for a long time, then he said, "If dying
means stopping Roche, I'll do it."

"But...you are wondering...if there are other means."

"Well, I thought that I would go ahead and ask."

Morpheus nodded. "Another way...is to go into your dreams...and stop Roche."

"How do I do that?"

"Only you can answer that question."

"Aw, crap. Look, I'm not David Carradine. I'm not here to take stones from
your hand. The way to deal with Roche is not through a lot of faux-Zen..."

Morpheus looked at Mulder. The FBI agent shut up.

"You want...a more direct kind of assistance?" Morpheus asked.

Mulder cleared his throat and said, "Please."

"Very well. I shall call someone here to help you."

"Thanks." Mulder looked down at his feet, then back up at the Dream King.
"You say that Roche is inside me. In what way? Is he a ghost? A dream?"

"There is no answer I could give that would...not result in you yelling at
me, Agent Mulder." The stars flashed in Morpheus's eyes. "And no one
appreciates getting yelled at."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mulder!"

She screamed in his face, slapped him on the cheek, shook him.

"Mulder, wake up now!"

Mulder's eyes remained closed and his body stayed limp. Scully checked his
pulse. It was steady yet faint. An examination of his eyes revealed dilated
pupils.

She put in an emergency call to the nearest hospital. She stayed with him,
even barging her way onto the ambulance when the medics came to take Mulder
away. She finally let go of his hand when they wheeled Mulder to the
emergency ward. As she stood in the white hallway and watched the medics go
to work, she whispered --

"Please...wake up."

Outside, a raven settled onto the parked ambulance. It looked through the
glass hospital doors to Scully. Then it shivered its black feathers and
lifted itself upwards to the night sky.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 19:37:13 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (4 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (4 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alice P. loved her pretty dress. She loved the pink roses on the white
cloth. She also loved her pink stockings and white dress shoes. Her clothes
made her feel so clean.

"Cleanliness is a good thing," the man with night in his eyes said. "Little
girls must always be clean."

He was leading her through a forest. She didn't know where she was going,
but she was sure that it would be a wonderful place -- maybe a castle or a
mountain made of chocolate. On the way there, they passed by a frantic
rabbit checking his watch, a caterpillar squatting on a mushroom and smoking
a pipe, a crying baby who turned into a pig and a cat grinning from a tree
branch.

They reached the end of the forest. There, Alice P. saw a giant chessboard
lying under a clear blue sky. There were three other girls standing on the
board -- white girls all wearing the same clothes as she did. Unlike her,
they looked confused and frightened.

"Where did John Wayne go?" one of them cried out.

"Where's Louis?" another complained.

"Where's Kyle?" the third wailed in a British accent.

"Who are they?" Alice P. asked the pale stranger.

"They're your other playmates," he explained, then he pointed one of his
long, white fingers at a square. "Stand right over there."

She did as he said. The other three girls noticed the pale man. The girl who
had called out for John Wayne narrowed her eyes and said, "Who the hell are
you?"

"Now, that's no way for a young lady to talk," the pale man admonished.

"I don't care. Who the hell..."

The stars flashed in the pale man's eyes. A slight frown pulled at his
mouth. He said nothing, but he didn't have to. All three girls shivered.

"We're all going to stand still and be quiet," he informed Alice P. and the
three girls. "Until the game starts."

The three girls looked at each with scared faces, but Alice P. wasn't
frightened. Any game the pale man wanted to play, she would play. She could
think of nothing else she wanted to be except his Alice.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Would you like something to eat, Agent Mulder?"

"You've already asked me that."

Morpheus blinked. "Did I?"

"Yes. Twice."

"And what did you say before?"

"I said no both times."

Morpheus nodded, then rubbed his chin. "Is that still your answer?"

"For the last time, yes!" He shook his head. "Are you sure you're the King
of..."

The door to the marble hall opened. Mulder turned and saw a man wearing dark
glasses. He was dressed a white T-shirt, white jeans and white sneakers. His
hair was white as well, even though his face was young and handsome.

He looked at Mulder and grinned. He walked up to the agent, extending his
hand. "Agent Mulder, it's a honor to meet you. I'm..."

"The Corinthian," Mulder said as he stared at the man in dark glasses. The
Corinthian looked surprised, then he nodded his head in satisfaction.

"Of course," he said. "You would know my name." He kept his hand extended,
but Mulder could only stare at his reflection into those dark glasses. In
the lore of profilers, few cases were both baffling than the murders
committed by a man who been called "Shades," "The Eyeball Man" or "Dark
Glasses." Before "serial killer" even became a recognized term, the bodies
of young men had been discovered across the country. Their eyes had been
removed. No new bodies would be discovered until a few years later when more
young men were found in alleys and hotel rooms. The current servants of law
enforcement would have no more luck finding the killer than their
predecessors. Many came to the conclusion that the murders were being
committed by some twisted dynasty of men carrying on the work into the
future.

Mulder has always felt differently. He had always suspected that all the
murders were being committed by the same person. When the man in dark
glasses had entered, Mulder had known in an instant that this was the killer
as well as his name.

"What the hell is this?" Mulder demanded of the Dream King.

"He is...your assistant."

"That has to be the sickest joke I've ever heard."

"I thought he would be a...suitable partner."

"Look, I only have one partner and I'm sure not going to replace her with
this madman."

"Agent Mulder, I confess that I'm a little disappointed in you," the
Corinthian said. "Who better to help you find John Lee Roche than the one
who inspired him?"

The Corinthian nodded at Mulder's stricken face. "Yes. I did inspire Roche
to follow his path. As I did for so many others with darkness in their
souls." He sighed. "But I was wrong to do so. I'm not speaking from a moral
position, of course. It's just that I've come to realize who my true
disciples are."

Before Mulder could say anything in reply, Morpheus interrupted. "I assure
you that the Corinthian will serve only your interests, Agent Mulder. I
should also remind you that...the lives of four girls are at stake. As well
as your own."

Mulder looked between the two men in white. Then he took a long breath and
said, "All right."

"Good," the Corinthian said. "So, where do we start?"

"First of all...I need to know what these four girls had in common."

"They were all named Alice," Morpheus said.

"That figures. But there has to be something else. I need more information
about them."

"Unfortunately, that cannot be provided. Their minds...their dreams...they
are no longer available to me."

"What about the Library, my lord?" the Corinthian suggested.

"Yes. Yes...that might be...the right place to look. Take Agent Mulder
there."

The Corinthian waved Mulder towards the door. Mulder looked at the Dream
King one more time (and with more uncertainty than ever), then left the hall
with the man in dark glasses.

For a long time (or just a few seconds...time can be so elastic in the
Dreaming...), Morpheus didn't move from his spot. His head was bent over and
one finger was pressed against his lips. He would sway occasionally like a
pine tree in the wind.

Then a raven swooped in through the window. "Yo, boss!"

Morpheus smiled at Matthew the Raven. He held up an arm and Matthew settled
down at the sleeve of his white robe. It pleased Morpheus to hear the raven
call him "boss." In the beginning, Matthew had not been so willing to call
him that.

"What news do you bring, Matthew?"

"Well, Mulder's in the hospital now." Matthew shivered. "Man, I hate
hospitals..."

"I know, Matthew. Thank you for watching over Mulder."

"Looks like Scully's taken over the job now. Of course, she can't do much on
her end."

"I am...not so sure of that," Morpheus said as he turned and approached his
throne. "She may be of value to us."

"To us? You mean, Mulder, right?"

Morpheus stopped as if someone has just pulled on his robe. Again, he stared
at his throne with uncertainty.

"Boss? What is it? You looked like..."

"Someone just walked over my grave?"

"Well, I was going to say, 'like a cockroach crawled up your butt,' but,
yeah. What's the problem?"

"My problem...I'm not sure what my problem is...or I do know and I can't
find a solution for it."

Matthew stared at Morpheus with its sharp little eyes. "Uh...boss...I
haven't known you as (crawk) long as the other one."

"Hm..."

"And I know there are some differences between the two of you, but...for a
second there...you sounded just like him."

Morpheus nodded.

"Come on. Tell me. What's the deal?"

"I think...Mulder is not the only one who has to visit old ghosts."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alice M. was feeling as low as a rattlesnake's belly. Instead of riding on
the hide plains, she was now stuck on this big ol' chessboard. There were no
chains around her ankles, but the mere look of the man kept her still. She
didn't know why. He looked like a big pansy with his bone-white skin and
frail body and stupid 'Goth' hairdo. John Wayne could break this guy over
his knee.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," the man told her.

She shuddered and looked away from him. Her eyes turned to the Hispanic
girl. In a way, she was as scary as the pale man. The adoring, worshipful
look she gave him...

"Hey," Alice M. whispered.

"Yes?" the Hispanic girl said in a voice louder than Alice M. wanted.

"Shhh! Is your name Alice, too?"

"Is that your name?"

"Yeah. That's their name, too." Alice M. jabbed a thumb at the other two
girls. The British girl looked close to crying. "Do you know why we're
here?"

"Of course. We're here to have fun."

"Well, I'm not having fun. Are you?"

The smile ebbed off the face of Alice P. "Not really," she admitted, but
then her face brightened. "But I'm sure things will get much more fun soon.
He will make sure of it."

"Well, I don't trust him any more than I can..."

"...hit the moon with my own pee," the pale man said and shook a finger at
Alice M. "Little girls should know when to be quiet, especially when they
have only mean things to say."

Alice M. seethed with anger, but kept quiet. The pale man turned away from
the four girls. He kept his eyes on the blue sky. He noticed a few clouds
where there had been none before.

He smiled. "Come along, Mulder. Join the dance."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 19:40:23 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (5 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (5 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was easy to tell Skinner had once been a solider. His unyielding stride
took him through the hallways of the hospital as if he was an army on the
march. Anybody who got in his way risked getting knocked on his butt.

Then his long legs came to a stop. He looked at the short, red-haired woman
sitting in a chair. For a moment, he wanted to turn around and leave. Then
he said, "Agent Scully?"

She looked up at him. Her eyes were bleary and distant as if she was only
half-awake. She nodded at him, though. "Sir."

He looked into the room she was attending. Mulder had been placed into a
bed. The weak rhythm of his heart was measured in widely-spaced beeps from a
machine.

"What happened?" he asked.

"No one knows," Scully answered, then explained that every conceivable
physical cause from head trauma to drugs had been theorized. Mulder seemed
to be merely in a state of sleep. "We'll continue to look for other probable
causes, but...well, I'm sure Mulder could suggest a few interesting ideas."

"We'll find out what's wrong," Skinner said in a firm voice. "I promise."

Scully nodded in a way that was merely polite. Then she said, "I need to go
to the bathroom. Would you mind waiting here?"

"No. Not at all."

Skinner took her seat as Scully headed for the bathroom. He looked at her
fluid yet cautious walk. She resembled a tight-rope walker desperate to
reach the other side.

Then he heard a lighter flick. He quickly turned in the sound's direction.

A man sat in a chair on the side of the hallway. Or a woman. Or someone.
He/she was dressed in a blue dress suit which gave no clue as to the sexual
identity of the slim body inside. Fingers with perfect nails held the
heart-shaped lighter and a cigarette hung from bright, red lips. The
eyelashes were long, the dark hair was short and the face was as beautiful
as a sharp blade.

He/she closed the lighter, placed inside the jacket and green eyes looked at
Skinner. Realizing that he had been staring, he shook himself and said,
"Sorry. I thought you were somewhere else."

The man/woman gave him a smile that promised everything and promised
nothing. Skinner cleared his throat and turned to the hospital room.

"This is your big chance, you know," the man/woman said in a deep voice as
sexually ambiguous as the rest of him/her.

"What?" Skinner said, turning his head back.

"Your big chance to claim Scully as your own."

Before Skinner could say anything in reply (and his possible replies ranged
from "Who the hell are you?" to "Don't be stupid" to "What do you know?"),
the man/woman continued, "It would have to be a month after the funeral, of
course. Yes, a month gives you a nice cushion of time. Enough for her to get
over some of her grief and enough to avoid looking crass on your part.
You'll come over to her apartment one night, inquiring about her well-being.
Is she drunk? No, she's not the type. Really, that will make things easier
for you.

"The two of you will talk about her departed partner and how much he meant.
Then she'll suddenly break down crying and embrace you. You will put your
muscular arms around her. Her tears slide down your shoulder. And then
you'll kiss her gently...very gently, mind you...on the forehead. It's the
kind of kiss that could be seen as a simple expression of friendship in
other circumstances, but here it means so much more.

"She will look up at you with her lovely blue eyes. At this point, your next
kiss could be completely your initiative. Or she could raise her mouth to
yours as it descends. It doesn't matter. You'll have her then and you'll
make love until the break of dawn."

The man/woman took a drag off his/her cigarette, then let the smoke spill
from red lips. He/she smiled and said, "It's a good plan. I approve."

Skinner hadn't moved or spoken during the entire speech. He had been
mesmerized by that deep voice like the way when you listen to waves crashing
repeatedly on a beach. When he realized that he/she was done, his shoulders
rose and fell with the deep breaths he took. Then he said --

"There are two things wrong with that plan. One -- Mulder isn't dead and I
plan to see he stays that way."

"And the other thing?"

"I wouldn't do it."

"But you've thought about it. This fantasy flows through your heart like
blood."

"Thinking about something and doing it are two different things."

"That's why I'm here." The man/woman stood up on his/her black shoes and
looked down at Skinner. "I'm always here for people like you, Walter --
people who yearn to be free of their iron consciences and blinding
discipline. When you are ready, invite me in here..."

A dainty yet strong hand was pressed against Skinner's chest.

"...and I will come."

He/she gave Skinner one last smile, then walked away. Skinner didn't watch
his/her slim body turn a corner. Instead, he took off his glasses and rubbed
his eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully leaned against the bathroom sink and looked into the mirror. Behind
the mirror, someone looked back.

"You have come again to my realm, Dana Scully." The voice sounded like it
came from a woman dying of cancer. "Your stays here have been brief but
constant. I often wonder if there will come a day when you stay for good."

Rats crawled over the naked body of the short, fat woman. They bit into her
bone-white skin and crawled through her dirty black hair. "Your partner has
come and gone several times himself. Each of you has pulled the other from
my realm. With one of you dead, I would claim the other. Either one of you
would make a fine prize, worthy of sacrificing the other to my sister."

The woman lifted her hand to her cheek. On a finger was a ring. On the ring
was a hook.

"Yet I fear...I know not what. But I fear that what is happening to Mulder
will soon affect my own family in...horrible ways. If you do come here, Dana
Scully..."

She dug the hook into her cheek and dragged a long red gash across the pale
skin.

"...then we may have to despair together."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Others were concerned about Agent Mulder's state. Among them were Byers,
Langly and Frohike. In the office of the Lone Gunmen, they were researching
any theory that could explain the condition of the FBI agent. Unfortunately,
a rather heated argument broke out over the possibility of microwaves being
directed at Mulder's brains.

"You're out of your cotton-pickin' mind, Langly!" Frohike asserted.

"This is coming from you?" Langly counter-argued. "You and your subliminal
message crap?"

Byers tried to intercede. "Look, settle down..."

"Look, pal, I happen to be a little more on the ball when it comes to
matters of science..." Frohike told Langly.

"Yeah, you're the world's most scientifically knowledgeable dwarf," Langly
sneered.

Frohike narrowed his eyes. "What did you call me, Goldilocks?"

From there on, it descended into name-calling with Byers trying to calm
raging waters. Punches might have gotten thrown if they hadn't heard the
giggling. That's when the yelling stopped and the Lone Gunmen looked around
them in confusion.

Then a teenage girl rose up from behind a table, a hand cupped over her
mouth. Her hair was dyed and combed into a tangle of multi-colored strands.
Her nose was pierced and a safety pin was stuck through an earlobe. She wore
a studded jacket, a Tori Amos t-shirt, old fishnet stockings and black army
boots.

One of her eyes was blue and the other was green.

"You're funny," she told them.

"Uh...miss?" Byers said.

"Funny, funny, funny..."

"Miss, how did you get in..."

"FUNNY!" the girl declared, spreading her arms. Then she turned and spotted
one of the many electronic tracking devices in the office. "Oooh, what's
that?!"

She ran to the shelf and plucked out the device. "That's very expensive,
don't touch that!" Frohike begged. He ran over to the girl as she bounced
the device in her hands. "Oh, what's that?!" she asked, tossing the device
right into Frohike's trembling hands. The girl found another piece of shiny
equipment to play with and another one. The Lone Gunmen chased her around
the office, catching everything she tossed into the air and knocked over.

Finally, the girl stopped and stared at a photo. It was a still frame from a
Zapruder film with notes written on it in marker. "Ooo-OOOOH, I saw *that*
movie. It wasn't as good as 'Mary Poppins,' no, no, no, but I liked it. I
saw it a million-billion times." She turned to the Lone Gunmen. "Really. A
million-*billion* times."

"Uh...we believe you," Langly said.

"You can see SO many things in it. You know what I've seen? Do you really
want to know? 'Cause if you do, I'll have to make you promise with sugar on
top not to tell ANYone."

Before the Lone Gunmen could answer, the girl rambled on. "I've seen little
elves suddenly pop up on the back of the car with guns in their hands, just
for *one* frame, just *one*.  I saw that nice lady in the pink hat pull out
a gun and say, 'This is for Marlyn, you bastard.' And then there was this
little rock which went 'whoooooosh' down from the sky and hit the man in the
head and..."

The girl suddenly cut herself off. The merriness crackling in her eyes
turned to fear. "You're gonna tell me on you, aren't you?"

"Um..." Byers said.

"Uh..." Langly added.

"You are, you ARE and then people are going to laugh me, I can't stand it
when people laugh at me, I can't, I, I, I..."

The girl rushed to the door, tearing at her hair. Even though the Lone
Gunmen usually kept their door locked and shut, it was now wide open and she
ran out to the dark streets outside.

The Lone Gunmen didn't chase after her. They just stood quietly for a long
time.

Then Frohike said to Langly, "Sorry I called you Goldilocks."

"Sorry I called you a dwarf," Langly replied. "And we're both sorry to you,
Byers."

Byers wasn't listening. He was staring at the photo. After awhile, he said,
"You know...it does kind of look like an elf."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was another man who was concerned about Mulder's comatose state. Of
course, 'concerned' may not have been the most exact term, though this man
often felt a certain empathy for Mulder. Overall, though, he was more
distressed that something might have slipped by him -- slipped by him and
done harm to the man he watched over.

He hated it when anything slipped by him.

He stopped by the hospital and did a discrete check on the sleeping agent.
He came away as puzzled as anyone else. I can't believe this, he thought. I
know more secrets than any one else in the world, I'm privy to all the
hidden reservoirs of information, I can find out anything. Yet I don't know
why Mulder can't wake up.

Disgruntled, he went looking for a place to think and to smoke. He managed
to find a nearby bar that allowed smoking. Unfortunately, it was one of the
faux-beatnik joints and tonight was 'open mike night.' Every would-be Allen
Ginsberg was climbing on to the stage, hopped up on cappuccino and fresh out
of a 'creative writing workshop.'

He sighed, took a chair in the back, ordered a coffee, lit up a cigarette
and tried to think despite the distractions. However, one of the poetry
readers got his attention. As opposed to the usual college students in
black, this fellow looked like a lumberjack. He had an open, handsome face
with long hair tied into a ponytail. His resounding voice spoke with a
Scottish accent. Everybody in the bar focused on him, waiting in
anticipation as he recited his poem.

It was the worst poem heard all evening. The applause he received was mild
at best. For a moment, the Scottish man frowned and it was a deep,
threatening expression. Then his face became cheery as he gave the audience
a carefree grin.

He left the stage and headed for a table near the back. Walking over there,
he spotted the smoking man. He stopped and stared. Then he walked over to
the smoking man, his smile as easy as before.

"Hello there, my friend," the Scottish man said.

"Hello," the smoking man replied in the most unfriendly voice possible.

"I know who you are."

The smoking man stared at this tall stranger and said, "Do you?"

"I do. You should know who I am."

The smoking man took another drag off his cigarette, leaned back in his
chair and said, "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Everything you're afraid of."

Now it was the smoking man's turn to smile. "If you really know who I was,
then you should know that I have no reason to be afraid of anything."

"Wrong. You're afraid of what all powerful men fear. You fear chaos. Random
chance. Plans that go wrong. Bombs in the basement, monkey wrenches dropped
into the machinery, banana peels on the floor and all the unpredictability
of the human heart."

The smoking man studied the Scottish man down from his comfortable shirt to
his leather boots. "And you represent all of that?"

"Well...technically, no. Not any more."

"Then why should I be scared of you?"

The Scottish man placed his thick hands on the table and leaned towards the
smoking man. He was still grinning, but it was like the tight smile of a
skull. "It bugs you, doesn't it? Something is gone wrong with your prize
nemesis and, rather than feeling glad, you're confused. You want to know
what's going on, but you...just...can't...figure it out."

The paper roll of the cigarette almost crumbled in the smoking man's tight
grip. "What do you know about it? Are you involved in this?"

"It involves a brother of mine. If things start to get too mucked-up, I may
have to intervene along with the rest of the family." The Scottish man's
face turned solemn. "I hope it doesn't get to that. I've gotten quite used
to not being needed."

Then the grin returned and he said, "Can you?"

That's the last thing he said to the smoking man. He went to the bar and
ordered a beer.

The cigarette burned in the smoking man's hand, dropping ashes into his lap.
He didn't notice.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not finding coffee in the hospital cafeteria was the breaking point for
Scully. All she had wanted to do was get a liquid caffeine so she could
maintain her vigil at Mulder's side. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? To
keep these big steel containers full of hot java? But, no, when she pressed
down on the black nozzle, not a single drop fell out into her cup and now
Dana Scully wanted to scream, smash her cup, push over the container, crack
the heads of the cafeteria workers, cry on the chest of Fox Mulder...

A paper cup was held in front of her. Steam and the scent of coffee rose
from a small hole poked into its plastic top.

Scully turned from the cup to the person holding it. She saw a woman all in
black -- black sleeveless shirt, black jeans, black sneakers. Black lipstick
also crossed her lips and her full head of hair was black as night. Even her
eyes looked black. The only things on her that weren't that solid,
impenetrable color was the silver ankh hanging from her neck and her
ghost-white skin.

She was the most beautiful woman Scully had ever seen.

"Hey," she said, giving Scully a wonderful smile. "Care for a little
pick-me-up?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2000 10:15:54 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (6 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (6 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder and the Corinthian found the head librarian in a new wing of the
Dreaming's library. Lucien -- very tall, very thin, formally dressed, ears
pointed -- was carting great piles of bound paper up and down the aisles.

"Greetings, Lucien," the Corinthian said.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Hello to you, too."

"You seem even more busy than usual."

Lucien sighed. "My fault, I'm afraid. I decided to allow screenplays and
spec scripts into the library as well." He indicated the lengthy shelves
being filled up quickly. "It looks like even more people want to write
scripts than novels. It's fantastic. And a bit disconcerting. What's more
troubling is that I'm getting pressure to allow something called 'fan
fiction' in. What a nightmare that would be. It won't be long before this
place looks less like a library than a...excuse me, I got caught up in my
own problems there for a moment. May I help you?"

"The one to be helped is this man -- Agent Fox Mulder."

Lucien's eyebrows rose above his spectacles. "Fox Mulder? Why, I have quite
a few of your books here."

Mulder said, "Uh, I haven't written any books."

"Not in the waking world, no. But in the Dreaming you have several. You have
three mystery novels, four psychology texts, a history of psychic
phenomena...oh, I'm sorry. I'm rambling again. What is it you need?"

Mulder cleared his throat. "Do children ever...contribute stories to your
library?"

"Oh, bless me, yes. Children want to write more than adults think. Of
course, a lot of their stories tend to use characters from video games, but
that just goes against my own particular prejudices. Are their any specific
stories you're looking for?"

"I'm thinking of four girls in particular."

With his trademark speed and efficiency, Lucien found stories written by the
four Alices. Mulder sat down in a comfortable chair and read them by
candlelight. The Corinthian waited as he read, looking over the shelves. He
was pleased to discover "Agatha and the Mirror" by the Brothers Grimm. He
was about to pull it off the shelf when Mulder looked up and said --

"What did you mean by 'your true disciples?' Who are they?"

The Corinthian turned to Mulder and said, "Why, people like you."

Even from a distance, Mulder could see his reflection in the dark glasses.
"What are you talking about?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Oh, don't act obtuse, Mulder. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Mulder looked at the Corinthian who looked back at him. Then the agent said,
"You created killers when you should have been creating hunters."

"I thought I was creating hunters -- men of power, knights on their own
crusade, little gods who demanded sacrifices of blood." The Corinthian shook
his head. "Instead, I just created more beasts."

He walked towards Mulder. "But you, Mulder -- you are a true hunter. You
know that to capture a beast, you must follow its path. To follow the path,
you must think like the beast. To think like the beast, you must find the
beast inside of you."

The Corinthian was now standing over Mulder. The agent thought that he could
see something behind the dark lenses -- something white and square.

"Is Roche the beast inside of me?" Mulder asked.

"No. He's just drawn to that beast."

"How do I defeat him then?"

"Just find him. I'll do the rest. Now, return to your reading. Don't worry.
I'll be near." The handsome face smiled. "I'm always near."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Like it?"

"A little too much sweetener for my taste, but fine."

"Oh, sorry about that. I'm afraid that I just gravitate towards the sweet
stuff." The woman in black gave Scully another beautiful smile. In any other
circumstance, Scully would have wanted to just...talk with her.

"Have we met before?" Scully asked.

"Do you think we have?"

Scully looked at the woman sitting on the other side of the table. "I don't
know why, but...you seem familiar."

"Well, truth be told, we've crossed paths quite a few times."

"If that's so, I would think that I would remember your name."

"We haven't actually...*met* before. We've come close, though. So often that
it drives me a little nuts, to be honest. The same goes for your partner."

Scully lowered her cup of coffee. "What do you mean?"

"The two of you just keep...slipping away from me. We brush up against each
other, but then you just go on your merry way. It's kind of a mystery to
me." Again, that smile shined on her face. "Not that I mind. I don't run
into too many mysteries. It can be so neat to 'not know,' don't you think?"

Scully took another look at the woman and asked, "If I were to ask, would
you tell me your name?"

The woman shook her head, still smiling.

"Why not?"

"Because you wouldn't believe me. And if you believed me, you would probably
forget about it later. People don't like to think about me. Well, I guess
*you* do, but mostly in a clinical, scientific way. So...I won't tell you."

"All right. Can you tell me why you are here? I mean, after all those 'near
encounters?'"

The woman looked down at her coffee. Her cheerfulness had turned into a
somber attitude. She said, "I've come here because what's happened to your
partner involves my brother."

"Since I don't know who your brother is, that means nothing to me."

The woman nodded. "Right. Anyway, I have reason to believe that the fate of
your partner will affect my brother." She sighed. "At least, I think so.
It's hard to tell with him. He works in a much different way than I do.
There's so much fuzziness around him. With me, it's simple. It's just one
thing or the other."

"You know, I would really appreciate not being any more confused than I am."

The woman looked up. "Point taken. Do you have a pen and paper?"

Scully reached into her jacket. She handed the woman a notebook and a pen.
As the woman wrote in the notebook, she continued to talk.

"It might get to the point where myself and the family will have to
intervene. I don't want to see that happen. It might screw things up even
more. Besides, it's...too obvious. You know, some big comic-book
confrontation."

She pushed the notebook back to Scully. On it were written directions.

"Where will this take me?" Scully asked.

"If you're lucky, to Mulder."

"And if I'm not lucky?"

"Then, it'll take you to just about everywhere else."

Scully looked at the woman. She looked at the notebook.

Then she drank the rest of her coffee, picked up the notebook and headed out
of the cafeteria. She didn't bother to look back at the woman. Scully just
knew that she would be gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Shit."

The Corinthian looked up from his book. "Agent Mulder?"

Mulder sat quiet and still in the chair for many seconds. Then he shut the
book in his lap, tossed it onto a table and said, "Let's go."

Looking puzzled, the Corinthian shelved the book and followed after Mulder
who was walking with a fast, heedless stride. "What is it?" the man in dark
glasses asked. "What did you find out?"

No answer came from Mulder's lips. He kept his mouth shut all the way
through the castle. When he went through the front door, he stopped and
looked up at the sky.

It was completely black. There were no stars, no moons, no comets leaving
trails of dust. Only a flat, vast plane of darkness stood behind the
mountains of the Dreaming.

"What is the matter?" the unicorn asked.

"I don't know," the Corinthian murmured.

Mulder did not seem willing to alleviate anybody's ignorance. He just stared
at the dark, dark sky.

A light appeared. It was so small that it was easy to miss in that wide
darkness. Eventually, it became large enough and bright enough to notice.
Its largeness and brightness could be attributed to the fact that its source
was getting closer to the castle.

"My lord, a visitor approaches," the wyvern declared.

"I...see..." the Dream King could be heard to say.

"Should we let it in?" the gryphon inquired.

"It has not come...for me."

Finally, the light's source could be discerned. It had a sharp, triangular
shape with a black underbelly.

It was a spacecraft. An extraterrestrial ship. An aeronautical vehicle
piloted by aliens. A no-longer-unidentified-flying-object.

The spacecraft halted in mid-air within ten feet of the castle. Another
light shot out from its underbelly, extending a beam all the way down to the
ground. A grey-skinned being floated down through the light. It had a body
so thin that it seemed incapable of standing up. Its mouth was tiny and its
eyes were big and black.

It planted its feet on the ground. It held out its long-fingered hands to
Mulder and said, "I will take you to Samantha."

Mulder said, "Bite me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2000 12:31:28 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (7 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (7 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The streets turned to a desert so gradually that Scully didn't even notice
it. Or maybe it happened all at once and she had forgotten that her feet
used to be on pavement instead of soft sand. She had been following the
directions given to her by the woman in black. The night was thick upon the
city, but lampposts gave reassurance that she could tell where she was
going.

Then the wind came and Scully's vision was overcome by brown mists. She held
up her hands against the grainy air gushing in her face. Her mental compass
spun around until she forgot her desired direction. She even forgot how she
ended up in this desert to begin with. Hadn't she been trying to help
somebody? Who told her to come here? She gave up trying to find answers to
these questions and concentrated on just trying to climb up a tall dune.

As she struggled to reach the top, sounds filtered through the wind's howl.
"--four score and seven years ago--" "--it's a wonderful day in the
neighborhood--" "--London calling to the underworld--" "--you're innocent
when you dream, when you dream--" "--I consider myself the luckiest guy in
the world--" "--you must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss--" "--if you
really want to party with me--" "--oh, the humanity!--"

She slipped and rolled partway down the dune. Digging her hands and knees
into the sand, she dragged herself towards the top. She kept her eyes
closed. Her skin felt like it was being torn off her bones. When she finally
reached the top --

-- the wind just stopped --

-- and she heard laughter.

She opened her eyes, blinking them several times before she could see
clearly. At the bottom of the dune were four people sitting around the
campfire. From this distance, she could tell that three of them were adults
and one was a child. Two of the adults were men. The third was a young
woman. They were all laughing at something.

Scully hauled herself upright. She walked down the dunes on trembling legs.
As she got closer, one of the men -- a fat, mustached fellow wearing a green
Victorian suit -- said, "And the angel says, 'But, my Lord, how do you
account for the platypus?' God responds...oh, my."

The fat man had seen Scully stumbling towards their campfire. In an instant,
the other man was on his feet and at Scully's side. He was a man in his
sixties, yet he moved with a grace and speed that could outstrip many
younger men. His features were striking and intense. He looked like he had
been born in his army uniform.

He helped Scully over to the fire. The fat man pulled out a water skin from
a satchel. She drank greedily from it.

"Thanks," she coughed.

"No problem, my dear," the fat man said. "Might we have the pleasure of
knowing your name?"

"Scully. Dana Scully."

"I'm Gilbert. This is Douglas..." He indicated the soldier who nodded and
smiled towards Scully.

"...and this is Rose Walker and her son Joseph." Rose was a lovely
red-haired woman who barely looked twenty. In her lap was a five-year-old
boy who regarded Scully with puzzled yet curious eyes.

"Hi," Rose said. "Looks like you took a wrong turn."

"I'm...I'm not sure."

"Where do you recall being last?" Douglas asked.

Scully had to think long before she could even come close to an answer. "I
think I was walking down a street. And I was...I was looking for someone."

"Hm. Well, I'm not too sure that I can help you there. You see, I'm
dreaming. And I'm convinced that all of you are part of my dream."

"Sorry?"

"The last thing *I* recall was taking a nap. I doubt that it will be
particularly a long one. I expect that another one of the Japanese bombing
runs are going to occur." Douglas sighed. "I've just gotten a cable from
Washington. They want me to leave the Philippines. They think I'll serve
the war effort better in Australia." He shook his head. "I don't want to do
that. I'm not going to leave my men behind."

"And what will you be able to do for them if you stay?" Gilbert asked.

Douglas was silent for several moments. "When I first heard the news about
Pearl Harbor, I should have acted decisively and immediately. Instead, I...I
froze. I just sat in my office, hearing reports and doing nothing to get our
defenses in action. As a result, our air force was bombed with planes still
on ground." He looked down and rubbed his forehead. "Why did I do nothing?
I've never backed away from taking command before. What made me so unwilling
to take charge then?"

"You never how you will react in the face of danger," Scully said. "I have
the same fears -- that I might 'freeze up' when I'm needed."

"It's an understandable fear," Gilbert commented. "But you cannot excuse one
folly by compounding it with another."

Douglas fell silent again. Then he looked over at Tom. He smiled and held
out a hand. Tom grinned back as he placed his tiny hand in Douglas's thick
one.

"I have a son around this boy's age, too," Douglas said. "He has a soldier
for a father and I believe he understands what that means, but..."

"He should get to know his father for awhile longer," Rose told him.

"Yes. Perhaps he should." Douglas looked around. "Is your husband about?" he
asked Rose. "I will like to meet the man who is raising this fine boy."

"He's...not around," Rose said carefully. "Not around anywhere, in fact."

"Oh. My apologies."

"Hey, it's okay." She grinned. "I mean, we're just dreams, right?"

"Are you a dream?" Scully asked.

"Well, sorry to disappoint Douglas here, but no. Right now, I'm sleeping in
the living room with Tom here on my lap. We were both watching some cartoon
and we dozed off."

"I'm not asleep," Tom asserted. "I'm still watching cartoons."

"Yeah, whatever, kid. But we're real. Trust me." She looked at Douglas and
Scully. "In fact, you two might be real as well."

"I confess that leaves me a bit bewildered," Douglas said.

Rose looked at the fat man in the green suit. She give him a look that was
friendly but had an edge of wariness around it. "Well, Gilbert? Care to
explain?"

"Why ask me? Are you implying that *I'm* the dream, Miss Walker?"

"I'm not sure what you are, Gilbert," Rose replied with a crooked smile.

"Hoom...well...if I am a dream, then you can also be assured that I am and
always will be your friend, Miss Walker."

Rose rolled her eyes, but kept smiling. "Can you believe this guy? I don't
know whether to marry him or..."

Scully bolted to her feet. She looked like she had to run off, but didn't
know in which way to go. "I, I, I have to go. I'm needed. I need to..."

"Calm yourself," Douglas said. "Tell us what's the matter."

"I don't know. All I'm sure is that someone needs my help and..." Her voice
trailed away. She looked at the other four people by the fire, begging for
any help and any comforting words.

"Hoom," Gilbert said. Then he used a cane to push him up to his feet. "I
think Miss Scully and I need to have a private talk. If you would pardon
us..."

Gilbert led Scully at a suitable distance away from the fire. Douglas and
Rose watched them until Tom burped. They both turned their amused attention
back to him.

"These streets you say that you were on," Gilbert said. "Where were they?"

Again, it took awhile before Scully could come up with an answer.
"Alexandria. Alexandria, Virginia."

"Really? Hoom. That's unusual. There are no soft places located in that
area. None that I know of, anyway."

"Soft places?"

"Areas where reality becomes amorphous. Here, the past and the future can
meet as well as dreams and reality."

"Dreams..." Scully's uncertain, sleepy face snapped to attention. "I have a
friend who is lost in a dream!"

"Is he? Well, that's a most precarious place to get lost in. And you're
trying to get him out of it?"

"Yes. I think so. Yes."

Gilbert considered the problem. A breeze picked up around them. Finally, he
said, "I'm not able to help you."

"Why not?"

"Well, among other reasons, I'm dead."

Scully stared back at him.

"Pardon me. That wasn't clear. I mean, that I'm supposed to be dead at this
particular time in your life and in Miss Walker's life. It's just a
suspicion of mine, but I believe that I have come from a few years back.
Before my death, that is." He lowered his voice. "Please don't tell Miss
Walker. I wouldn't want to upset her."

"Of...of course."

"Thank you."

"What other reasons do you have?"

"I simply do not have the power to help you. And, perhaps most importantly
of all, we must all have find our own way through dreams."

Scully looked to the desert. The breeze was getting stronger. Clouds of
sands blew over the horizon.

"Yes," she said. "I suppose that we have to."

"Might I give you a bit of advice, though?"

Scully nodded.

"There's much to be said for reflection and contemplation. It's good to have
doubt and uncertainty. However, never be afraid to act with purpose if
needs arrive. Even if the suggested course of action seem strange and
peculiar, act with conviction. Never do it by halves."

"I see. Thank you. I think I'll be going now."

"Good luck to you, my dear. May you find your friend well." Gilbert tipped
his hat to her and returned to the fire.

Scully walked towards the clouds. They swallowed her up again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Corinthian looked away from the alien piloting the spaceship to Mulder
and said, "I'm a bit confused."

Mulder kept his eyes on the viewing screen where stars whisked by in a
rainbow display of light. He said, "I found out the connection between the
four Alices."

"What's that?"

"From what I've read of their stories, they are all estranged from their
parents in one way or another. Roche used that alienation by pretending to
be some kind of cultural persona representing escape for them. Then he
pulled them into his corner of the Dreaming."

"I see. And how does that connect to this spaceship?"

Mulder looked down at the steel floor. "Let's just say I have my own
difficulties with my parents. And aliens have always represented for me some

kind of...redemption."

"So, we're being taken to where Roche is keeping the girls."

Mulder nodded.

"But how is he doing this? How can Roche sever a part of the Dreaming from
Lord Morpheus?"

The agent said nothing.

"Mulder?"

Mulder looked up and said, "There's something else that needs answering.
Each of the stories used a cultural persona I'm familiar with, escape for
one. The story of Alice Perez makes reference to a tall, pale stranger with
stars in his eyes."

The Corinthian pursed his lips.

"Now, this stranger is also described as having black hair and black
clothes, but the rest of it sounds like..."

"Lord Morpheus. I know."

"Do you know what that's about?"

The Corinthian looked down at his well-manicured hands. "The Lord Morpheus
you know -- he has not always been that way. The stranger described in Alice
Perez's story sounds like the one of before."

"What happened to the previous one?"

"He died. The current Morpheus was once the human child of a superhero."

"Of a what?"

The Corinthian shook his head. "Don't try to understand. It will only make
things more confusing. Let's just say that the events leading to create the
new Morpheus did not happen in this world."

"All right. So, what was the previous Morpheus like?"

The Corinthian looked at the viewing screen. The shooting stars gleamed in
his dark glasses. "He could be...quite terrible when he wanted to be." He
turned to Mulder. "I'm not sure what's going on. We will get all the answers
when we find Roche."

"Are you sure?"

The Corinthian patted one of his pockets. "As sure as I am that he will pose
no problem to me."

A doubt flared inside of Mulder. A doubt and a growing suspicion.

A suspicion of Lord Morpheus.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morpheus was pacing slowly around his hall when a voice echoed against the
marble. It was a quiet sound yet a strong one.

"Brother, I stand in my chamber and I hold your sigil. May I enter your
domain?"

"Of course," Morpheus said.

A tall figure appeared. He held a large book chained to his wrist. A cloak
was over his body, its hood obscuring his eyes with shadows. "Brother," he
said. "I have come as a representative of the family."

"What do they wish to say?" Morpheus asked, holding his elbows.

"They are...concerned about this matter concerning Roche and Mulder."

"As I am."

"If this situation continues unchecked, then there shall be drastic changes
in your domain."

"Everything changes, brother. I changed."

"And we have accepted that. Some of us even approved. But the possibilities
here are too dark to consider."

"Since when you have concerned yourself with possibilities? You only know
what will be." The tone of the pale man's voice wasn't impertinent. He just
sounded curious.

"I am merely saying what I was meant to tell you," the brother of Morpheus
intoned.

The Dream King looked to the throne, still wondering if it was truly his
own. "Do you wish for me to destroy Mulder?" he asked.

"It is within your rights. This does represent a threat to the Dreaming."

"And the Morpheus of before would not have hesitated to deal with this
threat." The pale man walked up to a pillar and ran a hand across its marble
surface. "But I am not him."

"Then, the rest of the family will have to intervene."

Morpheus turned to his brother in the quickest movement he had made in a
long time. "Would you really do such a thing?"

"Yes. It is rumored that even our long-lost brother is nearby, ready to
intervene if necessary."

Morpheus looked down at the floor, brushing his fingers across his lips.

"Would you try to stop us?"

The Dream King thought about it, then shook his head.

"Then we have nothing more to discuss at the moment. Until later, brother."

The cloaked man vanished. Morpheus looked up at the dark ceiling, his hands
clasped together. If you didn't know better, you would say he was praying.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With his book in his hand (as always), Destiny manifested himself in the
hospital room of Fox Mulder. The other members of the Endless were there --
Despair dragging a hook down her face and casting glances at the door;
Desire lighting up another cigarette with his/her heart-shaped lighter;
Delirium going "beep, beep" along with the heart monitors; Death sitting at
Mulder's bedside, hands folded in her lap.

"He will not help us," Destiny said.

"Figures," Desire sneered. "He leaves us to do all the dirty work."

"We will do what is necessary."

"Well, why are we just standing around here for? Let's put this puppy to
sleep and go..."

Delirium spun around and cried out, "PUP-py! I didn't know we were going to
hurt a PUP-py! I won't do that, I won't, I won't..."

"I meant Agent Mulder, sister."

"Oh. Okay." Delirium turned back to the twitching line of light on the
monitor. "Beep. Beep."

"So why don't we do it?" Desire asked.

"Not yet," Death said.

"Oh, come now, sister." Desire's red lips bent into a snide smile. "This is
your big chance. Mulder can be yours at last..."

Death turned to her brother/sister with a look that shut Desire's mouth.
"I'm in no worry to get anyone," Death said. "I have no reason to be. And
I'm a lot more patient than you are."

Desire turned away with a scowl, puffing out smoke through his/her nostrils.

Death looked back at Mulder. "But I'm losing patience here. I can't let
that...that thing in his mind get loose. However, it's been a long, long
time since I snatched somebody ahead of schedule. It wasn't a pleasant
feeling" She turned to the cloaked man. "Or is this Mulder's time after
all?"

"Any answer I give is irrelevant, sister," Destiny replied. "You will do
what will be done."

"You're fun for any party, you know that, Destiny?"

The cloaked man said nothing.

"I wonder if he's really coming," Despair whispered.

"You mean Destruction?" Destiny asked.

"*Hooray*, he's here!" Delirium squealed and bounced on her feet.

"No, he isn't, sister."

"Oh. Well, that's...uh..." Delirium's head sunk below her shoulders. Death
smiled and rubbed her back.

"Still," Despair said. "there are rumors that he is nearby." Blood ran down
her cheek like tears.

"Well, if he's here, why doesn't he show up?" Desire snapped. "What is he
afraid of?"

Delirium reared her head and stomped her feet. "He's not afraid, he's not,
HE'S NOT, SHUT UP..."

"Easy there, Delirium," Death said, squeezing her on the arm.

"Well, he's *not* afraid!"

"I know." Death gave Desire another look. "We all know that."

Delirium's face lengthened. "Then why isn't he here...?"

"Because our brother felt that things can just take care of themselves."

Delirium tilted her head. She looked at her big sister with curious eyes.
"Do they?"

"Maybe." Death smiled. "But it doesn't hurt to try to push them in the right
direction every now and then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2000 12:32:54 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (8 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (8 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The clouds had overtaken the blue sky. A cold wind blew over the four Alices
who still remained fixed on the chessboard. The pale stranger's cloak
fluttered in the wind, but he seemed not to feel the coldness.

"What's happening?" Alice F. cried out.

The pale stranger kept his back turned to them.

"What's going on, you son-of-a-bitch?!" Alice M. screamed.

The pale stranger turned to the four Alices. For just a moment...

...Alice T. saw the brooding, handsome features of a boy-band member...

...Alice F. saw the grin of jazz's premiere musician...

...Alice M. saw the solid jaw of the greatest cowboy of them all...

...but Alice P. still saw the pale stranger she trusted.

"He's almost here," he said with a smile. "Then we can play."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully had gone blind. The world was a brown blur seen through the spaces
between her fingers. She had forgotten again where she was going or why she
had been going there. All she knew is that she stumbled one more time, she
would not be able to get up.

Then a light appeared in the sky, cutting through the sand storms. She
stopped and looked at it as the winds pushed at her. The light looked
familiar to her, somehow.

No, it wasn't familiar.

It was unidentified...an unidentified flying object. Didn't she know
somebody who used to really like such things?

Since it was the only thing familiar in her blurred world and in her blurred
memory, she decided to follow it. Taking one firm step at a time, she headed
in the direction that the light twinkled over the sky.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The spaceship stopped over a giant chessboard. Mulder and the Corinthian
floated down to the chessboard through a shaft of light.

John Lee Roche was waiting for them. He looked as perfectly ordinary as the
day he died. His clothes were a plain suit and tie. Only the knowing smile
on his lips and the hungry look in his eyes indicated what he was capable
of.

The spaceship vanished. Or flew off into the black sky. It didn't matter.

For a moment, no one spoke -- not Mulder, not the Corinthian, not Roche, not
the four little girls standing behind the dead serial killer.

Then Mulder said, "Hello, Roche."

"Hello, Mulder. Is this where I tell you what's-what?"

"No," the Corinthian said and pulled out a knife which was now the brightest
object in the area. He removed his dark glasses. Instead of eyes, two small
mouths full of sharp, white teeth were stuck in his sockets.

Roche lifted an eyebrow. Mulder made no reaction, keeping his eyes on Roche.

"This is where I hurt you," the left eye-mouth said.

"You cannot die here in the Dreaming," the right eye-mouth added. "But soon
you'll wish you can."

"I will feast on your eyes," the mouth below the Corinthian's nose informed
Roche. "Then I will make you feel the pain you have inflicted on so many
young girls."

Three of the girls behind Roche began to cheer. "Get him! Kill him! Kill the
bastard!" One of them -- a Hispanic girl -- cried out in horror.

"Oh, really?" Roche said, smiling at the three mouths and the shiny knife.

"I created people like you, John Lee Roche," the Corinthian declared,
hunching his shoulders and preparing himself to spring upon his target. "You
collected hearts made from young girl's dresses as I collected the eyes of
young men. I will now unmake one of my creations."

Mulder looked at Roche as he shook his head. The agent almost sighed.

"No, you little dream of blood and pain," Roche said. "You didn't create
me..."

A great length of black hair rose up on Roche's bald head. His suit and tie
turned to a black cloak. His skin became even more pale.

"*I* created *you*."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Death sighed. "Now, this is where things get really balled up."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Corinthian dropped to one knee as his knife slipped from his hand to the
chessboard. "My lord," he gasped. "how can this be?"

"This is the Dreaming. Everything can be."

"But you died...a new Dream took your place..."

"What are you doing?" Alice M. yelled. "Kill him!"

"He can do nothing of the sort, little girl. I am his master."

The Corinthian shook his head. "No. I know who my master is. He..."

Roche grabbed the Corinthian by the chin. "Your 'master' is a fake. An
impostor in my rightful place. You go back and tell him that this part of
the Dreaming is mine. Soon, it will all be mine. Go before I show you what
true darkness is."

The Corinthian turned his eye-mouths to Mulder. The agent made a small,
almost-indifferent nod. With trembling fingers, the Corinthian put his dark
glasses back on. Then he left the chessboard for the forest, not even daring
to look behind him.

Alice P. cheered and clapped her hands. The others wailed. "Silence," Roche
said. "All of you, please." Then he brushed a hand through his unruly hair
and said, "Well, Mulder, how do you like the new me?"

"Color me ignorant, but I would like to know how this happened," Mulder
replied. His voice was mild and casual.

Roche failed to notice Mulder's lack of fear. He put an arm over Mulder's
shoulder. "Well, it's like this, buddy-boy. This nexus we established
through the Dreaming...how could it have happened without the aid of Lord
Morpheus himself? Your determination to profile my mind impressed him, so he
gave you a little aid. A little bit of his own power. After that, you could
literally walk into my dreams. Of course, it worked both ways."

"Uh-huh. And this stuff now is happening because...?"

"It's like you said, Mulder...ghosts are just dreams and memories, but they
can be as substantial as rock. You allowed me to enter your mind and I
stayed there." He waved a hand to indicate the chessboard and the dark sky.
"As you can see, I've done some remodeling."

"So, why are you dressed like the old Morpheus?"

"Oh, Mulder, Mulder, Mulder...weren't you listening? *I* am the old
Morpheus. That piece of him...that small portion of his power...it was still
in your mind even after the previous Dream died. I found it and I claimed it
for my own. Make sense?"

Mulder thought about it and said, "I suppose it does make sense. It has it
own kind of logic. Thank you for clearing that up."

"You're welcome," Roche said, squeezing his shoulder.

"So, you're gonna take over The Dreaming now or something?"

"Oh, definitely. I'm not that powerful, yet, but this new Dream..." Roche
rolled his eyes. "What a pansy. One day, I'll break him in two over my leg.
But, for now..."

Roche stepped back from Mulder, arms spread out wide. "This moment is about
you and me."

Mulder crossed his arms over his chest. "How so?"

"Oh, Mr. Cool to the end, huh? That's great." Roche pinched Mulder on the
cheek. "And here I thought that you gone pansy on me, too."

Roche indicated the four Alices. "We're going to play a game -- a game for
those four girls there."

"Uh-huh."

"It will be a game of wits and imagination. I make the rules and you have to
abide by them. The prize is freedom for them and yourself. Lose and you stay
in my Wonderland forever." Roche clasped his hands together, stars flashing
in his eyes. "Ready to play, Fox?"

Mulder looked at the four girls, then at Roche. Then he looked between the
dark sky and his own hands. He said, "I have one question to ask before I
play..."

"And that is?"

"What the hell do you think you are, some kind of freaking James Bond
villain?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The same path in the Dreaming can be both eternally long and minute. For the
Corinthian, the path back to the castle was the latter. He rushed to the
marble hall and found the white-haired Morpheus deep in thought.

"Lord Morpheus!" he gasped. "Roche...he..."

"Has the power of the old Morpheus? I know. Do not concern yourself about
him."

"But..."

"He is...not the threat. Mulder is."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2000 10:26:00 -0500
Subject: xfc: Glass Hearts (9 of 9)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: GLASS HEARTS (9 of 9)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Roche's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "What...what did you..."

"It's over," Mulder told him. "Let those girls free."

"No. No, I have the power here..."

Mulder took one step towards Roche -- just one step but the movement and the
look in the agent's eyes froze Roche to the bone.

"You haven't got shit-on-a-shingle," Mulder said. "Now, free the girls or
I'll bruise every inch of your pasty skin."

Roche blinked several times. Then he turned to the four Alices.

Louis Armstrong put a hand on Alice. F's shoulder. He wasn't smiling now,
though his sadness was gentle. "Come on now, Alice. Ain't nothin' here that
we can do nothin' about."

Alice F. looked at Mulder and Roche, then nodded to Armstrong. She took him
by the hand and they walked away into the forest.

A horse rode up to Alice M. "Come on there...missy," John Wayne told her
with a tense expression as he held out his hand. "This ain't our fight."

"But John Wayne doesn't back down from a fight!"

"John Wayne also knows when...he's out of his league. Sometimes, the best
thing to do is to saddle up...and wait for the next time."

Alice M. considered that, then allowed Wayne to pull her up on the horse. As
they rode off, Kyle of The Young Lovers walked up to Alice T. "We better get
going, too," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Um...uh..." Kyle put on his best puppy-dog look and said, "I love you?"

Alice T. looked the young man over, then pursed her lips as if she eaten a
lemon. "You don't know anything. You don't know anything at all." She
marched away from the board with a whiny Kyle chasing after her.

"You, too," Mulder told Alice P.

"No!" she insisted. "I'm staying with him!" She pointed at Roche whose head
was ducked below his shoulders.

Mulder sighed. "All right." He turned to Roche and said, "Look at me."

Roche kept his head turned away.

"Look...at me."

Roche's neck turned like rusty gears. "How can you do this?" he whispered.
"How can you have this power?"

"How? It's very simple, Roche."

Mulder walked up to Roche. His expression wasn't triumphant, but sad and
tired. He placed his hands on Roche's cheeks.

"It's my dream," he told Roche, then kissed him on the lips.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the castle, the white-haired Morpheus sat down on the floor as if he had
become dizzy.

In the Waking world, three girls woke up in hospital beds. A fourth remained
asleep on the sidewalk.

In Mulder's hospital room, Death stood up. The rest of the family readied
themselves for the attack, but all Death did was mutter "Come on, Scully.
Get the lead out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She had finally reached the end of the desert. The winds had left her behind
and she now stood at the edge of a marble floor. The marble was sunk into a
grassy field. Tall pillars and some partially-built walls rested on the
marble, but no walls were in front of her. It looked like the beginnings of
a castle.

A girl dressed in a black dress was playing with a ball. The ball was made
of glass and held a golden light inside. When she threw up in the air, it
would hover and spin overhead. The girl would laugh as she chased it before
it finally settled back down in her hands.

A man sat on a throne on the far end of the floor. He was dressed in a black
cloak that mostly covered his lower body. He had his hands crossed under his
chin. He didn't seem to notice the woman. Neither did the girl.

The woman saw a knife resting at the edge of the floor. It looked hard and
sharp. She picked it up. There was nowhere that she could hide it on
herself. Her clothes were gone.

She walked towards the man on his throne.

The girl saw the woman coming. She didn't see the knife. "Hi!" she called
out as the ball floated above her.

"Hello," the woman said as she continued to move slowly towards the throne.
"Who is that?"

"He's Dream of the Endless. Isn't he beautiful?"

The woman agreed. She had seen that face for a long time and she had come to
love its beauty more with each day. Of course, it was different now. Short
brown hair had been replaced with long black hair. The skin was paler.
Instead of hazel eyes, stars gleamed in the dark sockets.

Still, he was beautiful. She walked past the girl.

The girl saw the knife in the woman's hand. "Look out!" she warned the man
on the throne.

He remained motionless. His eyes were focused on one of the pillars. The
woman, however, finally got his attention when she stopped right in front of
his throne.

"I...remember you," he said, seemingly unafraid of the knife in her hand.

"And I think I remember you," she told him.

"Really? In what way?"

"I believe I was supposed to rescue you." She held up the knife and looked
at it. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"She's going to kill you!" the girl cried out. "Stop her!"

The man held up a hand towards the girl. "Calm yourself, child." Then he
said to the woman, "I doubt you came to rescue me. You...do not look so
foolish."

"Why would it be so foolish to rescue you?"

"Because a man with...so much darkness..." He placed a hand on his naked
chest. "...in his heart cannot be rescued."

"What can you do then?"

"Destroy him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Death closed her eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The girl rushed to the throne and grasped the man by the legs. "No, no, no!"
she wailed. "Don't leave me!"

"Shhh," the man said, stroking her on the hair. "This woman must...do what's
right."

"Yes," the woman said. "I have to."

For a long time, no one moved and no one spoke. The only sounds were the
girl's crying and a faint desert wind's howling. The glass ball continued to
float in the air. All this time, the woman seemed to be in deep thought.

The man decided to speak. "If you must do something...do it now. I...don't
know for how long I'll be willing..."

The woman held up a hand. "There may be another way."

The man tilted his head, curious. "There is? What?"

"A man cannot hold the darkness of his heart alone. But what if he had
help?"

"No. No one could help me do that."

"I could."

The woman turned the knife around. She studied it as if she wanted to be
sure of her actions.

Then she plunged the knife into her chest and cut open a long wound. She did
not seem to be in pain, but her tense expression suggested a task that must
executed flawlessly.

The knife was dropped. She reached her hand into the wound and kept it in
there for several seconds.

She pulled out a heart -- a red heart made of glass that shined like tears
in the sunlight.

Then she cracked the heart into two pieces.

The man looked at her, unsure of what to do at first. Then he picked up the
knife. Before the girl could even scream, he stuck the knife into his own
chest. The wound he carved was pale and white, but the heart he pulled out
was also made of red glass.

He snapped the heart into two. The man and the two each gave the other one
half of their own heart. Then they stuck the other's half to their own half.

They fit together perfectly.

The hearts were fitted back inside their chest. The wounds sealed themselves
up.

"See?" the woman told the man, a smile crossing her solemn face. "Wasn't
that..."

She collapsed to the floor. The man tumbled out of his throne and crashed
onto a spot right next to her.

The glass ball dropped...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

...and it landed in the hands of Lord Morpheus. The ball's golden light
caressed his smile. "Much better," he said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Death opened her eyes and smiled. "Whew. Glad that worked itself out. Let's
go, people."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morpheus placed the ball into a sleeve of his cloak. It vanished like a coin
into a pocket. He walked across the marble hall, passing by the man and the
woman lying on the floor. A girl was shaking the man, crying "Wake up!"

He sat down on his throne. He sighed. "It is...good to be back."

The girl continued to shake the man until she noticed that his hair was no
longer black and stars no longer filled his eyes. She backed away, saying "Y
you're not Dream."

"No," Morpheus said. "I am."

The girl looked at Morpheus's white hair and kind face. "No, you're not,"
she replied.

Morpheus nodded, looking unsurprised. "'Give me back my Beast.' I
understand. But your Dream died a long time ago. I am his successor."

The girl realized that Morpheus was speaking the truth. Trembling, she said,
"But...if he's dead..."

"He is dead...but he's not forgotten. Come to me, Alice Perez."

She walked up to the throne. Morpheus placed his hand on her forehead. The
remorse left the girl's face as she closed her eyes.

"I give you a dream of myself...a dream of myself from my darker days. It
will stay with you forever, Alice Perez...no matter how hard your life
becomes.

"Now, return to the waking world...with my blessing."

Then Morpheus looked to the man and the woman. "To you, I give my thanks.
You have lifted the shadows from the Dreaming. Or....at least...you have put
to rest shadows that I no longer need. I wish I could give some reward to
you.

"But nothing I give can outstrip what you have given each other.

"Go. With my blessing. Awake."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When you have looked your dream face-to-face, you cannot go unchanged.

The next day after her trip to the Dreaming, Alice Thorne threw out all her
Young Lover records and memorabilia. Yet she would never replace it with any
other band in her heart. Nor did she develop a deep interest in any writer,
actor or musician. She considered all that to be simply "frivolous tosh," as
she would put it in her later years. She got married and raised a girl whom
Alice T. ended up making even more miserable than she was in her youth.

Alice Faludi and Alice Marsh had happier lives. They broke away from their
parent's plans for them and pursued their own ambitions. Alice F. became a
jazz singer and Alice M. became a rodeo cowgirl. Both were highly regarded
and successful in their separate professions.

No such happy events occurred in the life of Alice Perez. As she had
suspected, she became a prostitute. When she was sixteen, she stepped into
the wrong car. They found her body in a garbage dump the next day. For the
rest of her life, she could always take solace in her dreams and in the
mysterious, pale-skinned man she met there. In fact, when Death came, she
was surprised to find the man there with Alice.

"Do I know you?" he asked, looking at her with his star-filled eyes.

"Uh...sort of." Death smiled. "Don't worry about it."

"Can he come with us?" Alice P. asked.

"Of course. Everybody comes with me, sweetie."

"Good," Alice P. said and all three of them walked off hand-in-hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder's eyes fluttered open. His surroundings were strange at first, but he
eventually recognized them as a hospital room. He wasn't too sure about the
weight on his chest, though.

He looked down and saw Scully staring back at him. Her eyes were sleepy and
dazed as if she had been in a coma like him. She was lying in the hospital
bed with him, her forehead close to his mouth and her breasts touching his
chest.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi."

Silence stepped between them, then passed.

"I think I'm better now," he told her, though his voice was tired.

"Actually...I think so." She sounded just as tired.

"Oh...my God. Ring the bells and wake the children. Agent Scully agrees with
me."

"Be quiet, Mulder, or I'll smother you with a pillow."

He smiled at her. She gave a smile back, but then it vanished.

"Mulder...I don't remember coming into here. I don't remember..." She looked
at their two bodies in the bed. "I just don't understand..."

"Neither do I. I don't think we'll get any answers to that any more than
we'll get an explanation for...why this is in my bed..."

He reached under the covers. His hand came out with a small pile of sand.
Scully looked at it.

"I think you're right there, too, Mulder," she said.

"Twice in one night. It must be my lucky day."

Scully pulled herself upright. "I have to...get Skinner..." she murmured,
but her swaying body and half-hooded eyes indicated a contrary desire.

"You look tired," Mulder observed.

Her head bobbed up and down.

"So am I. Strange. After all that sleep, I'm still tired." He held out an
arm. "Lay down."

She looked down at him. "I'm not too sure that's a good...oh, what the
hell."

Her body descended and they were pressed against each other again. Mulder
wrapped an arm around her. They both closed their eyes.

"It will be real embarrassing if they find us like this," she muttered.

"We'll just say...'Excuse us for living.'"

Scully smiled. In just a few moments, they were back to sleep, breathing at
the same pace, hearts beating as one.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX