Subject: Sins of Our Children 5/8 PG-13 -- by Humbuggie Part 5/8 Part II : On the subject of drugs - 1 - November 13 6.45 p.m. The best thing that could have happened to me was waking up in a room with no machines attached to me or tubes sticking into me. Frankly that was all I wanted. My wish came true. I woke up by myself in the cool darkness of a room that I had not seen before. I had been transferred again from the Intermediate Care room with its own window giving access to the nurses' station, to a semi-private room with no one to stare at me for hours, wondering whether I would be okay. I lay there for a long time with my eyes closed, listening to the silence. Until the door opened, and footsteps approached me. Or so I thought. Then they suddenly stopped, and I heard sounds of voices, people speaking. Not about me or to me, but behind a large blue curtain that hid another bed. Immediately the sounds changed, and I heard the squeaking of the bed as someone got out of it. A closet door opening, the zipper of a bag, and then noises as if the bag was being stuffed with goods. I opened my eyes and stared to the ceiling, listening to the noises. And then a polite cough on the other side of me made me turn around and look straight into Tom Fielding's face. "Hey, Mulder," he said, smiling as he leaned forward. "How 'ya doing?" "I'm okay," I said, surprised that I actually found a voice to talk with. "How long?" "It's after 6. Scully went to grab a bite to eat. I told her I'd stay here in case you woke up." I turned my head towards the curtains, noticing it had become more quiet behind it. Immediately a female voice spoke, accompanied by the attractive face of a blonde sticking her head around the corner. "Your neighbor's awake, Pumpkin." The man listening to the nickname Pumpkin seemed to move behind the curtain, and then stared at me, putting his hand in the air. "Hey, good to see you awake, man. How are you feeling?" "I'm okay," I repeated, wondering if I should put that phrase on a tape to play for whoever would pose the question next. "Who are you?" "Harry Flint. I am -- or at least was -- here for the day. I'm going home, you see?" He pointed to a large bag on the second bed in the room, shoving the curtain aside so I could see. "The hospital is full. They couldn't put you in a private room as your partner requested. They knew I was going home today so they put you in here with me." "Oh, okay," I said, turning my attention to Tom again, who had gotten up from his chair, and was standing at the foot of the bed. Harry nodded at him, saying, "Seems you've got a lot of friends worried. They've been in and out all afternoon, ever since they brought you in here. You slept right through it. You needed to rest, didn't ya?" "I guess." "I gotta tell you though that I'm glad to be getting out of here today. I don't like having guards at my door." "Guards?" I asked with a surprised stare at Tom. "Yeah," Harry continued before Tom could respond, "they've been here all afternoon. Scared the hell out of my wife, didn't it, Peaches?" The man winked at the blonde, immediately identifying her as his wife. "Why the guards?" I asked Tom. He said, "I'll explain it to you later," and turned his attention to the flowers on the table. I swallowed away the lump in my throat, sensing how sore it still felt. Guards? I thought again. Who in their right mind would come in here and try to kill me? I turned my attention towards Harry Flint again, watching him wrap up his things. He was eager to leave this place, had probably been stuck in here for quite some time. He was talking to me a mile a minute, even if I didn't notice that at first. "Your lady-partner seemed worried about you. Your doctor's been in and out checking on you all afternoon. Didn't want to move you in here at first, but she convinced him you'd be less of a pain in the ass if they did. He was worried 'cause you slept all the time. She said you always sleep a lot when you're sick. You're sick a lot, aren't you? At least, that's what she said. Said you had a head hard enough to withstand a sledgehammer. A nice lady, that partner of yours. Very attractive. Wouldn't mind having someone like that in my office all day. I think the desk would serve more than one purpose." Again he winked at his Peaches, who didn't wink back. In fact, the look in her eyes definitely described the anger and contempt she felt because he put her down like that. Hubby-dear did not see it. The man returned to his bag and coat, ready to be put on. He didn't look sick at all. Whatever had been wrong with him, was probably long cured. His wife was a beauty. Blonde hair, green, fierce eyes. Cute smile. Very attractive. The man wasn't too bad-looking either, somewhere in his early forties. He had style, even dressed in jeans and slacks. He obviously worked on a top level of some corporate firm, earning the big bucks. Tom watched them in amusement as they finally gathered the last of their stuff, ready to move out. He seemed to have a lot of friends as well, sending him all sorts of things to enjoy. I wondered what else was in that bag he held. Finally he put on his overcoat, and took one long look around the room, checking for anything he might have left behind. Then his hands picked up a basket with fruit, hesitated and put it on my night table, in between the bouquets of flowers. Who had brought me flowers? I wondered, for the first time seeing them. "Here," he said. "You might want to have some of this fruit. Sorry there are just peaches left though. I don't like them. I'll settle for the one wearing my ring." He laughed with his own joke. "Thanks," I said, wondering if I was allowed to eat yet. "Take care, buddy." He picked up his bag and left, leaving only me and my colleague. Tom stared at the door in amazement for a while, then laughing out loud. We both grinned at the situation, and I actually enjoyed the peace and quiet this man had left behind. So, why the guards?" I asked, shifting back and forth in the bed. "There have been some threats." "Threats?" "Jason Warren's put out a price on your head, Mulder." I stared at him shocked. "Me?" I asked. "Why?" "Apparently he blames you for screwing up his deal last night. You're a celebrity, didn't you know? Been on the news all night and day. 'Heroic FBI agent is injured in pursuit of murderer of Valerie Lange.' You're a hero now." I grinned painfully. "Didn't feel that way when I puked my guts out last night." He smiled. "You're back to cracking jokes. Scully said that was a good sign. Do you want some water?" "Yes, please." He poured some water in a cup, helping me in my efforts to drink it. I wasn't allowed to sit up yet, and I knew exactly why. My head started spinning as soon as I even thought about getting up. It would take a while before all was well again. This had to be the worst concussion I'd ever had. But at least all of my brains was still there, and I was feeling better every time I moved. It would just be a matter of time now before I was up and about, testing my sore limbs and back. "So why me?" I asked. "There were plenty of us around to screw things up. He can't have put a price on all of our heads?" "I think he chose you to make a statement. You were the one in the news, and you were also there when Valerie died. He's been checking up on you. The threat came in through one of our informants on the streets. Said Warren would do anything to get back at you." "So now I'm being guarded?" I asked, not knowing whether I should be grateful. "He won't come in here. It would be suicide." "Whatever the case is, everyone visiting you will be checked thoroughly. You'll be okay." Of that I had no doubt. - 2 - November 12 2:45 p.m. I sat quietly at my desk staring into oblivion. The slap of the hand on my cheek was still hurting. Not physically, but mentally stabbing me in the back. I could not get past the words of the woman whose face I had barely seen. All I had seen was the ring on her hands and the force with which she hit me. I could not forget it. Scully put a cup of coffee in front of me and asked me to drink it. I shoved it aside and returned to the file of our suspect, trying to get past the idea something was wrong. In a couple of hours we would catch the guy, and he would be in our custody, admitting to the kidnapping and murder of a young woman. "You know, Mulder," my partner said to me, "Every time I see you like this, I wonder when you will be able to put it all aside. I know you never will but it still frightens me to see you like this." What do you mean?" I asked, at that moment not understanding what she was talking about. "You're profiling again, even if you don't know it. You can't keep your eyes off that file, can you? What are you hoping to find?" "I'm not sure. I just have this gut feeling that something will go wrong, and we will pay the price for it." "Can't you get past that feeling?" "I don't know." "Mulder." She knelt down beside me, forcing me to look at her. "I don't think you should go with them tonight. There's no place for us there. They don't need us when they make the bust." Warren doesn't know us. Neither does Smith. We could go in that hotel posing as a married couple and they wouldn't know we were Feds. But bring the boys in blue in and you'll start a riot and a gunfight. They need us, Scully." Then let Davis send someone else in. You're obviously distressed. With good reason. Mrs. Lange worked out her anger on you, and she shouldn't have. You're taking this too personally." What if it was Emily lying there, Scully?" I suddenly asked her, "What if it was your daughter you found dead because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Wouldn't you blame the ones that should have saved her?" She turned pale, but didn't avoid the question I posed to her, knowing that I was right. When a child died, the parents would try to find the first person they could get their hands on to blame. In this case, the ones that could not save her. Us. Scully, myself, Fielding, Davis, and every one else involved in the raid. We didn't save her, so her parents blamed us. With or without good reason? I couldn't say. I couldn't even be angry at them for doing it. I was angry at myself. "I'm going tonight, Scully," I said, "with or without you. Warren is a clever guy. He'll use trick he can to get out of there and we have to find him before he kills someone else." "Don't make it a personal quest, Mulder." "It has already become that," I said, standing up and leaving her alone at Davis' desk. - 3 - November 13 7 p.m. Tom left me alone with the promise that Scully would be along soon. I was grateful for the first moments of privacy ever since this hellish situation started. I sighed and shifted comfortably, ready to fall asleep again. But my mouth was dry and thirsty, and my stomach growling. Almost a day after the incident. Would it hurt to eat something? Nah. I'm sure nobody would mind. reached over and took a peach from the basket, opening my mouth to take a large bite from it. "Mulder!" I startled and the peach flew from my hand onto the floor, fortunately not damaging any furniture or whatever else there was in my hospital room. "Scully," I sighed, staring with regret at the fruit at her feet, once attractive enough to be eaten, and now totally ruined. "What did you do that for?" "Who told you that you could eat?" she said, sounding like my mother. For a moment there I reckoned she was going to spank me. "No one," I said. "But no one said I couldn't either." She debated with herself for a moment, figuring I was right. She wasn't there when I woke up, and who was here to stop me from eating a juicy peach? "Come on, Scully," I said. "I'm hungry and thirsty and my throat is killing me. When can I eat?" She checked the IV still pushing fluids in my body, and said, "If you're a good boy, tomorrow morning, okay? I'm sure the kitchen will cook up some jello for you, and you can have some toast and tea. How does that sound?" "Sickening." She smiled. "Well, at least you'll have something to eat." I turned my head towards her. "I'm fine, Scully, honestly. I don't know what happened or why it happened but I am just fine. Honestly." She sat down on the side of the bed, for a moment obviously not knowing what to say. I saw tears in her eyes and was shocked. How bad had it been? "Mulder, I ..." She stopped in the middle of her sentence, playing with the edge of the sheet. "I'm sorry, I promised myself not to do this." "Do what?" "Ask you if you went after Warren to punish yourself." I opened my mouth to respond, suddenly realizing I could not answer her question. The truth was I didn't know. I don't know why I ran into that alley, knowing it would lead me straight into a trap. Nor did I know why I took the risk, or what forced me into it. "I don't know," I finally responded. She frowned, rubbing her forehead with her right hand. "When will you stop punishing yourself for this, Mulder? The girl is dead, not because we were too late, but because Warren murdered her. You cannot hold yourself responsible for every dead victim we encounter on the way." "I know that," I said impatiently. "It's just that ..." I couldn't express to her how I felt about this. It was like with John Roche. He had tried to murder again because I let him go. If he had killed that girl, it would have been on my hands. If Warren walked the streets again because I couldn't catch him, then every living being he killed along the way would be on my hands. I felt agitated and restless lying useless in this bed. I wanted to leave this place and go after the guy myself, catching him before he caught me. Scully looked around, noticing the peaches in the basket. "Where did those come from?" she asked curiously. "Harry gave them to me." "Harry?" "Yeah, my next-door-neighbor. He wanted me to have them." "Oh." Scully obviously had trouble recalling the man in the bed next to me, probably too occupied with other problems to care. I knew she was worried about my state of health, but how to tell her that there was no need? I would be fine as soon as I found Warren. Then we could forget it all and move on, even if it meant going back to Kersh. "So when can I get out of here?" "At least two more days," she said, grabbing a peach from the basket, then changing her mind and putting it back. "You're only just beginning to recover, Mulder. Your setback fortunately hasn't caused any more medical problems. But you still need time to heal." "Great," I said, scanning the room for the remote control of the TV. "I'll be bored." "No, you won't. I'll be around." I smiled. "And so will others." "Oh yeah? Like who?" "Tom, Kersh, hey, even Skinner visited you while you were out." "Oh yeah?" I asked curiously. "Why? I thought he wasn't allowed to see us?" "He was worried. Those flowers are his. Nice of him, isn't it?" "Yeah, he's a real trouper." Scully grinned, obviously picturing our former boss in a vaudeville outfit. The nurse entering the room looked vaguely familiar. She was a blonde in her late forties, nodding politely but quietly when she saw us. I dreaded the sight of the syringe lying on the tray, and the bandages and sterile patches to treat the gash on my head. "Hey Rina, our patient's awake," Scully said happily, as if she had already gotten to know just about everyone in this damned hospital. "I can tell," the nurse responded, smiling towards her, basically ignoring me. "About time too." Scully got up from the bed, and patted me on the arm, saying, "I'm going to try and find your doctor. You're in good hands, okay?" "Sure," I said, watching her as she left. Nurse Rina was already injecting the goodies in my I.V., still not talking to me. When she finished taking my vitals, she turned towards me, scanning my face for a long time. I was about to ask her if she liked what she saw, when she put down the tray and started removing the bandages on my temple. I could feel the sharpness of her fingernails as she dug into the bandages, basically trying to tear off some skin in the process. I couldn't help but wince. "Sorry," she muttered and continued her work quietly. I couldn't see her eyes at that time. Her body was close to my face, and she kind of blocked the way with her chest. In other, more pleasant circumstances, I would be terribly aroused. Now I was only annoyed while I waited patiently for her to finish. "There," she said. "All done. That wasn't too bad, was it?" I didn't respond. I was already feeling a bit lightheaded again, and I couldn't help but wonder what she had injected in the IV. I felt an urge to pee come up, and tried to figure out whether or not the catheter was still in there. When I shifted my legs a bit, I felt nothing but free space down there, and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked at me in wonder, probably trying to figure out what I was up to, but I didn't tell her I needed to use the bathroom. There was no way I was going to use a bedpan. Not as long as I was able to walk about and do it myself. "Do you need anything else, agent Mulder?" she asked as she picked up the tray. "Yeah, I was wondering when I can eat?" I asked hopefully, wondering if I could force anything with her, basically ignoring Scully's words. "The doctor will be able to tell you that. You've been sick a few times during your sleep, your stomach is probably still recovering, and you need to watch your throat for a while too. As soon as you're able to sit up straight without getting dizzy, I'm sure the rest will follow soon enough." "Thanks," I said, wondering whether or not this was a positive response. I had been sick and I hadn't even known about it? Strange. She nodded politely and left me alone in the room. The minute she closed that door behind her, I was already shoving aside the sheets, feeling the relief flooding through my body as my eye confirmed what my body had already told me -- no more catheter. Yes, I could pee standing! The next moment I succeeded in sliding out of the bed, putting my two feet firmly on the ground. Of course the floor started toying with my poor body as soon as I started to make a move for it. Then I made my way to the bathroom, trying carefully not to trip over my own feet. My hand was so tight around the door handle I could actually feel my muscles strain. But I made it! A few seconds later I did what any good boy had to do, and leaned carefully against the side of the wall when things started getting dizzy around me. I took a quick look at myself in the mirror, seeing a bruised face, white as a sheet. My hair was sticking in all directions, good thing I had it cut short not so long ago. I really did look like hell. I couldn't help but wonder if the rest of my body was bruised as well. The soreness in my limbs and back did feel like it. As I turned to open the door and leaned heavily against the post, I opened my eyes to find a very angry Scully and my doctor waiting for me. "What the hell were you thinking, Mulder?" she uttered angrily when she shoved her arm around my waist and helped me return to the bed. I was exhausted from walking just a few feet towards the bathroom! I could actually hear my own heavy breathing as her arm supported me as I made my way back to the comfort of the pillows. Scully shoved my long legs back under the sheets, and helped me lean back. I sighed heavily as I rested my head, happy to be back in bed. I felt like a wreck. "I needed to use the bathroom," I uttered, angry because she was angry at me. "You should have told Rina. You're not supposed to be moving about yet. I thought you had run off or something." I lifted my left hand with the IV in the air and said, "I hardly think I'd be thinking this with me then." She couldn't help but smile. "Maybe you would want to keep that for future hospital explorations." "Ha ha." She must have felt sorry for me (I certainly was), because her face melted immediately, and she actually ruffled my hair in front of my doctor! "It's okay," she said, and her fingers seemed to probe the sore spot on my forehead. What is it with doctors and nurses always probing the places that ache the most? I wanted to push her hand away and say, "Hey, I got hurt there." But I didn't. I liked it when she got physical on me. She finally let go of me (not that I was complaining) and I tried to turn my attention to the doctor. Despite the haze I had been in, I could recall every moment I had talked to him during the past night. He seemed pleased when I called him by his name. He asked me questions about how I was feeling, whether or not I was still feeling nauseated, and if I still saw double. Fortunately I was able to respond to the last two with a firm conviction that I was indeed doing much better than the night before. Hey, I made quick recoveries, what can I say? The doctor seemed satisfied too, because he talked to Scully as if I wasn't even there, telling her I could take a light meal in the morning. If all went well , the IV would be removed then. Sounded reasonable to me. And I was even more satisfied when he told her I'd probably be out of there in another two days, under the condition I would take it easy. Even better news! I was on the right way to recovery here. Three cheers for Monster Boy. And Monster Boy was definitely feeling better, and a bit lightheaded. In fact, I felt amazingly good. "So," I dared to ask. "Can I eat that peach now?" The doctor glanced at Scully, as if she had told him all about my difficult patient-like manners, and said something like, "Tomorrow morning, Agent Mulder." Then he nodded and left the room rather quickly, leaving myself and my partner to our own devices. "Alone again, Agent Scully," I grinned, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair as she had done mine. I felt quite good staring at her. She looked amazing. "Did you cut your hair?" Two weeks ago," she said surprised, "why?" "Nothing, just that you look good with your hair like this. Don't change it." "I won't," she responded with a smile. "Now go back to sleep." "I don't want to. I'm too hyped up." Immediately she seemed surprised, examining my face cautiously. "Are you feeling okay?" "Of course. I'm just wide awake. Don't wanna go to sleep right now. Why don't you stay here and talk for a bit?" "Sure," she said, sitting down again. As she watched me, I knew something was wrong. Not with her, but with me. I just could not put my finger on it. It was fairly difficult to explain, wasn't it? - 4 - November 12 4.03 p.m. I found myself standing at the edge of the cemetery again, this time looking at her grave. The sand was of course still fresh, and there wasn't a stone on it yet with her name and date of death. It would be here soon. And then it would be final. I remember the stone Scully's mother had made after she disappeared. The tears in Margaret Scully's eyes spoke the words she could not utter when Dana vanished. She had been the one expressing my feelings back then when I was not able to myself. I still had not learned. Every time something happened I closed up, unable to tell Scully how I felt. Just like today. The girl was gone and I could not tell her how it affected me. I had never seen this girl when she was still alive, and I would not get to know her now. It didn't matter. To me she was all the Samanthas in the world, abducted by jerks and killers that hated the world and wanted others to be punished for it. To me she was again the proof that I could not save anyone. I stepped forward until my feet touched the edge of the grave. I pictured her lying there, in the coffin. Still human, still beautiful. Tomorrow she would start to deteriorate. In a few weeks she would turn into dust, just like all of us when our time came. I could not handle it. Not by myself. I turned away from the grave and grasped my cell phone, dialing Scully's number. "Scully." "It's me," I said, hearing the distress in my own voice. "Where are you?" "I can't do this anymore, Scully. You've got to help me ..." "Where are you, Mulder?" "Valerie's grave." "I'll be right there." A click and she was gone. I found a bench under the trees and sat down on it, keeping my eyes focused on the fresh sand. She found me there a few minutes later, frozen and cold on that bench. She sat down next to me, watching me as I watched the grave. Pathetic, isn't it?" I said. "I need a stranger to die to fall apart." "At least you're not falling apart by yourself." I smiled, despite everything and turned my eyes towards her. "I need help on this one, Scully. This entire case is wrong." "Define wrong." "I don't know. I have this distinct feeling that we're not seeing the whole picture. There's something wrong and I need to find out what." "Is it Jason Warren?" "Perhaps. I've gone through his file several times. I know it by heart -- every detail of it. There's something else." "What do you want me to do?" "I don't know." "What can I do for you?" "I don't know that either." She sighed and moved closer to me, touching my hand. "We're a pathetic bunch, aren't we?" "Yeah, we are." She smiled. - 5 - November 13 10.15 p.m. I felt enormously agitated and even angry, lying restless in the bed. Scully had left me a few hours ago, promising to return tonight with the files on Warren and Valerie Lange. She hadn't returned yet, and I felt anger. She'd left me here and not come back! She lied to me. "Damn it," I said angry, shoving aside the blankets. They annoyed me. I made my way to the bathroom, resting several times with my head against the wall. My face felt cold and numb but as I looked at myself, I saw a flushed face and feverish eyes. I hadn't felt this bad in a long time. I stretched my sore legs and back, probing my vital body parts for any further damage. Except for the headache, all seemed well. There was no reason for me to stay here much longer. I had to get out of this hospital, the walls were choking me. I relieved myself and returned to the room, hardly making it. I was thirsty and hungry, ready to sink my teeth into anything right now. I reached for one of the peaches, ignoring what both Scully and the doctor had said, and bit in one, savoring its flavor for quite some time. Eagerly I ate it, throwing the pit in the basket underneath the table. I was still hungry when I finished, but at least I didn't feel thirsty anymore. Content with myself I rested on the bed, leaning heavily into the soft pillows. Just around the time I wanted to grab the remote control and start switching channels, Nurse Rina came in. She really did look vaguely familiar to me, and I kept on wondering where I had seen her before. She saw my hand on the control and quickly walked over to the bed. "Your partner said you were an insomniac," she said, insisting on taking the remote from my hand. I groaned when I let her, and she smiled as she checked on my blood pressure and temperature. "If you want I can get you something to sleep," she said, emptying a syringe in the IV. "No, thanks," I responded, knowing from the approving look on her face she would probably love to stick a needle in my butt. Now that I was kind of back in the land of the living, I would not heel to the joys of sleep. She looked at me as if she was examining my sanity, but gave in and said, "Okay, but no TV, and you are going to try to get some sleep, okay? The doctor will be checking on you again in the morning, and I'm sure you're eager to leave this place." "That I am," I grinned, smiling gratefully at her for not forcing her needles on my already tortured body. She smiled back at me, and switched off the light for me. As she left, I leaned back in the pillows, debating with myself whether disobey her rules. Before I fell asleep, I remembered where I had seen Rina before. She was one of the nurses in the ICU, taking care of me when I was out for the count. I slept, but the agitation stayed, even in my dreams. --------------------------------------------- Subject: Sins of Our Children 6/8 PG-13 -- by Humbuggie Part 6/8 - 6 - November 12 6.15 p.m. Dixon laid down a map of the hotel, scattering papers all over the table. "The hotel has four floors. The penthouse floor is the one our friend Smith is using. We confirmed today that he is indeed staying at the hotel. He has made no plans to leave for the day. It might be a safe assumption the deal will be handled at the hotel, either in his room or in the restaurant. He will take the most obvious place, expecting no law enforcement. The front and back entrances need to be guarded at all times." "What about the kitchen?" I asked. "What about it?" "Every kitchen has an emergency exit. We need to guard that too." "Will do," Dixon said uninterested, "I want people on every floor, guarding every room. We will have access to the penthouse, but only through the stairs. He will have the elevator guarded for sure." Davis took over, saying, "We will prevent guests from hotel or restaurant to enter the building. The FBI will be inside posing as dinner guests at the restaurant. If and when the party moves upstairs, we will be on their tails. The chances are quite slim that Warren and Smith will make the deal in the restaurant, so the problem we have is that we'll have to bust into the penthouse not knowing if the deal is taking place. That's a chance we'll have to take though. Warren and Smith cannot walk out. We lost Warren once, we cannot afford to lose him twice. You will receive your individual instructions in an instant. Wear something nice." Davis started handing out papers with instructions, telling Scully and me we'd be having dinner at a fancy restaurant tonight. "Well, as long as the bureau pays for it, I don't mind," I winked. Scully smiled, obviously glad I was cracking jokes again. I did feel a bit better after our conversation. Perhaps, when we caught Warren tonight, the strange feeling I had all day would disappear. "Good," Davis said. "We're leaving in a couple of minutes. You all know what to do." He left us. Fielding walked over to us and said, "Looks like we'll be sharing dinner tonight, folks. Hope you don't mind." "Of course not," Scully said, "glad to have you on board." Scully and I decided to leave together. We would meet Tom at the restaurant. I left my car at the bureau and hitched a ride with Scully. We had agreed to go past her place first so she could shower and change. Then we'd go over to my place where I would change into something decent. None of us spoke much as we dove into the evening traffic jam, driving along with the other commuters. Around 6.45 we arrived at Scully's apartment. She showered and changed quickly, while I watched TV. She appeared from her bedroom dressed in a beautiful black dress, and her hair so perfect it would be a shame to run my hand through it. I wanted to do that though, and to take her in my arms and tell her that I loved her. I didn't. "All set?" I asked nonchalantly, after complementing her on the dress. She accepted the compliment graciously and we hurried along, knowing we were running out of time. At my place, I showered and changed quickly as well, choosing a navy blue suit for the occasion. She looked at me approvingly, knowing I had put a little more effort into this than usual. Little did I know that this was the last time I would wear this suit. And it was the last time I would see my apartment as well for a long, long time. As we left for the restaurant, the squeaky feeling in my stomach returned, forcing me to consider the possibility that something would go wrong tonight. - 7 - November 14 6:45 a.m. The noise in the hallway woke me up, returning the agitated feeling to my body immediately. I remembered seeing someone in the room in the middle of the night, touching my throat and neck. It had startled me, but I had been so out of it that I let it happen. Now I felt like something was really wrong. There was a queasy feeling in my abdomen and head. Oh God, I thought. Don't make me feel like this again. Panic surged in me, and I threw aside the blankets to walk over to the bathroom. I slid out of bed, stumbling to the floor, dragging the IV pole with me. The bags of fluids ended up on the floor next to me, and I looked at them, and then at my hands. I saw double. The world twisted and turned in front of my eyes. I saw spots. "Scully ..." I spoke her name as if she was my lifesaver. Where the hell was Scully? I looked around helplessly. I had to call Scully. I grabbed the edge of the bed until I could pull myself up. Then my hand found the buzzer and I pushed it several times until footsteps rushed to the room, and the door was pushed open. I was leaning heavily against the bed, clawing my hands on the sheets. "Where's Scully?" I asked the nurse I didn't know. "I need to talk to Scully." "Mr. Mulder," the woman said, "why are you out of bed? What happened?" She stared at the fluids on the floor, dangling on the long line attached to my hand. She knelt down and picked the bags up, hanging them back to the pole. Then she forced me back into the bed, despite my anger and efforts to free myself. "I need to talk to Scully," I repeated, leaning heavily in the pillows. She touched my forehead, obviously distressed by the heat glowing from it. "I'll call her for you, Mr. Mulder," the nurse said, "but you need to calm down." "I am calm. Get Scully in here!' "I will, I promise." She rang the buzzer herself, getting other medical personnel in the room. I had no other option but to lie down and take it all. I was extremely tired and agitated at the same time. I felt like shit. It was all a dream, I said to myself. I would wake up soon and then things would get better. This was all a dream. Yeah, that was it. It was a dream. I'd wake up in the morning and it would feel better. I closed my eyes and let myself slip into an unsteady dream. Yes, it would get better. But it didn't get better. It only got worse. By 7 a.m. I was ready to throw a fit. My restless body didn't seem able to find a comfortable position to lie in. I shifted and turned on my side, only to turn to my back again soon after. Everything ached and hurt. A dull pain in my chest added to the misery. I couldn't remember ever feeling worse. Scully arrived shortly after, dressed in a jeans and sweater, her face stressed with worry. I looked at her feverishly, grasping her hand, saying, "Scully, I'm glad you made it. I want to get out of here and they won't let me. I gotta go to the office to find Warren." "Mulder, you're not well," she said soothingly. "Why don't you relax for a while so I can talk to the nurse?" She walked over to the corner of the room, talking quietly with the nurse that had come in first, finding me on the floor. I closed my eyes and drifted off, dreaming of standing at the grave and looking into an empty casket. As I looked up, she was standing behind me, pushing me into the grave, screaming accusingly, "You killed me! I died because you were too late!' I woke up screaming just as loud as she had in my nightmare. By 8 a.m. the doctor walked into my room worriedly, probably alarmed by the nurse on duty that had seen my contorted face and attempts to keep some food inside. They had left me at peace before, after I'd thrown a fit. Now the room was packed with people, looking at me while I was ready to break down. The small amount of breakfast I had received, I shoved aside uninterested. My stomach was ready to collapse after the previous nausea attack. By 8.30 a.m. I had a feverish dream about Jason Warren. I knew it had to be a dream because of the guards that were standing outside my room, ready to defend my sorry little ass against him. But it was so vivid and so real I was too numb to defend myself. I opened my eyes in that dream, to find my hands restrained. I was defenseless again, as I had been when Pincus or whatever you might call that creature, tried to kill me. But this time it was no monster coming after me. It was a drug dealer/murderer that looked down at me in triumph. I could hear his voice from a distance. It seemed slurred and almost drunk, as if he was the one with the concussion. When he opened his mouth to speak, I could smell the scent of death coming from his dead lips. His teeth were black and ugly, and his face seemed to deteriorate even when I looked at it in disgust. Then his hands grabbed me by the throat, and I could feel the sticky flesh of his dead hands, as he pushed the life out of me, saying, "You destroyed everything for me. I had it all and you took it away. Now you're going to pay the price. You'll end up in that grave next to her, and she'll be haunting you until the moment you die." I woke up screaming and panting, realizing my hands were indeed restrained, but not by straps. Warm, human fingers held them tight as they tried to calm me down. By 9 p.m., I was too far gone to care about anything. My chest was ready to explode, as was the rest of my body. I couldn't stand the blankets against my hot skin, and shoved them away continuously, while they tried to get me to calm down. I shouted at them to get away, and demanded Scully to take me home. Her voice was calm and soothing, and it only agitated me more. Eventually I shouted at her to get out of my sight, and I saw the hurt in her eyes. But I just couldn't stop myself. It was strange, but I felt like I was watching myself from a distance, noticing my own behavior and attitude towards the people who were trying to help me. But I was agitated and frustrated, and the fever made me furious. I wasn't making handling me easy, I knew that as I watched myself act this way, but I couldn't help it. Then it was suddenly over. The agitated feeling. It turned into fear. Vital, mortal, human, animal-like fear. I got scared. Terrified while staring at the door, and at them. Their faces contorted as they tried to get me to look at them. I screamed as their claws touched my arms and wrists, and I panted as they didn't know what to do anymore. "Where's my gun?" I heard myself say. "Scully, I need my gun." "It's not here." "Where is it? Did you take it away from me again?" "No, Mulder. Your gun is in a safe place. This is a hospital, remember?" "You're lying," I shouted to her. "You're screwing with my mind again!' "Mulder, you know I wouldn't do that. I'm the only person you trust." "But you're going to let him in here, aren't you? He's coming back to kill me and you'll let him in. You'll turn your back so he can put me in the grave next to her." I threw aside the blankets, pushing her away from me as I went for the IV in my hand, ripping it out. My hand started bleeding instantly, and I felt dizzy and numb as I made my way to the door. I felt hands on my back as I opened the door, staring into the faces of my colleagues. Someone made his way through the hallway. Skinner, accompanied by Tom Fielding. I watched them as they approached the room, and my legs shivered and buckled, not able to keep me standing. "Oh, God," I heard Tom say as several hands picked me up and put me back on the bed. I was breathing heavily, seeing all of them through a fog. Something was terribly wrong. "Take his vitals," I heard Scully say, "he's burning up with fever." A few moments later I heard her say breathlessly, "This is not right. His fever can't be 103! You said it was getting better." "It was," the nurse calmly said, "His last checkup showed a steady temperature of 99." "Page Dr. Short now," Scully said forcefully. "What's going on, Scully?" Skinner's voice. "I'm not sure, sir. He was fine when I left him last night. I don't know what's happening." Footsteps, and another person in the room. I didn't need to open my eyes to see who it was. Short's voice. "What's going on?" "His vitals are completely wrong. High fever and rapid pulse. I thought you changed his medication?" "I did. He was responding fine to it. There's something else wrong, I'm sure." I felt his presence as he approached the bed, ready to examine me. I turned on my side, ignoring him while the fear ran through my body. I couldn't describe what I was feeling to anyone. Never before had I felt this lonely and afraid -- except once when I thought the entire world was against me. I was high on drugs then, given to me by the traitors that wanted to destroy my work. Now I was just afraid. "I need new blood work to see if there's still an infection in there. Chances are that's what he's reacting to. Mr. Mulder, can you hear me?" I shifted my head, staring at him with fear. "Leave me alone." "Can you tell me if you're in any pain?" "My head's killing me," I sighed, breathing heavily. "My stomach too. I wanna go home." "Not just yet," he said, ignoring my plea. He turned away from me again, turning to whoever was listening to him. "Keep on checking his vitals every hour. If his condition doesn't improve within a few hours, we might have to transfer him back to the ICU again to monitor him closely. Get that IV back in. Restrain him if necessary." "No!" Anger welled up in me again. I was not going to return to that cubicle of glass, to be stared at like a zoo animal. Furious and angry because they simply ignored me, I shoved aside the blankets and climbed out of the bed, pushed back immediately by the hands of science and medication. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" the doctor said, already restraining me with the help of the nurses in the room. "I'm going home," I said, "before they kill me." "Who's going to kill you?" "Them! The Smoker and his friends. Don't you see? It was all a setup. Warren's working for them, I'm sure. He hates me, he's going to want to get rid of me for once and for all now. It's all so clear to me now. So very obvious." "You're safe here, Agent Mulder," Short said patiently, "Your friends are guarding this room. No one can come in and out without them knowing about it. They won't kill you." I laughed hysterically. "They're not my friends. They'll let him in as soon as he arrives. Don't you see? The bureau wants me out of the way. Kersh couldn't give a shit about me. He'd be happy to pull the trigger himself. I gotta go." Hands pushed me back down on the bed. "You're in no condition to leave. Where would you go?" "I don't know." "Then you might as well stay here. Now, I'm not going to say this again, agent Mulder, but if you don't calm down, we'll have to restrain you." "Scully," I heard myself pant. "Tell him, Scully! You know the truth. Tell him about it!" She was at my side in an instant, forcing back the tears in her eyes. I could see them and I couldn't stop myself from screaming at her. "Tell him the truth, Scully! Are you going to hide it from yourself again? Why won't you tell them the truth?" She stood there quietly, listening to my accusations as I raged on and on about the consortium and the ship I had rescued her from, and her ability to stare blindly into nothingness when I needed her the most. She stood there and took it all. Then she hid her eyes with her hand, not knowing what to say. I breathed heavily, almost choking on the air I forced into my lungs, meanwhile shouting at her, "If you don't tell them, then you might as well leave. Get the hell out!" She refused to budge. Then Tom Fielding was at my side, and he said, "Take it easy, Mulder." "Who are you?" I asked, not recognizing him at that very second. "It's me, Tom Fielding. Remember me? We were at the restaurant together yesterday, trying to catch Jason Warren. You trust me, don't you, Mulder?" "Yeah, I remember you now. But I don't trust you. You work for him, don't you?" "Who?" I frowned, trying to remember his name. I didn't know his name. Only knew that he smoked. And that he knew my mother. I leaned back in the pillows, staring at Fielding and at Scully. I finally calmed down somewhat, too tired to fight the rage in my body. Everything inside of me was ready to explode. I had never felt like this before, just that one time. Only that one time .. I grabbed Scully's wrist, hearing her gasp. "There's something wrong," I said, "remember the water. Something was done to the water." The next moment I found myself in a coughing fit, choking on my own words. I let go of her wrist, only to turn my head and simply pass out, scaring the shit out of the people watching me. - 8 - November 12 8:35 p.m. The restaurant was practically empty when we arrived at the scene, except for a few special agents sharing tables and talking animatedly to each other, as if nothing was wrong. All of us would be enjoying a long dinner here, waiting for our suspect to arrive. Tom was already there, sitting at a table near the window. He got up when we approached the table and told Scully she looked lovely. Once seated, he nodded at me, confirming that neither Smith nor Warren had shown up yet. Davis, sitting near the exit, ignored us as he talked to one of his female officers, dressed in a nice, blue outfit. They drank wine and ate cordon bleu, the restaurant's specialty. We were handed a card and then offered a bottle of wine, with compliments from the house. Even though we didn't decline the offer, we wouldn't drink from it. All three of us wanted to keep a straight head. We ordered dinner, knowing perfectly well we would barely touch that either. I decided to go for the cordon bleu, as well, hoping the sight of it might make me hungry. "Smith is still in the penthouse suite," Tom said. "He hasn't been in or out for hours, according to Davis. If we don't get this guy tonight, we might never get a chance to nail him. He's pretty slick." "Our main target is Jason Warren," I said, determined. "He's the murderer. They'll get Smith sooner or later." Do you think he'll show up?" Scully asked me. "According to your profile he's a man that doesn't take risks easily. He'll be prepared for us." I was surprised she had read the file I had typed up on Warren, and said, "He'll show up. He wants a bit of action in his life. Even though he's a cautious man, he's also very self-assured and convinced he can do just about anything." "So he'll show up," Tom said. "And then what?" "Then we'll get him to confess to the murder of Valerie Lange." "Will it be that simple?" "It's never that simple." I took a sip of the water poured into the second glass and glanced around. "Where are our people anyway? The D.C. cops and our agents?" "Just about everywhere but out of sight. They're waiting a few blocks away. Some of them are around undercover but the others had to wait until they get a signal from us. Our boys are guarding the front and back exits." "And the kitchen?" "I'm sure that's covered too." "Good." I leaned back and looked stressed and nervously at the door. It would be a long night. By 10:05 p.m. we were convinced Warren wasn't showing up. There had been no movement whatsoever from the penthouse suite either. Smith was staying put. Davis left his table and walked over to us, sitting down on the last free chair. "Damn it," he said angry, "this was our last chance to get our boy. He's probably long gone by now, forgetting all about the money." "No," I said, "he's around." "How do you know?" "Call it a hunch." I grinned sheepishly, staring at the plate with the cold food. I had not touched it, knowing my stomach would wrench with every bite I took. It looked uninviting by now, stale. I felt my stomach turn. "I'll be right back." I pushed away the plate and left the restaurant to find the bathroom. Inside, I waited for the nausea to pass before I threw ice cold water in my face and wiped it clean with some paper towels. I left and stopped at the kitchen door. It was open. So was the exit door. I could see the cook working at the charcoal grill. "Hey," I said, pulling out my gun. "Did you see anyone pass by here?" "No." "Then why's the door open?" "It's always open. It gets pretty hot in here." I walked over to the door, pushing it open further. It opened on a pitch-black alley. I heard muffled voices nearby, and sounds of footsteps. Quickly I returned to the restaurant, to stare into the surprised faces of my colleagues. "They're in the alley!' I shouted. Immediately a hectic situation developed. I saw people going through the front door of the restaurant, and others through the back door, probably hoping to trap them. I was followed by Scully and Fielding when I exited through the kitchen door, with my gun drawn. The voices were loud and clear now, obviously arguing. "This was not the deal, Tony! You promised me 10 kilos. I see only two." "These are dangerous times, man. You got yourself on the front page of just about every newspaper in the country. You should be glad I'm even here to make this deal with you. Cops and Feds could be anywhere by now, trying to track you down. I'm not going to pay for your stupidity, got it?" "So you're backing down on me?" "I want to see the money." "Not so fast. I want to test it first." "We don't have time for that, man!" "I'm not paying you until I test the stuff!" "Then screw you, Warren. We had an agreement." "Which you broke." "The hell with you." A couple of noises and a shuffle as Warren apparently pushed his business partner to the wall. Then another muffled sound as Smith tried to shout with a hand stuffed over his face. The next moment the man slid to the ground, with a knife in his belly. "FBI!" I heard Scully scream as she immediately broke into a run. Warren looked in our direction, not seeing us at first. He started to run. He was fast, but so was I. I heard Scully shout my name as I went after him, running like crazy. Our feet hit puddles of mud and water. I could hear Warren breathe heavily as he made his way through several alleys, deliberately taking the back way. He knew them like no other. All I could do was follow him, while Scully's footsteps were falling further behind me. I had no idea what happened to Tom. Perhaps he tried to cut off the man by taking another direction. Whatever the case, it was just Warren and me. And then he was suddenly gone. I turned a corner, ending up in a dark alley filled with garbage bins and dirt. An alley behind a restaurant, even though I had no idea where we were. With my gun held in front of me I stepped into the darkness. The next moment I heard him, and then I heard myself shout, and then the steel pipe made an end to reality and sent me into oblivion, only to find myself staring into the barrel of my own gun. And then Scully was there, and I knew it would be all right. Now that she was there, she would take care of me. And then Warren was gone. - 9 - November 14 Time unknown It was all going to hell. At least, that's what it felt like. The place was burning and there was nothing I could do. Or was it my body that was burning? I could not tell. All I knew was that I could not be at ease. I heard the voices again, this time more distant and muffled, like they didn't want me to know what they were discussing. I turned my face towards them and they noticed I was moving. And then they shut up and it was gone again. The voices. I wanted to slip away again and forget all about them. But as I lay in the bed, trying to forget it all, my body reacted against the numbness. Fear and anger bottled up inside of me ever since God knows how long now turned against me, and I reacted. My eyes snapped open by themselves, forcing me to face reality. No more sleep, my insides screamed. No sleep to dream in of the dead girl in her grave. No dreams about Jason Warren. No more denial that I was in danger. I had to defend myself after all. I saw the nurse with the syringe. I saw them as they acted on turning me on my side, ready to plunge the needle in my butt. To force me to go back to sleep again. They wanted to take me out! Just like the first time. Scully had put me to sleep for two days, fighting off the LSD in my system. No, not again. I would not be treated like this again! "No!" I yelled, hitting her hand hard. The syringe dropped, the glass shattered. I could see the fluids on the floor. Then the queasiness in my stomach overwhelmed me and I turned on my side voluntarily, in order to get rid of the pain I was feeling. I couldn't remember what hurt the most, my head or my abdomen. I moaned. "Mulder?" I could see Scully's face close to mine as she made me look at her. She grabbed my hand, and I squeezed it hard, saying, "It hurts, Scully." "What does?" "Everything. My stomach. My chest. Can't breathe. Scully!' She looked up. I couldn't see who she was looking at, but I knew it had to be the doctor. Then, suddenly, it happened. I gasped for air, as I had done the moment I felt the piano wire from the NSA man around my throat, as we were both trapped inside the train carrying the creature from hell. I could recall that moment into its smallest details, feeling the wire as it choked me. I had that same feeling again now, but this time there was nothing to cut off the air from my lungs, except my own, failing body. "S - c - ully!" I practically screamed her name before I let the darkness overwhelm me, and the air was cut off from me. She shouted my name, and then they were removing the pillows from behind my head, and I knew something was definitely wrong, because the seconds before I descended into darkness, a mouth was already over mine, breathing the air in me I needed so badly. Then the mouth was replaced by something hard, sliding into my throat. I urged to fight it, but couldn't. She shouted my name several times, wanting to stop me from descending into the abyss. But I didn't and couldn't listen to her, because the descent had already begun. And then I was simply gone. - 10 - November 14 Time Unknown Harry Flint was a wealthy man in his early fifties when he was admitted to the Georgetown Medical Center with a heart attack. Rumors had it that his young, attractive wife, once his mistress, was keeping him from resting. Their days and nights after their wedding were filled with parties and sex, and sex and parties. He wanted to stay young, Harry, but the problem was he couldn't keep up with his wife. And that's why he got himself admitted to the hospital, after feeling strange, fierce pains in his chest. His arm was nearly paralyzed when he entered the ER, and he was put on monitors instantly, checking his every move. They made him feel like an old man, even though he had just begun to live. It was busy times for the hospital. Harry wanted a room to himself but couldn't get one. He was forced to share it with a young, boring biker, who fell and broke his leg. A week or so they shared a room together before the biker went home. And that, that same night, I arrived, bringing a lot of trouble with me for the poor man. During his time in hospital, Harry of course got repeated visits from his young wife, bringing flowers and fruit, deliberately forgetting all about chocolates and all the stuff that could make a heart patient even more sick. She obviously didn't want to lose her husband, they'd only been married for six months. Harry hated fruit and everything that was healthy. He managed to get rid of most of it without her knowing it, leaving some of it in the basket she had brought for him. The peaches were for me. He left them on the table before he left, saying goodbye to me with some sort of regret. He figured I would have been a more interesting companion than the man he had been forced to share a room with. But our paths only crossed for a while, and then he moved on again. However, those few moments in life we had met each other, would change Harry's life for good. Because on the night of his second day at home, two FBI-agents knocked at his door, introducing themselves as Tom Fielding and Jeffrey Bay. They immediately read him the Miranda warning, cuffed him and brought him to the car for interrogation. Despite the protest of his lovely young wife, who entered the room dressed in a see-through nightie and robe, he was taken to the bureau, and would spend the remainder of the night being questioned about the events leading to my near death. While Harry Flint was being questioned, my body lay lifeless on a respirator pushing air into my lungs, something I could not do for myself anymore. And while Harry was denying in all colors and words that he had never heard of a drug dealer called Jason Warren, and that he had never met me before in his life, I was struggling to stay alive, burning up with fever, under the influence of drugs that compromised my already weakened body. - 11 - November 14 9.45 p.m. If there was something in the manner of Special Agent Dana Scully that scared other people off, it was her determination to get to the bottom of things. In fact, when she set her mind to something, she would go to any lengths to reach the goal she had set out for herself. And when that goal involved my health, she was even more forcefully, ready to drag anyone and anything into helping me. It seems that a panic was building up due to my irrational and strange behavior. Not only because they did not know what caused it, but also because I was the immediate proof that someone or something had come into my hospital room, endangering my life. The facts were all there. Scully's reaction to my feverish uttering of words, telling her I had not felt like this since they had drugged my water in order to keep me away from the truth, was enough to have her gathering everything she could on the medication I had received, the water I had drank, the food I had eaten. Since I had not eaten breakfast, that option was excluded. The water in my room was immediately removed and sent to the FBI lab, examin0ed closely for any traces of drugs. The IV I had pulled out was removed as well, also examined for traces of amphetamines or any other poison I might have received. The new blood work Dr. Short had ordered, revealed that I had been given LSD, injected or ingested into my bloodstream, causing the high rate of anxiety I was experiencing. Immediately it became obvious that the source of poisoning was the basket of fruit found in my hospital room. The pit I had thrown in the garbage can was carefully placed in an evidence bag, and the remainder of the fruit was sent to the lab for examination instantly. Within the hour it had become clear that the peach I had eaten was the cause of my current condition, not only forcing me into irrational behavior, but also poisoning me to the verge of death and causing respiratory arrest. Dana Scully was furious. She wanted to go to the office and help in the ongoing search for the whereabouts of Jason Warren. She wanted to talk to Harry Flint and force him to explain why he did what he did. But she wasn't allowed to. Not by Kersh, and not by Walter Skinner who had come to the hospital to support her. While Tom Fielding was leading the interrogation of Harry Flint, Dana Scully was sitting at my bedside, watching as an unnatural object forced air into my lungs. I was back in the glass cubicle, and things were not looking too bright. But I didn't know that of course. I was in la-la land, sleeping, while others were worrying. I did have friends at the FBI, even if I did not know about it. The agents searching for my killer were my friends. The agents interrogating Harry Flint were my friends. And the people in the room, sticking around until I woke up again, were my friends. Dana would have probably called my mother, telling her what was going on. My mother probably refused to come see me, giving her some cock-and-bull story about how tired and fatigued she was. She would have called her own mother too, who would have come to visit were it not for her week-long stay at her son's home in San Diego. So Dana only had the company of Walter Skinner and Terence Davis, who had decided to join her as sat in my room in ICU, staring at me until I woke up. "How's he doing?" Skinner asked concerned, obviously ignoring the fact he had no business in my hospital room. If they found out he was here, they would be pissed, but he didn't give a damn. It was pretty obvious he was there as a friend, and friends were allowed to visit each other, even if they didn't work together anymore. "Not so good," Scully responded. "The drugs in his system are causing severe damage. The violent reaction he had to them is probably because his body was already trying to recover from a serious injury." "Is he going to wake up?" "I hope so, but there's no way of knowing when." "He'll wake up when he's good and ready," Davis said, "he won't give up that easily, Agent Scully." "I know that, sir," she answered, "but I'm furious that this could have happened. All the necessary precautions had been taken. Why didn't anyone check out Harry Flint?" "There's no proof he was involved with Jason Warren. Flint is a respectable businessman. Why would he try and kill Mulder?" "Maybe Warren had something on him. Threatened him somehow." "If he did, it's going on a pretty far limb, Scully," Skinner answered. After that, the conversation died out. None of the people in my room felt the urge to talk much, so Scully told me later on. All they did, was just sit there and wait until the drugs rampaging inside of me, were finished doing their dirty work. After that, I would most likely wake up and hopefully recover. - 12 - November 14 10.15 p.m. Okay, so there's one other thing you need to know about both Dana Scully and myself. When either of us is in the hospital, the other one refuses to budge, until forced to do so by someone else. It took Skinner, Dr. Short and Davis to get her to get some rest. So after 10, a couple of hours after my respiratory arrest, she was practically forced out of the room, and lead to a small room nearby with a cot. Nurse Rina took her there, smiling in support as she rubbed her eyes. "Your partner will be fine, Agent Scully," the blonde woman said, "I've seen people in worse state than this and they pulled through." "I'm sure he will be," Scully answered, "but the truth is I'm not sure if Mulder wants to recover from this." "Why is that?" "He's been through a lot lately. The case we've been working on, it all started so simple, and then it turned out in a nightmare." "Why? What happened?" Dana did not feel the urge to tell a complete stranger about her problems, but it felt good to talk to someone about it, so the she explained to the woman the facts as she had seen them. The unnecessary death of the girl, the search for Jason Warren, and now the attempt on my life. The woman listened to it all, and offered her silent support to my partner. Dana was probably forcing away her tears, trying to keep the facts as professional as possible. Probably not succeeding at that. Probably crying at the end. She fell asleep exhausted on the cot, to wake up an hour or so later with a start, remembering where she was and why she was there. She returned to the room, worried that something was wrong. But all she saw was Rina injecting something into my IV, and the two men still sitting at my bedside, discussing the case. --------------------------------------------- Subject: Sins of Our Children 7/8 PG-13 -- by Humbuggie Part 7/8 - 13 - November 15 3:45 a.m. A young woman made her way through the ICU of Georgetown Medical Center, coming to a stop at the glass cubicle with me in it. There was only one person at my bedside now, her red hair covering most of her face as she sat slumped forward to the bed. The men were gone, taking off after waiting several hours for my awakening. But nothing happened and they left. Dana Scully was faithful to me, sticking around while I was unconscious, and the tube was still in my throat, breathing for me. But the young woman at the entrance to the cubicle woke her up. Scully had hardly heard her, but she was startled still, as if seeing a ghost. For a moment there she really thought she might be dreaming, because the face of the girl staring at her was that of Valerie Lange's twin sister, Sophie. "Agent Scully," the young woman said kindly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I heard about Agent Mulder's accident and wanted to see if there was anything I could do." Scully naturally was very surprised to find the young woman in the hospital at this time of night, let alone see her here at my bedside. The last time she had seen the girl, her mother had slapped me in the face, not only hurting me physically, but also damaging me mentally. The girl knew what was on Scully's mind, because she continued rapidly, "I know my visit here must come as a surprise to you, but I wanted to apologize for my mother's behavior at Valerie's funeral. Things have been pretty rough for us, and she was taking it out on the first person she saw." She turned her gaze from me to Scully. I was not aware of her visit at that time, only told about it later on through my partner. "How's he doing?" "He's recovering slowly," my partner said, debating whether or not to tell the girl about the drugs. She decided not to. "He'll be all right." "I'm glad. I know that it wasn't your fault my sister died. You did everything you could for her, even though others might think differently about it." The girl then walked over to the exit, and stopped there in her tracks. She turned and opened her mouth as if trying to say something else, but she didn't. She just nodded and left. Scully got out of her chair and followed the girl to the entrance of the cubicle, and then saw her stop and talk to the nurse on call. The woman seemed to be arguing with the girl, and then they split up and silence returned to the ICU. Scully could not see who she was arguing with. - 14 - November 15 7.05 a.m. I had a dream. I was standing on wet soil, watching my feet slip into the dirt. It had a hold on me, forcing me down like quicksand. I looked down on it, and started to free myself, pulling on the branch of a tree above me. It snapped under my weight, forcing me to let go. I fell forward, onto the sand, and now both my hands and feet were trapped. I could not move. Slowly but firmly I was drawn deeper into the quicksand, and its wet sand wanted to swallow me as a whole. I cried out for help, rewarded by laughter. As I looked up, my partner was standing in front of me, laughing madly as I was sinking. Then the sand closed over me, and I felt it enter my mouth and esophagus, and then my lungs. I struggled hard to free myself from it, fighting against whatever was in my throat. And then the sand was replaced by strong hands, and the dirt in my throat became a tube. "Don't fight it, Mulder," I heard Scully say, and it were her hands I felt around my wrists. "The respirator is breathing for you." I opened my eyes and looked at her with panic-stricken eyes, begging her to get this thing out of my throat. She seemed to understand, because she turned around to the medical staff in the room, asking them to remove the tube from my throat. A few moments later several people were holding me, while one of them pulled out the tube, basically scarring my throat. I coughed and breathed heavily when it was gone, sucking in the air in my lungs. The movement alone made me tired, I felt like an old man unable to think and live for himself. I wanted to speak, but all that came out of my mouth were useless syllables and words that made no sense. Scully quickly soothed me, touching my forehead. "Don't talk just yet," she said, "you've been through quite an ordeal. Give it some time." I didn't want to listen to her. The agitation was still there, forcing me to do something. But as I laid back down in the pillows, I could feel how weakened my body had become from the fever and drugs I did not know anything about at that time. When Scully saw I was well-awake and ready to hear the truth, she quickly explained to me what had happened during my unconsciousness. The LSD that I had been given, the violent reaction my body had to it, the fever they had not been able to bring down, the arrest of Harry Flint. I had trouble picturing Harry when she told me. I had seen the man only for a few moments, he had not left a lasting memory on me. I did not understand. Why would he try and kill a man he didn't know? At the same time the fear struck again. If Jason Warren was able to get an unknown man to poison me, what else was he capable of? Would I end up opening my car door one day, only to set off a bomb? Would Scully be the one dying for me when we were out on a case? It would never be over. Not until we caught or killed Jason Warren. But the man was gone. Just as well as I knew that I was lying in this hospital thanks to him, I knew that he had vanished without a trace. Scully fed me ice chips, telling me about Sophie Lange's visit. I was just as surprised as she was, but sucking on the chips I couldn't care less. I was too tired, yet too agitated to react. Scully saw my eyes droop before she was finished, and she quickly helped me to find a more comfortable position to sleep in. I was relieved to have her with me, and tried to remember what I had told her before. I couldn't remember. Right now it didn't really matter. - 15 - November 15 10:15 a.m. I woke up in another room again, wondering whether or not I was taking the scenic route of the Georgetown Medical Center. This time there was only one bed in the room, but the flowers and cards were still there. It was a quiet room, with a closed door, giving me the peace I needed. I had slept for hours, obviously, because everything had changed. No more ICU, and I was determined not to go back there. No more machines and tubes keeping me alive. I was obviously doing well. But the agitation remained. I remembered too well the events that had happened the last time I was given LSD. I had been irrational and angry, fighting off everyone that meant something to me. I had punched Skinner and had accused Scully of working against me. I had not been myself, yet I had not been able to fight off whatever was raging inside my head. I had that same feeling right now, even while I lay in the quietness of the room. I moved and moaned, turning my head towards the window. A man, sitting in the chair next to the table startled me. Somehow I had overlooked him the first time. It was Tom Fielding. He smiled at me, not speaking at first. Then he got out of the chair and approached the bed. "Glad to see your eyes again," he said, revealing how close I had come to kicking the bucket. "Where's Scully?" "She went home to shower and change. I sent her home actually." "I'm glad you did. She doesn't take care of herself when I'm -' "When you're what?" "I was gonna say, when I'm being stupid," I continued. "But you weren't stupid." "Wasn't I?" "Did you hit yourself on the head with that brass pipe? Did you feed yourself LSD?" "No." "Then you weren't being stupid. Stop putting yourself down." "Yes, Daddy." He smiled, revealing a set of shiny white teeth. I wondered if he had fallen for Scully. I wondered if she had fallen for him. I felt angry suddenly, wondering why he was here. He could see the change in me, asking me quickly if I was okay. He pushed the buzzer, and a couple of minutes later a nurse entered the room. She was a brunette I hadn't seen before. She checked my vitals, obviously content with the way things were going. She left us alone. Tom excused himself and followed her in the hallway. I felt anger again. If he wanted to say something about me, why not say it in front of me? He was one of them. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Why would this man suddenly be trying to get on our good side? Where was he when Scully and I went after Warren? Why did it take so long for him to find us in that alley? Why was he the one interrogating Harry Flint? Because he didn't want the man to talk. He wanted him to be silenced! I was furious, plain and simple. The anger I had built up inside of me for years, ever since I started working at the VCS, now came to the boiling point. Years ago I became a profiler because I thought I could make a difference, not only for the bureau, but especially for the people whose lives I might save. Then Cancerman came and destroyed it all, my faith in others, my trust in society. He was the one working against me all the time, and eventually he would be the one destroying me forever. The nightmares and dreams I had been having ever since I started profiling, I had accepted, knowing that I would face them for the rest of my life. But it had been worth it. For every bad guy caught, I had a world of rewards. Maybe that sounded too naive, but I couldn't care less. The memories, however, were recorded and stayed in my mind forever. The downside on having a photographic memory is that you remember literally everything. I could recall things from my earliest years another person would probably not even think about. I could remember the very first words I had learned to read. I remembered Samantha's chubby hands as she tried to pull from my hands the book my mom gave to me. I remember shoving her backwards and shouting at her for touching my stuff. And I remember her crying when the fear in her eyes told me that I had frightened her. Above all, I remember the pain and sense of guilt. It was the first time I had ever felt guilt in my life. It would certainly not be the last. And now, lying flat on my back in this bed, I could not help but wonder how my life had come so far that someone was trying to kill me while I was even in the hospital. And why the man that had been sitting next to me, was in on it. And why he was outside my room right now, talking about me to others I did not know. And why I was feeling so goddamn frightened and alone, fearing for my life even as I took one single breath. It wasn't right. It just was not right. I slipped out of bed, and stumbled over to the closet, opening it. My clothes were all there, as were my shoes, socks and underwear. On the bottom there was a large, brown file. I knew that file. Carefully I leaned over, picked it up, and opened it. Scully had kept her promise to bring it to the hospital. When had she put it in here for me to read? I forgot all about Fielding and returned to the bed, opening the brown cover. On the top of the Warren file lay a neatly typed report on the attempted bust at the Marron Hotel. It was typed up by Terence Davis. I quickly read it, remembering every word afterwards. Reading it, I could only once again think that something was not right. We were all overlooking something here. I was just about to reread the Valerie Lange-file, when the door opened slowly, and my former boss entered the room. "Agent Mulder," Skinner said, watching me closely. "I'm glad to see you feeling better. Why are you reading that file? You should be resting." "I'm fine," I said impatiently, putting them aside. I sat straight in the bed, ignoring the dizziness I felt, not leaning against the pillows. I didn't know how to handle myself. Should I trust him enough to tell him about my suspicions regarding Fielding? Or should I pretend nothing was wrong, and get out of here as soon as I got the chance? They weren't going to find Warren, not as long as he had the chance of killing me. I needed to lie to them, and pretend I was great. And then I would go after Warren myself and kill him before he killed me. "Did you find Warren yet?" I managed to ask, knowing Skinner was watching me closely. "We're still looking for him. He's probably left the country." "So what's going to happen now?" "It's just a matter of time before we catch this guy, agent Mulder," Skinner said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "And until then I should watch my back, right?" "We'll make sure you're safe." "How?" "By not leaving you alone. By making sure every step you take is guarded and secure." "Until I end up dead in an alley one day, right?" I sneered. He looked at me peculiarly now. "Is that you or the drugs speaking?" "What do you know about it?" "About what?" "The drugs." "I know they were given to you. I know what they can do to you. You shouldn't be in here alone, Mulder. The anger that you are feeling right now, is the LSD. You've been here before, you know what it's like." "Is that what they planned for me? First get me off the X-Files and then poison me?" Skinner now openly examined me, listening to the sound of my voice. I couldn't hide the anger in it, noticing myself how over the top it sounded. But Skinner made an effort to calm me down. By putting force behind his words and actions, he tried to persuade me that I had it all wrong. I refused to listen. "That has nothing to do with it, and you know it. And believe me, Agent Mulder, Spender doesn't like being in your shoes as much as you dislike not being there. I don't think he had a basement office in mind when he started working at the bureau." I calmed down instantly, feeling a terrible dread. "I wish I was back there," I said hoarsely. "Frankly, Mulder," Skinner responded, "so do I." With that he got out of his chair and walked to the door, grabbing his coat he had dropped on another chair. At the door he turned around quickly, saying, "Take care, Mulder. I'll come back to see you soon." I didn't respond, and then he was gone. The dread I felt only worsened when I realized how much I missed the basement office. I longed to sit in my own chair, to listen to Scully's theories, debunking everything I asked her to believe. Despite our fierce discussions sometimes, I missed that too. I wanted things to be as they were again. But the only way to do that, was by finding Warren and get rid of him. First Warren had to die, and then it would all turn to normal again. And I had to get rid of Tom Fielding too. No one could be trusted. - 16 - November 15 Time unknown Harry Flint was too tired. All night he had been interrogated concerning things he had nothing to do with. But he thought he might have finally persuaded them. They started to believe him. But when he asked when he would be free to go, they couldn't give him an answer. Damn the FBI, he thought. Damn everyone in there. If I had left at noon, I wouldn't be in this shit. The men in the room were different than the ones he had seen earlier. He had liked the younger agent, the one that was interrogating him first. He had told him the truth, and the man seemed to believe him. Finally, around 11 or so, Peaches came to pick him up. "I know you're tired, honey," the woman said, kissing him on the cheek, "but it's all over now." "I'm telling you, Peaches, if it weren't for you, I would have given up on things a long time ago." Peaches turned towards the agents, asking them if they needed her to sign any paperwork. She had already given a statement herself, telling them firmly that if there had been something wrong with those peaches, it wasn't Harry's or her fault. She had brought them as a present for her husband, not to kill an FBI agent she had never seen before. They believed her. As they left, Harry Flint reminded himself never to end up in a hospital again. You left more sick than you entered. Or at least, that's what the agents heard him say. - 17 - November 15 11:30 a.m. Jason Warren was in serious trouble and he knew it. His face had been all over the papers for days, and it would stay that way until he got caught by the bureau. They were accusing him of my illness, attempted murder on me, and of course the murder of Valerie Lange. But Jason Warren knew it was only just beginning. As long as he couldn't stay out of their hands, he would have to sit low and take advantage of her hospitality. They would never even think of looking for him here. And with her he would be safe. But he also knew that he wouldn't be safe for much longer. Not as long as the mother was around, ready to catch him at any time. Perhaps even ready to kill him. - 18 - November 15 11.05 a.m. Nurse Rina entered my room with a tray filled with goodies. I ignored her, waiting anxiously for her to leave. She asked me how I was, glared at the files on the table next to me, and went about her business. The bandages on my temple had been replaced with a smaller patch. I hardly felt any pain when she fixed me up again. Then something sharp stung my cheek. I winced. She pulled back her hands. I saw a ring with a large stone, now covered with a drop of my blood. "Sorry," she said, going about her business again. When she wanted to empty the syringe in the IV, I asked her what was in it. "Painkillers," she said, pushing down the plunger before I could refuse. She stared at the files again and left. I waited for a few minutes, listening to the sounds in the hallway. Except for a couple of male voices just outside my room there was nothing. I wondered where Tom Fielding had gone to, and whether or not he would come back to kill me. I pulled out the IV and changed in the bathroom. My face still looked pale and distraught, but that didn't matter. I knew what I had to do. I had no gun, no ID. They had taken it from me, probably afraid that I would kill myself in my drug-induced mood. I wouldn't. But I wouldn't be stopped either. Then I suddenly startled and looked at the files. There was something in it that everyone of us had overlooked. Valerie Lange had a twin sister. An identical one. What if she had been the target? Was that why Jason Warren killed Valerie off so quickly? Had he taken the wrong girl? There was only one solution to the question. Find Sophie Lange and ask her why she had come here to see me. - 19 - November 15 12:05 p.m. Warren heard the door slam hard and rushed from the bedroom. "Sophie?" The woman killing him was not the one he loved. Not the one he had fallen for the minute he had bumped into her. Not the one whose sister he had killed. Not the one he had approached afterwards, telling her how much he loved her. Not the one whose sympathy he had won by being truthful with her, by begging her for help, by telling her she was the one that could help him get clean. The woman who killed him, was her mother. - 20 - November 15 12:10 p.m. I left the hospital room in a hurry, ignoring the agents at the door, guarding me. The tallest of them was the first one to speak. "Agent Mulder, what are you doing?" "Gotta go," I muttered, walking past him. The second one grabbed me by the upper arm, forcing me to stop. I looked at him as if he was a fly, ready to squash him with a blow of my fist to the side of his head. "We weren't informed that you are leaving, sir," he said. "Agent Scully does not know either, does she?" I gotta go," I repeated. "There's no time." "Time for what?" "She's in danger, don't you see? We've got to find her before he does. It may already be too late." I knew how irrational and perhaps even arrogant I sounded, but all I could hear and see where the truths that were hidden from me during the darkness. The tall one glanced at his partner and said, "I'll tell you what, Agent Mulder. Why don't I drive you to the bureau while my partner here gets on the phone with agent Scully. How's that?" "No, I don't want agent Scully around. I need to think." I walked away from them. The tall guy followed me, pushing the button for me. But he wasn't the one getting in. When I looked aside, I saw Tom Fielding. He had talked to the other agent, asking him to stay put. I got in the elevator, not even bothering to look at him. "I know you've been sent to kill me," I said, "but it won't work. I'm stronger than you might think. You won't get rid of me that easily." "I don't want to kill you, Mulder." "Harry Flint didn't put those drugs in the fruit. You did. You were in the room as well. You could have done it while I was sleeping. Flint didn't even know me. He was just a means to a cause." "I didn't do it, Mulder." "You lie." "Why would I lie to you?" "To gain my trust. Just like Krycek. You're just like him, aren't you? Who did you plan to kill first? Me or her?" "I don't want to kill you, Mulder. I'm here to help you." I shook my head angrily, rubbing my forehead. My head was pounding again, the agitation worse. I wasn't ready to be rational just yet, and Tom knew it. The elevator doors slid open and I walked out, followed by him. "Where are you going, Mulder?" "It's the girl," I said angry, "don't you see? She's the key, Fielding." "The girl's dead." "Not her, her twin sister." Fielding stopped in his tracks, grabbing my wrist. "I don't understand." "Don't you see? It all makes sense now. I wasn't dreaming about Valerie Lange, I was dreaming about her sister. Somehow I made the connection, but I was too far gone to understand. It was her all along. That's why he murdered her so easily. He didn't care for her, he took the wrong one! He might be trying to get to her again right now. Perhaps he's already there." Fielding held his breath during my tirade, knowing I was right. "We'll go for the girl then, Mulder. But not you." "You're not keeping me from her. You want to kill her too, don't you?" "We didn't kill her, Jason did," said Fielding. "Because we were too late." "No, because he's a killer." I pushed him away from me. "So are you." "But you still trust me, don't you?" I stopped abruptly, almost forcing him to run into me. Scully was standing at the main entrance of the hospital. When she knew I had seen her, she walked over to us, stretching our her hand to touch my face. I backed away, and her hand lingered in the air. She looked hurt. "Oh, Mulder," she said softly, "what am I going to do with you?" She wanted to take my hand. "No," I said, "back off." She shared a glance with Fielding, not understanding why I reacted this way. I didn't understand it either. The drugs were still in me as if they had just been injected. I shook my head, trying to force the shadows in front of my eyes to go away. I felt tears welding up in my eyes, and didn't understand why. "Let me take you back upstairs, Mulder," she said calmly. "Please, Mulder." I calmed down, feeling the dread again as she stretched out her hand, this time touching me. "Mulder, talk to me." I stared at my feet, dropping the file on the floor. "I can't ..." "Why not?" "It's too hard." "You can talk to me, you know that." I shook my head again, forcefully this time, ignoring the pain in it. "We're all going to die, don't you see? It's just a matter of time. Might as well die now." "You're not going to die. You were drugged, that's why you're feeling this way." "I was drugged because of him!" I turned towards Fielding, pointing angry at him, noticing only now how quiet it had become in the lobby. My voice sounded extremely angry and upset when I accused Fielding of treason, almost screaming in his face he was the one poisoning me. But it was Scully who calmed me down again, as her voice softly said, "It's all right, Mulder. It's okay, really. She tried to hug me, but I still kept her away from me, not ready to give in yet. "This isn't you talking, Mulder. It's the drugs inside of you. You know better than this." "You shot me," I said accusingly, noticing Fielding's surprised stare as I accused her this time, the anger returning in full range. "Yes, I did," she responded, "and I would do it again if it meant saving your life. Please, Mulder. Listen to my voice. You need to calm down. You're sick, but you don't know it. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you, but right now you need to be in your room, concentrating on getting better. Will you do that for me?" I looked at her for a long time, then nodded. She smiled and took my hand. "Let's go then." "The girl." "I'll take care of that, Mulder," Fielding said behind me. I didn't turn around, trusting him completely this time. Scully would make sure it was done. We walked over to the elevators. I'm not sure why, but as soon as we got in, I felt my body slump forward, and the world simply turned into the abyss I had entered a few times before. Scully bent over my body, trying to get me to look at her. And suddenly it all became clear to me. I knew now where I had seen that ring before. "The ring," I heard myself whisper, "Scully, don't you see? The ring." "'I don't understand, Mulder," she said, touching my shoulder. "Mulder, stay with me!" But I couldn't. And so I slipped away. At least here, there would be no pain. --------------------------------------------- Subject: Sins of Our Children 8/8 PG-13 -- by Humbuggie Part 8/8 - 21 - November 15 1:45 p.m. Scully was angry with herself when Tom informed her about my suspicions towards Sophie Lange. Angry because she hadn't seen it herself, and because no one even thought there might be a connection between the twin sisters. But it all made sense. It started to make even more sense when it turned out Sophie Lange was a loner, just like the man that had killed her sister. The two girls might have been similar in appearance, but on the inside they couldn't have been more different from each other. Valerie Lange was a brilliant college student with an amazing track record. Sophie Lange was a young woman with learning disabilities, struggling to make her way through life. The kind of person that could easily get hooked to drugs, provided to her perhaps by someone from the outside, someone that might fall in love with her. And Sophie Lange was also the kind of girl that kept to herself, that needed to be forced to speak up. Tom Fielding was the best man to talk to. They found her at her parent's house, alone. Her parents were not there. She let in the two agents that came to talk to her. Fielding was the one asking her the questions. "Do you know Jason Warren?" "No." "He lived only two blocks from here. Have you never heard from him?" "No." "Sophie, Jason Warren might have been trying to kidnap you instead of your sister. He might come back to finish the job. Are you sure you don't know him?" "No." "Why did you come to visit Agent Mulder last night?" "'I felt sorry for him." "Why?" "He tried to apologize to my mom, and she wouldn't let him. She was angry at him. Still is. I just wanted to tell him he shouldn't take it to heart, what she said." "Didn't you visit him because you found out Warren tried to kill him in the hospital?" "No. I didn't even know until I found out he was in the ICU." "Who did you argue with there?" Here she startled and looked up. 'I don't know what you're talking about." Agent Scully saw you talking to a woman outside agent Mulder's room. Who was she?" The girl swallowed as tears stung her eyes. "I can't say." "Why not?" "Because she has nothing to do with it. Leave her out of it!' "Who was she?" The girl suddenly got out of her seat and stretched out her wrists. "You might as well arrest me. I know where Jason Warren is. I've been hiding him since he's on the run." Tom Fielding was just as startled as the agent that had accompanied him to talk to the girl. Now he didn't know what to say. But he knew he couldn't let her slip away now. "So you did know Jason Warren?" "Yes, but he didn't try to kill Agent Mulder. He was angry and upset because the deal went wrong. But he never put a price on his head. He had nothing to do with the drugs." "Then why is he running?" "Because he killed my sister. He thought it was me. He tried to get to me but he took her instead. And then he called me, telling me he was in love with me. I didn't understand." How did you know him?" "'I didn't, not really. I was buying drugs from some punk working for him. I had heard his name a couple of times but had never seen him before. When I found out he had taken Valerie, I knew he wanted to get me." "Why you?" "Because of what I'd become. I had told my dealer I wanted to meet him, and to join his gang." Here she laughed bitterly. "Life in this house has been a hell ever since Valerie took off to college. I was the pathetic one, you see. Dad couldn't live with it, Mom was angry at me for causing trouble. So I started taking drugs, and then I got interested in meeting Jason, and being with him, even if I had never seen him before. And it turned out he had the same interest." "But your sister died." "Yeah." She laughed bitterly. "Isn't that the irony of the whole thing? She died because of me! Once he found out she wasn't me, he had to get rid of her. He didn't like her personality, he told me. So he decided to show her a lesson. To get her hooked on the drugs, and then dump her somewhere so she would become me. But she died." And he came to see you?" "Yeah. After the drug deal went wrong. He told me he thought he had killed a federal agent. He was scared. I had never seen anything like it. It was as if his entire life was going to hell, you know." "Where did you hide him?" "My father has an apartment downtown. I brought Jason food and stole money from my mom's purse. It's not much but he has to save up until he can leave. Dad doesn't use the apartment much anyway. He's safe there." "Will you bring us to him?" "Yes." She got up defeated. "Am I under arrest now, too?" "You are," Tom confirmed, "but you'll be okay. You confessed, that's the first step. We'll get you some help, Sophie." "Yes," the girl said, as she sat down again, staring at my hands, "and get my mother some help too." "Your mother?" Tom asked surprised, listening to her trembling voice. "Yes." "Why?" "Because she's the one killing Agent Mulder." - 22 - November 15 1:50 p.m. Special Agent Dana Scully could not help but stare at my sleeping body. Or at least, that's what she told me afterwards. She was wondering why I was still suffering this much anxiety and psychosis. Why after so much time, I was still going through hell. Short had ordered yet another run of blood work, just as determined as she was to find out what was causing my illness. Scully told the tall agent, Dan Kirsch, to stay in the room with me, and not to leave me alone. She joined Dr. Short in the lab, examining the blood drawn from my veins. "I don't understand," he uttered, staring at the results. 'The LSD levels are much higher this time. These results cannot be correct. They should be the opposite." "What could have caused this?" she asked, "if Mulder is still receiving the drugs, shouldn't he be suffering the same respiratory arrest as before?" "Not if he's been receiving the drugs on a regular basis. The human body is a strange thing, Agent Scully. If you give someone poison regularly, he gets used to it. In the late 19th century, people took arsenic in small doses to keep a pale skin, as was the custom. The same is happening here. Mulder's system is getting used to the drugs. They are still causing the anxiety and agitation, but not causing the respiratory distress in him as it did before." "So someone is still getting access to him, making sure he's going through the roof," she said slowly. "I can't see how it's done. He hasn't eaten in over 24 hours." "What about his IV? Could someone have injected him with the LSD?" "I suppose so, yes." At that time Scully's cell phone went off. She picked it up, only to hear the voice of Tom Fielding. "Tom, what's wrong?" she asked, surprised, listening to his short explanation regarding Sophie Lange's confession. "Dana," he then said, "Mrs. Lange works in a hospital, doesn't she?" "Yes, she does." "Which one?" "I don't know," Scully said, "I'd have to check." "I think she's the one poisoning Mulder, Dana. Her daughter just told us the most peculiar story. Seems Mrs. Lange went crazy after her daughter's death. Dana, we just found Jason Warren's body. He's been shot to death at close range, with Mulder's service gun. How could she have access to that if she hadn't had access to his stuff?" "I left the gun behind lock and key at the nurses' station," Scully said breathlessly. "This doesn't make sense, Tom. We would have recognized her. Mulder would have seen her!" "I think he did recognize her, Scully. He mentioned a ring. He didn't see her clearly at the funeral. She was wearing a black veil. We had no photos of her in the file, we never talked to her. But she was wearing a diamond ring. Mulder had a small scar on his face, said that it came from the nurse that took care of him, didn't he? It must have been her." "No, that's impossible," Scully repeated. "I've seen her too. Rina wouldn't hurt a fly." Dr. Short looked up, then, staring into Scully's face as he heard the name of the nurse working on his floor. "Rina?" he asked surprised, wondering what was going on. "Poor woman, I still don't understand why she came back to work so fast after her daughter's death. She's been through hell ..." "Tom, get over here quick." Scully hang up the phone, grabbing Short's arm. "What's her full name?" she asked tensed up. "Corinne Lange. We all call her Rina. Why?" Scully had already left the doctor in the lab, rushing up to my room. But by then it was too late. When she opened the door, all she found was an empty room. The bed was gone. So was Agent Kirsch. And so was I. - 23 - November 15 2:45 p.m. "Here, drink this." A voice appeared out of nowhere. A body and face that I had seen before came into my sight and brought a cup of water for me to drink from. I drank eagerly from it, savoring as much as I could. I coughed and leaned back against the rough blankets I was lying on. I tried to scan the area I was in, but all I could make out were noises in the back, like kettles boiling. Hot water steaming through pipes running everywhere behind the walls and iron door I was locked behind. The voice sounded vaguely familiar but I was so doped-up I couldn't make it out. It was as simple as that. I just wanted to slip back into the natural sleep my body needed. And as I laid back my head, I was out again. Later on I would ask what was going on, and where Scully had gone to. "Did you see her die?" The woman's voice sounded hard and questioning when she shook me awake. I looked up. The adrenaline rush was finally over. My body was tired and exhausted from the struggle against the drugs. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. She gave me water again. "Did you?" "Did I what?" "Watch her die?" "Who?" I croaked. "My girl. The one you couldn't save." My subconscious was trying to figure out where I was, and who the voice belonged to, and then I opened my eyes and looked into the blue, piercing eyes of Nurse Rina. She looked down on me like the wrath of God I was screaming about when they tried to break my finger. "Your girl?" I repeated, staring at the diamond ring on her finger, remembering. She was the one who hit me in the face at the funeral. The one whose eyes and face had been covered with the black veil, preventing me from seeing her clearly. I knew now who she was and what she had done. It was never Harry Flint. It was her, taking advantage of a situation neither of us had provoked. "You never intended to save my little girl, did you?" she continued, raging on and on while madness clearly shone from her eyes. "You left her to die there. You didn't give a shit about her, all you wanted was to find Warren. She died so you could have your five minutes of fame." "She died of an overdose." "She could have been saved." "She was beyond saving. Believe me, I know how you feel," I said almost desperate. "I dreamed about her several times, trying to redo the whole thing. If I could give my life to give her back to you, I would. You have to believe me!" She calmed down somewhat, staring at me in anger. "She was my little girl," she then said, "I loved her so much." "But you have another daughter." "One that should have died instead of her." Her face contorted in anger again. "You don't mean that." She slugged me in the face suddenly, sending me back into unconsciousness. When I woke up, she was gone. No more noise, just pure silence. I did not dare wonder where she was. Nor need I wonder why she was waiting to kill me. I listened to the sounds in the long corridor, behind that iron door. I had no idea where I was, but a good guess was that I was still in the hospital. She couldn't have moved me outside, knowing that they would come looking for me straight away. But why was I still alive? Why did she let me stay here while she was gone? I did not know. I couldn't care less. There was something or someone else in the room. I could see a dark shade only a few inches away from me. The body of a man lying on the floor. He was on his stomach, his face hidden by his own right arm. I slid off the cot, crawling towards him. I touched his throat. The flesh under my fingers was still warm. But the pulse was gone, and I looked right into the dead eyes of agent Kirsch, a knife still stuck in his back. - 24 - November 15 Time unknown I had lost all track of time in the darkness. My body was too exhausted to make a move to get out of here. I wouldn't get far. Five feet perhaps before she found me and dragged my ass back into this room. If the door was even open. I would have to rely on others to get me out of this mess, hoping they would find out who Nurse Rina was, and why she wanted to kill me. Hell, I didn't even know why myself. Because of the anger she was not able to vent? Because I had been the first one to step into that room and finding her girl? Because I had approached her at her daughter's funeral to apologize? Whatever it was, I needed to know. If someone died, the only question remained was, "Why?" I shifted on the floor, pushing my body back up to the cot. Once I had closed my eyes, I immediately slept, feeling the drugs raging in me. Scully," I said out loud, "find me." Then the door opened, and Rina returned to make an end to my life. She was rough when she shook me awake, forcing me to look at her. "Let me go," I said simply, not ready to plead for my life. "No." "I did everything I could to save your daughter. I didn't kill her." "You tried, did you?" "Yes," I said desperately. "Tried is not an excuse, Agent Mulder. It's your duty as a federal officer to protect the lives of the people. You failed, and my daughter is dead." "I'm sorry that she died." "I know you are." She sat down on the side of the cot, looking at me. "Why did you drug me?" "I don't know. Thought it would be poetic justice to see you die the way she died. Couldn't get my hands on coke or heroin, but LSD is a piece of cake if you've got a daughter like mine. I stole her entire supply and she didn't even notice it. I didn't think it would have such an effect on you though. Must have been the concussion weakening you. I wanted to make you an addict at first, and then kill you. Let them think you killed yourself. And Warren." "Where is Warren?" "Dead." "How did you find him?" "Let's just say he found me." She smiled. "Isn't it ironic to think my other daughter fell for him, hiding him from me? She was stupid enough to believe I would not find him. I took your gun and I killed him." "My gun?" "Your partner gave it to us for safekeeping. I used it and left it behind. After today, after you are dead, it won't matter what they find out about me. I'm turning myself in, pleading insanity. I fooled them long enough, didn't I?" "Did you drug the peaches?" "Of course. And then your IV. It was easy." "And now?" She didn't respond, pulling a syringe from the pocket of her white smock. "This is going to be painless, if it's a comfort to you. I'll make sure you're asleep before I'll kill you. My daughter didn't even have the same pleasure. She died a painful death, and you could have prevented it." She grabbed my arm. As the needle touched the skin, I pulled back viciously, but it was already too late. She pushed the plunger down, and the fluid made its way through my arm and then the rest of my body. Immediately I started getting dizzy. "Don't!' I heard myself scream as I shoved her away with my last strength. Her body fell off mine, and slammed onto the floor. She lay there for a second, feeling confused and dizzy herself, no doubt. I didn't even remember what I did. All I knew was that I need to act from instinct and self-preservation. I knocked her out with a blow from my fist, and crawled off the cot, getting hold of the wall next to it. I pushed myself away from it, and as the first waves of dizziness shot through my body, I shook my head forcefully and lunged for the door. I grabbed the handle and pulled it. The door gave way and immediately I was surrounded by steam pipes and engines and other devices that made a hell of a lot of noise, adding to the terror of the moment. Jesus, I just could not concentrate on anything. I don't know how, but my feet started walking to the right, and somehow my legs were able to hold me as I stumbled through the basement, avoiding anything that might hurt me. A door. I went for it, and pulled the knob. It was locked. Another door, and another one, and another one. One of them had to get me out of here! I tried each and every one of them, until suddenly the largest of them gave way. I literally fell into a small hallway, and turned on my back, panting and staring at a white ceiling and a large stairway. I knew that once I made it up there, I would be safe. Jesus, Scully, I thought. You're going to be so pissed at me. Why the hell do I always get myself in situations like this? I literally crawled on all fours to make my way up the stairs, taking one step at a time, panting and heaving all the time. Wave after wave of dizziness flooded my mind. It would have been so easy to simply give up to the darkness, but my will to survive was too strong. Despite everything - the loss of the X-Files and the reassignment to crap duty, I could not give up. Not knowing if that woman I had met at the diner was my sister or not, not knowing why my father died, and why they would go to any lengths to stop me from knowing. I would not die like this, useless and senseless and with no reason. I wouldn't die without apologizing to Tom for accusing him like I did. And not before I told Scully that I loved her. "Scully!" I shouted her name, not knowing whether or not she could hear me. I just felt like crying out for her, to let her know that I was still alive. I was halfway up the stairwell, when I slumped on my side, and rested my head against the cold concrete steps. *Scully,* I thought, this time not shouting her name out loud. *Please, come and find me in here.* Then doors opened beneath me and above me. They seemed to open at the same time. I heard voices coming from both directions. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, running towards me. But there were footsteps above me coming down to me also. Then there were shouts and hands tugging my arms and ankles and bare feet. I couldn't move anymore. Then there was another shout, and a shot, and the hands on my feet let go. Another hand touched my face, and I moaned, "No." I was lifted from my uncomfortable position, and felt strong arms and hands supporting me under my arms, literally picking me up like a rag doll. As I looked up, I saw Skinner holding me. On the other side Tom was holding me tight, saying, "I got you, buddy. It's over." Scully was standing in front of me, touching my throat and face. There were more people in the hallway now, surrounding me like a shield. I had never felt more safe. I smiled and slurred, "Hey Scully, what took you so long?" And then it all went black, as the artificial darkness took over. Epilogue November 19, 1998 Terence Davis knew what I came for before I was able to talk to him about it. He invited me to sit down quietly, and watched me as I examined his office, and then the desks of the men behind the glass. "Glad to see you up and about again," he said, offering me coffee. I refused politely, putting the files on his desk. They had a stamp on them to confirm the fact that they were both closed. "Did you go to her funeral?" he asked me, when I didn't respond to his previous remark. "No." I smiled vaguely, leaning back comfortably. "She's dead, but I don't feel guilty about it." "You shouldn't." He got out of his chair and sat at the edge of his desk, looking me in the eye. "What's going to happen to you now, Mulder? Are you going to be okay?" "Yeah, of course I am," I said with a smile. "Aren't I always? I bounce back like a ball, you know. If someone kicks me in the gut, I simply turn my back and offer him to kick me again." "You sound cynical." "Am I?" I waited a few seconds before continuing. "Yeah, I suppose I am." "Is it the drugs still speaking, or is it you?" "You're talking to a 100 % sane Fox Mulder, Terry." "I'm not sure if I like that." I smiled. "Don't worry about it, you'll get used to it." I got out of the chair and walked over to the door, there turning towards him and saying, "Unless you object to me spending some time on the side in VCS?" He looked at me in surprise. "This wasn't what I had expected. Are you sure?" "Pretty damn sure." He nodded. "And Scully?" "She knows. She doesn't like it, but she knows." "And do you like it?" I debated for a while with myself, trying to find an answer to this question. "I don't know yet. I'll let you know in a couple of weeks." I closed the door behind me and walked over to Fielding's desk. There was a lot of apologizing to do here. I ended up at Valerie's grave again, but this time it wasn't because of my feelings of guilt. I knew now there was nothing to feel guilty about. Despite all the efforts I had put into being a complete person, into becoming something the bureau wanted me to become, it had not worked. There was one thing my drug-induced days had taught me. The worst fears a man can experience and live through come from the inside. If you take away a barrier, you will see whatever is in someone's mind. And somehow I didn't like what was in mine. I needed to work on that. Not just for myself, but also for the people I loved and cared about. And whatever it would take, one day I would get the X-Files back. As certain as I was standing here in the cold, breathing in the fresh air, I was certain of the fact that I would get what I wanted. Some day. And at any cost. That's what the drugs had taught me. The End Hope you enjoyed this. Feedback will be much appreciated. san@sv-tales.com