Making a list of Teena's belongings took longer than Scully anticipated. She began to worry that the movers might arrive before she was finished, but she heard nothing in the driveway as she kept an ear out for their arrival.

Eventually she found that the only place left to go was the basement. The realtor had said that 'a few' things were left down there, but that seemed almost an exaggeration. There were a handful of Rubbermaid containers stacked by the stairs, and an old exercise machine that looked like it'd never been used for anything more than a coat rack, but other than a set of built-in shelves at the far end of the room, it was empty.

Curious, Scully wandered over to the shelves because even from the stairs she could see that it wasn't entirely empty, though almost. Other than a layer of dust, the only thing still on the shelf was a thin faded blue hard covered book. Curious, Scully reached out and picked it up. It lacked a title or author on the front, so she suspected them to have been printed on the missing dust jacket. Inside of the front cover a peeling sticker declared the volume to be "property of Samantha Mulder."

She recoiled mentally, stunned to be holding something that had once belonged to the missing child. In retrospect, she decided that shouldn't have surprised her, considering this is than the last house the girl's mother had lived in. Flipping to the title page, she discovered that its title was "Elementary Spells." Scully expected that the story to be one of those silly teen romances just a little too old for Samantha, but it wasn't. Instead it was literally a book of magic spells, apparently meant for children.

This probably explained the lack of a dust jacket; Bill and Teena hardly struck her as the sort of parents who would have indulged an interest in witchcraft. From what Mulder had told her, they had done little to encourage an interest in Christianity or Judaism, so an alternative religion would have been even more poorly received. Not that Scully considered it likely that a girl of eight would have realized that the spells were part of a now obscure religion.

Scully turned the pages idly, only stopping when she found a page that said "restoring the irrevocably lost." At first she almost dropped the book, because being plunged into sorrow about her own irrevocably lost one made her fingers nerveless, but she caught it at the last moment.

Setting it down carefully, she found herself compelled to say the charm aloud. It was simplistic, the same sort of hokey rhyming couplets that once had Mulder making fun of the show Charmed when he came by one night and discovered her watching it. Before she lost her nerve, she quickly said all the words printed on the dusty old page.

"Maybe I need to click my heels together," Scully muttered, looking around at the dimly lit basement. No one, especially not Mulder, had joined her in the cavernous space. She glanced back at the book and sighed. Then she realized that the words continued on to the other side. Flipping the page over, she said the rest.

And suddenly found the wind knocked out of her as she landed on the ground with a thud.

Scully felt dizzy as she pulled herself to her feet and took stock of her surroundings. It was hard to decide which was more alarming; that she was outside or that it was already dark out. How had she gotten outside? Her only conclusion was that she'd stumbled out of the stuffy basement in a daze, may be seeking fresh air to clear her head.

In any case, she hadn't gone very far. She was standing with her back to a shed she hadn't noticed when she pulled into the driveway, but the house was still within sight. And it couldn't have been all that much later because movers still hadn't arrived yet, that was clear by the lack of a truck in the driveway yet.

Someone, however, was around judging by the sound of a screen door carelessly allowed to slam nearby. When she heard voices she instinctively ducked behind the shed, clearly the one that the realtor had mentioned, but immediately felt foolish. She had every right to be there, so why was she hiding? Even knowing this, she was reluctant to step forward and reveal herself. She'd probably startle the speakers, and there would be awkward questions...

"Keep your voice down!" The voice tried to be authoritative, but it sounded very young.

The child who replied sounded even younger still. "Sorry. I hate him, Fox!"

Fox? Scully froze. Even if Mulder had a cousin close enough to have named a child after him, what was she doing there? And why hadn't the realtor asked her to come and take care of Teena's things if there were family members still around, she wondered irritably. She hadn't minded accepting the task, but it would have been more appropriate for a relative to take it on.

The pair of speakers stumbled into view and Scully felt her heart wrench at the sight of them. These children were Mulder's cherished photograph come to life; the one he'd kept in his apartment, but was now on her dresser next her portrait of Missy.

"You know I don't like him either, Samantha." She could see that the boy had his arm slung around his sister's shoulders. "But Mom said we have to be polite to him."

"Why?" the girl demanded to know. She stomped one sneaker clad foot, and Scully noticed that the snow was missing. How had that escaped her attention earlier, she wondered. It was slightly less of a concern than having been propelled decades back in time, she thought wildly. The edge of panic seemed near.

"He's Dad's boss or something. Mom said the economy is gone to the dogs, so it would be real bad if Dad lost his job."

"Oh. But that's not fair." Even in the dim light, Scully could see that the girl pouting.

"No one said life would be fair, sport," Fox advised his sister. "Hey, what do you want for your birthday?"

Her birthday? If Samantha hadn't had her birthday yet, this wasn't the night the girl was abducted. :: What am I thinking?:: Scully shook her head. :: Of course it isn't. This is just an involved dream.::

Since it was just a dream, Scully followed them when they moved on a couple of minutes later. The boy sent his sister back to the house after picking up something that belonged in the shed. When he strayed near where she stood, Scully shot on her arm and grabbed the boy's.

"What the hell?" the boy squeaked as she dragged him to her.

If he'd been just a year or two older, she wouldn't have been stronger than him, but she still was just then. "Fox, be quiet!" she hissed.

His eyes were wide and fearful as he stared up at her. "How do you know my name?"

"It doesn't matter," she said flatly. "What's the date?"

"November 12th."

"1973?"

"Of course 1973. What sort of question is that?" A new flash of fear crossed his young face. "You didn't escape from a mental hospital or something, did you?"

She almost smiled to see that familiar keen, suspicious look on his face. "Fox, do you love your sister?"

"Of course I love my sister!" the boy said indignantly.

"Shh! If you love her, you had better listen to what I'm about to tell you," she said sharply, and paused to make sure that he was paying attention. His eyes were glued to her face. "On the 23rd, your parents are going to leave you to baby-sit when they go to a friend's house. Men will come while they're gone, they're going to take your sister. You'll never see her again."

"No!" the boy protested, eyes stricken.

"It doesn't have to happen that way. As soon as your folks leave that night, take your sister and run. It doesn't matter where, just get away from your house as fast as you can."

"When can we come back?" he asked in a whisper, and she knew she had him.

"I don't know. A day or two."

"That long?" The boy looked worried. "Maybe I can get us a ride to grandma's."

"Good. Do that."

"How do you know?" he wanted to know. "Do you work for the same man as my father?"

"I work against him," she told the boy. "Go on back before your folks wonder why Samantha went in without you."

He ran towards the house, pausing just once to look over shoulder. Scully gave him a weak smile, more concerned about how she would get back to the present than what the child must think of her. Even that worry exited her head when a new wave of dizziness pulled her knees out from under her, and blackness swarmed her.