CHAPTER 3

ADX Florence

It felt extremely uncomfortable to write to Cara while having assault rifles pointed at his head, the guards afraid he would turn the pen he was loaned into a weapon. His every move was being watched, and Will shut his eyes, trying to focus on putting his chaotic thoughts onto paper.

The blank page stared back at him accusingly, seemingly mocking him for his cowardice. He swallowed, not sure where to start or what to say. He dare not tell her what ADX was really like, and the standard "How are you" seemed too trivial. He wasn't even sure how to address her - "Cara" or "Dear Cara" or "To the love of my life" or "To the woman who has forgotten about me" were all viable options at the present. Will hated how the isolation left him weakened by doubt and fear, and he dropped his head, still unable to write anything.

"Two minutes," the guard directly behind him snapped impatiently. Will gazed back at the page, committing to his choice of writing one of her favorite quotes carefully on the sheet:

"By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it.
The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired."

He carefully read the lines he quoted from Franz Kafka, then added his own below it:

You are with me every waking moment.
I continue to create you with each breath I take,
waiting to feel you in my arms once again.

He didn't sign it; he was too emotional to remember to. It was quite possibly the sappiest, most poetic thing he ever wrote, not entirely sure where the choice of words came from, as they weren't natural to him. He folded the paper, putting it inside the envelope and addressed it to Cara's apartment. As he felt himself be roughly pulled away from the desk and shoved backward into the area of his bed, Will assumed his two minutes were up.

Will watched as the guard took the envelope, doubtful if the letter would ever make it to the mail. He lifted his arms, feeling the guards roughly pat him down to check that he hadn't stowed anything during his privilege. His eyebrow arched as he saw the guard reading who he was sending it to. "No name, lover boy?" he asked, waving the envelope at Will. "I can find out myself with the address, I guess. Maybe pay her a visit while you're here." The guard laughed as he saw Will's angered reaction to his statement. He remained motionless, praying his power would stay under control as he was silent through the guard's incessant taunting. "All the way in New Jersey … hmm …" The guard leaned into Will, the smile on his face making Will sick. "I'm due for a vacation. Maybe I'll see if she'd like to come."

He had no doubt in his mind that these guards felt far superior to him and the inmates he now lived with, the dark realities of the evil that surrounded them at work only being combated by their constant reminders of their elevated sense of worth to the world. Will knew the taunting fed into the punishment, too, and that it probably was a runaway train that the guards couldn't escape if they tried. He wasn't sure why he was finding any amount of empathy for the mocking men in front of him, the idea of Cara being vulnerable in any way making his blood boil. He couldn't help himself, though, from reading their thoughts whenever he came in contact with them, knowing that it at least was partially a defense against the manifestation of evils they encountered. However, the majority of it was a manifestation of the guards' own evils, and it was that which scared him.

Will was relieved that he was able to wait just long enough for the guards to leave before his fist collided with the concrete beside him, leaving a large blood-stained impression in the rock.

Coroner's Office
Hoboken PD
8:12 PM

She wasn't sure how Cara managed to get her into the station given her complete lack of jurisdiction, but Scully was happy to be able to examine the body of Daniel Riggs without interruption, at least until ten that evening. She had much work to do, and she sighed as she snapped on a pair of blue gloves, the feeling all too familiar of trying to decipher the darkness into a neatly wrapped package, which more often that not wasn't the way it happened.

Mulder had said he would go catch up with Cara and share his discoveries on the Cave. She wasn't quite sure what had peaked Cara's interest about the landmark, but chose to trust her gut. Cara reminded her so much of a young Mulder, determined and not easily dissuaded. Will, however, had her trait of doubt, which she had hoped he wouldn't. Doubt was a hard thing to overcome, and she prayed he wasn't subcumming to its power as he sat inside of his cell of hellish isolation as she drug the scalpel across the corpse's chest in a Y-incision.

5th Street
Hoboken
8:47 PM

Cara usually had a ritual when her shift ended, not ever straying far from it. Lock the door, keys on the hook, gun on the end table and uniform hung. Tonight, she had forgotten the routine after hanging her keys on the hook, staring out into the city through the large window in the living room of her apartment. It was still dark in her home as she stood in silence, for the first time knowing what her father must have gone through, his nightmare concealed for protection as Jim Bean assisted in dulling the pain. If she had the energy to think of it, she would've brought Jim home tonight for herself, but she figured her autopilot mode made her coast by the liquor store in an attempt to bring her safely home.

As she stood there, wondering if all the charades of protecting Will's secret innocence were really even necessary, she heard a gentle knock on the door. Drawing her gun, she carefully stepped to the door, the house still encased in darkness. She shut her eyes as she saw the face on the other side of the peep hole, and unchained her door, letting Mulder in.

"Glad you made it alright," Cara managed, her gun still drawn at her side.

Mulder looked down at it, then up at her. "Everything alright?" he asked softly.

Cara nodded as she watched Mulder shut the door, his long fingers repositioning the chain. "Just tired," she replied as Mulder turned to her.

"Expecting someone else?" Mulder asked, nodding to Cara's weapon.

"Guess you never know," she replied, tucking her gun into its holster.

Mulder wasn't convinced. "Someone threatening you?" he asked, stepping toward her.

"No, just annoying me," she replied, flicking on a light in the room.

"Who?"

"Does it matter?"

"I don't know, does it?"

"Alright, cut the psychology bullshit," Cara nearly shouted.

"Then tell me," Mulder said sternly.

"I'm not a child. And you're not my parent."

Cara instantly regretted her choice of words the moment it left her mouth, but her pride chose to avoid an apology. Mulder put his hands on his hips, looking intently at Cara. "No, I'm not," he said, his voice steady and firm. "But we are on the same team, aren't we?"

Mulder caught Cara's eyes searching his, and saw her nod. "Yeah," she mumbled, unclipping her holster and tossing it on the end table. "Sorry, all I have is coffee, milk and water," she said, turning her back to him in an attempt to flee the discomfort of the atmosphere.

"Coffee is great," Mulder said, watching Cara unbutton and remove her uniform shirt that she wore over the police-issued logo turtleneck. With expert speed, Cara brewed a pot of coffee, turning to Mulder who had followed her into the kitchen while she waited for it to perk.

"Detective Brody Wesson," she finally said with a defeated look.

"Who's he?" Mulder asked.

"The asshole I was ready to shoot."

Mulder's eyebrow arched. "Is he the lead on the Riggs case?"

"No," Cara corrected. "I am. Chief Veltre has him on loan from the NYPD to help handle Will's …" Her voice trailed off, the addition of "caseload" barely audible as she fought the emotion.

He watched as Cara played with the bun of hair on her head, releasing the waves that were long enough to skim her chest. "I found some interesting information on Sybil's Cave," Mulder said, sitting at the counter on the stool under it. "Mind sharing what initially peaked your interest?"

"I found a bone fragment," Cara said, unsure whether she was irritated with Mulder or relieved he was finally here.

"What kind of bone?"

"It looked like a piece of a tibia."

"Hmm."

"'Hmm' what?"

"Check this out." Mulder took out a packet of crumpled papers from his pocket, sliding them over to Cara on the counter.

"What is it?"

"You young people with your technology ..." Mulder mumbled, "Read it."

Cara rolled her eyes as she set the cup of coffee she poured down in front of Mulder. She raised the half-gallon of skim milk she had taken out of the fridge, and he waved her off. "Black," he said, and he caught her pause for a minute, probably thinking of how Will took his coffee the same way.

"Edgar Allen Poe?" With her question, Cara had basically asked Mulder if he was crazy. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What? I hear we are very alike, you and I. We enjoy entertaining the possibilities otherwise thought extreme or unlikely by others."

"Maybe when I have the luxury to," Cara replied. "But I don't right now."

"On the contrary," Mulder interrupted, "now is the perfect time to entertain a few unusual theories." He sipped his coffee, gesturing to the packet he had given her. "Read, grasshopper."

Cara pursed her lips, peering down at the packet. She began to read aloud, hoping that it would annoy Mulder to make him cut to the chase. "The Case of Mary Rogers," she quoted, seeing Mulder grin. "Mary Rogers?" she said, interrupting herself.

"Shh. Read."

Cara sighed and quoted the article:

"'Mary Rogers was probably born in 1820 in Lyme, Connecticut, though her birth records have not survived.'" Cara stopped. "Hold on a second. Did you get this crap from Wikipedia?" she asked, noticing the URL at the bottom of the paper she held.

"Wikipedia is a great resource, for the people and by the people. Truly American." Mulder waved her on. "Continue."

Cara began again with resistance. "'Mary Rogers was a beautiful woman who grew up as the only child of her widowed mother. At the age of twenty, Mary lived in the boarding house that was run by her mother, although it was her amazing beauty that made her the talk of the neighborhood. Her father died in a steamboat explosion when she was 17 years old and she took a job as a clerk in a tobacco shop owned by John Anderson in New York City. Anderson paid her a generous wage in part because her physical attractiveness brought in many customers.'" Mulder couldn't help but grin as he saw Cara's disgusted face in response to the sexist information as she opened a bag of multigrain dipping chips, walking to the fridge paper in hand as she continued to read.

'On October 5, 1838, the New York Sun reported that 'Miss Mary Cecilia Rogers' had disappeared from her home. Her mother, Phoebe, said she found a suicide note which the local coroner analyzed and said revealed a 'fixed and unalterable determination to destroy herself.' The next day, however, the Times and Commercial Intelligence reported that the disappearance was a hoax and that Rogers only went to visit a friend in Brooklyn. The Sun had previously published a story known as the Great Moon Hoax during 1835, causing controversy. Some suggested this return was actually the hoax, evidenced by Rogers's failure to return to work immediately. When she finally resumed working at the tobacco shop, one newspaper suggested the whole event was a publicity stunt managed by Anderson.'"

Cara paused, opening the salsa she retrieved from her fridge, knowing it and the chips would serve as dinner for her. "What's the 'Great Moon Hoax'?" she asked.

"A series of articles written about the discovery of life and civilization on the moon," Mulder replied through crunching his chips. "See page 4."

Reluctantly, Cara flipped to the fourth page, seeing a copy of an old lithograph depicting winged creatures that appeared to be both human and bat flying in a large group over a river, a gorge surrounding them. Mulder saw Cara's hesitation, knowing she had connected the same dots he had to the gorge they nearly didn't escape just weeks before.

Dismissing the irrational connection in her mind, Cara continued. "'On July 25, 1841, Rogers told her fiancé Daniel Payne that she would be visiting her aunt and other family members. Three days later, on July 28, police found her corpse floating in the Hudson River in Hoboken, New Jersey. Referred to as the 'Beautiful Cigar Girl', the mystery of her death was sensationalized by newspapers and received national attention. The details of the case suggested she was murdered, or dumped by abortionist Madame Restell after a failed procedure. Months later, the inquest still ongoing, her fiancé was found dead by suicide. By his side, a remorseful note and an empty bottle of poison were found. Her fiancé was Daniel Payne. He was full of grief after Mary's death. On October 7, 1841 Payne went to multiple taverns and drank excessively. Eventually, he stopped at a store and bought a bottle of the poison laudanum. He stopped by where Mary's body was found and went on to write his note, 'To the World – here I am on the very spot. May God forgive me for my misspent life.' He drank the poison then staggered off to drink some more. Before he died he made his way back to where Mary was found and died on a nearby bench.

'During November 1842, Frederica Loss came forward and swore that Rogers' death was the result of a failed abortion attempt. Police refused to believe her story and the case remained unsolved. Interest in the story waned nine weeks later when the press began publicizing a different, unrelated murder, that of John C. Colt murdering Samuel Adams. Sybil's Cave became a popular tourist attraction, people clamoring to see the site where her body was discovered.'"

Cara tossed the packet back at Mulder, dipping a chip in the jar of salsa and eating it without a response. Mulder waited, looking at her with an anticipatory smile, only to be met with a look of disdain. "Really?" she asked. "This is what you give me? There's one reference to the cave, and it just says how it became a tourist attraction after a tragic murder."

Mulder leaned back, the smile still on his face. He enjoyed the way Cara did battle with him, understanding why Will was so drawn to her. She didn't give him an inch, even if she did have belief, and he respected that about her. "Are you ready for my interpretation?" he asked, taking a chip and crunching on it.

Cara sipped her coffee. "Guess so. I don't have any other plans."

"Good."

"So how does this connect to Daniel Riggs, or Sybil's Cave for that matter?"

"How it connects," Mulder explained, "is that nothing is ever quite as it seems."

Cara stared blankly at Mulder. "You mean to tell me, you just had me waste well over ten minutes reading about a murder from the 1800s, using a Wikipedia article as supporting evidence, just to tell me that things are not always as they seem?"

"Was it really that useless?" Mulder asked, baffled slightly at her lack of appreciation.

"Mulder," Cara said, getting angry, "I've got a dead body with marks that match mine, which came from a shape-shifting alien bounty hunter who tried to extract all of my blood so they could replicate the engineered technology inside of me that my father conspired with the government to create, all to protect your son, who was born with miraculous powers and aged so he could be prepared to battle the alien colonists in December of THIS YEAR … and you want to banter about things not being as they seem?"

Mulder couldn't help but smile, which aggravated Cara even further. "How can you sit there and distract yourself with complete and utter bullshit when your son deserves your full and undivided …" Cara stopped, pausing as she finished her thought in her head. "... attention," she said softly, swallowing at the connection she made to Mulder's exercise she just completed. "So that's what this is all about?" she asked, her hands on her hips. "You think I'm too blinded by the case, that my work will be sloppy, all because-"

"Because you're too close to this, Cara," Mulder said very gently, leaning forward. His face was serious as he looked at her. "The bone fragment you found … why do you think you found it?"

"Because I looked."

"Because you wanted to," Mulder corrected. "And Riggs' marks?"

"They're there!"

"All of these obvious signs - evidence just waiting to be discovered, mysterious marks that are exactly like yours …" Mulder stood. "Did it ever occur to you that Daniel Riggs would be too old to be a Shield, if we're trusting your father was correct when he said he used children, including you?"

Cara was frozen; she didn't know what to say. She was guilty - guilty of running around blindly for truth, all for the sake of freeing Will, which wouldn't actually help him.

"All of this is a part of their game, Cara," Mulder continued, coming around the counter to stand directly in front of her. "All of this, manifested because of your love for William which is being used against you." She sighed, turning away from Mulder as she realized how blind she had been. "None of this will help him," he whispered. "Or you."

Mulder gently took Cara's chin with his fingers, tilting her face to meet his. "William isn't the only one in isolation. At some point, you have to understand that to help him, you need to help yourself." He saw her eyes welling with tears, and he pulled her into his arms. He sighed in relief as he felt her accept his embrace, though he silently worried she wasn't yet ready to face her fears head on.

After a few moments, she pulled away, quickly wiping a few tears from her face, embarrassed. Mulder caught her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Jabberwocky," she whispered.

Mulder's eyebrows creased together. "Jabberwocky?"

Cara nodded, wiping another tear that escaped. "Invented and meaningless nonsense." She knew he still didn't fully understand, but she didn't need him to. Whoever was out to kill her and Will knew far too much for her comfort, using what had become sacred and exclusively between them against them. They were trying to throw her off course, and she couldn't even imagine what they were doing to Will, probably shaking the foundation of his sanity until he cracked.

Even though she knew she had possibly been misled, she wasn't ready to give up fighting and fully confront her deep hidden fears of Will never being exonerated, put to death for the sins of beings controlled by pure evil. She had to be smarter, quicker, faster - she couldn't afford to fall prey to their games. Yet, she couldn't fully see her weakness, her heart straining as she told herself it was time to press forward, to help him by scoping everything. Don't miss a thing. His life depends on your full, undivided attention. Now's not a time to feel.

"I need to find something for him. Anything," she breathed.

Mulder sighed, knowing he hadn't fully gotten through to her. He was trying to help her see that she needed to step away, to let people help, to allow anything besides anger and fear inside. She needed to think, she needed to feel. She needed to allow herself the opportunity to face what she kept buried inside, all of her darkest nightmares needed to be brought out to the light so they couldn't have power over her anymore, so that the Colonists who were trying to control the two most powerful beings on earth wouldn't be able to.

Yet, she was running too fast, her head filled with everything they wanted it to be. They had control over her, so long as she allowed them to. She was a pawn in their game, playing right into their hand without even knowing it.

"Excuse me," Cara said suddenly, her eyes shut as she gripped the counter behind her. Mulder saw she felt sick in her sudden paleness, and watched in concern as she turned quickly to the bathroom. He all too well understood the feeling she must have had in that moment, and his eyes followed her, a certain sadness filling him that came from possessing unheeded, rejected advice. He had walked her path before, and it killed him to see her making the same mistakes he once had.

He silently prayed Will wasn't making the same mistakes, too.

Comfort Suites, Hoboken
10:17 p.m.

It was a couple hours later, and Mulder had returned to the hotel room he and Scully shared, feeling completely drained after trying to get through to Cara. He didn't even glance up at Scully as she entered the room quietly, seeing the look on his face that she always dreaded seeing. "What happened?" he asked as she tossed her purse onto the chair next to the door.

"Absolutely nothing," Scully replied, folding her arms over her chest. "Cause of death was asphyxiation. Nothing out of the ordinary. The marks weren't consistent with the ones I treated Cara for. And there was no quantifiable blood loss."

"How can she not see it, Scully?" Mulder asked softly, still staring ahead at the television, which was lowered in volume almost to mute.

Scully sat down beside him. "There were plenty of times when we didn't see it, either."

"We had time to learn, though. She doesn't."

"Mulder," Scully took his hand gently, watching him shut his eyes and lean his head back against the headboard behind him, "William trusts her, so we have to now, too."

"Trust no one, remember, Scully?"

"Not even our own son?"

Mulder sighed. "She's vulnerable, Scully. So is he."

"And we haven't been before?"

"This is different."

"How? How is this different?"

Mulder lifted his head and looked into Scully's eyes. "Because the whole damn universe is relying on them to get their shit together."

Scully wasn't sure if it was the combination of the long flight and the rushed autopsy, not to mention the emotional stress she felt, but she couldn't help but crack a smile at Mulder's impatient tone. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "We have to have faith, Mulder," she said gently.

She heard a sigh mixed with a groan resonate deep inside his throat as he pulled her beside him. She listened to the comforting sound of his heart beat as she lay her head on his chest, allowing herself to be surrounded by his scent and warmth. "You know what I have faith in?" she heard him say softly after a long moment of silence.

"What, Mulder?"

"You."