******

CHAPTER EIGHT

******

"We tell ourselves stories in order to live... We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the 'ideas' with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience."
- Joan Didion
The White Album

******

Greenwich, Connecticut
June 28th
1100 hours

Mulder ran toward the puttering noise of the outboard motor. He found himself by the docks before it even registered that he was about to run out of terra firma.

He pulled up short, gathering his brain back into his head, and quickly ducked behind several large packing crates beside one of the buildings by the wharf.

Stupid, Mulder! You don't even know who's out there...you could have been blasted full of lead before you could utter the words "Hidey-Ho, Neighbor!"

The noise of the motor raised in pitch as the boat apparently was drawing nearer to the dock. Mulder chanced a peek from behind his cover as the boat came into view.

It was just a small fishing boat...the kind where you and one buddy go out with a cooler and pretend to fish while you down a few brews on the lake, all whilst trying to keep the wormy bait out of the Bud.

Mulder surveyed the boat's occupant, who had now shut down the motor and was trying to maneuver to the dockside.

One man. One very old man. One very old man who, if you put him in a yellow rain slicker, you would swear you've seen him on a box of fishsticks in your neighborhood grocer's freezer.

Mulder blinked his eyes once, twice. Yup. He was the Gorton's Fisherman. And everyone knew you could "trust the Gorton's Fisherman."

But then, the Gorton icon made a huge boating faux pas. One that shattered the cherished battered fish fillet image. The old man stood up quickly...which wasn't a particularly wise maneuver in a boat that size. The boat teetered from side to side....and promptly lurched aport...sending it's captain into the briny depths o' the sea.

"Gorton" let out an indignant cry as he flopped into the water with all of the grace of a dead carp.

Mulder was running down the dock in an instant. He grabbed a long scoop net and extended the pole out to the floundering swimmer.

"Here," he yelled over the splashes of water. "Grab hold."

The old man was momentarily stunned to see another breathing human being, but the stinging salt water soon prompted him to take hold of the lifeline.

Mulder guided the man over to a ladder at the dockside. He offered a hand up as the man creaked up the wooden rungs.

Finally, the old man was standing before him, water dripping off the end of his large nose. A nose that was even more pronounced than his own.

"Thank you, son," he sputtered as he blew the water from his lips. He held out his hand to Mulder and Mulder shook it.

"I'm glad I was here..."

"So am I," the old man laughed. Then his laughter faded as he assessed the younger man. Trying to decide if he was a threat or a friend. He seemed to decide he had a new ally and his narrowed eyes opened once again.

"My name's Ezekiel Polk, but my friends call me Zeke...and since I'm running low on friends these days, I'm guessing you'll have to do."

Mulder smiled. "Call me Mulder. It's good to meet you, Zeke."

"Likewise, Mulder. And now, Mulder...if you'll give me a hand reeling in my boat...you can share in the benefit of my morning activities..."

Mulder's brow raised in curiosity, but he decided to go with the flow for the moment. Using several poles on the dock, they hooked the boat and brought it to the dock. Mulder climbed down the wooden ladder and was able to secure the boat to the dock.

It was then that he discovered what Zeke had meant. He had two crab pots...and they had quite a nice collection for the steamer. He grabbed the pots and heaved them up, one by one, onto the dock. Then he climbed back up the ladder.

"Now, Mulder. Let's say we take these babies over to the restaurant over there and cook us up some lunch...then we can get properly acquainted."

Mulder nodded. His stomach was already growling.

They each grabbed a pot and headed toward the restaurant.

******

The Rusty Scupper
1300 Hours


"So...you were really an FBI agent? No shit?" Zeke managed between the cracks of his mallet on the steamed crab in front of him. They had used the restaurants grill to fire up the steamer. Zeke was seriously getting into the crab eating business. Bits of shell and melted butter decorated the lobster bib he had tied around his neck. Mulder's looked about the same.

"No shit. I lived in D.C., but I was up in Greenwich to see my mo...." Mulder stopped.

Zeke put his mallet down and reached one weathered hand across the table to lay it on Mulder's arm. "That's okay, son. Tonight, we can reminisce and remember. But only tonight. After that, you have to move forward. Think about where you're going. What you're going to do. We'll go insane if we don't. There must be other survivors of this...whatever it was."

Mulder looked up. It was such a relief to have someone to talk to about all of this. He had been scared to hope...but now, he had an ally. Zeke could tell him if he was crazy for believing that Scully was alive...and if his absolute need to find out for sure was insane.

"There *is* somewhere I need to go, Zeke. As soon as I can..."

Zeke stared at the young man's eyes...studied his body language. He wasn't hard to read.

"Who is she, Mulder?"

Mulder did a double take. How did Zeke know? "Why do you ask that?"

"What? You think I was born yesterday? Mulder. I know the look. You've been separated from someone you love. Plus, you aren't wearing a wedding ring...and if you were married, your wife would have probably been with you to visit your mother..."

Mulder smiled and looked down into his beer mug. "You shoulda been the FBI agent, Zeke."

"I'm sure. Now. Who *is* she, Mulder."

"Her name is Dana Scully."

******

One hour later, Zeke and Mulder were hunched over a bunch of nautical charts.

"This is quite doable, my friend," Zeke pronounced, gently slapping Mulder on the back. "With the friendly little yacht I procured yesterday, we can definitely make our way to Annapolis. And it will certainly be a safer and clearer journey than if you try to go over land. I'm sure all the highways are clogged with abandoned cars...not to mention a few crazy people running around with guns.
"Yup. We can do this and be there in just a few days."

"I'm game if you are, Zeke..."

"We can gather supplies today and get fueled up...and leave first thing tomorrow morning, if that's okay with you."

"The sooner the better," Mulder remarked. Now that he had a viable plan, he was very anxious to get moving. But he knew that he still had one or two things he had to do in Greenwich first. His duties as a son.

He would take care of that business as soon as they were done with the supplies.

"Why don't you show me that boat you've been talking about, Zeke?"

Zeke let loose a giant smile. "Yes! You won't believe this baby!"

The men stood and began to clear their table...then burst out laughing. One small pleasure they now had...they certainly did not need to do the dishes! They dropped their plates on their tables and walked outside into the sunshine.

*****

The Docks
Slip #59
1430 Hours

"Here she is! My beauty!" Zeke exclaimed proudly.

Mulder let out a low whistle. Zeke had not been kidding. He had known that there were plenty of old-monied folk in the area....but this yacht was gorgeous. Must have cost at least a million and a half. He read the name on her, "The Siren Of The Sea." Yup. Fitting.

"It's a sixty-five foot Pacific Mariner Luxury Motoryacht. It's got a cruising speed of twenty-two knots...but she'll go up to twenty-seven," Zeke rambled along as he walked alongside the boat, pointing out the finer details. It's got four staterooms...a luxury galley...a fully-stocked wet bar...a nifty entertainment center...two showers and a tub...teak cabinets and trim...
"Yessiree. She's everything I ever dreamed of and more."

Mulder looked up at Zeke. The old man was posed, his chest puffed out. All he needed was a pipe and a captain's hat.

"This is great, Zeke...but, um, do you know how to drive her?"

Zeke looked aghast. "Don't be silly my boy! Don't let that unfortunate incident at the pier fool you...just because a seventy-five year old man's legs don't act like they used to. I grew up on the water...down in Norfolk. I assure you this is one lady I can steer."

"Then...Permission to go aboard, Captain, Sir?" Mulder offered a mock salute.

"Permission granted," Zeke saluted back.

The two men boarded and set to work, making a list of what they would need for their voyage.

*****

The Siren Of The Sea
1800 Hours

The men had made quick work of their supply mission. Then Mulder had left Zeke to finish the refueling. When he returned, they would finish stowing all of the supplies.

Now, Zeke sat in the pilothouse, looking at the small harbor. While Mulder had not said much about where he was going, Zeke knew all too well that the young man had gone to tend to his "family business." He sighed.

It had been a long time since Zeke had any family to be concerned about. His wife, Marie, had died twenty years ago and they had never had any children. They were always too busy traveling. Too busy with their jobs. There had been times he had regretted the oversight. But, now, seeing how things had ended up, he wasn't sorry at all.

He decided to let Mulder keep his secrets. If the former FBI agent wanted to share, he would. In his own time.

Besides. Zeke had his own secrets to withhold. He hadn't told Mulder exactly why *he* had been at the shore when the epidemic hit. For Zeke had lived in Clinton, New York...a little town outside of Utica.

Two months ago, Zeke's doctor had given him the bad news. He had pancreatic cancer. He had, at most, six months to live. There was nothing they could do for him except to prolong his life by a few weeks courtesy of a bunch of nasty sounding treatments. Zeke had declined. Hell. He was seventy-five. He had no reason to fight nature. No family to be upset.

Instead, he had sold off most of his belongings and headed for the coast. He had been determined to purchase a small sailboat or yacht and spend the rest of his time at sea...going wherever the wind or his moods happened to blow.

When the epidemic had hit and he had not even had so much as a sniffle. He had to laugh at the irony.

But then, Mulder had come into his life today. And, for now at least, he had some purpose to living and breathing. He had to help this man find his loved one. Maybe he'd call it his last stab at achieving some good karma. Whatever.

He stood up and walked over to the pilothouse's mini-galley and opened up the fridge. These rich folk sure knew how to live. Zeke pulled out a beer and sat down in the pilot's chair. He popped the can open and took a long, cool swig.

And he waited for Mulder to return so he could finish his life's mission.

******

Residence Of Mrs. Mulder
1815 Hours


Mulder walked through the house one last time. He did not want to forget anything. He had closed all the closet doors...made sure all of the windows were tightly shut. And he had cleaned up his mother's room. Made sure the bed was neatly made. She would have liked it that way.

He had pulled out the old family albums from the hallway closet and removed two photos, carefully sliding them into a five by seven envelope he had taken from a desk drawer. Then he had packed the albums away with care.

He checked the kitchen to ensure that all was clean and in its proper place.

He checked the basement to make sure all of the laundry was out of the washer and dryer...that the lint trap was clean.

Then he went back up to his old room. Everything was as it should be. He sat on the bed and stared at the walls, ingraining them in his memory...hearing the voices of the past. Some of them happy...some angry...some sad. His hand smoothed a wrinkle from the bedspread.

He stood and walked to the door. With one last look at his past, he quietly closed the door and walked down the stairs...through the hallway...and out the back door, making sure it was locked.

He crossed the backyard to the small rise that afforded a distant view of the waters to the east.

He sat down beside the newly turned earth. Where he had buried his mother.

His conversation with her was silent.

Then he picked up his envelope and stood...brushed the grass from his pants...and walked away.

And he never looked back.

******

The Siren Of The Sea
1930 Hours


The sun was just beginning its slow fall to the west when Zeke heard the welcome voice.

"Permission to come aboard?"

Zeke opened a window and stuck his head outside to see Mulder standing on the pier below.

"Aye-aye, me matey..." His pirate's voice needed considerable work, but the smirk it evoked from Mulder made the embarrassment worth it.

Zeke noticed the envelope was carrying, but he didn't ask about it. Instead, he grabbed two more beers from the fridge and went down to meet his companion.

He held out one beer to Mulder, who gratefully took it.

"You go grab some ice from the galley...put in in the bucket from the sink...and dunk one of those six packs into it. Then, meet me up top," Zeke instructed.

Mulder was happy to do as he was told. He was on automatic pilot for the evening. For once, it was his pleasure to follow someone else's orders. That way, he didn't have to think.

***

Two hours later, the two men had a pretty good buzz going. They had talked about everything and nothing.

Zeke had told him about his "former" profession.

"I was a 'consultant.' Basically, that's what you do when you studied international economics in college. You produce nothing. You contribute little to society. You get paid to sit around and think...then write papers and give talks with polysyllabic words that no one knows the real definitions of...and you wear a lot of coats and ties...and go to a lot of hoity toity cocktail parties. Occasionally, you get hired for spots on CNN talk shows."

Zeke had been much more interested in hearing about Mulder's work at the Bureau, although he was a bit skeptical about some of the cases Mulder described. But he loved the tale about the cockroaches in Miller's Grove.

And it all made him even more curious about this Dana Scully woman. Finally, the second six-pack of Coors gave him the courage to ask.

"So, Mulder, my boy. You've told me of your exploits and adventures with your partner. But, now I want to *know* about this Dana...what is she like? Is she pretty or what?" Zeke grinned.

Mulder's tongue had been loosened and was about to spill the beans. But first, he took another sip of beer.

"Or *what*," he replied.

Zeke's eyes widened. "And...?"

"We've been partners for seven years now..."

"And how long have you been *together,*?" Zeke interjected.

Mulder began to shake his head. "No...it's never been like that...not that I haven't *thought* about it...often...but the time was never right..." Mulder's face darkened. Maybe he would never have the chance to...

Zeke quickly interceded. "Mulder! We're gonna find her...and I wanna know what to expect!"

"Expect the unexpected, then," Mulder grinned. "She's a pistol. There's no one like her. She's short...but don't tell her I said that...like five foot two...and she's got the most amazing hair...the way it just kinda curls around her face...framing it.

"And did I mention that she's brilliant?"

Zeke nodded his head. Mulder had covered this part many times, but Mulder was oblivious.

"Yup. She is. She's a doctor. A pathologist. She's the one who could figure out what happened to everybody this week... she'd do that in a heartbeat..." he voice faded...but he found some strength to continue.

He smiled. "She'll never admit it, but she's the one who always takes in strays...dogs...me... And her father was a captain in the Navy. I doubt that he was the one who taught her, but she knows some really bawdy drinking songs. I found out once when we were stranded in, believe it or not, Antarctica."

Zeke grinned and shook his head. Mulder sure had some stories.

"She said it would keep us warm...she taught me a bunch. Guess it worked. We ended up okay. A little frosty...but in one piece."

"She sounds really special, Mulder."

"She's my best friend," he replied.

Mulder reached over to the bucket and grabbed another beer.

"Which is why I'm so sorry I never told her how I felt...what I felt..."

Zeke leaned back in his chair, his jaw dropping.

"My God, man! With all those degrees, can you really be this stupid? You think *words* are what counts?" Zeke shook his head in disbelief.

"I was married to my Marie for over thirty years. And you know what? In that time...I think I can count the number of times we uttered "I love yous" on my hands and toes. You can *say* the words to anyone...words don't mean a single thing. What counts is what's in here..." he tapped his hand over Mulder's heart.

"So...you're not vocal kind of people. So what? Do you think that Marie and I loved each other any less simply because we didn't feel the need to announce it on a regular basis?" He shook his head. "Marie was my other half. If there's such a thing as 'soul mates' we were it. My life ceased to be real when she was gone...

"And good grief. From all that you've told me...the things she did for you...the times she followed you when anyone with an ounce of sense would have stayed behind...and the things you did for her...What? You think *normal* people do that? You *don't* get out much...do you?

"Mulder. Let me ask you this question." Mulder looked up and met Zeke's gaze.

"Think about all you've told me...when you add up all the facts, end to end...Does Dana love you?"

Mulder was silent for a moment. It seemed almost presumptuous to answer. After all, they were Scully's feelings...But, he needed to tell Zeke the truth.

"Yes," his voice cracked. "Yes, she does...she did..."

Zeke stopped him. "And, my dear boy...if *you* know that, don't you think that Dana, being that wise and brilliant woman, would know that you loved her, too?"

When he thought about it the way Zeke laid it out...Mulder had to agree. Yup. He'd been an absolute ass of an idiot.

"Then *why,* my boy, do you insist on beating yourself up about something you haven't told her yet?"

Mulder raised his head sadly.

"Because I might not find her...because she might be..."

"Mulder. I want you to listen to me. I don't know how I know this or why I know this. I just do. Dana Scully is *not* dead. You *will* find her. I'm gonna make sure you do. I think it's my job."

Mulder just stared at the old man. He wanted to believe. Really wanted to. And when he looked into Zeke's eyes, it was hard to resist. He seemed so damned sincere.

Zeke watched his new friend. He had no fucking idea *why* he had just said that. But something in his head and in his gut told him that it *was* true. He just couldn't put his finger on who told him.

Was it just a dream?

He slapped Mulder on the back. "Look, my friend...my slightly drunk friend. Go down and go to bed. I'll clean this up. We need to shove off early in the morning..."

Mulder stood and began to carefully climb down the ladder to the lower deck. He stopped and looked up.

"Thanks, Zeke...for everything."

"That's what I'm here for, Mulder. That's what I'm here for."

And Zeke was absolutely right.