Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2005, Dana Scully
It's not like me to get this melancholy and stay this way.
Maybe it's the weather, several days of cloudy skies and rain. Or the changing of the seasons, daylight ending sooner. I don't know. But I always try to find an outside reason first. There are many reasons to feel this way now.
It's not really a secret, but I don't think Mulder knows about the drawer that I have in our bedroom. I don't keep it locked, and he could just as easily open it up and look through it. I don't think he ever has, though. I keep a couple of pictures of William in it and the only one I have of Emily. It isn't much. The pictures are wrapped up in a blanket my mother made for William. It still smells like baby powder. After all this time.
I take them out and lay them on the floor in front of me. Just to see. Just to remember. I'm afraid I'm going to forget about them. Why would I do that? Why would I forget? I feel like the only thing that gives Emily any justice is if I take the time to remember her. If I forget about her, then her short life has no meaning.
William is four years old now. I don't know where he is exactly, and sometimes I wonder if I'm going to get a call from his adopted parents, cursing me for giving them a child like him. As if they'd be able to find me. They've had to have seen it by now; his abilities must have manifested themselves by now. Did they try to return him to the agency? Like a defective piece of furniture? We don't want this; it doesn't work right.
And Emily. She'd be…about eleven years old now. What grade is that? Fifth or sixth? I wonder what she'd look like. I wonder if she'd still be so quiet and serious or a bubbly preteen going to sleepovers and summer camp. What would she be like? What would her voice sound like? This is a dangerous game I play, guessing at what each of my children would say and what they would do if they were here with me right now.
I hear Mulder come into the room, but I don't bother putting the pictures away. He can see them from where he's standing. He sits down next to me and doesn't say anything for a long time, just looking. Is he doing the same thing? Trying to figure out what they'd be like now? This alternative present that should have been, but could never be.
"I'm changing my Will," he announces. It startles me a little bit.
"I want you to look it over," he adds, taking one of my hands in his.
I nod, but I don't look at him.
"I want to be cremated and my ashes spread at my family's home."
"Okay."
Does he really have to bring this up right now? I don't want to think about that right now.
He turns his head, leaning in so I'll look at him. "You're okay with that?"
I shrug. "It's your choice."
He picks up a baby picture of William and looks at it for a minute or two, turning it over to see if there's a date on it.
"He's four now, isn't he?" He asks me.
"Yeah."
He puts it back down with the rest, and I think he's going to get up. Instead, he pulls me over to him so my head is on his shoulder.
"Whatever the world is like when I die," he says quietly. "I don't know if I would want to be brought back into it. I don't see anything getting better, do you?"
I know what he's thinking. The world will be taken over by aliens and we will all be enslaved by them or something. Once upon a time, he probably would have wanted to be around for it. Maybe just to gloat that he was right the whole time. Is that what is waiting for us in the future? What does it matter? There's nothing we can do to stop it now.
He's never asked me about my Will or what I would want. We both know that it's irrelevant, even though neither of us have actually said it.
I still hope, even though I know it's a stupid thing to hope for, that he won't die. And if he does, it will be millions of years from now. It seems like a long time from now and it has to be. It just has to be. Maybe he wouldn't have changed it if William was with us now. Maybe he would want to come back if that ever became possible.
"I think," he says, looking down that the photographs. "I think they are both happy. Wherever they are right now. I think they're happy."
I don't answer. We look at the pictures for a while. Then I put them back into the drawer and shut it.
Until next time.
There will be a next time.
Timothy opened up one eye, and peeked at everyone around the circle.
Was something supposed to be happening?
Everyone had their heads down and eyes closed now as if they were praying. Nothing was happening. Timothy was getting fidgety and impatient. He could hear his mother and uncle reading Bible verses. Their voices droned on and on with "thee" and "thou" punctuating each sentence. Their voices and hands were shaking as they leafed through the pages.
What were they so afraid of?
Was something supposed to be happening?
He wanted to break away from the circle and go do something else, but his father had one of his hands clenched in his and his sister, Tamryn, was holding the other. Everyone was very still, not moving at all, like statues. Would they even notice if he left?
Before he could give that anymore thought, his right hand started to tingle, then his left.
Then both of them started to burn like he was holding his palms over a candle flame.
It hurt.
Suddenly, it looked like there was sunlight all over them, shining down on them as if God had suddenly yanked it back up into the sky on a yo-yo string. Then it was gone.
It did it again.
There was the sun, a quick ball of light just cruising through the sky over and over, darkness following it, and clouds intermingling so fast it was hard to see them at all. He felt damp for second. Did it rain?
Time was passing around them, but they stayed still. Days were passing around them, but they remained suspended.
Okay, now something was happening.
The pain in his hands got worse and he wanted to pull them away, but he couldn't move. He was paralyzed. All of them were. No one was moving. Were they dying? Was he dying?
There was an image in his head now; it was being passed around the circle.
The image of a man.
At first the man wasn't moving, like them. He was just as still as they were. But then Timothy saw his eyes blink and his fists clench. He was moving now. He could see everyone else starting to move, too. Their eyes blinking, hands clenching each other. His father was squeezing his hand so tight he thought he might break it.
Something is happening now.
And there was no sound. There was nothing. He couldn't hear the Bible verses anymore. No sounds of the crickets and cicadas. Was he deaf now?
His hands hurt. They burned so much. He couldn't turn his head anymore. He was frozen completely still. He couldn't scream or cry. But he was alive, right? He could still see the sky changing rapidly. Faster and faster. It was making him feel sick. Was time moving forwards or backwards? But he could still see, so he must be still alive.
It felt like something was being pulled out of him. He had no control over it. It felt like a part of himself was leaving, twisting, flexing, and pulling away as if it were sticky gum on the bottom of his shoe.
He didn't like this. Whatever was happening, he wished it would stop. He wished with all his might. Squeezing his eyes closed, he begged God to make it stop.
Just then, he heard his grandmother scream. At first, it sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, muffled at one end. Then it got louder.
Just like that, the burning in his hands was gone and night was back. All the adults took a huge, gasping breath like they'd been holding it this whole time, collapsing to their hands and knees, falling down all around him.
His mother and uncle came running over, helping everyone up.
"Are you okay? Can you breathe?"
"I'm okay," Timothy's grandfather waved them away. "I'm fine, just give me a minute."
"It was too long this time, William!" His uncle shouted, kneeling next to his Aunt Eve. "You could've killed her!"
"Oh, stop! I'm fine!" She said, slapping his hands away from her.
"Are you okay?" His mother came over to him and his sister.
"My hands hurt," Tamryn whined.
"Mine, too," Timothy added. He looked at the palms of his hands; they were red like a bad sunburn.
Timothy watched his aunts laying on their backs in the grass, trying to catch their breaths. They were looking up into the sky at something and Timothy followed their gaze. He saw a cluster of lights, glowing and blinking, moving rapidly up into the atmosphere away from them. He didn't know what it was.
He looked around at everyone, confused, when he saw the soldier-looking lady that no one liked staring right at him. She was the only one still standing. It was only for a second or two before her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.
"Mary!" His Aunt Esther went over to her, but everyone else was turning their attention to what his grandmother was screaming at.
She'd fallen out of the lawn chair, dragging herself away from something in the bushes. Timothy couldn't see what it was at first. Everyone was blocking him.
"Oh, God!" His grandmother screamed. "You're all evil! Evil!"
Timothy's father tried to push him away, but he went over to it anyway, then wished he hadn't.
It was the man he saw in his mind. A naked man. All curled up and shaking in the bushes, looking at them with terror in his eyes. Who was he?
The man tried to talk. Tried to remember how to move his lips and jaw. It had been a long time. Sounds sputtered and stuttered out of his mouth for a few seconds.
"What's happening?" The man said finally, breathing hard, as everyone stared at him. But the words were all blended together and his voice wasn't very loud. It was hard to understand him. Timothy saw the tattoo on his arm. It was just the same as his dad's and grandfather's. Was he one of them, too?
"What's happening?" The man asked again, a little more clearly, but he started to cough violently, a liquid coming out of his mouth. Oh, God. Was it blood? Please don't let that be blood.
His father grabbed his arm then his sister's arm. "Sophia! Take them back in the house right now!"
"Who is that?" Tamryn cried, as their mother dragged them away.
"Who is he, dad?" Timothy called back.
What had they just done?
The last thing Timothy saw before his mother pushed him and his sister into the house was his Aunt Emily kneel down next to the man, covering him with a blanket as he continued to ask what was happening.
She put her hands gently around his face, looking in his eyes. "You're awake."
Emily opened the cabinets, searching for a glass, but they'd all been wrapped up. They were most likely shattered to pieces by now anyway. She found a plastic kid's cup shoved in the corner of one of the cabinets and filled it with water.
"I'll give it to him," Eve said, waddling over, her hands over her belly. She'd regained most of her strength rather quickly.
Emily and William watched her walk into the living room where Fox Mulder was sitting on the couch. Or rather curled up into a ball under the blanket wrapped around him, still trembling and eyeing them all suspiciously. He'd coughed up what was left of the Resin in his lungs and stomach outside before they carried him in.
He had no idea who they were. He didn't remember them at all.
Emily had given Madison a shot with a sedative so she'd stop screaming about how evil they all were. William put her to bed and locked the door. Ephraim had ordered the twins upstairs to bed and Sophia was up there with them right now. It was very unlikely they were actually asleep. Sophia and Ephraim were in for a long night with those kids after what they'd seen.
"How much time did we lose?" Emily asked William cautiously.
"A week. Maybe a little more."
"Oh, God."
"But he's here. That's the important thing. And he still remembers some things, right? He remembers language, at least."
"But not us."
"Not yet."
They watched Eve approach him, handing him the cup of water. He shrank away from her fearfully.
"It's alright," Eve said gently. "You've been through a lot. You must be thirsty." She handed him the cup of water, nodding for him to take it.
He brought one of his hands out from under the blanket, then paused, looking at it as if he'd never seen it before. He moved his fingers around, looking puzzled by it.
"Just put your hand around it like this," Eve said, demonstrating for him.
He imitated her grasp around the cup, taking it from her, still looking terrified.
"Do you remember me?" Eve asked him hopefully. "I'm your granddaughter, Eve."
He shook his head, then looked inside the cup at the water. When he put it up to his lips to drink it, he immediately started coughing it up.
"Okay, okay, it's okay," Eve said, sitting down next to him. "Just go slow. Drink it slow."
William walked over and knelt down beside him. "Here." He put the cup up to his mouth, pretending to drink. "Just drink it slow. Let it go down your throat and don't try to breathe while you do it."
Mulder tried again, gulping down the contents of the cup quickly once he remembered how to do it.
"Good. That's good." William said. He hesitated for a few seconds. "Do you remember me at all? I'm your son. I'm William."
"Son," Mulder repeated, shaking his head.
William looked back at Emily, and she slowly shook her head at him, looking away.
He didn't remember them at all.
But some memory loss had to be expected, right? It had been twenty years after all.
"Maybe we really are evil," Ephraim mused from his chair in the corner.
"Don't say that!" William snapped at him.
Esther came down the stairs just then and into the kitchen.
"Mary's fine, just in case anyone cares," she announced haughtily, looking through the cabinets.
"Is she really okay?" Ephraim asked.
"Oh, what do you care?" Esther retorted, finding a plastic mug, rinsing it out in the sink.
"I'm genuinely concerned. Is she okay?"
"She's resting," Esther answered, looking warily into the living room.
They could tell Mulder really didn't like them all staring at him. He was absolutely petrified, rocking back and forth and shivering. But it was hard not to stare at him. He was alive.
Moving and breathing alive.
Seeing and hearing alive.
Twenty years dead, and he was alive.
They'd done it. They had really done it this time. It had worked.
And he looked just fine. Healthy, even. Not a blemish or flaw on him at all. The Resin really worked. But William couldn't be sure if the glow to his skin was because of the Resin or because of them.
"We're going to Hell for this," Esther said matter-of-factly, filling the plastic mug with water from the fridge.
William went back into the kitchen. "Stop! You want him to hear you say that?"
"It's not like he can understand me! He doesn't know who we are or where he is! We should not have done this! He was at peace!"
"You didn't have to be here!" William said, trying not to shout. "If you felt so strongly, why are you here? Why did you even help?"
Esther didn't have an answer for that. She excused herself and went back upstairs.
"I should go up there," Emily said quietly after a minute. "See how Mary is doing."
"Yeah," William agreed. "I should, too. We owe her a lot for this."
"I don't see what the big deal is," Eve pouted from the living room, she was sitting back against the couch cushions, far too pregnant to get up. "I'm the one that was really at risk. Who cares if Mary's tired? We're all tired."
"Will you shut up!" Ephraim barked from his corner.
"Don't you dare tell me to shut up!" Eve countered.
"Enough!" William stood in between them. "We don't need to be doing this in front him."
"Why not?" Eve said, rolling her eyes. "Might help him remember us."
William carefully sat down next to his terrified father, who had pulled the blanket up over his head like he was trying to hide from them.
"Give him some time," William sighed. "He'll remember." Then he looked over at Emily. "Maybe we should bring her here."
"No," Emily said, shaking her head. "Absolutely not."
"I agree," Ephraim said. "He doesn't even remember his own son or grandchildren. He might not remember her, either."
"Maybe if he sees her, it will help," William said thoughtfully. "It might all come back to him."
"No, William," Emily insisted. "Not yet. Let's give him some more time. She might have a heart attack if he saw him like this."
William nodded reluctantly. They really shouldn't rush it or try to push him too hard. But how long would it take? Right now, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of people in this world wishing they could bring their fathers back. William had his own father back now, but he wasn't feeling like how he thought he would feel.
"Come on," Emily nodded towards the stairs. "Let's go see Mary and get him some clothes."
William followed Emily up the stairs, then he paused midway.
"What?" Emily asked, turning around.
"Did we do the right thing?" He whispered to her, careful to make sure no one else heard them. He was starting to feel panicked. "What if he can't remember us? What if he can't remember anything? Did we do the right thing?"
He sank down on one of the steps, suddenly far to weary walk up them anymore.
Emily slowly sat down next to him and sighed. "I don't know. I hope so."
Anne read over Fox Mulder's Will again.
Then again.
Then again.
Ever since Dana Scully had given her permission for it to be properly redacted then uploaded, something about it had bothered Anne. She thought, at first, it was because Mary wasn't mentioned in his Will at all. When Anne had taken the wavier and file from Dana Scully, then back to the lab to make the redactions, she'd done it rather hastily. Dr. Wells had been tapping his foot loudly at her for a week at that point.
But even in her haste, Anne noticed Mary was missing. It had made sense to her at the time, considering who her parents were. But if Mary was such a big secret, why mention her at all? Why would Dana show her pictures or the entry in the Bible? And with all of it on the record, too? And Mary and her parents were still living. Most of their information was redacted anyway, with the one exception of Emily's when she was still an immigrant.
Did Fox Mulder hate his granddaughter so much he'd leave her completely out of his Will? It was almost like she didn't exist at all. Anne never got the impression he would be that cruel. However Mary came into this world, it was not her fault. Anne didn't know her at all, or any of these people, but she couldn't help but feel attached to them in some way. Anne felt sorry for her. Why was she left out?
Aside from that, there was something else about his Will that wasn't quite right. There was a signature page at the end, signed by Fox Mulder, then by Dana Scully as his witness, then by the Regional Secretary. Old Republicans couldn't just use a plain old lawyer. They needed Regional Secretary Seals to validate Wills, property deeds, estate foreclosures, and for approval for having more than two children. It was probably not nearly as strict now since there were less of them, but not back then.
Anne had ordered the original copy from the court archives. She swore like she'd never sworn before when the court sent her the Will printed on a transparency. Really?! Who uses this shit now? Regardless, she'd tried to view it on an old transparency machine, or whatever the hell it was, in the lab. But the stupid thing had no buttons to zoom in or magnify anything and it was loud and stupid and had to be plugged into the fucking wall. Who uses this shit now?
So she called the courthouse and demanded the original paper copy. And what did they send her?
A CD.
A motherfucking CD!
The badly scanned TIFF images on the CD were crooked and out of order. When she called to complain, they explained all documents created before 2050 had been scanned and the originals destroyed. Apparently, it was National policy now. Record retention and disposal was carried out by National guidelines rather than Regional.
Furious, she went back to the archives lab, since only the desktops in the lab had CD drives, so here she was right now, at nearly two in the morning trying to dissect these badly scanned images to figure out what she was missing.
Because something was wrong with this.
She thought maybe Mary was initially in the Will, then taken out later. But if this was a scan of the original, there was no indication anything had been deleted. More problematic than that, however, was the signature page.
The first version originated in the 1990s, notarized by an Old Republican lawyer. The second version originated just after the Millennium, then the third and final version, the one published for all to see, that was now NAU property, was the problem version.
Fox Mulder signed it in 2039, then provided his handprint. Dana Scully signed it the following year, then stamped it with her handprint. That was okay. There was nothing wrong with those. Anne had seen many examples of both their signatures to recognize them. It was the Regional Secretary's signature and seal that was the problem.
Their seals were infrared, digital stamps. That way, the dates couldn't be tampered with and they would show up in photography and scans. They'd used a special type of paper back then for this very reason. No possibility for forgery.
Anne didn't think the signature was forged. It was genuine. But it wasn't from the East Regional Secretary at that time. Gibson Praise was scrawled at the bottom of the page, then beside that was his name printed on the seal. He had been the South Regional Secretary. She had his term pulled up in her browser. He'd never lived or served in the East. Not even temporarily, even after the East Region President was impeached during his term and the one immediately after disappeared. Gibson Praise resigned a few years ago, and now that he was a private citizen again, the information on him came to a dead stop.
He'd stamped the document in 2050.
At least, that's what it looked like. The numbers were squished together where the scanner had warped the image a little. But it was definitely 2050-something. That was a five, not a four.
Anne frowned, trying to conjure up some kind of explanation for that. Why the South? Dana Scully and Fox Mulder had all those travel restrictions, didn't they? She supposed the laws didn't say exactly who the Regional Secretary had to be, as long as it was one of them. But ten years later? Nearly a decade or more after Fox Mulder died? That didn't make any sense.
She looked through other Wills and documents from Old Republicans that needed a Regional Secretary Seal. Not one of them was validated outside of their Region, most of them in the East, and certainly not a decade later. The longest time period she saw was about four years. Old Republicans were never a priority in any case.
Anne started to feel nervous and a little irritated. Was she being tricked? Did Dana Scully pass this on to her, thinking she wouldn't notice this? Or Dr. Wells? Anne thought of that weird man she'd met, Sam-something. She really hadn't been paying that much attention to him, and she'd outright lied to him. Is this why he was asking her all those stupid questions?
What in the fuck was going on?
Anne could not help Dana Scully if she was going to be tricked and lied to. Had she done this on purpose? Dana was a smart woman. There was no way she could feign ignorance and say she hadn't noticed these things before. This was purposeful. She had to have known.
Anne was going to have to ask her about this. Tomorrow. Off the record. She would pretend to turn the recorder on maybe, then ask her. She'd be honest with her, right? Anne couldn't see why Dana would lie to her and try to hide things from her. Anne started to wonder if she'd done something or said something that would make Dana not trust her, but they'd talked about so much already. Very painful, personal things, too. Why would Dana Scully try to pass off something like this and not explain it?
After a minute or so of thought, Anne took out the motherfucking CD and put it in her bag. She logged off the desktop, then quietly exited the archival lab.
She would settle all this tomorrow. Maybe there was an explanation for it. Something she hadn't thought of yet. After all, Dana Scully was alone in this world now, estranged from her family, and a very lonely widow. She had nothing to lose, nothing hide anymore.
Right?