It all started with a cat.

Mom drove all the way to our house just to check on me. She didn't say anything at first, but when I told her that William's cat went missing two days ago she wasn't able to hide her worry. I pushed her to open up to me, but when she finally did I wished I kept my mouth shut.

She spoke about my deceased sister coming to her dreams, warning her about incoming danger. Me being the key figure in that danger, of course. Darkness has a way of following me even in my mother's dreams as it seems.

"Bill warned me you might start acting strange," I told her: "You had the same nightmares in San Diego, didn't you?"

"Yes," mom confirmed: "They stopped when I decided to come back to Washington, but now they are back. She is trying to warn me."

"What does she say to you?"

"She tells me: Go to her. She needs your help."

"She doesn't say my name?"

"No."

"Then how do you know she is talking about me?"

"I just know. Who else could it be?"

"Mom," I sighed: "Do you remember Emily? My Emily?"

"Oh Dana, of course I do!"

"Do you remember how I found her?"

"You got a call. From… Mellisa."

"I got a call from someone who sounded like Melissa," I corrected her: "She told me exactly the same thing that you hear in your dream. You know that, mom. I told you all about it. Your dream is a memory, not a premonition."

"But…"

"It's just a memory, mom."

"But with Emily… Oh god! Dana, do you… Do you think this might be about Molly?"

"Jesus mother! Molly is fine! Will you stop dooming my family, please!"

"Okay. I'm sorry. Where is she now?"

"I already told you, she's looking for the cat. They all are."

"The cat! That can't be a good sign!"

"It's not a sign, mom. Cats get lost all the time. Maybe that's who Missy was referring to, maybe she wanted you to save my cat," I suggested.

"Don't make fun of me Dana."

"I'm not making fun of you. Missy loved cats, didn't she?"

"Oh yes, she did!" mom smiled fondly: "She adored cats. Never settled for just one! She claimed cats can help us connect with spiritual realms or something..."

I smiled, remembering anecdotes from my sister's life. Soon, we were both lost in memories, reminiscing in good old days, when we still had dad, Missy and Charlie, and Bill wasn't so far away. Time wasn't easy on our family and we weren't easy on each other, but our bonds stayed unbreakable, even by distance or death. I was glad to be able to distract mom from her premonitions, even if I had to drag my poor cat into it. Older people sometimes don't listen to reason. Sisters neither. Nor husbands for that matter. Sometimes I wonder if anybody does…

Sometimes, the reason itself doesn't listen to itself. I guess I'm referring to God, because…

My cat didn't come home.

My daughter didn't return either.

I don't remember the details of what followed, how William emerged from woods running and yelling, desperately calling for me; how I rushed from the house in my slippers and followed him; how Mulder was kneeling on the ground and holding Molly while the strong, wild seizures shook her little body; how I checked her vital signs over and over again…

The memories are all shattered and fuzzy, like pieces of puzzle that should fit together but are too damaged to slide into each other, leaving instead small gaps and cracks between them.

I cursed Mulder all the way to the hospital for buying the house in the middle of nowhere so far away from the nearest ER, but I don't remember if I blamed him silently or if I said it out loud.

"Don't worry mom," Molly whispered when she came through in the car: "I saw my aunt. She said she will take care of me."

"Tara is in Europe," I gently reminded her: "You couldn't have seen her."

"No, not that aunt," Molly smiled: "The other one. The one who died."

Mulder turned towards us with a meaningful gaze.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" I warned him. Great job, partner! Congratulations on passing your obsession with Samantha onto our daughter! So much so, in fact, that she believes she can see her!

"Dead people can't talk, honey," I explained to Molly, gently stroking her hair.

"I know," Molly answered weakly: "But she could."

"Okay," I said, leaning down to kiss her in the forehead. I caught myself praying to Samantha in that moment, begging her not take my daughter from me.

"Take the cat, Sam," I begged in my head, at least I hope it was only in my head and never left my mouth: "Take the cat, not the child."

I should have been thinking about hospital tests and procedures that needed to be done on Molly, but I was only able to think about Samantha being Molly's age when she disappeared. Not even an hour ago I scolded my mother for losing her mind, and now I was losing it myself.

Molly's condition seemed stable enough to skip the nearest hospital and go to mine, where her doctors are familiar with her history and can check her out faster and more efficient. They wanted me to stay with the rest of the family and wait, but that was out of question. I wasn't going to leave her alone. I held her hand before each test, and held the results afterwards. Somewhere along the way, I don't know how or when, Mark joined me.

"Dana," his eyes were filled with tears, but not mine, mine were numb: "I'm sorry Dana… I'm so sorry."

"I have to tell them," I said, not so much to Mark as to the CT scan in my hand. The picture I held gave no hope, no room for miracles, no second chances…

"Let her doctors tell them," Mark said.

"No," I refused: "It's my duty."

"Dana, please. Don't do this. You're a mother now, not a doctor. I will tell them for you."

I shook my head. Repeatedly. I couldn't let him be the one to bring the bad news. It was my responsibility, my penance for forgetting what I'm dealing with, for letting myself believe I can gamble this cancer and win Molly's life. I did allow Mark to walk me to the waiting room though, since I needed help with keeping my balance. The world danced around me and there was no such thing as solid ground.

There was no justice.

There was no God.

There was nothing, nothing at all, as I stood there telling my family that our daughter, sister and granddaughter has only few weeks left to live. Maybe a month. No more.

There was nothing.

Then there was only pain. Deep, devastating, unbearable pain.