"Yeah, didn't you notice it?" Mulder replied from the couch.
"No, guess not," David said suspiciously. He turned back to the picture, and Mulder's mouth turned up in a slight, sly smirk. "Who are these kids? Are they like your niece and nephew or something?" David asked, picking up the picture.
Mulder motioned for David to sit down next to him. When he did, the agent took the picture from him. "That's me. And that's my sister, Samantha," Mulder said, pointing her out.
"Oh," David said, sounding slightly surprised. "Are you close?"
"We were," Mulder replied, only the years keeping his voice from catching in his throat.
"Were?" David knew he should not press further, but his curiosity had been pricked. "What happened to her?"
"She's…gone. She left us a long time ago." Mulder realized he was looking down. Maybe this had not been such a great idea after all. He could feel the young boy's eyes on him; the boy wanted to know more, but was afraid to ask it. Mulder could feel it. "It's a long story. I don't feel like talking about it right now."
David hesitated, his voice wavering slightly as he asked, "Do you miss her?"
"Every day."
"Oh." David sighed, long and low. He was in another world again, much like Mulder and Scully had seen the night before. Suddenly, the boy spoke, "I had a sister. I miss her a lot too."
This is it. This is the break we've been searching for. The picture worked; now's my chance to establish a motive behind the murder. Mulder looked up at David; he was looking down at his hand, and it looked like he was crying, only no tears came rolling down his cheek, as one would expect. Perhaps they had dried out a long time ago.
Mulder suddenly felt very uncomfortable. It was like looking into a mirror; how often had he sat on his bed as a child surrounded by the sounds of his own heart breaking with misery, loss heavy on his mind? He knew he should say something; he knew all too well what it was like to lose someone, to miss her so much yet knowing that he may never see her again. Only for David, there was no hope to see her again. She was gone for good.
"You know," David started, his voice unsteady, "I never got to go to her funeral."
Not knowing what else to do, Mulder put his arm awkwardly around the child. David buried his face in his hands, still not crying, but rocked back and forth on a sea of emotions. Mulder really wished Scully was there; he knew from experience she was good at saying the right thing in this sort of situation. Unfortunately, she was out "running errands". So Mulder was left to sit there, uncomfortable though it was for him, comforting the child next to him. The child that had, only the night before, laughed aloud at even the most obscure of references in the movies they had watched. For the longest time, they just sat there, not saying anything, but Mulder could not shake the feeling that he had been on the other side of this scene before.
Scully sighed. Her mind was elsewhere, and the car seemed to drive itself, turning corner after corner on its own. What am I doing? The trip to the police station and the morgue was little more than a complete and utter waste of time, though, I suppose, the hospital had been a bit more of a payoff. The house is a sty, and if I know Mulder, he hasn't picked up a blasted thing like I requested him to, and…wait a minute…what am I thinking? Get a hold of yourself, Dana; it's only an undercover job. If the house is a mess, it's no big deal. Ugh, that wait at the police station must have gotten to me…
Finally, the two stories of brick that formed her current home came into view. She immediately noticed parking in the driveway was not going to be an option; David and Mulder were playing basketball. Actually, it looked like David was doing most of the playing; Mulder was just getting hammered unmercifully. She had to laugh at seeing her partner in such an unfamiliar position as she stepped out of the car.
"Hey, nice shot, David," Scully said, closing the door behind her.
"Thanks!" David said, sinking another one.
"Hey, I have ten points, I'll have you know," Mulder said.
"To?" Scully asked.
"Fifty-two when I stopped counting," David replied.
"Perhaps, but I'll have you know that six of those were luck, and I let you have that one. So technically it was only forty-five."
"Yeah, sure," David replied, rolling his eyes slightly.
Scully smiled and started up the drive. It made her happy, sort of relieved, that Mulder and David got along so well, though she was not sure why. Once inside, she considered trying to prepare dinner, though they could live on take out forever on the FBI's budget, but nixed the idea when she noticed the pile of dishes in the sink.
She leaned against the sink as she listened to the warm water fill the basin. She usually hated doing dishes, and having to do them for two extra people should not have helped any, however, there was something about it that made her feel at peace. It was all so…normal…
She jumped when she heard the banging of the door. It was just David, breathing heavy, and his white t-shirt clinging to the sweat on his body. "Hey," he said, giving a nervous wave, as he tried to hurry past her to his room. It was something Scully had often seen from her brother; David was hiding something.
"David," she said, instinctively. As she looked up, something caught her eye. It was a small spot of red on his lower back. It looked like blood. "What is that on your shirt?" she asked.
"What's what?" he asked, trying to sound oblivious.
She grasped him by the shoulder and pointed at his back. "This," she said.
"Oh, that," he began, "it's nothing. I just fell, that's all."
"May I look at it?"
"It's not that big of a deal. I'm okay."
"David, it's bleeding rather profusely for such a minor laceration. I'm a doc…I mean, I used to be a nurse. I think you should let me look at it."
He fidgeted for a moment. Reluctantly, he said, "Alright," and followed her to the bathroom. She asked him to turn around. He did and lifted up his shirt.
Oh my God. What Scully saw made her struggle to keep from gasping. The scrape was about an inch in diameter and slowly leaking bright red blood, but that, however, was a minor concern now. The boy's back looked like it had been through Hell. It was covered with long, faded, but still visible, markings. Some were thin, about the width of a broom handle. Others were considerably thicker.
She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. He winced as she rubbed some disinfectant on the wound. As she continued her treatment of the injury, she started, "David, these markings on your back…"
"They're from skateboarding," he said quickly, interrupting her. He caught her puzzled look in the mirror and added, "You know, from grinding down stair rails? I use to fall off all the time."
"Oh," Scully replied, placing a bandage on his back. "Doesn't it hurt?" she asked, forcing herself to sound casual. She worried that it may have sounded too casual.
He looked up at her and smiled weakly. "Sometimes. Sometimes it hurts a lot. But if you think of something that makes you really happy, the pain just seems to go away."
Scully exhaled slowly. "Oh," she said. "Well, you should probably go change."
"Yeah," he said. He started to walk out, but stopped. He turned around, and embraced her. "Thanks," he said, "for everything."
He walked out of the room, and Scully went back to the kitchen where the sink was full of water and dirty dishes. She did not think about what she had just seen. It was not that she could not, but she chose not to. In her career she had seen bodies mutilated beyond recognition of being human and not so much as flinched, yet somehow, those scars on the back of this child she barely knew, but had grown so found of, caused a volley of emotions to explode within her: sympathy, sadness, horror, shame, anger. All at the same time. Naturally, she chose not to think about it, because if she had, there was no way she could keep her cool exterior. Without keeping her calm, she would blow the case, and then they would never know the truth of what happened on the night the Andersons died.
She picked up a glass and started to reach for a washcloth, but instead placed her hand to her face. It muffled a few silent tears as her hand shook slightly.
Crash!
Scully swore, looking down at the broken glass scattered over the floor. She took a deep breath to regain her composure, vowing not to let the emotions win her over, and made her way to the broom closet. Without looking, she reached into the darkness and gripped the handle of the broom. Something was on it. She jerked her hand back quickly, and stared at what now covered it as well. It was smooth, grainy- like course powder. It almost felt like soot…
"Scully, I don't think David murdered his sister. Well, at least not voluntarily," Mulder said, leaning against the dresser.
"What makes you say that?" Scully said distantly.
"He saw the picture I put out last night and asked about Samantha. He didn't react like someone with an intent to murder would have." Mulder paused. "He…he cried."
Mulder watched as Scully's face began to turn red, and her eyes pink; she blinked, trying to hold back tears. "Oh God, Mulder…"
He handed her a tissue and put his arm around her. "If it makes you feel better, he didn't shed any tears."
She saw how sad that was, and could not hold back any longer.
Seeing he was unwittingly making things worse, Mulder asked, "What is it?"
"He showed me his back, Mulder," she said between sobs.
"It was an accident. I swear. He went for a lay-up; I packed him. I felt bad about it, but he said he was okay …"
"No, it's not that. There were…markings…several of them…markings consistent with those caused by a wooden pole and a leather strap."
"Are you saying David was beaten?"
"From the looks of it, it appears he was beaten more than once several times over the years. God, it makes me so angry, Mulder, to think that someone could do that to a child, especially one as remarkable as David is." She broke down, her sobs no longer controllable.
Mulder didn't say anything. He just tightened his embrace on her as she cried in his arms. For the second time that day, his awkward comforting was needed.
Scully took a deep breath. "And it's not just that," she said, not wanting to go further, but she could not keep it in any longer. "It's…everything. It's all of this," she motioned around the room. "I keep telling myself that it's not real, that it's just 'make-believe', but, Mulder, it's everything that I have always wanted. The house. The family. The normalcy of it all. I'm becoming not only emotionally involved, but I find myself thinking- wanting- this to all be real. And it's not, Mulder, it's not. I know that, but I also know that this is something that I can never, ever, have."
She lifted her tear stained face up and looked into his. For once, when she needed it the most, he did not have an answer. He ran his hand across her face, wiping away the tears, and running his fingers through her hair. She shuddered and buried her face in his shoulder, feeling so helpless because all she could do was cry.