February 23, 1999
A.D. Skinner's Office
9:15am
* * * * * *
It was one of those great stories that you can't put down at night
The hero knew what he had to do, and he wasn't afraid to fight
The villain goes to jail, while the hero goes free
I wish it were that simple for me
--David Crosby & Phil Collins, "Hero"
* * * * * *
Skinner slammed shut the file before him in frustration. No information.
No leads, no clues as to Agent Scully's whereabouts. Unfortunately he
was not the least bit surprised. He knew these men. Knew their methods
and he was all too aware of the methods they used to obscure the truth.
He took his wire frames off his face and with one hand began to rub the
bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off his headache.
Putting his glasses back on, he looked at his watch. 9:15. Mulder was
late. Skinner was not looking forward to this particular meeting.
Skinner didn't know what to expect when he saw him this morning. His
mind flashed back to four years ago. Back to Duane Barry, the last time
she had been taken. The Mulder of that time had been a frightening mix
of desperation and rage. He had been unstoppable, undeterred in his
goal. And after they had found Duane Barry, but no sign of Scully...
Mulder had still been desperate, but his rage had faded into a
consuming guilt. A guilt, Skinner suspected, lingered still.
Skinner could still remember that conversation right here in his office,
the conversation that had summed up Mulder's guilt so well.
"'Agent Scully was a fine officer. More than that, I liked her. I
respected her. We all know the field we play on and we all know what can
happen in the course of a game. If you were unprepared for all the
potentials, then you shouldn't step on the field.'
'What if I... I knew the potential consequences but I... I never told
her?'
'Then you're as much to blame for her condition as... 'The Cancer Man.'"
As Skinner had said those words he had seen the guilt and anguish wash
over Mulder. He had hated having to say those words and watch Mulder
internally crumble, but Mulder had needed to hear them.
His secretary softly knocked on his door. "Sir, Agent Mulder has
arrived."
"Send him in."
Skinner had not been sure as to what to expect from Mulder this morning,
but what he saw was still unexpected. The man before him was composed,
controlled, calm even. Impeccably dressed, looking like the model agent,
the only thing that hinted at his hidden anguish was his slightly
red-rimed eyes. Skinner chose to ignore that hint.
Skinner motioned to the chair before him. Mulder sat down and spoke.
"Sorry to keep you waiting sir. I was held up." He offered no other
explanation.
"Well, you're here now. I suspect you know why I have called for this
meeting today. This concerns the case of Agent Scully's disappearance."
Skinner paused. He tried to come up with a diplomatic way to say his
next comment. "Agent Mulder, I think that it would be best if-"
Mulder interrupted him before he could finish. "I agree sir. This
investigation would go much..." he paused to find the right word,
"...smoother if I was not involved." He spoke calmly. If it had been
another time, another situation he could have smiled at the A.D.'s
expression. Before he could speak again, Mulder continued. "I also think
that now would be a good time to use up some of my vacation time."
Skinner and he stared for several moments. Skinner broke the silence. "I
understand. I am glad that we see eye to eye on this situation. I will
personally head this investigation while you-"A pause. "While you take
time to do what ever you need to do. We will keep each other appraised
of our progress."
Mulder stood. "Of course. Thank you sir." He turned to leave. His hand
was on the doorknob before Skinner stopped him. "We will find her Agent
Mulder."
Mulder didn't turn around. His voice breaking ever so slightly he
replied. "I want to believe that, sir."
* * * * * *
February 28, 1999
The Lone Gunmen headquarters
7:03pm
Mulder furiously paced the floor, what little floor there was in the
cramped quarters. The gunmen were wise enough to stay out of his way. He
had arrived thirty minutes prior, and at each bit of information, or in
this case, lack of information the gunman provided, he became more
frenetic. "Nothing? You guys haven't found anything? What about the
train cars? I thought that you guys said that you had figured out a way
to monitor them."
Byers spoke, "We have Mulder, and there has been no activity at all.
Nothing. All of the known cars are stored in an abandoned rail yard.
There hasn't been any activity since they found Cassandra."
Byres noted Mulder's increasing agitation. "Mulder, what have you
found?" He asked, trying vainly to distract Mulder, to try to bring him
back down.
"Nothing!" He practically yelled, his arms flailing forward with
frustration. He repeated it again, this time softer. "Nothing. I haven't
found anything. There was no records of any aircraft, or any
unidentified objects over Northern Virginia on that night."Mulder
paused. "Unless..." He looked at the Gunmen hopefully.
Byres just shook his head with regret. "We haven't found anything
either."
The room was silent for several moments. Frohike was the one to break
the silence. "Mulder, what about the other things? What about the source
that contacted you? Were you able to back trace it at all?"
He paused, then ran his hand through his hair, which was already a spiky
mess. "Yes, although it didn't do much good. Pay phone, heavy use. By
the time we found it, any trace evidence was obliterated by the hundreds
of others that followed. Like I said, nothing."
"What about hospitals? I know that we are watching as well, but have you
heard...?" Langly asked.
Mulder shook his head, looking down at his feet and answering in a low
saddened tone. "No."
Almost afraid to ask, Byers spoke, trying to keep his voice smooth and
calming. "And morgues?"
"Nothing." This was said with great relief."That is the only good news I
have..." Mulder had finally stopped pacing and sat heavily on the
couch, burying his face in his hands.
"Mulder, nothing just disappears without a trace. We will find her."
Langly spoke, his words meant to be helpful, but only seemed to bring
Mulder more anguish. "Nothing disappears without a trace?" Voices in
his head taunted at him. "Why Mulder, you know better than that..."
Mulder did his best to ignore them, but was not quite successful.
The gunmen looked at each other, uncertain as to their next move. After
several silent moments, Frohike got off his chair and sat next to
Mulder. Somewhat awkwardly he placed his hand on Mulder's shoulder.
"Look Mulder, we all care for Agent Scully. She's out there, and we're
not going to stop until we find her. And we will find her." But even as
he spoke, the uncertainty in his voice was apparent.
Mulder looked up and was almost able to force a smile on his face. "Look
guys, I appreciate all the help that you've given me, really. Keep
looking. We'll find something eventually." He stood up. "I have to go.
You guys know how to reach me." With that he pulled on his coat and was
out the door.
The gunmen looked at each other for a few seconds, and without saying a
word, went back to their respective projects.
* * * * * *
March 2, 1999
Mulder's Apartment
12:21am
Mulder sat on his couch, lost. His cool detached faade had quickly
faded since his visit with Skinner. He had tried to be his calm,
collected, professional best; he had pulled from him the side that
referred to as 'Scully's piece of me.' The calm, rational side that had
slowly infiltrated his being over the past six years. He couldn't permit
himself to let his emotions overwhelm him. He needed her strength, he
needed her...
But she wasn't here. It was just him, and his calm mask was rapidly
deteriorating. This past week had been difficult. He had left Skinner's
office with several leads, and he had been ready to begin his own
private investigation. He had also left that meeting with hope. Hope
that she could be found. But all to quickly those leads became dead ends
and his hopes began to seem like nothing more than wishful thinking.
"It isn't just wishful thinking. Scully is still alive. She will come
back. She has to."
He was trying desperately to keep his mind busy, occupied. Every time he
didn't, he would begin again, "Not again, not again, not again."
He was doing it again. He got up from the couch. "Got to keep busy. No
time to think. Just act." He briefly considered calling Skinner, even
at this late hour, to ask how the official investigation was
progressing, but immediately dismissed the idea. No, he had just spoken
with Skinner the previous day. They had informed each other of their
rather dismal progress. After his own lack of success, Mulder had pinned
much of his remaining hope on the information his A.D. could provide.
Mulder had hoped that with his noticeable absence from the FBI team,
they would be able to make better progress. If someone was watching,
paying attention to Mulder's activities, then maybe...
Mulder interrupted his thoughts. "'If?' Had he really thought 'if'?"
A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "If someone was watching?" When
had he started doubting that he was being watched?
But the thought only distracted him for a moment, and then he was back
to Scully. Skinner couldn't help, Gunmen were already on it...There was
no one else. He was the only one left who could do something. And what
was he doing? He was wasting time, sitting on his ass. He should be
doing something. He should be rescuing Scully. Saving her from what ever
they are doing to her.
He shuddered, images rose unbidden from his mind. They weren't actual
moments that he had witnessed, no, these were the images created by him,
and that tormented him each time he closed his eyes. Scully, powerless,
lying prone on the top on the table. Sometimes there were men, terrible
men, surrounding her, cutting her, inserting instruments into her body,
violating her in the worse ways. Sometimes there were no men. Sometimes
it was just she, in the center of a large, empty room. She was on the
table, always on the table... machines encircled her, breathing for her,
regulating her heart rate, monitoring all of her bodily systems... she
was totally cut off, isolated from any other living thing. Cut off from
him. These where the images that haunted his dreams and he struggled to
keep his waking world free from them. "Don't go there, Mulder. Don't
think about that. Think about getting her back."
The idea spurred him into sudden action and he was nearly out the door
before he realized that there was nothing that he could do. It was just
a matter of waiting. And just waiting was what he did worst. He sighed.
He carefully hung up his jacket and sat down again. Grabbing his wallet
from his pocket, he opened it and carefully withdrew a lightly worn
photograph from the folded leather. He held the picture delicately in
his hand, as if it was a dried leaf, and the slightest pressure would
cause it to disintegrate between his fingertips.
The picture was of Scully, a Scully that he had never really known. She
was young in this picture, he guessed early twenties; she had a wide
grin, the tail end of true laughter. Scully laughing...now there was a
sight to behold. Mulder smiled again as his finger gently traced her
laughing outline. And yes, it was true, that laughter; he could see it
in the way her eyes gleamed.
But then her crystal eyes seemed to change before him. They took on a
hard, almost accusing nature and penetrated him to his core. "I
haven't laughed like this since I met you.", they seemed to taunt.
Hurriedly he closed his eyes to this image, trying to banish that
thought from his head. Scully didn't think that, he knew that now, and
if she knew he was even thinking like this...He almost smiled at the
memory of the recent tongue-lashing he had experienced, and now knew
that he had deserved it. She hated his self-pity.
They had needed it, needed to get it out into the open like that, and
maybe...and maybe things would have been different. Things were
beginning to come out, and he had almost been relived when she had
lashed out at him. At least she had told him how she felt; it was a far
cry from her usual stoic 'I'm fine.' Those two words always made his
cringe.
Yes it had been a break-through of a sort. "If..." he mentally
paused. "...if she hadn't been taken..." What? Everything would be
perfect? No, he knew better than that, but things would be better.
And if he saw her again... no, 'when' he saw her again...He corrected
himself. When he saw her again, he would fix things between them, try
harder. When he saw her again...
When he saw her again...
Unbidden, his mind began to flood with the unwelcome memories of her
disappearance. The blinding light...the face he had seen her make the
brief moment before she vanished before his eyes. She had looked up into
the light, and he had seen the recognition in her face. It had been just
like last time...the last time she had been taken from him.
Again, he repeated the words, out loud this time, "When I see her
again...",in an attempt to stave off the inevitable, but he was
unsuccessful. Unable to avoid it any longer, he surrendered to the guilt
and grief and let it sweep him away. He fell into a fitful sleep a few
hours later, with those words still on his lips and the picture dropped
unceremoniously to the floor.
* * * * * *
Department of Defense
8:08am
Diana stared through the observation window into the room where the
subject was laying supine on an examination table. The patient was
shrouded in sterile drapes that covered her nearly head to toe. Her red
hair was bundled up within a cap, but her pale face was in clear view.
Between her anemic lips was an intubation tube, connected to the
ventilator. Diana watched with dispassion at the machine, as breaths per
minute and oxygen saturation were displayed on the readout.
She sensed the man behind her before she heard him. The smell of smoke
that always clung to him like an ill-fitting cloak wafted over to her.
Her nose wrinkled distastefully for a moment before she resumed her
impassive mask of a face. Diana spoke to him with out turning. "How is
she doing?"
He took several more steps until he was next to her. He placed a
cigarette between his thin lips. With a flick of his wrist he lit his
lighter and cupped the flame with his hands and leaned into the burning
light. Smoke began to curl from the end of the cigarette. With out
looking at Diana, he answered her question. "All is going as planned."
He glanced at her, forming a marginal smile. "Bringing back any
memories?"
Her eyes closed briefly. It took only a moment for her to recover from
his pointed question. She had enough practice over the years. She spoke
again, ignoring his previous question. "How much longer will the
procedure take?" Her voice was flat, distant.
He shrugged, noncommittally. "We aren't really sure. It could be hours
or days."
"And then what?"
"And then the testing begins. We need to determine how effective the
treatment is before we can proceed." He paused for a moment, then
continued. "How is he?" He did not need to explain who 'he' was. 'He'
was a given.
She sighed, suddenly weary. "Acting as we predicted. He's not made any
significant progress in discovering the truth."
He nodded, pleased with this news. "Then it is time that you let your
presence be known."
"What do I tell him when he finds me? He believes that I'm dead."
He brought the cancer stick from his mouth. Exhaling the smoke, he
smiled. "Tell him what he needs to know."
* * * * * *
A.D. Skinner's Office
9:15am
* * * * * *
It was one of those great stories that you can't put down at night
The hero knew what he had to do, and he wasn't afraid to fight
The villain goes to jail, while the hero goes free
I wish it were that simple for me
--David Crosby & Phil Collins, "Hero"
* * * * * *
Skinner slammed shut the file before him in frustration. No information.
No leads, no clues as to Agent Scully's whereabouts. Unfortunately he
was not the least bit surprised. He knew these men. Knew their methods
and he was all too aware of the methods they used to obscure the truth.
He took his wire frames off his face and with one hand began to rub the
bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off his headache.
Putting his glasses back on, he looked at his watch. 9:15. Mulder was
late. Skinner was not looking forward to this particular meeting.
Skinner didn't know what to expect when he saw him this morning. His
mind flashed back to four years ago. Back to Duane Barry, the last time
she had been taken. The Mulder of that time had been a frightening mix
of desperation and rage. He had been unstoppable, undeterred in his
goal. And after they had found Duane Barry, but no sign of Scully...
Mulder had still been desperate, but his rage had faded into a
consuming guilt. A guilt, Skinner suspected, lingered still.
Skinner could still remember that conversation right here in his office,
the conversation that had summed up Mulder's guilt so well.
"'Agent Scully was a fine officer. More than that, I liked her. I
respected her. We all know the field we play on and we all know what can
happen in the course of a game. If you were unprepared for all the
potentials, then you shouldn't step on the field.'
'What if I... I knew the potential consequences but I... I never told
her?'
'Then you're as much to blame for her condition as... 'The Cancer Man.'"
As Skinner had said those words he had seen the guilt and anguish wash
over Mulder. He had hated having to say those words and watch Mulder
internally crumble, but Mulder had needed to hear them.
His secretary softly knocked on his door. "Sir, Agent Mulder has
arrived."
"Send him in."
Skinner had not been sure as to what to expect from Mulder this morning,
but what he saw was still unexpected. The man before him was composed,
controlled, calm even. Impeccably dressed, looking like the model agent,
the only thing that hinted at his hidden anguish was his slightly
red-rimed eyes. Skinner chose to ignore that hint.
Skinner motioned to the chair before him. Mulder sat down and spoke.
"Sorry to keep you waiting sir. I was held up." He offered no other
explanation.
"Well, you're here now. I suspect you know why I have called for this
meeting today. This concerns the case of Agent Scully's disappearance."
Skinner paused. He tried to come up with a diplomatic way to say his
next comment. "Agent Mulder, I think that it would be best if-"
Mulder interrupted him before he could finish. "I agree sir. This
investigation would go much..." he paused to find the right word,
"...smoother if I was not involved." He spoke calmly. If it had been
another time, another situation he could have smiled at the A.D.'s
expression. Before he could speak again, Mulder continued. "I also think
that now would be a good time to use up some of my vacation time."
Skinner and he stared for several moments. Skinner broke the silence. "I
understand. I am glad that we see eye to eye on this situation. I will
personally head this investigation while you-"A pause. "While you take
time to do what ever you need to do. We will keep each other appraised
of our progress."
Mulder stood. "Of course. Thank you sir." He turned to leave. His hand
was on the doorknob before Skinner stopped him. "We will find her Agent
Mulder."
Mulder didn't turn around. His voice breaking ever so slightly he
replied. "I want to believe that, sir."
* * * * * *
February 28, 1999
The Lone Gunmen headquarters
7:03pm
Mulder furiously paced the floor, what little floor there was in the
cramped quarters. The gunmen were wise enough to stay out of his way. He
had arrived thirty minutes prior, and at each bit of information, or in
this case, lack of information the gunman provided, he became more
frenetic. "Nothing? You guys haven't found anything? What about the
train cars? I thought that you guys said that you had figured out a way
to monitor them."
Byers spoke, "We have Mulder, and there has been no activity at all.
Nothing. All of the known cars are stored in an abandoned rail yard.
There hasn't been any activity since they found Cassandra."
Byres noted Mulder's increasing agitation. "Mulder, what have you
found?" He asked, trying vainly to distract Mulder, to try to bring him
back down.
"Nothing!" He practically yelled, his arms flailing forward with
frustration. He repeated it again, this time softer. "Nothing. I haven't
found anything. There was no records of any aircraft, or any
unidentified objects over Northern Virginia on that night."Mulder
paused. "Unless..." He looked at the Gunmen hopefully.
Byres just shook his head with regret. "We haven't found anything
either."
The room was silent for several moments. Frohike was the one to break
the silence. "Mulder, what about the other things? What about the source
that contacted you? Were you able to back trace it at all?"
He paused, then ran his hand through his hair, which was already a spiky
mess. "Yes, although it didn't do much good. Pay phone, heavy use. By
the time we found it, any trace evidence was obliterated by the hundreds
of others that followed. Like I said, nothing."
"What about hospitals? I know that we are watching as well, but have you
heard...?" Langly asked.
Mulder shook his head, looking down at his feet and answering in a low
saddened tone. "No."
Almost afraid to ask, Byers spoke, trying to keep his voice smooth and
calming. "And morgues?"
"Nothing." This was said with great relief."That is the only good news I
have..." Mulder had finally stopped pacing and sat heavily on the
couch, burying his face in his hands.
"Mulder, nothing just disappears without a trace. We will find her."
Langly spoke, his words meant to be helpful, but only seemed to bring
Mulder more anguish. "Nothing disappears without a trace?" Voices in
his head taunted at him. "Why Mulder, you know better than that..."
Mulder did his best to ignore them, but was not quite successful.
The gunmen looked at each other, uncertain as to their next move. After
several silent moments, Frohike got off his chair and sat next to
Mulder. Somewhat awkwardly he placed his hand on Mulder's shoulder.
"Look Mulder, we all care for Agent Scully. She's out there, and we're
not going to stop until we find her. And we will find her." But even as
he spoke, the uncertainty in his voice was apparent.
Mulder looked up and was almost able to force a smile on his face. "Look
guys, I appreciate all the help that you've given me, really. Keep
looking. We'll find something eventually." He stood up. "I have to go.
You guys know how to reach me." With that he pulled on his coat and was
out the door.
The gunmen looked at each other for a few seconds, and without saying a
word, went back to their respective projects.
* * * * * *
March 2, 1999
Mulder's Apartment
12:21am
Mulder sat on his couch, lost. His cool detached faade had quickly
faded since his visit with Skinner. He had tried to be his calm,
collected, professional best; he had pulled from him the side that
referred to as 'Scully's piece of me.' The calm, rational side that had
slowly infiltrated his being over the past six years. He couldn't permit
himself to let his emotions overwhelm him. He needed her strength, he
needed her...
But she wasn't here. It was just him, and his calm mask was rapidly
deteriorating. This past week had been difficult. He had left Skinner's
office with several leads, and he had been ready to begin his own
private investigation. He had also left that meeting with hope. Hope
that she could be found. But all to quickly those leads became dead ends
and his hopes began to seem like nothing more than wishful thinking.
"It isn't just wishful thinking. Scully is still alive. She will come
back. She has to."
He was trying desperately to keep his mind busy, occupied. Every time he
didn't, he would begin again, "Not again, not again, not again."
He was doing it again. He got up from the couch. "Got to keep busy. No
time to think. Just act." He briefly considered calling Skinner, even
at this late hour, to ask how the official investigation was
progressing, but immediately dismissed the idea. No, he had just spoken
with Skinner the previous day. They had informed each other of their
rather dismal progress. After his own lack of success, Mulder had pinned
much of his remaining hope on the information his A.D. could provide.
Mulder had hoped that with his noticeable absence from the FBI team,
they would be able to make better progress. If someone was watching,
paying attention to Mulder's activities, then maybe...
Mulder interrupted his thoughts. "'If?' Had he really thought 'if'?"
A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "If someone was watching?" When
had he started doubting that he was being watched?
But the thought only distracted him for a moment, and then he was back
to Scully. Skinner couldn't help, Gunmen were already on it...There was
no one else. He was the only one left who could do something. And what
was he doing? He was wasting time, sitting on his ass. He should be
doing something. He should be rescuing Scully. Saving her from what ever
they are doing to her.
He shuddered, images rose unbidden from his mind. They weren't actual
moments that he had witnessed, no, these were the images created by him,
and that tormented him each time he closed his eyes. Scully, powerless,
lying prone on the top on the table. Sometimes there were men, terrible
men, surrounding her, cutting her, inserting instruments into her body,
violating her in the worse ways. Sometimes there were no men. Sometimes
it was just she, in the center of a large, empty room. She was on the
table, always on the table... machines encircled her, breathing for her,
regulating her heart rate, monitoring all of her bodily systems... she
was totally cut off, isolated from any other living thing. Cut off from
him. These where the images that haunted his dreams and he struggled to
keep his waking world free from them. "Don't go there, Mulder. Don't
think about that. Think about getting her back."
The idea spurred him into sudden action and he was nearly out the door
before he realized that there was nothing that he could do. It was just
a matter of waiting. And just waiting was what he did worst. He sighed.
He carefully hung up his jacket and sat down again. Grabbing his wallet
from his pocket, he opened it and carefully withdrew a lightly worn
photograph from the folded leather. He held the picture delicately in
his hand, as if it was a dried leaf, and the slightest pressure would
cause it to disintegrate between his fingertips.
The picture was of Scully, a Scully that he had never really known. She
was young in this picture, he guessed early twenties; she had a wide
grin, the tail end of true laughter. Scully laughing...now there was a
sight to behold. Mulder smiled again as his finger gently traced her
laughing outline. And yes, it was true, that laughter; he could see it
in the way her eyes gleamed.
But then her crystal eyes seemed to change before him. They took on a
hard, almost accusing nature and penetrated him to his core. "I
haven't laughed like this since I met you.", they seemed to taunt.
Hurriedly he closed his eyes to this image, trying to banish that
thought from his head. Scully didn't think that, he knew that now, and
if she knew he was even thinking like this...He almost smiled at the
memory of the recent tongue-lashing he had experienced, and now knew
that he had deserved it. She hated his self-pity.
They had needed it, needed to get it out into the open like that, and
maybe...and maybe things would have been different. Things were
beginning to come out, and he had almost been relived when she had
lashed out at him. At least she had told him how she felt; it was a far
cry from her usual stoic 'I'm fine.' Those two words always made his
cringe.
Yes it had been a break-through of a sort. "If..." he mentally
paused. "...if she hadn't been taken..." What? Everything would be
perfect? No, he knew better than that, but things would be better.
And if he saw her again... no, 'when' he saw her again...He corrected
himself. When he saw her again, he would fix things between them, try
harder. When he saw her again...
When he saw her again...
Unbidden, his mind began to flood with the unwelcome memories of her
disappearance. The blinding light...the face he had seen her make the
brief moment before she vanished before his eyes. She had looked up into
the light, and he had seen the recognition in her face. It had been just
like last time...the last time she had been taken from him.
Again, he repeated the words, out loud this time, "When I see her
again...",in an attempt to stave off the inevitable, but he was
unsuccessful. Unable to avoid it any longer, he surrendered to the guilt
and grief and let it sweep him away. He fell into a fitful sleep a few
hours later, with those words still on his lips and the picture dropped
unceremoniously to the floor.
* * * * * *
Department of Defense
8:08am
Diana stared through the observation window into the room where the
subject was laying supine on an examination table. The patient was
shrouded in sterile drapes that covered her nearly head to toe. Her red
hair was bundled up within a cap, but her pale face was in clear view.
Between her anemic lips was an intubation tube, connected to the
ventilator. Diana watched with dispassion at the machine, as breaths per
minute and oxygen saturation were displayed on the readout.
She sensed the man behind her before she heard him. The smell of smoke
that always clung to him like an ill-fitting cloak wafted over to her.
Her nose wrinkled distastefully for a moment before she resumed her
impassive mask of a face. Diana spoke to him with out turning. "How is
she doing?"
He took several more steps until he was next to her. He placed a
cigarette between his thin lips. With a flick of his wrist he lit his
lighter and cupped the flame with his hands and leaned into the burning
light. Smoke began to curl from the end of the cigarette. With out
looking at Diana, he answered her question. "All is going as planned."
He glanced at her, forming a marginal smile. "Bringing back any
memories?"
Her eyes closed briefly. It took only a moment for her to recover from
his pointed question. She had enough practice over the years. She spoke
again, ignoring his previous question. "How much longer will the
procedure take?" Her voice was flat, distant.
He shrugged, noncommittally. "We aren't really sure. It could be hours
or days."
"And then what?"
"And then the testing begins. We need to determine how effective the
treatment is before we can proceed." He paused for a moment, then
continued. "How is he?" He did not need to explain who 'he' was. 'He'
was a given.
She sighed, suddenly weary. "Acting as we predicted. He's not made any
significant progress in discovering the truth."
He nodded, pleased with this news. "Then it is time that you let your
presence be known."
"What do I tell him when he finds me? He believes that I'm dead."
He brought the cancer stick from his mouth. Exhaling the smoke, he
smiled. "Tell him what he needs to know."
* * * * * *