PART THREE

*****

Thursday night

Rather than displaying confusion over what they had just witnessed, the nuns were completely quiet as they went about their business. There was no buzz of conversation. The only sound was the gentle tapping of the Mother Superior's hard-soled shoes along the old wooden floorboards as she walked toward Sister Michael. In silence, letting her outstretched hand speak for her, she offered assistance.

Sister Michael rose on trembling legs, her gaze still turned toward the window. Scully strode in front of her and checked her pulse, looking into her wide eyes. "She's in shock. We need to get her to a hospital."

"That won't be necessary," said the Mother Superior. "She just needs some rest."

"I'm sure she does, but I'd like to find out exactly what she saw."

Mulder spoke from the doorway, his presence vibrant in the small room. "And the best way to do that would be to get her some medical attention as soon as possible."

Scully bit her lip. She helped Sister Michael over to a neatly-made bed opposite the one on which Sister Rosario had lain only minutes before. The nun allowed herself to be covered with a sheet and blanket, oblivious to anything but the encroaching darkness visible through the window.

"We appreciate your concern, Mr. Mulder, but I think we know best how to care for one of our own," the Mother Superior said, her voice firm, but not unkind.

They all turned to Sister Michael. Her face, pale as it was, seemed transformed by an inner joy. "I'm all right," she whispered through trembling, upturned lips. "We're all going to be all right."

"That's right, my child. Now we'll leave you to get some rest." The Mother Superior made the sign of the cross over the bed, whispering a prayer.

Mulder's mouth was set in a tight line of aggravation. He took Scully by the elbow and turned her away from the beds. She looked up at him, nonplused, and spoke in a familiar whisper. "This is exactly what happened to Amanda Broadman. I was there; I saw it. There's something really bizarre going on here, Mulder."

"That's not all, Scully. I came here to tell you a couple of things I've found out. First, this convent has a pretty checkered history. Lights in the sky, strange noises, remote as it is from the city and even its nearest neighbors."

"You think that there's a lot of this going on?" she asked incredulously, peering up into his face.

"Well, look at the sisters. They all came running, but no one seemed particularly surprised. More as if they were curious as to who might be next." His hand tightened on her elbow as if to keep her safe.

"Mulder." She put her hands on his forearms. "Please tell me that you aren't suggesting that all of the nuns here are alien abductees?"

"Well, aren't you?"

Scully blinked, lowering her head to gain physical and emotional distance as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I've told you, I don't have any clear recollection of what happened to me..."

He ducked down to look into her eyes. "Well then, what's your rational, scientific explanation for what just happened, and for what you saw happen to Amanda Broadman?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure yet. Maybe it was...was..." She paused for breath. "I don't know. Maybe we're not meant to know, not meant to understand everything we see around us. Maybe this is about faith, not science."

"Scully!" Mulder's face registered both exasperation and shock.

"What do you want me to say? That I was called here not to serve God, but to 'phone home' with the other abductees?"

"I just want you to consider carefully some of the possible reasons you may have come here." His hand, which had been resting on her shoulder, found its way up and around to the back of her neck. Scully jerked away as if the touch burned her.

"Mulder, just stop it." Her tone was unintentionally harsh, enough to make Mulder flinch. She regretted the outburst and reached out to cup his cheek in her hand. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He relaxed into the caress. "I think we're both upset, Scully. Think about what I've said. Call me tomorrow and we can throw around some theories, okay?"

She sighed his name as she felt his fingers wandering across the scar on her neck. "Mulder...okay..."

"No." The voice of the Mother Superior was an unexpected intrusion. She left Sister Michael's side and walked toward Scully, putting a hand on her arm, separating her from Mulder. "Dana is here for a purpose you don't understand, Mr. Mulder. Since you can't seem to comprehend the seriousness of her vows, I will have to ask you not to call here again."

Before Scully had a chance to respond, she heard Mulder's voice, the no-nonsense tone colored with disbelief and no small amount of panic. "I'm a Federal agent," he sputtered.

"And this is a religious institution. Unless you have probable cause, we have the right to be left alone by the government AND its agents."

Mulder remained at Scully's side as his eyes flashed at the Mother Superior. "Reverend Mother, you've had two abductions from this convent in the last few days. Kidnapping is a federal crime."

"Very well. Come back with a warrant and I will cooperate with you. Until that time, I must ask you to leave us - to leave DANA - in peace."

"Don't you want to know what happened to those two women?" The brittle timbre and rising volume was familiar to Scully, who recognized it as Mulder's reaction to loss. She started to reach for him when she heard the Mother Superior's retort.

"Mr. Mulder, we are brides of Christ. When He calls us, we follow. Good evening." Her finger, slender but authoritative, pointed inexorably toward the door.

Mulder glanced at Scully, who could not meet his eyes. She turned one shoulder toward him, missing the proximity, the familiar warmth, but equally drawn to the light of her faith. She shivered and looked up at the Mother Superior, whose whisper was the caress she needed. "Dana, you know that you are here to be obedient to God and His will. Wait for me in my study, please, while I see Mr. Mulder out."

"Scully?"

Mulder's pleading voice rent her soul and laid its fabric in ruins. Her gaze, sorrowful but unafraid, turned toward her former partner.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. You'll be in my prayers."

She turned around, scarcely able to see through the thick tears that brimmed and spilled into her lowered eyelashes. Out of her peripheral vision she saw Mulder turn the corridor, his shoulders bowed with the weight she had always borne for him.

***

Sunday morning, journal entry

I am silent.

Reverend Mother prescribed this for me the night Sister Rosario disappeared, not as punishment but as a way for me to clear away the worldly thoughts that are keeping me from my true duty. I have so many questions I cannot ask, so many avenues of investigation...no. That is no longer my path.

I read St. Teresa of Avila's words last night as I was pondering the career I've left behind: "While recalling the wasted years that are past, I believe that You, Lord, can in an instant turn this loss to gain."

Were those really wasted years, though? Did I spend all that time becoming educated, becoming an officer of the law, for nothing? I've saved lives. Surely that must mean something. I've helped prevent the spread of diseases and conspiracies. Surely the things I've accomplished must hold some meaning.

Now I'm relinquishing that fight to those who maintain that calling. People like Mulder. Yet as certain as I am that I've done the right thing, I am still overcome by feelings of loss.

I feel the loss of my authority as I turn it over to a Power higher than that of any government agency. My body, my mind, my very soul all turn toward the light and strength of God, and I pray constantly for God's strength to see me through in my weakened state.

I feel the loss of worldly things, of bubble baths and silk and chocolate, but in their place comes the all-encompassing love of God and His will, enough to sustain me through these trying times when the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.

I feel the loss of my family, who love me and respect my decision even though it puzzles and saddens them. My mother's letters are full of compassion. Bill's are full of confusion, although he's finally convinced that I am safe. Charlie sends me chatty letters about Marianne and the kids and life in countries I will never see. His letters are ciphers; he leaves me to find his hidden messages, spiritual moments tucked away in his journal of the mundane. Bill hates Charlie's letters.

Mulder would love them.

Mulder.

I feel his loss most of all. I miss him more than the comforts of my home, more than driving with the windows rolled down, more than the worn-out comforter I wrapped myself in on cold winter nights. I miss him as surely as he had been one of my senses, or perhaps my heart.

With the second sight that comes from years of partnership, I can see him sitting on his battered sofa, a remote control in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He's surfing the channels so fast that you'd think he didn't know what was on them, but he does. He processes images and sounds faster than I thought possible.

Precarious piles of his mother's papers are scattered over the coffee table. There's a copy of the will with coffee-cup rings on it, weighed down with some jewelry in little plastic bags. Somewhere in the mess is a check from her life insurance company that will probably never be cashed, because he knows that to take that money is to admit that his last living relative is gone.

If this had happened six years ago, I'd have accompanied him to the funeral, patted his hand, and made sure he had a casserole in the oven. Four years ago I'd have taken him home to keep an eye on him and force-fed him in spite of his self-destructive wishes. Two years ago, when the cancer was about to claim me as its own, he would have hidden his pain from me, and I would have let him, because my own despair was all-consuming.

If it had happened last year, after he had gone to the ends of the earth to save my life, I'd have taken him into my bed and into my body.

As it stands, he is in my body, in a place next to my heart, closer to me than anyone else I've ever known. But I fear that he does not understand the place he has - that he thinks I've abandoned him when really I'm doing more for him this way than by any other act I could perform. I'm praying for his health, his happiness, his very soul, tending to those areas he's left neglected for so long that they've gone to seed.

But will he ever truly understand?

Will he ever truly forgive me?

********
Sunday afternoon

Scully looked up from her Bible, her eyeglasses slipping down her nose as she snapped around to see her visitor. The round face of Sister Joan peered from the doorway. "May I come in, Dana?" she asked, waiting for Scully's welcoming smile before walking into the room. "I have something for you. I should, uh..." she closed the door with an anxious turn of her wrist.

Looking up from her table in confusion, Scully motioned for Sister Joan to come closer. She opened her hand to accept the proffered envelope.

The handwriting was Mulder's.

Scully shut her eyes, weariness and sorrow making her hunch over as if in pain. Sister Joan gave a sympathetic wince and came closer.

"He's been here every day since...since Sister Rosario went away. The Reverend Mother won't let him in. She won't even let him leave a message for you. But he saw me in the garden this morning after Confession. He asked me...he begged me..." She shifted from one foot to another, twisting the skirt of her habit in a work-calloused hand.

Scully opened the envelope and took out the letter. She scanned it, her eyes troubled. Sister Joan's voice made her lift her head.

"I've never disobeyed the Reverend Mother before, Dana. Never. I will have to do penance for this, I know - but I knew this was important, for Sister Rosario, maybe even for all of us...?"

Nodding, Scully rose and embraced the agitated nun.

"Then I'm glad." Sister Joan turned away and left Scully alone with the letter.

She handled it gingerly, tracing a fingernail along the pen marks as she read.

"Scully,

"I've been denied even the chance to talk with you. No matter what your reasons are, no matter how hard you try to avoid learning the truth, you need to know what I've found out about the children at the orphanage. Some are orphans of civil servants - everything from DEA to FBI and in between - but most of them have no records of any kind. Birth, adoption, nothing. It's as if they never entered our system. Even the older ones have never been enrolled in school outside the convent - no Big Brother or Sister programs, no medical records other than the ones maintained by the convent.

"And there's no vaccination record. No *smallpox* vaccination, Scully.

"I think you know what this could mean. Any one of these children, or perhaps all of them, could be a hybrid or a clone.

"You've decided to cut yourself off from me, from our work. But you can't cut yourself off from the truth about the children. Use your abilities to get to the bottom of this, Scully. God will forgive you if it's 'disobedient.' Besides, I'm counting on you. THEY are counting on you."

He signed it simply with his initial.

Scully balled the paper up and threw it against the wall with a harsh, wordless exhalation. Her agitation grew as she paced the confines of her room, a caged lioness stalking imaginary prey. Mulder knew, as he always did, exactly what would appeal to her senses of honor and duty. He knew what she would not be able to resist.

The children.

How dare he?

The little bed creaked under her slight weight as she threw herself face-down on the freshly laundered bedspread. The sorrow she had carried in her heart leapt up and placed bitter lead in her throat.

They're depending on ME to save them.

It came to her in a flash of insight, a flaming arrow that pierced not her heart but her mind: no matter where she went or what she did, she would always be called upon to save the helpless and the innocent, the sorrowful and the heartbroken.

The children.

The Sisters.

Mulder.

Before she realized it, she was dressed in black, with flashlight in hand, prepared to visit the unknown.

***

End part 3

To part 4.