Title - Secrets From the Past
Author - Henle Girl
Rating - R for disturbing subject matter
Category - Mulder/Scully Romance, Angst
Spoilers - Chimera
Summary - As memories from Scully's past begin to manifest
themselves to her, Mrs. Scully learns the hard way how buried
secrets can come back to haunt you.
Disclaimer - The characters don't belong to me. I'm just
borrowing them for my own therapeutic purposes. They will be
returned relatively unharmed to Chris Carter, or whoever wants
to borrow them next, when I'm done.
Feedback: PLEASE!!! Henle_Girl@hotmail.com
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 1
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The pain is too much. Too much for her to bear. She just wants
it to be over. It's been going on for too long as it is.
"Push, Dana," a deep voice commands. She's too afraid to do
anything. But somehow, her body knows what to do and obeys.
"Good girl. Now rest for a minute."
Again she obeys. This time willingly. She tries in vain to get
her breath back, but finds all she can do is pant.
"Almost done, Dana. You're doing great."
The voice sounds like her mother. She looks up in shock, but can
only see a bright light. The light gets brighter and brighter
until she can no longer keep her eyes open. She squeezes them
shut to block out the light.
"Mmm," Dana Scully groans, rolling over to avoid the sunlight
streaming through her window. She sits up abruptly once she
realizes where she is. She looks around in confusion.
"Just a crazy dream," she says, shaking her head to clear it.
The same thing for almost a month now. Not necessarily a bad
dream. Just kind of weird in the way it almost feels real.
She shakes her head again. No time to think of things like that.
She's late for work.
An hour and a half later finds her strolling into the office she
shares with her partner, Fox Mulder.
"Good morning, Scully," he says cheerfully, not even looking up
from the file he's reading. "You're late."
"I know," she says absently. "I overslept or something."
He hears the tone in her voice and is instantly concerned,
looking up at her.
"Are you alright?" he asks. "You having nightmares?"
"Something like that," she nods, sitting in her seat. She boots
up her computer and tries to focus on work when she notices that
he's just staring at her. "What?"
"You want to talk about it?"
"About what?" she asks.
"The nightmare."
"It wasn't really a nightmare," she says. "It was nothing. Just
a weird dream."
"It was weird enough to disturb you, Scully. I'd say that's not
nothing."
"Is that your professional opinion?" she asks him in a teasing
fashion. "Are you an expert at analyzing dreams, Mulder?"
"Scoff if you will, Scully, but you know what they say about
dreams being the answers to questions we haven't yet figured out
how to ask."
"Do *they* say that Mulder, or do you?" she asks with an amused
grin on her face. "Because I seem to remember you being the one
. . . "
"Aren't you the funny one this morning," he says sarcastically,
interrupting her further teasing. He can see that she's using it
as a tactic to avoid the real problem. Normally he'd take it as
a clue to leave her alone and let her deal with it her own way.
But he's not going to let her get away with it today. "Now, do
you want my help or not?"
"Why not," she shrugs. "It's not like I have anything to lose."
"Thank you. Your vote of confidence in me is so overwhelming.
Do I need to remind you that I graduated top in my class from
Oxford with a doctorate degree in psychology?"
"No Mulder, you don't," she says, trying to hold in a smile.
"Okay, then. Tell me about this dream of yours."
"I don't really remember all of it. Just bits and pieces. But
mainly, it's about me. I'm in labor and my mom is there to coach
me. I always wake up before the baby is born."
"How long have you been having this dream?"
"Just about every night this month," she tells him. "So, Doc.
What does it all mean?"
"Well, I'm thinking two possible scenarios here. Number one, you
mentioned your mother and you being in labor, but you always wake
up before the baby is born. The unseen baby may represent a
future child. And your mother being there as your coach may be a
manifestation of any guilt you have over not having given her a
grandchild yet."
"Seeing as how I can't have children, I'm thinking that's not it.
Try again, Freud."
"Okay, my second theory is a little more general. Usually when a
woman starts dreaming of having children, it signifies her
unconscious desire to propogate with a key male figure in her
life."
"You're making this up now," she says skeptically, one perfectly
arched eyebrow raised on his behalf. "I don't buy that theory
either."
"Why? No key male figures? No significant others?"
"Other than you? No," she says nonchalantly, causing him to draw
in his breath suddenly. She notices his shock and questions him
about it. "Don't tell me you didn't know, Mulder."
"That I'm your significant other?"
"Well, not in the widely understood definition of that term. But
yeah. I guess you are the key male figure in my life. My so
called significant other." She sees him laughing and again has
to question him about his reaction. "What's so funny?"
"Not funny. Just . . . spooky. You remember that case in Vermont
I handled while your were on stakeout duty? Where the whacked
out house wife went around killing her husband's mistresses?"
"I don't think I'll ever forget that time, Mulder," she says,
rolling her eyes, remembering the sight of drunken frat boys
peeing and vomiting into the gutters. It's an image
unfortunately emblazoned on her brain. "What about it?"
"The woman asked me about you. Well, actually, she asked if I
had a significant other, and I responded exactly the same way you
did. Using the exact same words and all."
"Weird. I guess it's true what they say. Great minds think
alike," she smiles. But as she goes back to work, her own mind
begins to pick apart the conversation and the secrets they
revealed to each other. Mulder's her significant other. She's
Mulder's significant other. In a way, she knew that already.
However, they've never openly admitted it to each other. It's
taken them seven years to get to this point. Now that it's out
in the open, she assumes they'll ignore it as usual. But she
can't help but wonder. What exactly does it all mean? For them
to be significant others. In *any* definition of the term. She
sighs to herself, hoping that the question doesn't need another
seven years to answer.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Scully turns off her television when she hears the knock on the
door. She's almost shocked he waited this long to show up. It's
been a week since the 'significant other' conversation in the
office. Like she assumed would happen, the conversation seemed
to have been forgotten. But she could see the questions brimming
under the cool front Mulder tried to present. She knew it was
only a matter of time before he wanted to talk about it. Now
apparently is that time.
"Coming," she calls out, crossing the room to open the door. She
pauses momentarily in shock as she peers through the peephole.
It's not Mulder. It's someone she didn't expect. She opens the
door to her guest. "Mom?"
"Hi Dana," the woman says cheerfully, shoving a bag into her
daughter's hands. She pushes her way into the apartment, not
waiting on an invitation.
"What are you doing here?" Scully asks her. "I wasn't expecting
you?"
"Can't a mother just visit with her daughter from time to time?"
Mrs. Scully asks innocently. But Scully knows her mother. She
knows that the woman has an ulterior motive. She gives her
mother *the* look she usually reserves for Mulder and her mother
cracks. "Okay, okay. So this isn't just a social visit. I'm
worried about you, Honey. The last time I saw you, I noticed you
seemed tired. And too thin. I brought over some dinner so that
I can see you eat at least one meal with my own eyes."
"That's sweet, Mom," Scully says, visibly softening her glare.
"Dinner would be great."
She helps her mother unpack the bags and sets the table for the
meal. They chat comfortably for a few minutes before sitting
down to eat. As much as she hates her mother's meddling, this
dinner is a really good idea. She feels better already.
"How are you really, Dana?" her mother asks.
"I'm fine, Mom. Really, I am. I'm just tired. I haven't been
sleeping well. Weird dreams."
"Nightmares?" her mother asks.
"No. Not really. Just kind of strange," she says and leaves it
at that. She refuses to get into the dream itself or its
possible meanings that Mulder suggested. She has a feeling she'd
never hear the end of it from her mother.
Luckily she won't have to talk about it any further. Another
knock at the door interrupts the meal. She gratefully excuses
herself to answer it.
"Mulder," she says, shocked to see him even though she had been
expecting his visit all week. But she had forgotten all about
him while visiting with her mother. "Come on in. You're just in
time for dinner."
"Dinner? You cooked, Scully? You shouldn't have," he says with
a leer. He takes his jacket off and lays it across the back of
the sofa.
"I didn't. Mom brought it," she says, showing him the way to the
table. She goes into the kitchen and brings another place
setting for him and comes back to the sight of him embracing her
mother. She smiles, feeling a warmth spread throughout her body
at the way the two most important people in her life adore each
other.
"Oh, good. You got another plate so that Fox can join us," her
mother says, already scooping up a hearty portion of the meal for
the man. "What brings you by?"
"Just checking on Dana," he says, almost shyly.
"That's so nice. It's good to know someone's looking out for her
when I can't," Mrs. Scully smiles, causing Mulder to blush. You
would think he was a puppy getting a pat on the head for being
good by the look on his face.
"This is great, Mrs. Scully," Mulder gushes after taking a taste
of the food. "I don't get home cooking very often."
"Dana, you don't cook for the man?" her mother asks her,
seemingly surprised at her daughter's actions and not realizing
how old-fashioned her ideals seem.
"Yeah, *Dana*," Mulder says teasingly. "Don't you know that the
way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"
"Actually, I can get there lot faster with my scalpel," she says,
holding up her steak knife in a threating way. But he can see
playfulness in her eyes and gives her an amused grin.
"Touche, Dr. Scully," he laughs.
"Dana," her mother gasps. "Put that knife down, for Heaven's
sake."
She looks back and forth between Mulder and Scully and casts them
a scolding glare that only a mother can. They instantly start to
behave themselves, although she can see a look pass between them
that seems to say 'this isn't over yet.' She almost laughs out
loud, but is able to hold it in. It's so obvious to her how
these two feel about each other. She hopes that one day, they'll
be able to see it as well.
"This really is delicious, Mrs. Scully," Mulder says,
complimenting her again on her cooking. "Maybe one day I can
convince Dana to make it for me. Can she cook as well as you?"
"Even better," Mrs. Scully says.
"What are you talking about?" Scully asks her, looking at her
mother as if she had grown another head. "I can cook enough to
get by, but I'd hardly consider myself good at it."
"You're kidding me?" her mother asks. "Dana, you used to cook
all the time when you were younger. In fact, I remember hosting
a dinner party once and you prepared all the food. Everyone who
attended couldn't say enough about the meal."
"Are you sure? I don't remember that at all," Scully says.
"Yes, Dana. You were . . . oh, I don't remember how old you
were. 14. 15, maybe. Anyway, it was that time when your
father's side of the family came for a visit. Your Aunt Doris
was there. She's the one you look so much like. And her hu. .
." Mrs. Scully stops abruptly, her face suddenly turning very
pale. "Actually nevermind. I may have been mistaken."
"No, maybe you aren't mistaken. "It's funny, but I think I'm
actually starting to remember now," Scully says, her face
scrunching in concentration. "Aunt Doris was Dad's youngest
sister, right? She brought her husband along. Lonnie? No,
Lochlyn. That's it. Uncle Lochlyn. I haven't thought about him
in ages. Wasn't he the one who . . ."
"No he isn't. Now you're the one mistaken," Mrs. Scully snaps at
her. As a tense silence falls on the room, she looks up and sees
the shocked look on her daughter's face and instantly regrets
yelling. She takes a moment to calm herself before speaking
again. "Like I said before, I was wrong. I was thinking of
something else and got confused."
"What were you think of?" Scully wants to know, confused by her
mother's outburst. She notices the woman's agitation, but is
more curious about what's causing it.
"Hey, Scully. How about we drop it, okay?" Mulder suggests. He
can also see that Mrs. Scully's upset, but realizes that further
questioning will only upset her even more. "Your mom is starting
to look kind of tired."
"He's right, Sweetheart. It's been a long day," Mrs. Scully
says, rising from her chair. "You two aren't done eating yet,
but I am. I think I'll head home now."
"Of course, Mom," Scully says, eyeing her suspiciously. She's
never seen her mother act this way. Nervous. Sketchy, even.
She's like a suspect trying to avoid answering questions. Her
mother's in an awfully big hurry to leave and Scully realizes she
won't be able to stop her. So she stands as well and walks her
mother to the door. "Drive safely."
"I will," her mother says quickly after pasting on a fake looking
smile on her face. "Good night, Dana."
"Good night," Scully says and finds herself talking the back of
her mother as she hurries out the door. She watches until her
mother is out of sight before closing the door and going back
inside. "That was odd, Mulder."
"Very odd," he agrees. "But your mother seemed to be getting
kind of stressed with the questions you were asking her. I don't
think you were going to get any more answers out of her."
"Oh, I'm sure you're right. And I'm glad you noticed and stopped
me," she says. "Maybe I'll ask her about it some other time.
I'm pretty sure there's something she's not telling me."
"I think you're right about that. Something about that Lochlyn
guy seems to be what set her off."
"I don't know why," Scully shrugs. Realizing that dinner is
probably ruined, she starts clearing the table. Mulder helps her
and they continue their conversation at the kitchen sink. "Uncle
Lochlyn was the fun uncle. The one who always wanted to hang out
with the kids all the time."
"So what happened to make your mother dislike him so?"
"I have no idea, Mulder," she sighs. "The strange thing is that
up until today, I didn't even remember him. I guess at some
point in time, my father had a falling out or something with his
family. Because thinking back, I don't remember any of them ever
being mentioned."
"But your remember this Lochlyn."
"I do now," she says absently. Her mind's not really on the
conversation with Mulder anymore. She mechanically washes the
dishes as she thinks about what just happened with her mother.
Something is there, on the edge of her mind, but she can't quite
figure it out. Kind of like with the dream. She has a feeling
there's something about it that she's not quite grasping. "I'm
almost done here. Why don't you wait out in the living room.
I'll make us some coffee."
He complies, realizing what she's really asking for is a moment
alone. A moment to thinks some things through and try to figure
out what's going on. And something *is* going on. He can feel
it. He wants to help her get to the bottom of it. Taking out
his cell phone, he dials the number of someone who can help him
help her.
"Langly, it's me," he says when the call is answered. "I need a
favor. I need some info on a man named Lochlyn. I don't have a
last name, but from what I know, he was married to one of
Scully's aunts on her father's side. A woman named Doris. I'm
guessing her maiden name is Scully as well."
After chatting for a few more minutes, he hangs up the phone,
just in time to watch Scully come into the living room with two
cups of coffee.
"How are you doing?" he asks her, knowing this whole thing is
bothering her more than she's letting on.
"I'm just confused, Mulder," she sighs. "I don't know anything.
I feel like my mother is keeping this big secret from me and I
don't even know what questions to ask her to try to figure it
out. I don't even know what questions to ask myself."
"Why don't we just forget about it for awhile, then," he
suggests. "We can talk about something else."
"Are you sure you're my Mulder? My obsessive Mulder?" she asks
teasingly. "Since when do you take the 'just forget it for
awhile' approach to dealing with the past?"
"Since I can see this is tearing you up. You need to step back
from this for a minute," he says, reaching to her face to tuck a
loose strand of hair behind her ear. Afterwards, he lets a
finger gently skim down her cheek. "Besides, since when have I
became *your* Mulder?" He smiles at the blush staining her
cheeks. She probably didn't even realize she referred to him
that way.
"I thought we discussed this last week at the office," she says
tentatively, not sure if she wants to be bringing this up now.
"I figured with you being my significant other and all . . . "
"I see," he smiles. "I think I understand. You figure you have
the right to be possessive."
"Exactly," she giggles.
The giggle is what does him in. She sounds so light and
carefree. So happy. He wants to feel that same happiness.
"Then I guess I have rights too," he says, moving closer to her.
He lifts his hand to the back of her neck and pulls her towards
him, resting her forehead against his. "I guess I have the right
to do this."
He closes the tiny distance and presses his lips against hers,
gently at first to avoid spooking her. When she doesn't pull
away, he moves to deepen it, shocked that she allows it. But her
active participation is what causes him to groan out loud. He
whimpers helplessly as she pulls his bottom lip into her mouth
and gently nibbles on it.
"I've always wanted to do that," she smiles dreamily, her eyes
half closed. She licks her glistening lips and sighs, dropping
her forehead back against his. "That bottom lip has been
tempting me for seven years now."
"What stopped you?" he asks with a leer. "I'm sure I would have
eagerly aided in your quest to give in to temptation."
"I bet you would have," she laughs as she rolls her eyes at him.
"I guess it's a good thing Mom gave this cross to me when she
did. It helped me to resist all kinds of temptation in the past.
I guess it helped me resist you as well."
"She gave it to you on your 15th birthday, right? I guess that
is a temptation filled time for a young girl," he says, adding
another leering glance that makes her blush again.
"I suppose you're right," she says. "But I didn't get this for
my birthday. I got it on Christmas. She got one for both me and
Melissa."
"Christmas? I'm pretty sure your mom said you got it for your
birthday," he tells her, confused at the varying stories. "It
was when you were missing. I went to see her to give her your
cross after I'd found it in Duane Barry's car. That's when she
told me when she bought it for you."
"And she said it was a birthday gift?" Scully asks. "Well, maybe
it was. Maybe I got the memory wrong."
"Excuse me?"
"Actually, this may help explain things from my end about why I
had forgotten about Uncle Lochlyn. There are quite a few things
about my childhood I had forgotten."
"Yeah, and there's a lot I don't remember about my first year at
Oxford. But that's because of the amount of alcohol I consumed,"
he says. "Why would you forget about your childhood? Were you
drunk too? Abducted?" he asks quietly, his eyes widening at the
prospect.
"No, silly," she laughs. "I wasn't abducted. And I didn't drink
my way through adolescence. There was a car accident. I had a
case of amnesia. Some things around my 15th birthday have been
completely forgotten. A lot of what I know from that time have
been from what people have told me."
"You're kidding me? I never knew that. Why didn't you ever tell
me?"
"Because I forgot? Will you take that as an excuse? I mean, I
*did* have amnesia," she says jokingly before shrugging. "I
guess it just wasn't that big of a deal."
She reaches for the remote and turns on the TV for him,
signalling the end of the conversation. Mulder takes a chance
and puts his arm around Scully, pleased when she cuddles with
him. But he finds himself unable to fully focus on the TV or on
the feeling of having Scully in his arms. Something about
tonight is nagging at him. And he feels he won't rest until he
figures out what it is.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 3
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Mulder flips through the channels on his TV once more. He can't
sleep. Which isn't that uncommon an occurrence for him. But
tonight he knows the reason why. The turn of events tonight at
Scully's house is too much for his overactive mind to ignore.
Not so much the kiss. Although he has dreamed of doing that. Of
kissing her. That sweet peck they shared on New Years was
nothing compared to this kiss. He felt his insides literally
turning to goo.
But the best was the end of the evening when he left. They stood
nervously at the door for a few moments until all of a sudden, it
happened again. He doesn't know if he kissed her or if she
kissed him, but before he could realize what was happening, they
were saying good night in a way that they never have before.
With regret, he pulled away, breaking the kiss. He couldn't take
anymore. A few more seconds and he would have had to force his
way back inside. Not that she would have resisted, he thinks
with a smile.
But it wouldn't have been a good idea. There's too much other
stuff going on. And it's that 'other stuff' that has him up and
thinking this time of night. Something just isn't right about
the whole thing. He can see that bits and pieces of the puzzle
are in place. Her mother's strange behavior that evening.
Scully's temporary amnesia suffered as a child. It's all there,
but he's missing the whole picture.
The ringing of the phone stirs him out of his heavy thinking.
Before picking it up, he notes the time. It's almost three in
the morning. Who could be calling at this time?
"Hello?" he answers, rubbing a hand through his already messy
hair.
"Mulder. It's me." Her voice is soft, almost as if she's crying
and is trying to hide it. This instantly alerts him.
"What's wrong, Scully?" he asks, already sliding his feet back
into his shoes. He's mentally plotting out the trip back to her
apartment, knowing that's where he's going to end up after this
conversation.
"I . . . I'm scared," she says with a sniff, proving to him his
theory that she had been crying. He's really afraid now. There
isn't much that makes Scully cry.
"I'm coming over, Scully," he says as he finds a sweatshirt to
pull over his head.
"No," she says quickly. "Don't come to my apartment. I'm not
there."
"Then where are you?" he asks. All he hears on the other end is
silence. He realizes a moment later that she hung up on him. As
he's about to call her back, a light tapping sound comes from his
front door. He tosses the phone on the couch and goes to answer
it.
"Hi," she says with a shy smile. "I thought I'd save you the
time."
"Not that I'm not happy to see your or anything, but what are you
doing here this time of night, Scully?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she laughs nervously.
"I hardly believe it myself. Go get dressed and packed. I have
tickets leaving on the 5:15 a.m. flight to Cincinnati."
"Isn't that usually my line?" he teases. "What's going on,
Scully? Why are we going to Ohio?"
She lowers her head, almost bashfully, and he can hardly hear her
when she speaks.
"Let's just go. I'll tell you on the way. I promise," she
practically whispers.
He studies her for a second and almost considers refusing to move
until she explains things to him. But realizes that he's done
this to her several times before. More times than he can count,
actually. And every time she follows him, without questions. He
owes her the benefit of the doubt in this case.
"Give me ten minutes," he sighs.
She watches him walk back to his bedroom to gather his things.
She sinks to the couch, letting out a breath she didn't even
realize she was holding. How is she going to explain this to
him? She can hardly explain it to herself.
True to his word, he comes back out into the living room ten
minutes later dressed and ready to go. They silently walk out
the apartment together, the truth behind Scully's secret mission
still evading him. Based on the look on her face, this is
something big. Something she can't handle alone. He's just glad
she came to him for help. Grabbing her hand, he gives it a
gentle squeeze, just letting her know that everything will be
alright. He just wishes he believed it himself.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Once they land in Cincinnati, they rent a car and silently load
their luggage. She remained quiet the whole flight, keeping a
tight grasp on his hand. So the purpose behind this trip is
still unknown to him. He's about to ask her where they're headed
when she gives him a slip of paper.
"This is address," she says quietly. "The man at the rental car
counter wrote out some directions for me."
"Where are we going?" he asks, not trying to push her, but trying
to let her know that her time has run out. It's time to let him
know what's going on.
"I got a phone call about an hour after you left," she starts.
"It was a call much like the one I got out in San Diego that
Christmas when I was visiting my brother."
"You got a phone call from Melissa?" he gasps.
"Not this time," she whispers before clearing her throat. She's
trying to be so strong. He can see that. But for some reason,
this is so hard for her. "This time it was . . I mean, I'm not
sure but . . . it sounded like . . . Emily."
"Wh-what?" he manages to stutter, trying to hide his shock from
her. But it's kind of hard to sit here and listen to her tell
him that the reason why the flew all the way to Cincinnati at
five in the morning is because of a phone call she got from her
dead daughter.
"I know you're having a hard time believing this," she says, a
lone tear dripping down her face. "I can hardly believe it
either. But the last time this happened, it lead me to Emily. I
couldn't ignore it this time."
"What did she say?"
"That someone needed my help. Then she said . . . she said
please hurry, Mommy." With that, Mulder notices her shoulders
shaking and the tears flowing freely. He pulls the car over on
the side of the road and wastes no time gathering her in his
arms. "She was begging for my help, Mulder."
"It's okay," he whispers, alternating gentle strokes up and down
her back with light kisses to her forehead. "It's going to be
alright."
He holds her until she stops crying and gives her one more
squeeze before letting her go. He watches as she wipes away all
traces of tears from her face, attempting to put back on her
strong G-woman facade.
"I'm fine," she says, causing him to inwardly cringe at the
familiar saying. But she reaches across the seat and grabs his
hand with her own and he understands what's she's truly saying.
That she is fine, but only because he's there with her. He gives
her a reassuring smile before pulling the car back onto the road.
Twenty minutes later, they pull up to a house surrounded by
police cars, their light flashing in the early morning sky. The
crowds part for them as they show their badges, finding a way
inside the house. They quickly run into the detective in charge.
"May I help you folks?"
"My name is Agent Mulder. This is my partner Agent Scully.
We're with the bureau," Mulder speaks for them both, giving her
the time to compose herself.
"I'm Detective Sanders. I wasn't aware the bureau was involved.
It's a simple suicide," the detective tells them.
The word 'suicide' causes Scully's eyebrows to raise slightly.
This case is turning out to be more and more familiar to her.
First with receiving the phone call and now the suicide.
"This may be related to a case we previously handled," Scully
says, making up a reason for them to be there. "Can you give us
a few details?"
"A young woman, Bridget Hanson, was found in her tub after having
committed suicide."
"The tub," Scully gasps, images of Roberta Sim flashing in her
head. She takes a breath to try to get a hold of her nerves.
"Did her husband find her and call it in?"
"No, she wasn't married," Detective Sanders says. "Unfortunately
this was called in by her daughter. A little girl named Devyn."
"A three year old," Scully guesses. So far this case has
striking similarities to the one she encountered out in
California. The mother's death being like Roberta Sim's. The
phone call she received leading her to this house. It only make
sense that the child would look like Emily. "Blond hair? Blue
eyes?"
"How did you know?" the detective asks with some shock. But
after taking a moment to scrutinize Scully, he notices something.
"Are you related or something? Because you look a whole lot like
our victim upstairs."
"Excuse me?" Scully asks, not expecting that.
"Yeah, now that I think about it, you two could be sisters.
Twins almost. Except she's a little younger. And her hair is
more blond than red. Like the little girl's."
She definitely wasn't expecting that little twist. She finds
herself staring open mouthed at the detective, unable to get any
words to come out.
"May we see the victim," Mulder says, speaking up for the first
time in a few minutes.
"She's in the upstairs bathroom," the Detective says, nodding his
head towards the stairs.
Mulder's about to turn and ask Scully if she's coming with him
when a strangled gaspy sound escapes her. She sounds as if she's
having a hard time breathing. When he follows her line of sight,
he notices why. A social worker is coming from the living room
area carrying a small child. A small child looking almost
exactly like Emily Sim.
To be continued . . .
Feedback, please. Let me know if there's anything confusing or
awkward that needs clearing up before I attempt to finish this up
(Or if I shouldn't even bother). Sometimes it's hard to make
sure all the loose ends are tied the longer and more in depth a
story gets. Anything would be appreciated. Thanks :-)
Author - Henle Girl
Rating - R for disturbing subject matter
Category - Mulder/Scully Romance, Angst
Spoilers - Chimera
Summary - As memories from Scully's past begin to manifest
themselves to her, Mrs. Scully learns the hard way how buried
secrets can come back to haunt you.
Disclaimer - The characters don't belong to me. I'm just
borrowing them for my own therapeutic purposes. They will be
returned relatively unharmed to Chris Carter, or whoever wants
to borrow them next, when I'm done.
Feedback: PLEASE!!! Henle_Girl@hotmail.com
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 1
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The pain is too much. Too much for her to bear. She just wants
it to be over. It's been going on for too long as it is.
"Push, Dana," a deep voice commands. She's too afraid to do
anything. But somehow, her body knows what to do and obeys.
"Good girl. Now rest for a minute."
Again she obeys. This time willingly. She tries in vain to get
her breath back, but finds all she can do is pant.
"Almost done, Dana. You're doing great."
The voice sounds like her mother. She looks up in shock, but can
only see a bright light. The light gets brighter and brighter
until she can no longer keep her eyes open. She squeezes them
shut to block out the light.
"Mmm," Dana Scully groans, rolling over to avoid the sunlight
streaming through her window. She sits up abruptly once she
realizes where she is. She looks around in confusion.
"Just a crazy dream," she says, shaking her head to clear it.
The same thing for almost a month now. Not necessarily a bad
dream. Just kind of weird in the way it almost feels real.
She shakes her head again. No time to think of things like that.
She's late for work.
An hour and a half later finds her strolling into the office she
shares with her partner, Fox Mulder.
"Good morning, Scully," he says cheerfully, not even looking up
from the file he's reading. "You're late."
"I know," she says absently. "I overslept or something."
He hears the tone in her voice and is instantly concerned,
looking up at her.
"Are you alright?" he asks. "You having nightmares?"
"Something like that," she nods, sitting in her seat. She boots
up her computer and tries to focus on work when she notices that
he's just staring at her. "What?"
"You want to talk about it?"
"About what?" she asks.
"The nightmare."
"It wasn't really a nightmare," she says. "It was nothing. Just
a weird dream."
"It was weird enough to disturb you, Scully. I'd say that's not
nothing."
"Is that your professional opinion?" she asks him in a teasing
fashion. "Are you an expert at analyzing dreams, Mulder?"
"Scoff if you will, Scully, but you know what they say about
dreams being the answers to questions we haven't yet figured out
how to ask."
"Do *they* say that Mulder, or do you?" she asks with an amused
grin on her face. "Because I seem to remember you being the one
. . . "
"Aren't you the funny one this morning," he says sarcastically,
interrupting her further teasing. He can see that she's using it
as a tactic to avoid the real problem. Normally he'd take it as
a clue to leave her alone and let her deal with it her own way.
But he's not going to let her get away with it today. "Now, do
you want my help or not?"
"Why not," she shrugs. "It's not like I have anything to lose."
"Thank you. Your vote of confidence in me is so overwhelming.
Do I need to remind you that I graduated top in my class from
Oxford with a doctorate degree in psychology?"
"No Mulder, you don't," she says, trying to hold in a smile.
"Okay, then. Tell me about this dream of yours."
"I don't really remember all of it. Just bits and pieces. But
mainly, it's about me. I'm in labor and my mom is there to coach
me. I always wake up before the baby is born."
"How long have you been having this dream?"
"Just about every night this month," she tells him. "So, Doc.
What does it all mean?"
"Well, I'm thinking two possible scenarios here. Number one, you
mentioned your mother and you being in labor, but you always wake
up before the baby is born. The unseen baby may represent a
future child. And your mother being there as your coach may be a
manifestation of any guilt you have over not having given her a
grandchild yet."
"Seeing as how I can't have children, I'm thinking that's not it.
Try again, Freud."
"Okay, my second theory is a little more general. Usually when a
woman starts dreaming of having children, it signifies her
unconscious desire to propogate with a key male figure in her
life."
"You're making this up now," she says skeptically, one perfectly
arched eyebrow raised on his behalf. "I don't buy that theory
either."
"Why? No key male figures? No significant others?"
"Other than you? No," she says nonchalantly, causing him to draw
in his breath suddenly. She notices his shock and questions him
about it. "Don't tell me you didn't know, Mulder."
"That I'm your significant other?"
"Well, not in the widely understood definition of that term. But
yeah. I guess you are the key male figure in my life. My so
called significant other." She sees him laughing and again has
to question him about his reaction. "What's so funny?"
"Not funny. Just . . . spooky. You remember that case in Vermont
I handled while your were on stakeout duty? Where the whacked
out house wife went around killing her husband's mistresses?"
"I don't think I'll ever forget that time, Mulder," she says,
rolling her eyes, remembering the sight of drunken frat boys
peeing and vomiting into the gutters. It's an image
unfortunately emblazoned on her brain. "What about it?"
"The woman asked me about you. Well, actually, she asked if I
had a significant other, and I responded exactly the same way you
did. Using the exact same words and all."
"Weird. I guess it's true what they say. Great minds think
alike," she smiles. But as she goes back to work, her own mind
begins to pick apart the conversation and the secrets they
revealed to each other. Mulder's her significant other. She's
Mulder's significant other. In a way, she knew that already.
However, they've never openly admitted it to each other. It's
taken them seven years to get to this point. Now that it's out
in the open, she assumes they'll ignore it as usual. But she
can't help but wonder. What exactly does it all mean? For them
to be significant others. In *any* definition of the term. She
sighs to herself, hoping that the question doesn't need another
seven years to answer.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Scully turns off her television when she hears the knock on the
door. She's almost shocked he waited this long to show up. It's
been a week since the 'significant other' conversation in the
office. Like she assumed would happen, the conversation seemed
to have been forgotten. But she could see the questions brimming
under the cool front Mulder tried to present. She knew it was
only a matter of time before he wanted to talk about it. Now
apparently is that time.
"Coming," she calls out, crossing the room to open the door. She
pauses momentarily in shock as she peers through the peephole.
It's not Mulder. It's someone she didn't expect. She opens the
door to her guest. "Mom?"
"Hi Dana," the woman says cheerfully, shoving a bag into her
daughter's hands. She pushes her way into the apartment, not
waiting on an invitation.
"What are you doing here?" Scully asks her. "I wasn't expecting
you?"
"Can't a mother just visit with her daughter from time to time?"
Mrs. Scully asks innocently. But Scully knows her mother. She
knows that the woman has an ulterior motive. She gives her
mother *the* look she usually reserves for Mulder and her mother
cracks. "Okay, okay. So this isn't just a social visit. I'm
worried about you, Honey. The last time I saw you, I noticed you
seemed tired. And too thin. I brought over some dinner so that
I can see you eat at least one meal with my own eyes."
"That's sweet, Mom," Scully says, visibly softening her glare.
"Dinner would be great."
She helps her mother unpack the bags and sets the table for the
meal. They chat comfortably for a few minutes before sitting
down to eat. As much as she hates her mother's meddling, this
dinner is a really good idea. She feels better already.
"How are you really, Dana?" her mother asks.
"I'm fine, Mom. Really, I am. I'm just tired. I haven't been
sleeping well. Weird dreams."
"Nightmares?" her mother asks.
"No. Not really. Just kind of strange," she says and leaves it
at that. She refuses to get into the dream itself or its
possible meanings that Mulder suggested. She has a feeling she'd
never hear the end of it from her mother.
Luckily she won't have to talk about it any further. Another
knock at the door interrupts the meal. She gratefully excuses
herself to answer it.
"Mulder," she says, shocked to see him even though she had been
expecting his visit all week. But she had forgotten all about
him while visiting with her mother. "Come on in. You're just in
time for dinner."
"Dinner? You cooked, Scully? You shouldn't have," he says with
a leer. He takes his jacket off and lays it across the back of
the sofa.
"I didn't. Mom brought it," she says, showing him the way to the
table. She goes into the kitchen and brings another place
setting for him and comes back to the sight of him embracing her
mother. She smiles, feeling a warmth spread throughout her body
at the way the two most important people in her life adore each
other.
"Oh, good. You got another plate so that Fox can join us," her
mother says, already scooping up a hearty portion of the meal for
the man. "What brings you by?"
"Just checking on Dana," he says, almost shyly.
"That's so nice. It's good to know someone's looking out for her
when I can't," Mrs. Scully smiles, causing Mulder to blush. You
would think he was a puppy getting a pat on the head for being
good by the look on his face.
"This is great, Mrs. Scully," Mulder gushes after taking a taste
of the food. "I don't get home cooking very often."
"Dana, you don't cook for the man?" her mother asks her,
seemingly surprised at her daughter's actions and not realizing
how old-fashioned her ideals seem.
"Yeah, *Dana*," Mulder says teasingly. "Don't you know that the
way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"
"Actually, I can get there lot faster with my scalpel," she says,
holding up her steak knife in a threating way. But he can see
playfulness in her eyes and gives her an amused grin.
"Touche, Dr. Scully," he laughs.
"Dana," her mother gasps. "Put that knife down, for Heaven's
sake."
She looks back and forth between Mulder and Scully and casts them
a scolding glare that only a mother can. They instantly start to
behave themselves, although she can see a look pass between them
that seems to say 'this isn't over yet.' She almost laughs out
loud, but is able to hold it in. It's so obvious to her how
these two feel about each other. She hopes that one day, they'll
be able to see it as well.
"This really is delicious, Mrs. Scully," Mulder says,
complimenting her again on her cooking. "Maybe one day I can
convince Dana to make it for me. Can she cook as well as you?"
"Even better," Mrs. Scully says.
"What are you talking about?" Scully asks her, looking at her
mother as if she had grown another head. "I can cook enough to
get by, but I'd hardly consider myself good at it."
"You're kidding me?" her mother asks. "Dana, you used to cook
all the time when you were younger. In fact, I remember hosting
a dinner party once and you prepared all the food. Everyone who
attended couldn't say enough about the meal."
"Are you sure? I don't remember that at all," Scully says.
"Yes, Dana. You were . . . oh, I don't remember how old you
were. 14. 15, maybe. Anyway, it was that time when your
father's side of the family came for a visit. Your Aunt Doris
was there. She's the one you look so much like. And her hu. .
." Mrs. Scully stops abruptly, her face suddenly turning very
pale. "Actually nevermind. I may have been mistaken."
"No, maybe you aren't mistaken. "It's funny, but I think I'm
actually starting to remember now," Scully says, her face
scrunching in concentration. "Aunt Doris was Dad's youngest
sister, right? She brought her husband along. Lonnie? No,
Lochlyn. That's it. Uncle Lochlyn. I haven't thought about him
in ages. Wasn't he the one who . . ."
"No he isn't. Now you're the one mistaken," Mrs. Scully snaps at
her. As a tense silence falls on the room, she looks up and sees
the shocked look on her daughter's face and instantly regrets
yelling. She takes a moment to calm herself before speaking
again. "Like I said before, I was wrong. I was thinking of
something else and got confused."
"What were you think of?" Scully wants to know, confused by her
mother's outburst. She notices the woman's agitation, but is
more curious about what's causing it.
"Hey, Scully. How about we drop it, okay?" Mulder suggests. He
can also see that Mrs. Scully's upset, but realizes that further
questioning will only upset her even more. "Your mom is starting
to look kind of tired."
"He's right, Sweetheart. It's been a long day," Mrs. Scully
says, rising from her chair. "You two aren't done eating yet,
but I am. I think I'll head home now."
"Of course, Mom," Scully says, eyeing her suspiciously. She's
never seen her mother act this way. Nervous. Sketchy, even.
She's like a suspect trying to avoid answering questions. Her
mother's in an awfully big hurry to leave and Scully realizes she
won't be able to stop her. So she stands as well and walks her
mother to the door. "Drive safely."
"I will," her mother says quickly after pasting on a fake looking
smile on her face. "Good night, Dana."
"Good night," Scully says and finds herself talking the back of
her mother as she hurries out the door. She watches until her
mother is out of sight before closing the door and going back
inside. "That was odd, Mulder."
"Very odd," he agrees. "But your mother seemed to be getting
kind of stressed with the questions you were asking her. I don't
think you were going to get any more answers out of her."
"Oh, I'm sure you're right. And I'm glad you noticed and stopped
me," she says. "Maybe I'll ask her about it some other time.
I'm pretty sure there's something she's not telling me."
"I think you're right about that. Something about that Lochlyn
guy seems to be what set her off."
"I don't know why," Scully shrugs. Realizing that dinner is
probably ruined, she starts clearing the table. Mulder helps her
and they continue their conversation at the kitchen sink. "Uncle
Lochlyn was the fun uncle. The one who always wanted to hang out
with the kids all the time."
"So what happened to make your mother dislike him so?"
"I have no idea, Mulder," she sighs. "The strange thing is that
up until today, I didn't even remember him. I guess at some
point in time, my father had a falling out or something with his
family. Because thinking back, I don't remember any of them ever
being mentioned."
"But your remember this Lochlyn."
"I do now," she says absently. Her mind's not really on the
conversation with Mulder anymore. She mechanically washes the
dishes as she thinks about what just happened with her mother.
Something is there, on the edge of her mind, but she can't quite
figure it out. Kind of like with the dream. She has a feeling
there's something about it that she's not quite grasping. "I'm
almost done here. Why don't you wait out in the living room.
I'll make us some coffee."
He complies, realizing what she's really asking for is a moment
alone. A moment to thinks some things through and try to figure
out what's going on. And something *is* going on. He can feel
it. He wants to help her get to the bottom of it. Taking out
his cell phone, he dials the number of someone who can help him
help her.
"Langly, it's me," he says when the call is answered. "I need a
favor. I need some info on a man named Lochlyn. I don't have a
last name, but from what I know, he was married to one of
Scully's aunts on her father's side. A woman named Doris. I'm
guessing her maiden name is Scully as well."
After chatting for a few more minutes, he hangs up the phone,
just in time to watch Scully come into the living room with two
cups of coffee.
"How are you doing?" he asks her, knowing this whole thing is
bothering her more than she's letting on.
"I'm just confused, Mulder," she sighs. "I don't know anything.
I feel like my mother is keeping this big secret from me and I
don't even know what questions to ask her to try to figure it
out. I don't even know what questions to ask myself."
"Why don't we just forget about it for awhile, then," he
suggests. "We can talk about something else."
"Are you sure you're my Mulder? My obsessive Mulder?" she asks
teasingly. "Since when do you take the 'just forget it for
awhile' approach to dealing with the past?"
"Since I can see this is tearing you up. You need to step back
from this for a minute," he says, reaching to her face to tuck a
loose strand of hair behind her ear. Afterwards, he lets a
finger gently skim down her cheek. "Besides, since when have I
became *your* Mulder?" He smiles at the blush staining her
cheeks. She probably didn't even realize she referred to him
that way.
"I thought we discussed this last week at the office," she says
tentatively, not sure if she wants to be bringing this up now.
"I figured with you being my significant other and all . . . "
"I see," he smiles. "I think I understand. You figure you have
the right to be possessive."
"Exactly," she giggles.
The giggle is what does him in. She sounds so light and
carefree. So happy. He wants to feel that same happiness.
"Then I guess I have rights too," he says, moving closer to her.
He lifts his hand to the back of her neck and pulls her towards
him, resting her forehead against his. "I guess I have the right
to do this."
He closes the tiny distance and presses his lips against hers,
gently at first to avoid spooking her. When she doesn't pull
away, he moves to deepen it, shocked that she allows it. But her
active participation is what causes him to groan out loud. He
whimpers helplessly as she pulls his bottom lip into her mouth
and gently nibbles on it.
"I've always wanted to do that," she smiles dreamily, her eyes
half closed. She licks her glistening lips and sighs, dropping
her forehead back against his. "That bottom lip has been
tempting me for seven years now."
"What stopped you?" he asks with a leer. "I'm sure I would have
eagerly aided in your quest to give in to temptation."
"I bet you would have," she laughs as she rolls her eyes at him.
"I guess it's a good thing Mom gave this cross to me when she
did. It helped me to resist all kinds of temptation in the past.
I guess it helped me resist you as well."
"She gave it to you on your 15th birthday, right? I guess that
is a temptation filled time for a young girl," he says, adding
another leering glance that makes her blush again.
"I suppose you're right," she says. "But I didn't get this for
my birthday. I got it on Christmas. She got one for both me and
Melissa."
"Christmas? I'm pretty sure your mom said you got it for your
birthday," he tells her, confused at the varying stories. "It
was when you were missing. I went to see her to give her your
cross after I'd found it in Duane Barry's car. That's when she
told me when she bought it for you."
"And she said it was a birthday gift?" Scully asks. "Well, maybe
it was. Maybe I got the memory wrong."
"Excuse me?"
"Actually, this may help explain things from my end about why I
had forgotten about Uncle Lochlyn. There are quite a few things
about my childhood I had forgotten."
"Yeah, and there's a lot I don't remember about my first year at
Oxford. But that's because of the amount of alcohol I consumed,"
he says. "Why would you forget about your childhood? Were you
drunk too? Abducted?" he asks quietly, his eyes widening at the
prospect.
"No, silly," she laughs. "I wasn't abducted. And I didn't drink
my way through adolescence. There was a car accident. I had a
case of amnesia. Some things around my 15th birthday have been
completely forgotten. A lot of what I know from that time have
been from what people have told me."
"You're kidding me? I never knew that. Why didn't you ever tell
me?"
"Because I forgot? Will you take that as an excuse? I mean, I
*did* have amnesia," she says jokingly before shrugging. "I
guess it just wasn't that big of a deal."
She reaches for the remote and turns on the TV for him,
signalling the end of the conversation. Mulder takes a chance
and puts his arm around Scully, pleased when she cuddles with
him. But he finds himself unable to fully focus on the TV or on
the feeling of having Scully in his arms. Something about
tonight is nagging at him. And he feels he won't rest until he
figures out what it is.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 3
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Mulder flips through the channels on his TV once more. He can't
sleep. Which isn't that uncommon an occurrence for him. But
tonight he knows the reason why. The turn of events tonight at
Scully's house is too much for his overactive mind to ignore.
Not so much the kiss. Although he has dreamed of doing that. Of
kissing her. That sweet peck they shared on New Years was
nothing compared to this kiss. He felt his insides literally
turning to goo.
But the best was the end of the evening when he left. They stood
nervously at the door for a few moments until all of a sudden, it
happened again. He doesn't know if he kissed her or if she
kissed him, but before he could realize what was happening, they
were saying good night in a way that they never have before.
With regret, he pulled away, breaking the kiss. He couldn't take
anymore. A few more seconds and he would have had to force his
way back inside. Not that she would have resisted, he thinks
with a smile.
But it wouldn't have been a good idea. There's too much other
stuff going on. And it's that 'other stuff' that has him up and
thinking this time of night. Something just isn't right about
the whole thing. He can see that bits and pieces of the puzzle
are in place. Her mother's strange behavior that evening.
Scully's temporary amnesia suffered as a child. It's all there,
but he's missing the whole picture.
The ringing of the phone stirs him out of his heavy thinking.
Before picking it up, he notes the time. It's almost three in
the morning. Who could be calling at this time?
"Hello?" he answers, rubbing a hand through his already messy
hair.
"Mulder. It's me." Her voice is soft, almost as if she's crying
and is trying to hide it. This instantly alerts him.
"What's wrong, Scully?" he asks, already sliding his feet back
into his shoes. He's mentally plotting out the trip back to her
apartment, knowing that's where he's going to end up after this
conversation.
"I . . . I'm scared," she says with a sniff, proving to him his
theory that she had been crying. He's really afraid now. There
isn't much that makes Scully cry.
"I'm coming over, Scully," he says as he finds a sweatshirt to
pull over his head.
"No," she says quickly. "Don't come to my apartment. I'm not
there."
"Then where are you?" he asks. All he hears on the other end is
silence. He realizes a moment later that she hung up on him. As
he's about to call her back, a light tapping sound comes from his
front door. He tosses the phone on the couch and goes to answer
it.
"Hi," she says with a shy smile. "I thought I'd save you the
time."
"Not that I'm not happy to see your or anything, but what are you
doing here this time of night, Scully?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she laughs nervously.
"I hardly believe it myself. Go get dressed and packed. I have
tickets leaving on the 5:15 a.m. flight to Cincinnati."
"Isn't that usually my line?" he teases. "What's going on,
Scully? Why are we going to Ohio?"
She lowers her head, almost bashfully, and he can hardly hear her
when she speaks.
"Let's just go. I'll tell you on the way. I promise," she
practically whispers.
He studies her for a second and almost considers refusing to move
until she explains things to him. But realizes that he's done
this to her several times before. More times than he can count,
actually. And every time she follows him, without questions. He
owes her the benefit of the doubt in this case.
"Give me ten minutes," he sighs.
She watches him walk back to his bedroom to gather his things.
She sinks to the couch, letting out a breath she didn't even
realize she was holding. How is she going to explain this to
him? She can hardly explain it to herself.
True to his word, he comes back out into the living room ten
minutes later dressed and ready to go. They silently walk out
the apartment together, the truth behind Scully's secret mission
still evading him. Based on the look on her face, this is
something big. Something she can't handle alone. He's just glad
she came to him for help. Grabbing her hand, he gives it a
gentle squeeze, just letting her know that everything will be
alright. He just wishes he believed it himself.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Once they land in Cincinnati, they rent a car and silently load
their luggage. She remained quiet the whole flight, keeping a
tight grasp on his hand. So the purpose behind this trip is
still unknown to him. He's about to ask her where they're headed
when she gives him a slip of paper.
"This is address," she says quietly. "The man at the rental car
counter wrote out some directions for me."
"Where are we going?" he asks, not trying to push her, but trying
to let her know that her time has run out. It's time to let him
know what's going on.
"I got a phone call about an hour after you left," she starts.
"It was a call much like the one I got out in San Diego that
Christmas when I was visiting my brother."
"You got a phone call from Melissa?" he gasps.
"Not this time," she whispers before clearing her throat. She's
trying to be so strong. He can see that. But for some reason,
this is so hard for her. "This time it was . . I mean, I'm not
sure but . . . it sounded like . . . Emily."
"Wh-what?" he manages to stutter, trying to hide his shock from
her. But it's kind of hard to sit here and listen to her tell
him that the reason why the flew all the way to Cincinnati at
five in the morning is because of a phone call she got from her
dead daughter.
"I know you're having a hard time believing this," she says, a
lone tear dripping down her face. "I can hardly believe it
either. But the last time this happened, it lead me to Emily. I
couldn't ignore it this time."
"What did she say?"
"That someone needed my help. Then she said . . . she said
please hurry, Mommy." With that, Mulder notices her shoulders
shaking and the tears flowing freely. He pulls the car over on
the side of the road and wastes no time gathering her in his
arms. "She was begging for my help, Mulder."
"It's okay," he whispers, alternating gentle strokes up and down
her back with light kisses to her forehead. "It's going to be
alright."
He holds her until she stops crying and gives her one more
squeeze before letting her go. He watches as she wipes away all
traces of tears from her face, attempting to put back on her
strong G-woman facade.
"I'm fine," she says, causing him to inwardly cringe at the
familiar saying. But she reaches across the seat and grabs his
hand with her own and he understands what's she's truly saying.
That she is fine, but only because he's there with her. He gives
her a reassuring smile before pulling the car back onto the road.
Twenty minutes later, they pull up to a house surrounded by
police cars, their light flashing in the early morning sky. The
crowds part for them as they show their badges, finding a way
inside the house. They quickly run into the detective in charge.
"May I help you folks?"
"My name is Agent Mulder. This is my partner Agent Scully.
We're with the bureau," Mulder speaks for them both, giving her
the time to compose herself.
"I'm Detective Sanders. I wasn't aware the bureau was involved.
It's a simple suicide," the detective tells them.
The word 'suicide' causes Scully's eyebrows to raise slightly.
This case is turning out to be more and more familiar to her.
First with receiving the phone call and now the suicide.
"This may be related to a case we previously handled," Scully
says, making up a reason for them to be there. "Can you give us
a few details?"
"A young woman, Bridget Hanson, was found in her tub after having
committed suicide."
"The tub," Scully gasps, images of Roberta Sim flashing in her
head. She takes a breath to try to get a hold of her nerves.
"Did her husband find her and call it in?"
"No, she wasn't married," Detective Sanders says. "Unfortunately
this was called in by her daughter. A little girl named Devyn."
"A three year old," Scully guesses. So far this case has
striking similarities to the one she encountered out in
California. The mother's death being like Roberta Sim's. The
phone call she received leading her to this house. It only make
sense that the child would look like Emily. "Blond hair? Blue
eyes?"
"How did you know?" the detective asks with some shock. But
after taking a moment to scrutinize Scully, he notices something.
"Are you related or something? Because you look a whole lot like
our victim upstairs."
"Excuse me?" Scully asks, not expecting that.
"Yeah, now that I think about it, you two could be sisters.
Twins almost. Except she's a little younger. And her hair is
more blond than red. Like the little girl's."
She definitely wasn't expecting that little twist. She finds
herself staring open mouthed at the detective, unable to get any
words to come out.
"May we see the victim," Mulder says, speaking up for the first
time in a few minutes.
"She's in the upstairs bathroom," the Detective says, nodding his
head towards the stairs.
Mulder's about to turn and ask Scully if she's coming with him
when a strangled gaspy sound escapes her. She sounds as if she's
having a hard time breathing. When he follows her line of sight,
he notices why. A social worker is coming from the living room
area carrying a small child. A small child looking almost
exactly like Emily Sim.
To be continued . . .
Feedback, please. Let me know if there's anything confusing or
awkward that needs clearing up before I attempt to finish this up
(Or if I shouldn't even bother). Sometimes it's hard to make
sure all the loose ends are tied the longer and more in depth a
story gets. Anything would be appreciated. Thanks :-)