THE SECOND LETTER
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Scully finally went home, but not before asking me to call her when I arrived at my
apartment. I don't even know if I will leave the office, I have too much to do: or more
precisely, I have too much to think about.
I know she is worried about me, about my reaction toward this letter, and I can't blame her!
After all, I'm worried too...but not for the same reasons. The letter itself was not really the
main problem, I mean...it's not the first time that I have been sent something like this: doing
a job like this means meeting strange people every day, and risking the possibility that they
could invade your personal life.
The main problem, for me, was the writer...
I had been spied on for all my time here in the Bureau, and maybe even before. But this letter
felt like a big punch in the stomach, as if it was a kind of alarm, here to remind me that no one
was spared, even someone like me who had hardly any close relatives. Almost everyone was
either dead, absent, missing or...whatever. But they still managed to get back to me, they
could even go through death.
I know that more letters are to be expected: they can create new rules, but they can't erase the
most crucial one: if you have his attention, don't let it go.
And they HAVE my attention! I can't help but wondering what the next letter will be like,
what will it be about?
There is no point at reading those words again and again - I know them by heart. I can't get
any useful information from the letter itself...no prints, no hair...
The Gunmen told me from the photocopy I sent them that the letters had been cut from The
Washington Post, USA Today and Newsweek: there was clearly no lead in that direction.
A noise from outside startled me. Wow...it's already eleven. I should probably go home and
try to get some rest.
No, in fact, what I really want to do is run. It will help clear my mind a bit, and I will be able
to think more fluently after it, without any harsh cuts caused by my sometimes-a-bit-too-crazy
thoughts.
Anyway, I have a pair of sweatpants and running shoes in the trunk of my car, so let's just
grab them and get a bit of fresh air outside. Well...as fresh as D.C. air could be!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It's one o'clock, I'm finally home, and I can barely walk.
I didn't realize that I had ran so far, and then I had to re-run all the way back to my car!
But I feel good...a hot shower and then I hope that I will soon crash on my bed, and sleep a
dreamless night.
Of course, slumber never got to me. I lay there, lying on my couch, unable to move a muscle
for my legs just refuse to obey my commands.
I'm wondering if I should call Scully: she asked me too, but it's very late, and I don't want to
wake her up if she's asleep.
I miss her presence, I wish she was lying right next to me, and that I could watch her sleep:
it's so peaceful. She caught me one our two times doing it, but the only thing she did was
smiling, and asking me why I didn't slept. "I AM sleeping..." I answered her.
I can finally feel my body relaxing, and slowly, very slowly I drift of...
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
TUESDAY MORNING
When I arrived in the office, Scully was already there.
She wasn't even trying to fake working on something; she was sitting at her desk, ready to
jump, with a look of worry on her face.
I could see that she didn't sleep any better than me, and that the letter had bothered her too in
her restful night.
When I saw the plain envelope with my name typed on it waiting for me on my desk, I didn't
even flinch.
I was prepared for this: she wasn't. That's why she looked so anxious...
"Well, Scully...it's not going to bite us!" I was trying to cool off the heavy atmosphere
I have no choice but to open it, now...there's no turning back.
I look at her, straight in the eyes; she understands and comes to stand right next to me. I
needed her to be as close to me as possible...because as much as I was prepared, I was still
apprehensive.
Come on Mulder... I told myself ...take a deep breath and just tear the...
"YOU ARE PROTECTED BY YOUR FATHER
BUT WILL YOU PROTECT HIM?"
I read it just once, but Scully had to look at it more closely, as if it would change a damn
word.
I sat down heavily on my chair, put my hands in my hair and closed my eyes.
First, I was just worried about the writer, but now...the text itself was beginning to
dangerously torture my mind.
TO BE CONTINUED
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hey, so what did you think of this one? Are you able to wait for the next chapter or are you
planning on killing me??? Let me know!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Scully finally went home, but not before asking me to call her when I arrived at my
apartment. I don't even know if I will leave the office, I have too much to do: or more
precisely, I have too much to think about.
I know she is worried about me, about my reaction toward this letter, and I can't blame her!
After all, I'm worried too...but not for the same reasons. The letter itself was not really the
main problem, I mean...it's not the first time that I have been sent something like this: doing
a job like this means meeting strange people every day, and risking the possibility that they
could invade your personal life.
The main problem, for me, was the writer...
I had been spied on for all my time here in the Bureau, and maybe even before. But this letter
felt like a big punch in the stomach, as if it was a kind of alarm, here to remind me that no one
was spared, even someone like me who had hardly any close relatives. Almost everyone was
either dead, absent, missing or...whatever. But they still managed to get back to me, they
could even go through death.
I know that more letters are to be expected: they can create new rules, but they can't erase the
most crucial one: if you have his attention, don't let it go.
And they HAVE my attention! I can't help but wondering what the next letter will be like,
what will it be about?
There is no point at reading those words again and again - I know them by heart. I can't get
any useful information from the letter itself...no prints, no hair...
The Gunmen told me from the photocopy I sent them that the letters had been cut from The
Washington Post, USA Today and Newsweek: there was clearly no lead in that direction.
A noise from outside startled me. Wow...it's already eleven. I should probably go home and
try to get some rest.
No, in fact, what I really want to do is run. It will help clear my mind a bit, and I will be able
to think more fluently after it, without any harsh cuts caused by my sometimes-a-bit-too-crazy
thoughts.
Anyway, I have a pair of sweatpants and running shoes in the trunk of my car, so let's just
grab them and get a bit of fresh air outside. Well...as fresh as D.C. air could be!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It's one o'clock, I'm finally home, and I can barely walk.
I didn't realize that I had ran so far, and then I had to re-run all the way back to my car!
But I feel good...a hot shower and then I hope that I will soon crash on my bed, and sleep a
dreamless night.
Of course, slumber never got to me. I lay there, lying on my couch, unable to move a muscle
for my legs just refuse to obey my commands.
I'm wondering if I should call Scully: she asked me too, but it's very late, and I don't want to
wake her up if she's asleep.
I miss her presence, I wish she was lying right next to me, and that I could watch her sleep:
it's so peaceful. She caught me one our two times doing it, but the only thing she did was
smiling, and asking me why I didn't slept. "I AM sleeping..." I answered her.
I can finally feel my body relaxing, and slowly, very slowly I drift of...
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
TUESDAY MORNING
When I arrived in the office, Scully was already there.
She wasn't even trying to fake working on something; she was sitting at her desk, ready to
jump, with a look of worry on her face.
I could see that she didn't sleep any better than me, and that the letter had bothered her too in
her restful night.
When I saw the plain envelope with my name typed on it waiting for me on my desk, I didn't
even flinch.
I was prepared for this: she wasn't. That's why she looked so anxious...
"Well, Scully...it's not going to bite us!" I was trying to cool off the heavy atmosphere
I have no choice but to open it, now...there's no turning back.
I look at her, straight in the eyes; she understands and comes to stand right next to me. I
needed her to be as close to me as possible...because as much as I was prepared, I was still
apprehensive.
Come on Mulder... I told myself ...take a deep breath and just tear the...
"YOU ARE PROTECTED BY YOUR FATHER
BUT WILL YOU PROTECT HIM?"
I read it just once, but Scully had to look at it more closely, as if it would change a damn
word.
I sat down heavily on my chair, put my hands in my hair and closed my eyes.
First, I was just worried about the writer, but now...the text itself was beginning to
dangerously torture my mind.
TO BE CONTINUED
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hey, so what did you think of this one? Are you able to wait for the next chapter or are you
planning on killing me??? Let me know!