A/N- Part 2 is up. I'd really, really, really appreciate reviews. I don't know how long I can continue the story if I can't get a feel if people actually like it or hate it (but please, constructive criticism only:) ). At the very least, I have one more chapter written besides this one, and I'll post it soon if I get numerous (hah) reviews, or post it later in a last ditch attempt to bring some in some interest. Thank you!
Blank Slate
Later on, Mulder would think of the experience and contemplate just how strange it was, strange that every passing day did not make it easier to accept reality, but harder.
In past mornings, when he greeted the day to the best of his abilities, he thought first of Scully, and remembered where he was. He would remember she was next to him, and not in the next motel room.
So when he woke up with a throbbing headache, lying on the floor, Mulder's first thought was of what case he was on, what monster of the week or sympathizer had gone crazy on him, and how long it had been since he was knocked out.
This was not the case.
Mulder rubbed his aching head, and thought he had heard sirens. He remembered…sirens. Before that, a crashing sound, seeing himself under the roof and under the beams. A gunshot. Sound the sirens. Surveillance told them of ships. Grey hull against a gloomy horizon. Rain.
He sat up abruptly as his train of thoughts became clear. Looking around wildly, he had no idea where he was. Looking at his wrist, he lamented the loss of yet another piece of reality—his watch was broken, and the days counter hopelessly scrambled. How long, where, how, who, whatever questions Mulder needed to ask, he had no where to start.
And if he was in another state, another country, how would he find his way back? How would he find Scully, how would he contact the base?
The room was brown and dirty, with faded peeling wallpaper from another era. The carpet was brown shag, something Mulder was fairly sure should have been outlawed at some point. Sunlight filtered in through a polluted window, illuminating the dusty air, and from his vantage point, Mulder could see a door, perhaps the front door. The road to escape, where hopefully he would discover the house was actually at the base of the mountain he needed to climb. Hah, yeah right.
With his head still reeling, he decided to stay sitting. Abduction? Depending on where he was, it was certain. But why was he here? Was this a way station, a joke, them playing with his mind? Perhaps this was slavery; this dirty house was where his mind was to finish out the rest of its days. If it wasn't, the entire situation made no sense. Unless he was bugged with some sort of betrayal, waiting for a person or event to occur, there was no reason for his abandonment. He could not remember what had happened. He tried, but nothing came.
When he turned his head and saw the ornery, repulsive looking woman in the next room, watching soaps of all things, all he could do was start to laugh, a chuckle more like, because this had to be one of the most bizarre situations he had ever been in.
TBC? If so, how soon? You tell me.
