The sun in his face was misleading. His eyes opened to an empty office – his office. The sunlight streamed in from the small window and his back ached from his sleeping position. It was never his intention to fall asleep but the weariness of his body forced him to.
There was once a time when the irregular pattern of his sleep seemed normal because Scully's presence made everything right. Now she was gone. Missing. Taken. Stolen from him. The sour note from the previous morning was still hanging in his mind and a part of him thought that, perhaps, she didn't want to be found. Fragments of her car erased any of that thought.
She wanted him to find her. The truth could have never been clearer but this chase was going no where. Specialists swept the car and Mulder was still waiting for the results. This chase had become a waiting game. Everything was woven together, one dependent on the other. Though she was not there, Mulder fed off of Scully's energy. He could feel it.
The knock on the door surprised him and for a brief second he hoped that it was Scully.
"Agent Mulder, I've got some mail for you."
It was the pimply faced mail boy. Not quite who he expected. Not quite who he wanted to see.
Mulder thanked the boy as he handed him a stack of envelopes. He absent mindedly flipped through the stack, wondering how it was possible to still receive junk mail in one of the most safeguarded buildings in the country. Mulder had once brought up the issue with Scully. Her response: "It must be a conspiracy."
Scully. It irked him on how there was little evidence to go on. No fingerprints. The attacker had worn gloves. All of the blood samples belonged to Scully. Paint samples were collected from Scully's car. He still waited on the results.
Mulder still continued to flip through the stack of mail. The last envelope in the stack lacked an address. It was a letter sized envelope. Simple. Nondescript. He was about to open it when there was another knock on the door.
"Go away!" Mulder yelled through the door. The knocking, however, continued. "Just slide whatever you forgot underneath the door." The mail boy often lost letters in the mix and returned to deliver them.
"Mulder, its Skinner."
The Assistant Director opened the door without another warning. Mulder stared at the door and watched Skinner walk in. The letter was still in his hand.
"What is it?" Skinner nodded to Mulder's hand.
"I don't know." Mulder stuck a finger through a small opening and ripped the envelope open. He pulled out a square piece of paper and unfolded it.
"Scully …"
Mulder touched the image of Scully before him. She lay on the bed of white satin, eyes closed, sleeping. There was a cut on her forehead, dried blood splotched on the left side of her face. Unconscious. She was unconscious, Mulder concluded. Maybe drugged.
Skinner was caught by surprised with Mulder's behavior; he had suddenly shut out the world. Skinner walked towards the agent and peered over his shoulder.
"God …"
There was tension in the room. Though neither man detested the other, Skinner knew that Mulder would rather be alone. He almost forgot why he had come to the basement office in the first place. Skinner cleared his throat.
"The lab results came in from the paint samples."
"Already?" Mulder pulled his eyes away form the photograph and noticed for the first time the file in Skinner's hand.
"We told the lab guys that it was high priority." He handed Mulder the file.
"And …" Mulder plopped the file on his desk. He'd rather hear the news from Skinner.
"The paint is from a local car shop. Wilshire's Auto. Thirty-five jobs since the owner, Freddy Wilshire, developed the color in 1998."
"Not a very popular color I take it."
"No it's not. But there's more."
Mulder waited.
"Seven days ago, one Drake Aquinas reported stolen car. 1983 Mercury Cougar. Olive green paint"
"That's one ugly car."
Skinner nodded in agreement.
"I put an APB out. We'll find her." Skinner stared Mulder in the eyes and sensed his grief. His face told a different story but Skinner knew better. "You better take care of yourself Mulder. Scully won't go easy on you if she saw you in this state."
The elder man left the office, closing the door behind him. Mulder waited until he could no longer hear footsteps.
He stood up suddenly, sending his chair flying backwards, crashing into the wall. Mulder let out a scream, a yell – frustration, anger, loss. His arms, in one powerful motion, swept everything off his desk, causing papers to fly and land on the floor. He formed a fist with his fingers and pounded the unsuspecting desk. Another cry. Mulder flipped the desk over, kicking at its legs.
He collapsed to the floor, arms cradling his head. Tears flowed out of his eyes and he curled into a ball. Scully's picture lay only inches away. He swore he could hear her cry for him.