When I was nine, I remember standing on the edge of the dock watching my father's ship crawl slowly into the horizon. I felt lost, stationary, tethered to the warped and bending planks as the salty sea sloshed against them. My mother's hand lay on my shoulder firmly, but so tight as to where my tiny shoulder blade could not wriggle out from her grip as her tears splattered into the ocean.
Bodies created a mass on the platform, other hearts aching in sizzling in agony knowing that, like me, they would not be seeing their loved ones for some time. I hated lack of definition, absence of time. I hated that my father had left me here, alone. Legs took bodies here and there, chatter amongst other navy wives and children only monotones in my ears, my fist clenched into heavy balls.
I saw a path, an opening…and the shimmering ghost of my father's ship on the water. My feet scuffed the boards as I back peddled and breathed in the sharp air. With all the speed I could conjure into my feet, I knocked and shoved my way behind backs toward the spot in my eyes. My toes lifted me off the ground with each hurried step I took, bringing me closer to the sea, to the edge, to my father.
Absently, I heard my mother cry out my name. Not now mother, I thought. I am a squawking sea gull following my prize into the yonder. When I hit the end of the dock, I flung myself into the air with all of my force and motion. My absent time hit me again, suspended me as my body lurched inch by inch farther into the sea.
My fists were no longer balls, instead extended in great satisfaction as the wind whipped through my fingers. I clawed the smell, the breeze, commanding it into my substance and being. Then, I hit. Cold liquid splashed into my throat and nose, burning it. I didn't fight it. I was drowning and I knew it, but I felt oddly alive.
I had dressed up especially to see my father off. We had talked about it all week, my mother and I. Melissa seemed less affected by the announcement of my father's impending absence. I was crushed. I dreaded this morning, knowing that my mother would pull me from my slumber with requests to adorn my new dress picked out freshly for the occasion.
So much for occasion, I thought idly as I sank. I had felt the dress snag on a corner post as I had leapt, knowing surely that the damage would incite a fit of rage from my mother. Special occasions do not tear apart Dana.
I don't remember much after, feeling as if I had failed my father in my inability to reach him. My last coherent thought was of the gushing water into my body, the complacency to end it right there, the overwhelming desire to shut my eyes and fall asleep.
But I didn't, instead peering into the May sunshine some time later. I sputtered and coughed as I rolled onto my stomach. My hair looked like a wildfire in front of my eyes as I gazed wearily between the planks at the waves, my fingers releasing some of the trapped water from my skin. Scurry back to where you belong, I mused as I regained my breath. Because I have no idea where I fit in.
The same dream for a third time in five days. Standing in front of the bathroom sink, I rubbed my eyes that I knew were caked with sleep. Quietly, I snuck a glance back at Mulder through the cracked door. I had managed to leave our sanctuary without stirring him. The faucet spurted moisture into my hands and I splashed it against my lids. After drying my face, I stood face to face with my own visage.
The memory of the gas station bathroom hit me again. My heart twisted in its cavity and I sighed deeply. My hand came to touch the glass, trace a little bit of the person staring back.
"You are dead Dana," I mouthed.
Something bad was coming. I could feel it.
The next morning
It seemed she came with the snow, drifting in as the wind swirled the white delicacy about the Earth. There were no alternate roads to our home, the only one shut down from the winter weather. The world seemed to shake as her footsteps crunched in the drifts, punching holes in the ground and creating tremors in my ears.
I could only see her brown locks whipping madly about at first, nothing else discernable amidst the chaotic storm. When she knocked, I jumped despite watching her lurk forward in her trek across my front yard.
Reluctantly, I made my way to the door and opened. For a split second however, I thought about letting her freeze. The cold air chilled me immediately and I scowled. Quickly, her bluing fingers un-wrapped the scarf plastered to her face revealing intense blue eyes, bright red nose, and chattering teeth.
I did not invite her in, uncertain of her identity and reasons for standing on my doorstep. I suppose my gruff demeanor signaled my distrust and she noticed it in me. I watched as her hand snaked beneath her parka and withdrew an object.
My heart dropped as I watched her bring the object to my face. Time froze like the icicles on the eaves, my bones their immobile siblings. I could see her body heave out a tired sigh, the breath in her mouth creating a vapor cloud in the air.
Grasping reality back, I motioned inside finally. I cringed silently as I thought about how I was letting the outside world inside of my well crafted one so easily, especially when I had worked so hard to disengage from it.
"I'm sorry to come unannounced. I was told to find you," she said quietly, intensely.
"Who are you?" I spat out. My only thoughts were of the conspiracy, the danger, the enemies I had made in my old life. And Mulder's.
"I showed you my badge…" she trailed off, obviously not following me.
"I read it. Special Agent Lily Jackson. Why exactly is the FBI knocking on my door in the middle of a snow storm?"
"You think you can disappear off the face of the earth? While ignorance about your identity is abundant here, there will always be someone out there who remembers you."
"Cut the shit. Why are you here?"
"Skinner sent me. It concerns your son, "she stated matter of fact.
I could see my vocal and physical agitation fusing into her growing curt attitude. She was tired of my shortness with her. To be honest, so was I. Now, only ever pressing fear dwelled in me.
"What about him?"
"There's been an incident. I'm here because you and Mr. Mulder recently filed paperwork to request visitation between you and your son. I guess I am your early rejection letter," she said with a sad frown.
My concentration on the conversation was shattered as I heard the front door open and slam shut.
"Yo, homegirl! Where are you?" Mulder's voice sounded from the doorway.
Agent Jackson stood quickly with me as Mulder appeared in the hall. His smile faded as he saw the two of us in the den. Sauntering to my side, he gave my hand a quick squeeze and then crossed his arms over his chest.
"What's going on?" he questioned.
"Special Agent Jackson," I pointed. Jackson extended a hand. "She came in regards to a matter about William."
I watched as Mulder's face glazed over. Jackson's hand hung in the air unmet and she quickly retracted it, stuffing it into her pockets. I felt bad for her. We were less than welcoming to this figure that held information about our son. She couldn't have been more than thirty, my guess landing somewhere nearer twenty-five. Her body language was rigid, nervous-but her face showed empathy.
"What's it been Scully? Five, six years? And the FBI comes to sit on my couch after they were so ready to hang me," Mulder smiled sarcastically.
"Mulder," I tried to ease him audibly. I could feel the agitation radiate off his body.
"Guess this is a 'kill the messenger' type of thing," Jackson growled, wrapping her scarf tight around her neck. "Pardon me, but if it is all the same to the two of you, I'd just as soon leave than have my vocal chords ripped out of my throat."
She started toward the door but was stopped by Mulder's hand meeting with the door frame in front of her face. Her eyes looked wild, angry. I could see her jaw clench. I prayed inside of myself that Mulder wouldn't start something.
"The storm is pretty bad, it's almost dark, and you will freeze before you get back to your Jeep. You came here to tell us something," he told her.
"Yes. " She paused. I knew the look, the internal search to find the right words for strangers. "Two days ago, the Colorado police department came across a crime scene at the residence where your son was adopted."
I sucked in my breath and grabbed for Mulder. He snatched up my hand fiercely and held it to his chest. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his ribcage.
Jackson sighed, and then continued on. "His adoptive mother is dead. The adoptive father still missing…along with William."