Author's note:
Took me like forever to get this chapter out - life actually got in the way and I had a lot to write this time. Possibly this is the longest chapter I have ever written.
Thanks again for the kind feedback - it really gets me going :-)
"Closet of Eternal Sorrow", part three
The humming of the water was lulling her into a semi trance state as it enveloped her. She felt it visiting every crevice in her body, digging its way into very intimate spots where nobody else was able to reach. It offered freedom for both body and soul, and with this freedom she felt herself slowly slipping into a day dream as the soothing effect of the shower relaxed her.
Her gaze was directed at her feet. She watched as the water flowed along her legs and down into the drain, almost hypnotized by it. The usually translucent liquid had a pink tint to it as it met the white porcelain; the color of water mixed with blood. The pink hue slowly dissipated as more water rushed along her skin, taking with it the unholy feelings of repulsion people got from dirt and death and sickness. It was as if she were being baptized again.
Each time she showered after surgery it felt like this. The removal of illness and disease, the cleansing of sweat and the smell of fear, hers and the patient's; she never considered it a luxury. It was what made it possible for her to move on, to see another patient, to go home and to leave work behind her. On days when time was short and a shower was not possible, she could feel as if she was carrying a burden with her, carrying a disease around as she moved from one patient to the next. As if she was contaminated and was spreading the plague.
Her thoughts wandered further back to the day before. She blinked as she recalled herself waking up with a start and finding a set of hazel eyes staring right into hers. There was definite worry in that stare of his. It was something she hadn't seen in his eyes for quite a while and as she recalled his look, she felt herself wince inwardly. She wanted to hold on to that warm stare, to that softness in the corner of his eyes. She couldn't believe how desperately she wanted his former self back in her life.
The moment was short lived. As soon as he registered that he was caught in the act, the look of deep concern evaporated from his eyes and with a slight groan he turned over and all she was left to stare at was his broad back. On the outside she kept to her cold controlled stance but inside she could feel something break. Damn you Mulder!
At that very moment she realized he was in there; that person she came to know and love. He was there and he was purposely causing her pain by ignoring her. She wanted to hate him for the way he was treating her, but she knew he wasn't to blame. She would have blamed it on herself but she only did what she had to do because she loved him, and she had to protect him because of what was done to him, not by her, but by people who didn't give a shit about anybody else but themselves.
She turned around under the covers and tried to fall asleep, but sleep eluded her. Instead, a locomotive of thoughts barged into her mind as she realized why she had woken up in the first place and why Mulder was staring so intently at her.
She shivered as the memory came back to her. First she recalled the stare of huge doll's eyes. It was one of the 'Brylee dolls' Miranda had made for her; only that this particular doll was alive and it wasn't smiling. It had an evil sinister look to it. As she remembered more of her dream, she could feel her skin turning into goose bumps. She shook her head, as if trying to erase the all too vivid memory from her thoughts, but to no avail. Her subconscious was now fully aroused and it produced more segments of her nightmare.
The doll was talking to her but its voice was Miranda's. "You made a promise!" the doll said as it grew taller and ominously towered over her. "You lied." The doll was now stretching its huge arms and reaching for her. "Liars have to pay for their lies." Scully just stood there as if she was rooted to the ground, or worse, as if she accepted her fate. Yes, she was surrendering as if she truly deserved to be punished. She tilted her head backwards and exposed her neck. The doll grabbed her with eyes filled with hate and greed. Scully felt herself being shaken by its strong hands, and slowly she could feel her lungs being deprived of oxygen. As she began to lose consciousness, she suddenly found her will to fight. Her arms flailed as she tried to break the doll's deathly clutch. She was losing the battle. She was going to die.
She woke up, her pulse racing, just as it did now as she recalled her dream. The feeling of dread was so powerful even several hours later. She realized that she must have thrashed and cried out while in the nightmare's grip and Mulder must have woken up and witnessed the one time she couldn't keep her control. Fuck!
There was a knock on the door. It shook her out of her reverie and sent her right back into reality. "Yes?" she called out.
"Dr. Scully, you are needed in the ward. There's a new patient waiting to be seen." It was Neela, her favorite scrub nurse.
"Thanks," she said as she turned off the water. She was grateful for the timed intervention. Another minute of dwelling on that dream and on Mulder's reaction and she would have succumbed to her need to relieve herself of her guilty pangs. She knew there was no time for this, and that it would be better for her to get on with the program than to continue thinking about issues she couldn't control like Miranda's backlash and her own nightmares.
She stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and hopped over to the bench where a fresh pair of scrubs was waiting along with her toiletries. As if on auto pilot, she absent-mindedly donned on the scrubs, and then she approached the tiny mirror above the sink. It was layered with condensation. She grabbed the corner of her towel and wiped the mirror and then peered at her reflection in the cleared section she had created. The mirror was still moist and her face was somewhat crooked as a result but despite this, she couldn't ignore the gaping black patches that had formed under her eyes. Crap! She had no time for makeup and this meant people would be bugging her all day, wondering how come the usually very crisp looking Dana Scully looked like a mutt dragged out from the sewer.
Maybe she could just put on a basic coat of makeup, she thought and reached for her toiletry bag, but another knock on the door stopped her mid-grab.
"Dr. Scully? Are you coming? They keep calling and asking when you will be down there."
Fuck! There was no time to become presentable. She hurriedly braided her hair to get at least something in order, and then exited the shower and headed for her locker. The OR lockers weren't locked. Their sole purpose was storing doctors' lab coats and a few snacks should a surgeon wish to have a tiny nibble in between during long hour surgeries. Scully approached hers, pushed its door aside and was surprised to find it empty. Her lab coat was missing along with her stethoscope and name tag. She was confused. Could she have used another locker?
With a mild frenzy she began a search through all the adjacent lockers, and as she went through each and every one of them and her search turned barren, she felt a slight anxiety wave rushing through her. She pulled another locker door open and another, she grabbed lab coats and examined them frantically. None were hers. She was certain she had arrived at the OR with her lab coat on, but maybe she hadn't? No, she had no doubt. She recalled leaving her lab coat because as she was trying to hang it, it refused to stay on the crooked hanger she had, and she went to get a different one. Dammit! Somebody must have taken it by mistake.
"Neela!" she hollered.
"Yeah?" the scrub nurse came rushing in.
"I'm sorry," Scully said, feeling she should control herself, "but did you happen to notice anybody by my locker?"
The nurse had a baffled expression on her face as a response to Scully's query.
"My lab coat is missing from my locker," she clarified.
"My apologies. It's been crazy here. I really have no idea."
"It's OK." Scully sighed, then as an afterthought she added, "Could you do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Could you call Peds Oncology and let them know I'll be delayed? I've got to get a temp name tag from security."
"No problem."
Requiring order in her life meant that when it was missing, she would feel stressed and insecure and the missing tag and lab coat supplied her with ample reason for these sensations.
It was bad enough that yesterday night's nightmare made her lose sleep and that due to lack of time she was unable to conceal the darkness surrounding her eyes and that her hair appeared disorderly and somewhat frazzled as strands refused to remain within the hurried braid she'd collected it in; without her name tag and white coat, she felt like a slug missing its shell. She felt like an imposter. All she had on were plain scrubs and a temporary name tag and none had her name. She could tell this new patient's family anything and it would be up to them to decide if she was truly a doctor, or at least if she was the doctor she claimed to be. It was a silly notion, she knew it. She wondered what Mulder would say if she told him how she felt right now. The old Mulder would have laughed and found a comment to lighten up her mood and make her see how foolish she was, but the old Mulder was gone and this current one was in fact aiding in her nervous wreck act, like an accessory to crime.
As time was against her, she found herself rushing through the hallways and taking the stairs instead of the elevator. At least 'Our Lady' wasn't the largest of medical facilities and for that she was thankful.
Now approaching her ward, she had to restore her breathing so she would appear calm and relaxed. There was a restroom just before the ward entrance. She hopped inside and looked at herself in the mirror. She could see the quick rise and fall of her chest as she was trying to catch her breath. She forced herself to slow her breathing down and once she'd disciplined it she freed her hair from the unruly braid and re-braided it. She still appeared flushed from the race through the hallways but this was something she couldn't fix. Take a deep breath, she ordered herself. She inhaled, then slowly exhaled. OK, this was as good as she could get it.
She was out of the restroom and moving to the ward entrance. She waved her temporary tag at the card reader and was grateful that it chose to accept it and allow her in. She hurried to the nurse's station feeling awful about having to make a patient and his family wait. This wasn't the best way to start what she knew would probably turn into a long term relationship. She hoped she could fix this first impression with her medical abilities, but when she grabbed the new child's chart and skimmed through the first few paragraphs, her heart skipped a beat. This was another neuroblastoma case. She felt anxiety wallow up. No. She couldn't let the outcome of one case affect her treatment of another. This was not like her. She was always able to step away from a case and move on to the other. She never let things reach such a personal level.
She let out a sigh. Somehow she had let Miranda get under her skin. Maybe it wasn't she who got personal, but it was Miranda's knack to force herself onto people that broke her usual mantra and got her relationship with that mother and child into a different plane. She didn't know exactly how and why, but she realized that a line had been crossed with Brylee's case and now everybody was paying a price.
Well, she couldn't change things for Brylee anymore, but she was resolved to keep her guard this time and her distance. She won't repeat this mistake again. She would be professional but not personal.
"What's the room number for Ethan Wallace?" she asked the nurse who was minding the station.
The nurse stared at the monitor in front of her, clicked the mouse a couple of times then returned with an answer. "He's in room 201, Dr. Scully."
"Seriously?"
"Why? What's wrong with that room?"
Scully paused, trying to form a response that wouldn't give her away. "It's just that Brylee is in 202 and her having the same type of cancer…" she trailed off, hoping the nurse would catch on.
"Oh. I see your point," the nurse responded, an apologetic tone lacing her voice, "unfortunately the ward is fully booked. 201 was the only room available. I'm sorry."
Scully regretted heading in that line of conversation. It was pointless and served no good purpose. The real issue was about having to go past the dying child's room and having to possibly happen upon her mother who considered Scully persona non grata. "It's OK. Don't worry about it," she told the nurse and let her feet guide her towards the new sick child's room.
Despite logically knowing that she shouldn't, she found herself shooting a quick glance through Brylee's room window as she passed by it. Brylee had remained in the same position she was in yesterday. Unfortunately Scully didn't get a chance to take in Brylee's situation any further as her eyes quickly met Miranda's and her lancing glare filled with raging hatred forced Scully to quickly shift her gaze. She felt as if she were bitten by a snake. The drastic turn Miranda's disposition took, once she'd realized her child had lost her chance at life, was scary.
Scully kicked herself over her inability to keep her curiosity in check. She felt less assured about entering Ethan's room after seeing Brylee again and getting Miranda's lashing stare. Why did she not just walk by? She had to muster all her self-control in order to keep her insecurity at bay. The sight of Brylee and her mom prior to her meeting with this new family made her even more apprehensive.
Out of habit she tried to straighten out her lab coat collar and then she realized she wasn't wearing it. This didn't bode well. Her gut was telling her that she should back away from this case and hand it over to another physician but on what grounds? She had worked hard to earn the respect of her colleagues, especially after being away for so long, and if she would pass on a case claiming she had a bad feeling about it or even just saying that her previous such case result ended badly and thus she felt she couldn't handle another; all this won't go down well in the eyes of her peers and of course of the board members. No. She had to suck it up and cope.
Having arrived at a resolution and having reached Ethan's room, Scully plastered her best professional expression to her face, took a deep breath and entered the room.
As she closed the door behind her, she quickly took in the situation, something that remained from her work as an FBI agent. She took note of all the details, significant to minuscule ones. She never knew when a minor item would turn out to be a major issue.
In the focal point, on the hospital bed lay a scrawny boy whom Scully knew was supposed to be five years of age, but he seemed younger. He had ash brown hair that fell past his ear length and his bangs were long enough to get in his eyes' way, but they were combed to his right side. The child was extremely pale and in obvious discomfort. His face was a testament of pain and unhappiness and this made Scully's stomach churn.
Ethan's parents were both sitting on the left side of his bed. They were holding hands, and Scully realized she had obviously broken into a deep conversation they were having. Ethan's mom's eyes were moist and her face flushed. Scully assumed they were probably not talking directly about Ethan in front of the child but obviously it was related in some way. They seemed tight to Scully and that was a good thing for a child requiring every possible support to cope with the demanding and excruciating treatment regime. At least one thing was in this kid's favor.
As Scully approached them, both parents got up from their chairs and gave her anxious and hope-filled eyes. Scully forced herself not to turn around and run out of the room. This was the same look Miranda had on her face over a year ago. That look parents of sick kids gave her when they believed she was their child's soul savior. Up until yesterday she felt that she was indeed their last resort. She didn't believe it to be hubris. She truly felt that these children were sent to her care when it was concluded that nothing else could be done. She tried everything in her power, including brand new experimental procedures and treatments. She had some surprising success in prolonging the lives of some of the children she treated and this was why she felt she was giving people hope. She had long made up her mind that if a treatment existed, she would use it if there weren't any better options. She was living testament for a miracle cure herself. She had somebody not give up on her and she didn't want to give up on these children. She also knew that having to give up on William made her even more tenacious.
But now she felt like a fraud. She didn't want those parents to look at her like a savior anymore. She was just a doctor trying her best and she had the right to fail. If they looked at her like she was the embodiment of hope on Earth, she felt as if they forbade her that right to be human and to err.
Still, no amount of wishing in her mind changed the Wallaces' expression and Scully had to just push through and ignore her personal hopes in order to indulge theirs.
"Hi, my name is Dr. Dana Scully and I will be treating Ethan."
It was the father who took the lead in the conversation, as was common in most such situations, Scully noted. "I'm John and this is my wife, Lilian," John Wallace gestured with his head and squeezed his wife's hand ever so lightly.
Scully offered them a weak smile, which she knew sent both a message of warmth and sympathy at the same time. "This must be Ethan," she directed her gaze at the child who was now huddled deeply within the covers. As she mentioned his name the child turned to face the other side and then curled into a ball, stating quite clearly that this was the last place he would like to be at that very moment. Scully could not help but feel deep empathy for the miserable boy. He must be scared out of his wits. A strange place with strange people, combined with the fact that he wasn't feeling well and had already undergone plenty of procedures prior to his arrival at 'Our Lady'. Obviously the boy understood that this place didn't mean anything good as far as he was concerned. There wasn't much she could say to make him feel better. She knew as much. As an adult who had gone through cancer treatment she understood him all too well. She, at least, understood why she had to go through treatment, but even so, she was terrified and scared. It made one feel so small and insignificant. This young boy didn't understand why everything was happening to him. It was just unfair in his eyes.
Scully looked back at the parents. "I think that first thing we should get Ethan more comfortable so I'll prescribe him something for the pain. Do you think he will be OK on his own for a couple of minutes? I would like to talk to you in the hall if that's OK."
Lilian seemed unsure, it was very clear from the distressed expression she now assumed as a response to Scully's request. Scully understood her reluctance to leave her child on his own in his current condition and especially on his first day of admittance. "You know what? I'll get a nurse to stay with him while we talk, will that be OK?"
"Yes," Lillian Wallace spoke for the first time. Scully could hear the cracking of her voice and knew the mother was on the verge of tears. She wanted to grab her hand and comfort her. It's something she usually did, but she held herself. Keeping her distance was of the essence. It will help this family if things went bad. She also had to admit it would help her too.
"OK, I'll be right back," she told them and headed out to summon the nurse.
The corridors of "Our Lady" had always had subdued illumination, a combination of an old building and using the low key lighting as a means to make the corridors less inviting so people wouldn't gather and disturb the peace. In newer modern hospitals this measurement had long been abandoned, but this catholic hospital had been around for a very long time and kept many of its old traditions. Scully didn't mind it so much so long as the hospital provided top notch technology where treatment was concerned. Now she sat in the dim lit corridor with John and Lillian Wallace just outside Ethan's room about to get down to business.
When she was returning with the nurse, she contemplated bringing the parents something to drink, to help ease them into the uneasy conversation about to take place; then she decided against it, fearing it would send them into a more personal level of conversation. She so wished she had those drinks once she had sat down with the worried couple. There was high tension in the air and it was hard to break.
She took in a deep breath and began talking. "So… Ethan was diagnosed with neuroblastoma… how long ago?"
"We got the final biopsy results about a week ago. We began searching for the right facility the moment we knew for sure," John Wallace explained.
"How long had he been symptomatic?" Scully queried.
This time Lillian responded. "We began noticing a change maybe three months ago. He kept getting sick and he was never a sick child, so it seemed strange to us. He became very weak and tired and he lost his appetite and was losing weight. We were seeing our GP on a weekly basis, and sometimes even more than that. He was as puzzled as we were. He treated his symptoms and told us that maybe one of the illnesses he caught had lowered his immune system and that made him very susceptible to other diseases. It was only when the pain in his leg began that he became highly concerned and Ethan was sent to our local medical facility for further testing. That's when they found the mass in his leg. Then he had a biopsy and the rest you know."
Scully listened intently. The presentation was still partial. She needed more to decide on a course of treatment. "OK. I know this is going to be hard on Ethan, but before we even begin treating him, I will need to run some more tests. He will need a thorough scan to search for metastases and more blood and urine tests. Depending on the results, I might require additional tests." She could see Lillian Wallace pale as she spoke. "Mrs. Wallace, I know this is hard. I will not sugar coat this, Ethan's condition is quite serious. It's these tests that will tell us just how serious it is. It's better to know than to find out the hard way, don't you think?"
The distraught mother burst into tears, unable to control herself any further. John Wallace wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder and pulled her towards him. Lillian Wallace burrowed her head into her husband's shoulder and wept. Scully resisted the urge to stretch her hand and lay it on the mother's lap. She wanted to show that she cared somehow, but she held herself back. Not this time. You will not fall for this.
"Do you have a Kleenex or something?" John Wallace asked, barely uttering the question as he, too, choked on tears.
"Sure," Scully got up to get them a pack of tissue. She hurried down the hall and grabbed the first pack she found on the nearest trolley.
As she rushed back to where she had left Ethan's parents, she caught sight of a familiar form talking to them and as her steps brought her nearer to said form, she could recognize the person's voice.
"—wouldn't trust her. She's a liar."
Scully hastened her stride. She had to prevent Miranda from causing any further damage both to her reputation and to Ethan's chance of surviving his cancer. She gave up on her need for professionalism and self-control. The matter at stake was far greater than the importance of her appearance. It only took seconds to reach the spot where she had left the Wallaces at, but it felt like a Million years and she had no idea how long Miranda had been bad-mouthing her. She hoped that John and Lillian were sensible people and once she'd talked to them, they will understand the circumstances that brought on Miranda's behavior.
"Miranda, what are you doing?" she panted hard as she spoke.
Without turning to face her, Miranda hissed, "just making sure people know with whom they are dealing."
Scully gave John and Lillian a quick glance and she could see from the deep anguish in their eyes that Miranda's words were taking their effect. Fuck! She now had to deal with damage control and the situation was so delicate, it felt like defusing a bomb, only that there was more than one bomb to handle; she couldn't just yell at Miranda or try to push off the blame. Miranda Sanders wasn't just some person making false claims. She was a grieving mother, and her conduct stemmed from her current situation. To add to all of that, raising her voice at another parent would also give the wrong impression to Ethan's parents who didn't even know her. She still had to earn their trust and respect. She had to find some middle ground by which she could get Miranda away from the Wallaces without making a scene. Now, if only such an option existed.
"Miranda, you're upset—" Scully said as she rested her hand on Miranda's shoulder. To her total surprise, Miranda turned around to face her so abruptly, it made Scully's hand fly right off of the mother's shoulder with great force as if she were a puppet with no control over her limbs. She gasped with shock.
"Don't you dare touch me!" Miranda almost snarled at her. There was something very primal about her behavior, it was ghastly. "You do not have the right to touch me, bitch!"
Scully backed off. "OK. I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
This wasn't heading in a good direction. "Miranda, please," Scully begged.
But Miranda persisted. "You are unreliable Dr. Scully, and I will make sure everybody knows. Mind my words." With that she turned around and went back into her daughter's room leaving Scully to pick up the pieces.
Scully became aware of how rapid her pulse felt. She could sense a headache on the verge of eruption. She massaged her temples and tried to calm down but she had to quickly address the questions she could see forming on the Wallaces' faces. Oh God, Miranda, what have you done?
"Look, it's not what you think," Dammit. This sounded so lame. She knew how she would react to her attempts to defend herself. "Her daughter is in a very bad state and she is very upset. I'm so sorry about this."
Lillian Wallace got up from her chair and stared directly into Scully's eyes. "What does her daughter have?
Scully wanted to avert her eyes, but she knew this sent a message of guilt so she held on to Lillian's gaze, but she couldn't stop kneading her palms together. Her level of stress had become so extreme; she was amazed she was still holding on. "I'm sorry. This is confidential information."
"She had neuroblastoma, too, right?"
Still holding Lillian's gaze, Scully chose to keep silent, but she knew this served as confirmation for the bewildered mother who now moved away from her and slumped back into the corridor chair. "Maybe we should just take Ethan home."
Scully gave up on the formalities. "Lillian, listen to me, we haven't even found out the extent of Ethan's disease. Let's just take it one step at a time. I promise you that if there is nothing to be done, I won't make you stay here under false pretenses."
Lillian Wallace seemed defeated. Scully tried to make her see her side of things, but she refused to even look at her, as if afraid that Scully might convince her if she did. Scully felt hope slipping through her hands. To her utter surprise, she was rescued by no other than Lillian's husband.
"Honey," he spoke to his wife softly as he stroked her platinum blond hair, "why don't we just have her do the tests. We don't even know what's really going on with Ethan. I know that if I let him die and there was still hope for him, I would never forgive myself. I think you feel the same, don't you?"
"I don't know… John, you heard that other woman…" Lillian's voice trembled.
"Darling, her child is dying. She needs to blame somebody. It's obvious she would choose to pick on her doctor. I wouldn't make much of this and you shouldn't either."
Scully couldn't believe her ears. John Wallace seemed to be the voice of reason. She gave the father a grateful look. He nodded which made Scully feel more assured.
"Lillian?" Scully wanted to make sure the mother was on board. "Do you agree? Can I proceed with preliminary tests?"
There was a long pause and Scully felt she would not be able to hold on to her breath any longer, but eventually Lillian nodded assent. Scully responded alike, then turned around and exhaled. She tried her hardest to slow down her pace despite her dire need to run away as fast as possible. As she turned around the corner and she knew she was out of the Wallaces' line of sight, she quickened her step. Now her fight or flight instinct took over as she headed for the relative safety of her office.
Scully arrived at her office eagerly, but as she was about to fidget through her pockets for her keys she realized that they were in the missing lab coat. Frustration ebbing heavily, she slammed her hand on her office door and cursed. "Shit!" What a lousy day she was having. She ran her hand through her hair and tried to figure out her next move. She had to gain access to her office. Her handbag with her car keys and purse were inside. She still had her cell as she took it with her into the OR and kept it beside her during the shower she took earlier. She had to call maintenance. She so didn't want to deal with any handyman at that moment, but she didn't have much choice.
She also needed to replace the lock if her lab coat wasn't found. Another matter she had no time for.
She peered through her office's glass wall. At first glance it seemed like nothing had been changed, but then something caught her eye. The dolls, they had been rearranged. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the new arrangement, but she knew it was different. Now she had shivers running down her spine. What the hell was going on?
It was obvious that whoever had taken her coat did so intentionally but for what purpose?
Scully stared at the rearranged dolls again. She felt tired, drained and miserable and it seemed as if the smiling dolls were now sneering at her, almost taunting her. If she could have reached them, she had a strong feeling she would have tossed them all out, there and then.
She sighed and drew her phone from her scrubs' pocket. She checked the time. Her shift was over. Thank god for small miracles. She called information and had her call diverted to the maintenance department. They promised somebody would be available within thirty minutes. She was forced to wait at her office waiting area like a common guest until help arrived. As nobody was around, she lay back and slowly dosed off.
She felt a sharp stabbing pain in her right thigh. She let out a cry as another jab hit her left thigh. She tried to kick her attackers but she couldn't move her legs. She looked down and realized that her attackers were two young children, a boy and a girl. The girl was Brylee Sanders only that it was Brylee from the time before her treatment; her head still covered with beautiful long blond hair. The boy was Ethan Wallace. Each child held a scalpel and they were taking turns poking at her legs.
"Stop!" she yelled at them. The children looked up at her, their faces devoid of expression; then they looked at each other, smiled, and resumed sticking her legs. Scully screamed. She tried in vain to move her legs, but she now realized she was shackled to the ground. She screamed again. Nobody came. The children were relentless. They kept shoving the surgical instrument into her flesh as if it were just a funny game for them. Through her tears, Scully could see as a puddle of blood was forming beneath her. She prayed that she would lose consciousness. She wanted to die so the agony would end.
"Hey! Ms.! Doctor! HEY!"
Scully opened her eyes and bolted upright. Her breathing was heavy and she could feel trickles of sweat trailing down her back. She didn't understand where she was. She glanced at her legs, expecting to see deep cuts and blood pooling from under her, but there was nothing out of the ordinary and the blue color of her scrubs finally made her realize she was still in the hospital.
"Ms.? You OK?"
Scully's gaze darted in the direction of the voice. "Who are you?" she asked the unfamiliar man who was wearing a gray jumpsuit.
"I'm from maintenance," the man explained.
Scully still couldn't fathom what this maintenance guy wanted from her, and she gave him a quizzical eye.
The man began to lose his patience with her. "Listen, lady, didn't you call for maintenance?"
Her mind still felt foggy and she was trying to get a grip back on reality. Then her memory kicked in. "Oh! Right!" she shook her head as she realized how ridiculous she must seem. "I'm so sorry. It's been a long day and I must've dosed off."
"Yeah. You must have had a very bad dream, lady. You were screaming so loud, I thought you'd hurt yourself."
Crap! She smiled awkwardly. "Yeah. I guess." she said and hoped that he would keep his mouth shut about what he'd seen and heard.
"So, what exactly did you need me for?" the handyman asked.
Scully was happy that he didn't dwell on her nightmare any further, and she directed him to her office door and proceeded with asking him to change the lock. He seemed happy enough to handle matters he was more accustomed to, and within twenty minutes, Scully was finally sitting at her desk. She hurriedly began rummaging through her drawers. Her handbag was still there and so were her car keys and purse, including its contents. Most of the cupboards were locked and it seemed that their key wasn't removed from its hiding place, but she still began a frenzied search through every piece of furniture until she was satisfied. Aside from the dolls, everything else had remained undisturbed.
She debated calling security. No major damage was done. It might just be a sick prank. She decided to let it go for now.
She sighed. It was time to go home. She'd had enough of the hospital for today. In fact, at that very moment she felt she'd had enough for a much longer period. She rubbed her eyes, grabbed her handbag and without changing into 'civilian' clothes, got out of her office, locked it up and headed home.