CHAPTER 5

Salem Hospital
1:24 PST

"I'm looking for Dana Scully," Mulder panted, leaning on the information counter in Salem Hospital, hoping his rugged good looks would speed up the process of locating which room Scully was in. He flashed a smile at the young brunette nurse, who blushed a bit, quickly typing on the computer in front of her.

"Name?" she asked, her eyes glancing up at Mulder.

"Fox Mulder," he replied charmingly.

After a few keystrokes, the nurse handed him a visitor's pass that printed from the machine beside her. "She's in 4 North, Room 13," she replied, interrupting the unconscious drumming of Mulder's fingers. With another quick and grateful smile, he tore off toward the elevator, an abused and weathered bunch of flowers clutched in his hand.

He could barely stand the wait as the elevator climbed the floors. He knew the odds were great that he was making other people curious - possibly even nervous - at his impatience. As if to apologize, he gave yet another smile to the crowd behind him as he burst through the open elevator doors.

Mulder's gaze drifted up, checking the tags at the entries of the rooms for number 13. What a number … he thought to himself, wondering if Scully had picked up on the detail as soon as he did, or even cared.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard her melodic voice, albeit a bit agitated - from a nearby room, which was, in fact, Room 13. Knocking on the room's door gently without being heard by Scully, Mulder stepped inside, flowers in hand, his eyes wide at her in her hospital gown, protesting with another doctor. "Really, Michael," she pleaded, "I'm fine."

"Dana, I just want to conduct the MRI to be thorough," the doctor named Michael replied, holding a chart in front of him. "You know you would do it too if you were me."

"Yes," Scully started, "but-"

"Hey there," Mulder said, catching Scully's attention. He made his way toward her, giving her the dilapidated bouquet. She sighed, smiling at him as she took it.

"Mulder …" she started, her voice conveying that she knew the flowers were a symbol of peace.

Michael smiled gratefully at Mulder for coming to his rescue. "I'll be back after you go down for your MRI to give you the results," he said, ducking out of the room and shutting the door behind himself.

"MRI? What happened, Scully?" Mulder's voice, though soft, filled the private hospital room, only challenged by the beeping of the blood pressure monitor Scully was hooked up to.

"Nothing!" Scully said impatiently. "I really don't even know why they called you."

"The intern said you fell," Mulder explained, knowing Scully was holding back as she usually did. "That you had what resembled a seizure."

"I didn't have a seizure. Mulder," Scully was clearly annoyed at the attention she was receiving, "I'm fine."

"Then why the MRI?" Mulder challenged, sitting on the edge of her hospital bed next to her, taking her hands in his.

"Because Michael-Doctor Ramirez-thinks it's necessary."

"Do you?"

"No! I'm fine!"

Mulder tilted Scully's head up with a finger to her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "What happened?" he asked gently, tenderly holding her face. "You look like you've been crying."

Unable to contain the surge of emotions any longer, Scully clicked her tongue in defeat, sighing as she tried to look away from Mulder while he held her face, her eyes brimming with tears. "Mulder," she breathed, a tear escaping her right eye, splashing onto his hand that cupped her cheek, "I think I heard William."

This wasn't the answer he was expecting; he wasn't prepared for this. "Heard him?" Mulder asked, puzzled at her choice of words.

She nodded into his hand. "Like, he spoke to me. Directly." Scully watched Mulder's brows furrow in thought or possibly confusion, and she chided herself for admitting what she felt happened. "I know it's not possible, but it really felt like it. And I-I didn't … couldn't … couldn't breathe."

Mulder's lips tightened, still staring into Scully's eyes. "What if it was possible?" he murmured, his thoughts running wild in his head. "What if he was speaking to you?"

"Mulder," Scully shook her head, "he can't. Not after what Jeffrey Spender did." He nodded slightly, recalling the story of how William was injected with magnetite as a baby during his absence. "Besides," she continued, "the voice I heard belonged to a man. Not a child. William would be ten. This … this was a man's voice."

"What did he say?" Mulder asked softly.

"'...I will find you. I will find you both.'" Taking Mulder's hand that was on her face in her own hand, she sighed. "Mulder, I just think I'm … stressed or something. And maybe after hearing that guy's name in New Jersey, I'm just imagining things."

"What do you really think?" Mulder questioned, his voice serious and calm.

Another tear escaped Scully's eyes. "I just haven't been sleeping well," she said, downplaying her true feelings. "I think I'm just sleep deprived."

"You have been having nightmares a lot," Mulder commented, knowing Scully didn't realize he knew about the frequent times she would wake up in the middle of the night, softly crying. Her face changed as she understood he knew about her recurring dreams, though she never told them what they were about.

"Dammit, Mulder," Scully said in frustration, pushing his hands away.

"They're about William, aren't they?" he continued. She remained silent. "And in these dreams, is he a child or an adult?" Mulder waited patiently for her answer; the seconds ticked by slowly. Her facial expression was confirmation enough for him. "What does he look like?" he asked gently.

"He's so handsome," Scully said, proud of the son in her dreams. "So brave."

"Just like his mom," Mulder said with a smile. She smiled a bit, more tears running down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around Mulder.

"Oh my God, Mulder," she breathed into his chest; he felt her tears soak through his shirt, "what if …" She stopped herself, her small body shaking with sobs.

"What if it's him," Mulder whispered into her hair, his own emotions running wild.

"But-" Scully pulled away. "How? And how could he be speaking to me when he doesn't have those powers?"

"I don't know, Scully," Mulder replied, tucking her hair behind her ears. "But I want to show you something." He pulled his smart phone out of his pocket, scrolling through a news article until he found what he was looking for. "Scully," he said, holding the photo on the phone out of sight, "is this him?"

Scully gasped loudly when she saw the photo of William Van De Kamp from Hoboken, shaking her head in disbelief. She refused to look at anything to do with the case, since most of the information was online, and she was trying to prove a point to Mulder by refusing to succumb to any research on it. The story hadn't reached their area on television, though she knew (according to Mulder) that since the two officers were now accused of crossing state lines, the case was in federal jurisdiction and it would be soon receiving more national attention. Her reaction betrayed any secrets she wished to keep from Mulder. "Mulder …" she whispered, staring at the picture. "How is this possible?"

"I don't know, Scully," Mulder answered, looking down at the picture of their son. He held Scully close as she held the phone in her hands, cradling it as if it were the baby he once held so long ago. "But if he is talking to you, then he must have found out who he really is somehow."

"But, who? And what information was he given?"

Mulder shook his head. "I don't know, but we need to find him. If he's able to do the things he used to, he's in a lot of danger."

Morris, IL
2:19 AM CST

"Here," Will directed Cara. "This station is 24 hours."

Cara turned off the unlit country road she had been driving on toward the gas station Will gestured to on his right. As she stopped in front of the pump, she turned her engine off, resting her hands in her lap. Will shook his head, laughing at the patience she displayed, waiting what looked like for an attendant. "What?" she asked defensively.

"A 'Jersey Girl' through and through," he replied mockingly, buttoning up his coat. When she realized what he meant, she frowned.

"Hey, it's not my fault people in New Jersey don't pump gas."

"I'll get it," he said with a smile, opening the door and closing it quickly to avoid letting cold air in the car. She watched as his gloved hands opened the fuel door, then unscrewed the gas cap, installing the pump with ease.

Cara watched Will, stifling a yawn. She had to drive because Will's wallet, along with his driver's license, was back in University Medical in Hoboken. She didn't want to risk Will being pulled over by a police officer and have him be caught driving without a license. She figured they were in enough trouble already without the added burden of attracting local law enforcement at this point.

Her reverie was interrupted by a buzzing noise coming from her pocket. She fished out her iPhone, seeing a text message from Monica. She kept her phone in her lap, trying to shield it from Will, who was standing by the pump, feeding some cash into the machine to pay. She read the text to herself:

The sample came back as matching the vaccine that is used to make Super Soldiers.
Giving William it could kill him.

Cara furiously texted the number back, wondering just how in the world Monica and Doggett were able to get results that quickly.

What do I do? The man said he would die without it?

Cara waited for a moment, glancing out the passenger door mirror at Will, who now was talking to an attendant. She nearly jumped at the buzz of her incoming text.

Don't administer it.

Cara squeezed her eyes tightly, her stomach unsettled and her pulse quickening with worry. She sent one final text.

Are you sure?

Moments passed.

Yes.

She leaned her head back against the headrest, unable to calm her mind down with her new instructions. Something didn't seem right. She knew she could trust Monica and Doggett, yet still felt a hesitation at the sight of the text message.

She was startled from her thoughts by Will, who opened the passenger door of the car quickly, climbing in to get out of the cold. Cara quickly tucked her phone in her pocket, trying to avoid looking guilty. Will glanced down at her hands, sensing she was hiding something. "There's a Super 8 Motel a few miles from here," he said, still looking at her lap. "I say we turn in for the night."

Cara nodded. "Sure," she said nonchalantly. She met Will's eyes with her own, noticing that his pupils were constricted as he looked at her - which was unusual, given the dark atmosphere they were in. She felt Will's eyes trained on her as she started the engine of the car, driving away from the gas station as Will directed her.

In less than ten minutes time, they pulled up to a small Super 8 Motel, the sign out front reading "Vacancy", which was reassuring to them both. Each were exhausted, needing a period of rest before continuing their journey. Locking the doors behind them, Cara tucked her car keys away, shivering at the cold winter air that hit her face for the first time in several hours. The pair rushed toward the office door, Will holding it open for Cara as she quickly stepped in, her hands tucked deeply in her coat pockets.

Will rang the service bell, which he saw startled a rather heavy-set man with curly reddish hair in the back room. The man scratched at his head, adjusting his pants and came to the desk. "One, right?" he asked, his eyes fixed on Cara; he smiled at his insinuation.

"No," Will said, his voice firm and anger evident. "Two."

"Oh, sure," the man said, his smile widening at Cara. He tossed Will's key in front of him, but gingerly gave Cara hers. "Rooms 68 and 70. That'll be ninety-five," he directed at Will gruffly.

Will peeled five twenty-dollar bills off the wad of cash he had in his pocket, tossing them on the counter. "Keep it," he said darkly, ushering Cara away toward the door. He gripped their bags tightly, the fury inside of him seemingly uncontrollable. He knew Cara was a beautiful woman who easily attracted the opposite sex, so he shouldn't have been surprised at the attention a beautiful woman with long blonde hair like herself would receive at a seedy motel in the middle of the night. Yet, his blood boiled as he perceived the manager's intentions, both from the man's insinuations and from what was unspoken, yet heard clearly, to Will.

When they located Cara's room, number 70, Will brought her bag into it for her, setting it down on the bed. He frowned to himself, realizing the creepy manager knew where she was staying, alone. "Dammit," he grumbled. "I need to get a phone." His cell was with his wallet, long gone at the hospital.

"We will need to get food anyway," Cara added. "I'll go in the morning before we head out and get you a prepaid one."

Will nodded. "I'll come with you."

Cara shook her head. "No, you won't. Bad enough you were talking to the attendant tonight. You should be laying low. My face isn't plastered everywhere, yours is."

"Your name is out there."

"So I pay in cash." Cara eyed Will. "Will, I'll be fine."

"I hate that-" Will stopped himself, swallowing hard and turning away. "I hate that you're carrying this burden."

"I chose it," Cara said softly, reaching for Will's hand. "I'm a police officer, Will. Not the girl you protected in the academy."

"Trust me, I know you're not that girl anymore," Will murmured, his voice soft yet strong. Cara felt a swarm of proverbial butterflies take flight in her stomach as she met Will's intense gaze. The skin of his hand was rough and masculine, yet incredibly warm, the heat of it radiating through her.

Cara licked her lips unconsciously, to which Will sharply inhaled. "It's late," Cara said, barely above a whisper.

Will nodded, slowly releasing her hand. "What time will you head out?"

"Around nine. I want to be back on the road for ten."

Will nodded again. "Okay," he said softly. "I'll see you then."

As she watched him leave, Cara pondered the rush of emotions that flooded her at just the sight of him. She knew intense circumstances could foster closeness, that studies showed that the opposite sex were more likely to attract to each other under dire situations. She silently feared he was completely void of feeling anything, and that what she felt in that moment was anything but circumstantial.