Novels The Damascus Files In The Interest of Science Other Stories A Deafening Silence Finding Zuzu's Petals Into The Mystic Je T'aime Knockin' On Heaven's Door Knowing Korena, Korena Matthew 19:14 Nightwing Sweet Dreams Symbiosis A Texas History Lesson This Could Be Heaven,   or This Could Be Hell Timepieces Your Soul in My Heart Other Info About Kat Linkage Feedback   Finding Zuzu's Petals Select a chapter Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Text Only Part Two December 13, 1999 I fell back to sleep, not waking again 'til it was light out. Until that point, I hadn't realized that the basement had windows. The fact that the three small 1 by 3 openings were 12 feet up the front wall did make them lose their importance as escape routes. I noticed a small tumbler of water sitting against the wall near my feet, and struggled to grab it, grateful that I could finally quench my thirst. I drained the glass in two gulps, then immediately was hit with the knowledge it had been an eternity since I'd last emptied my bladder. I was glad my hands had been bound in front; it did make matters simpler, but I didn't wish to befoul my sleeping area any more than I already had. I set about choosing and using bathroom facilities. Simpler didn't make it an easy task. I was wearily doing my inching squirm back to the spot I'd designated as my "bed" when I heard the light tread that announced Anna was coming down the steps. My mood was darkly bitter by this time. I was angry, at myself for the most part, because I had so blindly stumbled into this. However, as unjust and cruel as it sounds, I did feel a certain amount of resentment toward Anna. Had her pleading phone calls not been so cryptic, so damn much like someone staging some sort of childish, practical joke, I might have come here better prepared. Had Anna chosen to play this a little less like "Twenty Questions" and a bit more like "Clue", she might have been rescued by that point. I certainly wouldn't have been on my belly, wiggling across a dirty basement floor, wearing slightly soggy pants. I was not, as I said, in the most reasonable, understanding frame of mind. "What are you doing?" Anna asked, scurrying over, a frown clouding her face at seeing my activity. "Fox, Larry can't see you moving around like this. I told him you're still knocked out. I was gonna say you knocked over that water. If he thinks you're awake he'll start in on you..." "I had to pee, Anna," I muttered, feeling entirely too much satisfaction over the shocked, somewhat embarrassed expression my reply brought. "Oh-h," the girl meekly whispered. "Oh-h-h, sorry." "Anna," I began, not quite finished venting my spleen. "You did bring me here to do something other than get captured so you'd have some company, didn't you? Do suppose you might be able to fill me in a bit more on our situation? That way, maybe I could help you come up with a plan to get out of here. This visit to Larry's basement is something I'll never forget, but there are a few more things I'd like to see while I'm in the area." She studied me, then apparently choosing to ignore my sarcasm, hurried over to begin our conference. "Fox, he's going out to get the next girl tonight, so he's sleeping now..." "What about your phone...?" I asked, calming a bit while she took a moment to help me roll over to a more comfortable position for our talk. Anna shook her head. "He ripped it out of the wall last night. He knew I'd found a way to call somebody." I accepted this news glumly then broached the subject of the freedom Jones allowed her. "Anna, can't you sneak away, maybe try to get help, now while he's asleep? Or, better yet, help me get free and we'll both try to get away?" I had an idea what her answer would be, but had decided a little urging might change her reply. Tears sprang to her wide blue eyes and she shook her head with a panicked intensity. "Fox, we can't take the chance he'd wake up and catch you. And I can't. I can't leave this place. I can't get away from him. I've tried. I..I, I can't" Her voice dissolved into tears and once again, she stumbled off, leaving me alone. Of course, I understood Anna's situation. Abuse victims seldom find the courage to leave without help. I knew that to the unaware, the act of breaking away seems so undeniably simple. That the abused person appears to willingly accept their prison, in fact to desire their tortured servitude, is inexplicable to the unknowing. The cycle breeds enabling, and breaking the chain of dependence is rarely easy. I knew Anna wasn't going to do it by herself. I realized I would most likely have to drag her through the door when we made our escape. By nightfall, I had almost succeeded in working the rope free that bound my wrists. Each sound, every creak from above made me cringe. I prayed that Anna's lies to our captor that I was incapacitated would buy me enough time. The girl didn't return to check on me. Larry apparently was getting a good, long nap in before his late-night abduction chores began. When I heard the door open and the unmistakable heavy clump of his boots hit the stairs, I groaned knowing my time had run out. Anna had been right in cautioning me to wait. I had a choice - lose a bit more skin and break my wrists totally free; then somehow untie my bound ankles before Jones made it downstairs so I could attack the mountain sized man before he knew what hit him. Or, feign unconsciousness and pray he didn't check my bonds. The overhead bulb flipped on, and I made the decision to pretend I was still out. My pleas for luck were silent, but heartfelt. They were heard. "Larry, it doesn't look like he's gonna wake up. Last time I was down here to check on him, he knocked over the glass of water you gave him. He was havin' some kind of fit. It doesn't look good, Larry. I think you hit him too hard. He's gonna die. I think what you did is gonna wind up killing him." Anna's soft, young voice was music to my ears. "You shut your mouth. I didn't kill nobody. You killed him. You're the one brought him here. Don't you be telling me I killed him." The grumbling reply was bitter with rage. I exhaled gratefully when the harsh complaint was immediately followed by the sound of three hundred odd pounds stomping away up the steps. I opened my eyes to spot Anna standing at the foot of the stairs. She seemed to hold her breath in anticipation, a sigh of relief at the loud noise, when the truck pealed off, was mute but obvious. I sat up, flashing a grin of thanks, revealing my surprise that my hands were free. I never found out if her strained, pallid faced grin came from her realization that we'd narrowly escaped discovery or at spotting the damage my labors had done to my wrists. "He didn't bother to lock up again," the girl admitted, avoiding meeting my eyes. "Well, good," I murmured, setting about undoing the ropes about my ankles, choosing to ignore all that Larry's trust in her implied. Within moments I was finished. The relief of finally being untrussed wasn't even overshadowed by the wave of dizziness that washed over me after my sudden change of position. Her small hand on my elbow was all I needed to get my bearings. I smiled, wanting to pull her in on the excitement I felt at our upcoming escape. But as we made our way to the stairs, her mood darkened. "You know how many times he's done this, Fox?" Anna whispered, her fingers tightening on my arm until I had to gently pull away because of the pain. "Look under the steps, that's where he puts the bodies." Her gaze had become dazed and glassy and I ushered her up to the house, wanting to get both of us away from this place that reeked of evil. She stumbled along beside me, compliantly following until we reached the front door. That's when she stopped dead in her tracks. "Fox, I can't go with you." Anna's eyes shone with a sad sureness that made my own eyes fill in sympathy. "I've tried, somehow I always wind up back here. I don't think I can leave." "You can make it with me," I announced, putting an arm around her thin shoulders, moving her through the entryway out into the icy, cold night air. "This time you'll make it, Anna." Together, we hurried down the long, dark driveway. I was soon numb from the cold, but the sight of the blacktop highway ahead, and headlights from passing cars, was silent testimony that our freedom was only a few steps away. This kept me urging us on. "I've never gotten this far, Fox," Anna whispered in surprise, a glimmer of hope rising up, making her voice shake with excitement. "We're gonna make it." I glanced down to see amazed wonder lighting up her pale, luminous face. The squeal of tires jerked my gaze away from that beautiful, gratifying expression. I was almost blinded by the headlights as Larry Jones' truck barreled down on us. I pulled my wits about me at the last moment to give Anna a quick, straight armed shove as I leapt aside. The ragged, half torn off bumper that fronted the bucket-of-bolts truck clipped my knee. I windmilled, tossed spread eagled through the air to land in a clump on the hard, frozen ground. I gasped to refill my lungs, all the while expecting to leave this world with the bright, flashing eyes of Larry's beater finishing off the job of making me road kill. I soon discovered that was a chore Jones preferred to do by hand. After Larry Jones finished with me, it was once more daylight before I was able to open my eyes. My line of sight was limited from the corner where I'd crawled, trying to avoid those monster sized clogs that had inflicted such damage. I didn't spot our new fellow prisoner until Anna filled me in on what had happened after I'd lost consciousness. I'd noticed that she had failed in her own escape the night before. Her screams had punctuated each blow Jones delivered to my body. "I'm sorry," Anna murmured again, noticing I was studying her with a bleary, one-eyed gaze. "S'okay," I croaked, still trying to comfort her. The words seemed to stick in my throat, coated with blood and pain. My head throbbed; the slow rhythm of my pulse set the pace for its pounding ache. My ground level view was distorted by the dark haze that this pressure cast over my sight. While two concussions in less than two days was not a record for me, my other assorted hurts assured that this holiday weekend was going to be one of my most productive as far as my personal injury quota went. Each slight movement let me know that on the Mulder torture scale, a torment gage that the fates seem to be keeping on me, this adventure rated a definite 9. I didn't give it a 10 at that point because it was Sunday; the weekend wasn't over. "He brought another one home, Fox." Anna's voice broke as she nodded over to the far wall, showing me where to look in order to see Larry's most recent houseguest. The girl hung limply, bound by the chains. Anna continued to softly sob, her head down; the utter personification of desolate defeat. "Where..." I was finding it difficult to make my swollen lips form the words. I tried again, knowing any chance for escape for the three of us now rested on Anna's small shoulders. "Where's Larry now?" "I guess he's sleeping. He always goes to sleep after he..." Anna stopped, biting her lip with embarrassment. I took this moment's silence to attempt to settle my stomach. Hearing what had gone on while I was unconscious had made me more than a little nauseous. "He locked the door this time." "Shit." It was my turn to blush when my young friend laughed at my hastily uttered expletive, but the word seemed to cover the frustration I felt at hearing this news. I sighed. "How long does he usually sleep...um, after? How long do you think we have?" Our conversation was interrupted by the new arrival's frightened plea. "Mister, can you help me?" We both turned in surprise. I tried in vain to make it to my feet. Even with Anna's help, sitting upright was all I could manage. My head reeled; the biting fire of my splintered ribs burned with each breath. The slightest movement filled my shattered knee with agony and told me I would not be walking without constant protest from that joint. "Anna, go to her," I murmured, nodding toward the now balefully sobbing young newcomer. Theresa's head lifted and a dazed, puzzled frown played across her battered features. "I'm Theresa," she murmured, her brow furrowing even deeper when she noticed I still urged Anna to go to her. "Who's Anna?" I turned to Anna and her tear filled eyes suddenly overflowed. "I'm so sorry, Fox. I knew you wouldn't believe me if I told you over the phone, and when you got here, I, I...you thought I was still alive. I guess I just wanted to still be alive." I was struck mute, dumb with surprise, but the mystery unraveled quickly with Anna's confession. She continued, softly whispering her story, her head bent in shame. "I died close to the end of summer, Fox. Right before it first started getting cold. I guess I just finally starved to death. I knew it was happening. I could tell that this wasn't just sleep because the pain finally stopped. I stopped hurting. My body did, at least. Larry came down that next morning, took one look at me and started cussing. It always got him mad when one of us died. I don't know what he expected, the way he treated us, but each time, it always surprised him when one of us died. I think he doesn't like the guilt he feels after we die. Does that make sense, that Larry feels guilty, but still keeps on doing this?" I wearily shook my head, too tired to try to plumb the twisted depths of this particular madman's psyche. While not actually losing any sleep over the matter, I did ponder this strange, selective remorse for awhile. It wasn't long until I decided that if recognition and admission of our sins is truly the first step toward retribution, Larry Jones needed a bit of help understanding what constitutes the do's and the don'ts in life. He just didn't seem to grasp that his victims’deaths were just the last entry in his long list of depraved transgressions. "Larry pulled me down from the wall, then I watched him take my body and stick it under the steps. When he left, I followed him upstairs. At first he couldn't see me. But I think he felt that I was there. It wasn't until a few nights later that I was able to make him see me." Her laugh was loud and pure as quicksilver. "Fox, he wet his pants. I'm his worst nightmare." My chuckle hurt, but it was unstoppable. "I tried to leave. I told you the truth. After I died, I really did try to leave. I knew he couldn't hurt me so I tried." Her grin had faded, dissolving back into tears. I reached out a hand in comfort, amazed she felt so real, so solid. Anna offered me a sad smile at noting my wonder. "She told me you'd be able to see me. She said that you have more faith than anyone she'd ever met. Faith and heart." I felt a tightness growing in my chest, but I had to ask the question even if her answer proved to be what I feared, "Who told you to call me? Who once knew me, Anna? Who gave you my name?" Anna smiled at the memory of her spirit mentor. "Lucy. She never told me her last name, Fox, but she said you were the only one who could help me. She said you'd helped her." Anna paused, her face screwing up in puzzlement. "Is that your job? Are you some kind of ghostbuster? Lucy never told me how it was you helped her. Do you go around helping ghosts all the time?" My first emotion was relief that my sister was not the spirit connection who had given Anna my name. Within moments though, I was stung by the hard pangs of guilt at thinking about Lucy, knowing I hadn't truly helped the young woman. Do you remember her, Scully? Lucy Householder? Tell me what I did for her, Scully? Except grieve when she died? The tears that came that day in the basement stung, too. "Who you gonna call?" I murmured, choking on the quip. Anna's lip trembled taking in my sorry excuse for a grin. My tears began in earnest when her arms went around me in comfort. Scully, they were warm. Her touch was warm and caring. I buried my face against that small, thin, fully tangible chest and together we cried. Are there tears in heaven? I bet Anna could answer that question now. I do know the dead weep for the living and that love can live forever. December 14, 1999 Almost done, almost to the end. You noticed my mood today. You're tired, though. I can tell you're still suffering the lingering effects of your illness, so thankfully, the questions about my mental well being weren't asked. For once, we're spared playing the 'fine' game. A pre-Christmas miracle, I'm sure. You left early today, a concession to your stuffy head and hacking cough. My own chest is a bit tight, but there's no sign of fever so my lips are sealed. If I still feel any symptoms tomorrow, after I get to Georgetown, I'll mention it. It's probably just because I'm so tired and just getting over that bug. There's no way I'm NOT going to finish this tonight, though. One of the first things I questioned Anna about, once we got our emotions back under control, was what I'd seen that first night. She'd witnessed the same ghostly apparition on several occasions after her death. The only thing she was able to contribute was the knowledge that this "vision" featured her as she had looked shortly before her death. I speculate it is a moment in time, so filled with emotional energy, it somehow caused a chemical reaction in the air, which caused the event to be imprinted on the location. When certain atmospheric conditions are right, it's showtime. I've heard about countless similar occurrences of this type of a seemingly paranormal time loop. It's been likened to the past haunting the present. A part of history that returns to replay over and over again. Most of the sightings of these little spectral videos have been at battlefields, murder scenes and execution sites. What else did I discover about the afterlife during my association with my young spectral friend? Well, by your estimation, I probably won't handle life after death too well because of the lousy phone service. Anna spent half a month learning how to use the telephone. It seems that non-corporeal entities have trouble even touching inanimate objects. To be able to interact with anything that is not living in the "real" world, a spirit's contact must be either totally instinctual, like when they walk across floors, climb stairs, etc. Or they must learn to concentrate, using the force of their will as a tool to make this contact. Passing through solid objects presents much of the same problems, except, of course, in reverse. Either you must learn how to make yourself walk through walls and other such barriers without conscious thought, or you have to learn how to command your essence to fit through the space between the molecules. Understand, Scully? Good, because these little tidbits of knowledge represent the only tools we had working for us when we made our escape. Because both Theresa and I were bound by the solid prison of the physical world, it was up to Anna to free us from these restraints. All she needed to do was to pass through the latched door at the head of the stairs, then unlock the lock, check in on Jones to make sure he was still soundly asleep, grab the keys to the manacles, and bring them down to the basement so we could free the semi-comatose Theresa. Oh, I also wanted her to look around and see if she could spot my gun, if she found the time. We were asking this of a "rookie" spirit who had needed a month of intense training to learn how to dial a phone. Nothing to it, right? Anna’s hands trembled before she left, just thinking about the difficulties she faced in completing her tasks. But she knew we couldn't escape without her help, so setting her mouth in a thin, determined line, she left my side to begin her mission. Passing through the door took several tries. I had struggled over in order to watch and offer her whispered encouragement. She undid the lock leaving the door ajar, then vanished from my sight. I slumped down on the bottom step to listen for any signs of trouble and to start what was to be a long, nerve wracking vigil. It was dark out when I finally heard the whisper-soft sound of Anna's return. Her grin was wide, her face glowing with the joy of her success. The large, many keyed ring was dropped into my hand and with Anna's help I limped over to the back wall and began the task of freeing Theresa. The young girl woke while I was working on the first heavy bracelet. Her eyes widened when she spotted Anna. I know Theresa didn't realize Anna was anything more than I had first assumed her to be. She thought she was looking at another young girl, who had wound up being trapped in this shared nightmare. You're the one who told me about what happened later, aren't you, Scully? That's right. You told me Theresa had to be sedated after my rescue. She just refused to believe there wasn't anyone else left alive in the house on Old Watson Creek but me. December 15, 1999 Anna's brother just left. He came all the way up from Denver to see me. Though he doesn't know it, I guess we have a couple of things in common. He's in law enforcement, too. Denver PD. He had a younger sister, who disappeared one night, without a trace. And he blames himself, for not watching out for her after she'd been left in his care. Officer Trainor drove up to tell me thanks for finding Anna. I didn't know what to say. "Um, you’re welcome. I just wish it had been a lot sooner.” He stood at the foot of my bed. It looked as if he couldn't decide whether to bolt for the door, or to go ahead and tell me all the things he felt obliged to say. The awkward silence that hung between us while he struggled with his decision set my nerves on edge. I finally blurted out the only words that seemed to fit. "I'm sorry." He looked me in the eye and shared with me the one bit of comfort he'd found. "You did help. Knowing is better." That was his good-bye. And he's right, Scully. It's a lot better than never finding the truth. I had to laugh when the two teen aged girls introduced themselves. You would have thought the pair had just met at the mall. Their hushed giggles died, though, when we made it up to the first floor. It took both of them helping for me to hobble up the stairs. I knew I was going to slow them down, but it wouldn't have mattered if Larry Jones had just slept a little longer. I was quietly shutting the front door behind me when our captor cut loose with an ear splitting yell. How he'd gotten his bulk down from the upstairs bedroom without any of us hearing him is beyond me. That's when I made my choice. I shoved Theresa toward the road, yelling for her to run. Then I turned and threw myself at Jones as he burst through the door, wrapping my arms around him in a bear hug. He fought to get away from me, panicking when he spotted Theresa, nude, sprinting with Flo-jo like speed, down the dirt drive. I grabbed his ankles and he fell, face first off the porch. When he stumbled to his feet, I grabbed him again, pulling him with me as I toppled landing hard on my back on the painted wooden porch. He stood over me, his black eyes shooting sparks of anger. Our battle ended quickly. I lost, of course. His next kick was to my ribs. It stole my breath away. That's when I punctured my lung. Frantically gulping for air, I found I was drowning in my own blood. I didn't suffer for long, though. The next time his massive boot came forward it was with a mighty, fully arced punt to the side of my face and head. I was blinded by a bolt of bright light. I heard bones splinter with an explosive crack. Then the world was swallowed up by darkness. I saw Anna one more time after that. I wasn't much more than half-conscious when Larry returned from his vain chase to recapture Theresa. He breathed in harsh, panting, near sobs as hefted me up from the porch and hauled me inside. I was even less aware, after he had tossed me down the basement steps. I landed at the bottom in a limp heap of broken bones and blood. Through the fog, I could hear Larry stomping around on the floor above me, screaming blue oaths and angry threats that told of all the different ways he was going to kill me. I just hoped he remembered where he'd put my gun. I was more than ready for the pain to stop. That's when I felt the light, cool touch of her hand my cheek. The basement was cloaked in darkness, but she shimmered now. She was a luminescent apparition of ectoplasmic energy. She was a spirit. A ghost. "Fox, Theresa made it. She got to the highway and a car stopped for her." "Good," my reply wasn't audible, but she heard me. She smiled. "I can see a light now. I think everything's gonna be fine." Anna softly reassured. "Fine," I whispered, echoing my agreement that all would soon be fine. She sighed, her spirit's breath a soft caress against my flesh when she leaned close to whisper into my ear. She spoke in low, gentle soothing tones, kissed by the sadness of her news. "You’re going to die tonight. He's coming now to kill you, Fox. I'm so sorry." I weakly nodded. I knew, one way or another, it was all finally gonna end. "I think I'm gonna like this part, Fox. You'll see, you'll like it, too." She vanished without a good-bye, disappearing the moment Larry came rushing down the stairs. He'd found where he'd hidden my weapon and he was smiling. December 22, 1999 So, as always, I wind up finishing a report you started. That this precise, detailed, neatly typed, single spaced composition is an unadulterated admission of my heinous invasion of your privacy goes without saying. There goes my sainthood. Sorry to disappoint you. I listened to your message when I got home from my mother's. Though it didn't say a word about where you were heading, I knew instantly it was not a vacation. You claimed you were looking for some answers. I knew you were searching for Zuzu's petals. You're right, our badge does open doors. You'd put the plane tickets on your card. The passenger list confirmed you'd left for Denver, Colorado that morning, renting a car at the airport. With a weary sigh, I maxed out my plastic and followed you to Denver. That's when the real work began. Since your last charged purchase was the gas you got in Cheyenne, I was forced to go back to the basics. For the next two days, I broadened my search in the ever widening circles that is the norm. Calling every hotel, motel and bed and breakfast in what wound up being a 60 mile radius is not how I'd planned on spending my weekend, but I knew I had to find you. Let's just call it "partner's instinct". It's been honed from being "Mrs. Spooky" for so long. I hit the jackpot at 4:30 Sunday afternoon and made it to Chugwater by 5:30. After talking to the people at the motel and grabbing your things that they'd stored thinking you'd abandoned them, I went to talk to the sheriff. I was at the substation when Theresa was brought in by the good Samaritan who'd picked her up. That the child was screaming hysterically about the need to rescue "Fox" was telling. I see your point about being born lucky. Your parents didn't name you John or Dave. I hit the jackpot at 4:30 Sunday afternoon and made it to Chugwater by 5:30. After talking to the people at the motel and grabbing your things that they'd stored thinking you'd abandoned them, I went to talk to the sheriff. I was at the substation when Theresa was brought in by the good Samaritan who'd picked her up. That the child was screaming hysterically about the need to rescue "Fox" was telling. I see your point about being born lucky. Your parents didn't name you John or Dave. It seemed to take forever for the locals to round up the necessary bodies and for us to make it out to the site. It took every bit of strength I had not to blindly rush into that house when we heard the shot fired. Finding Larry Jones dead of a self-inflicted round to the head offered some relief. At least until we discovered how he'd left you. We found the remains of eight young girls under those stairs. All had been abducted from vacation cabins or campsites within the tri-state area of Colorado, Wyoming, and Nebraska. All had been between 12 and 14 years old at the time they'd gone missing. Anna Trainor had been the last to die. Given the basement was both cool and dry her body was not that badly decomposed. She had literally starved to death. You spent 6 days in the ICU. A double digit count of broken bones, including a fractured skull, plus a punctured right lung and lacerations to both your liver and spleen just might help you get that 10 you seem to crave so badly. It's early Christmas Eve morning and you’re asleep, softly snoring in my guest room. I brought you home with me, from your home away from home, GMC. I was not surprised to learn (by illicitly reading this report), that you ignored the warning signs of the medical condition that almost killed you. I was angry, but certainly not surprised. That you would play a mad sort of Russian roulette by hiding chest pains, after suffering a collapsed lung less than a month before, is just another irritating character trait I've almost grown accustomed to. I'm sorry. Mulder, I AM sorry. I hadn't meant this to be a scolding lecture. This is meant to be my way of reassuring you. It's meant to be both comfort and confession. This is my way of telling you my eyes are open and I know this man named Fox Mulder, better than he knows himself. It's time I tell YOU a little story. A Christmas tale. I know you know the tale but like you said the joy comes in the telling. It was our first Christmas as partners. Christmas Eve night you showed up at my door bearing gifts, though we'd decided we'd forego exchanging presents. We were both sure it was best, since we'd also decided that it was best to keep our relationship purely professional. I couldn't say much to you about reneging on this agreement of no gifts, though. I'd bought you one, too. I offered you some eggnog and we began a nice if somewhat awkward visit, both stumbling through strained, non-work related chit-chat. Then you noticed what I was watching. Even then I could read you, and though you tried to cover your discomfort, I could tell my taste in holiday movies was not the same as your own. It's funny, though, how whenever a person finds something upsetting, something they'd just rather not see, their eyes are drawn to it. By the time Jimmy had stumbled to the bridge and was contemplating the plunge, we both were silently engrossed in the post-war classic. Both just sipping our Christmas cheer, getting lost in Capra's heart-string pulling, melodramatic, fairy tale. You were quiet when the tape ended, not moving from where you'd sprawled out in my dad's chair, your long legs stretched before you. I had slipped over to grab the tape when you began talking. Your voice was soft and low; your story was a catharsis. A confession of sorts. You were 12 the first time you'd watched this Christmas classic. It was not a film that instantly endeared itself to young, almost teen boys, but in that long ago pre-cable time, that particular hospital only received three channels in the best of weather. On nights like this particular Christmas eve, there was only one coming in. You watched to pass the time. Even then, waiting was not easy for you. Waiting for your parents to come to claim you for a Christmas pass away from a psychiatric clinic was nothing short of torture. Still, the story captured you and absorbed you. Regret, depression and guilt were hardly strangers to you, why else would you be spending this holiday eve at that place. Your parents wound up not coming until the next morning because of the weather. You fell asleep in the chair, in front of the television. You wound up sleeping in your coat after the night nurse roused you just enough to get you back to your room. You woke before dawn, knowing why you'd not been claimed by your parents and convinced this desertion was just. As you lay there in the dark, you thought about the movie and the message it was meant to tell. Huddling in your bed, trying to warm yourself on this frigid morning, you stuck your hand in your coat pockets. That scene in the film, where George Bailey finds his proof he's returned to his "wonderful life," danced across your mind. That's when you found her mitten. During that long, terrible month you'd just weathered, you had forgotten many things, not the least of which was that small, knitted glove. She'd asked you to hold it for her while she helped you make that first snowman of the winter. You stuck it in your pocket, not even giving the action a second thought. Samantha asked, Fox did. Not always, sometimes you'd balk. You couldn't let her think you were THAT easy. But letting her have her way made you both happy. After 9 years of big brotherhood, you had your role down pat. Even when you griped and let her know what a spoiled rotten, pesky little brat she was, Samantha knew that you were just spouting the lines that your part required. The mitten made the memories come. They made you cry, but they reminded you - you were a good brother to her, Mulder. What would her life have been without her Fox. And she taught you how to love, purely, selflessly. You learned what has made you a 'good' man. I know it hurts to remember, Mulder. But stay with me because this next part is important. It's true, you know all there is to know about guilt and sorrow and loss. These painful emotions molded you, too. They made you who you are today. But, you do what you do, Mulder, because you learned, that each life you touch, each act of kindness, is another petal in your pocket. Something to touch, to remind you of her and all you learned by loving her. This is the real truth, Mulder. I believe you are a hero. You make me feel like one, too. But, you see, you forgot the most important attribute in your definition of a hero. Strength, courage and heart. We look to each other to find courage. Together we are strong. It only stands to reason where my heart lies. You are where I look to find my heart. December 25, 1999 5:30 AM For most of my life, the television was not just a piece of furniture. It was my friend. My faithful companion. Always there for me, awake and alert with the touch of a button. Instantly ready to entertain. Bathed in the comforting glow of its pale, flickering light, I somehow felt less alone. Pitiful, huh? I am a loser. When you get right down to it, Eddie Van Blundht was pretty perceptive. Scully, you have to admit, he certainly was able to see exactly what you felt was missing in our relationship. He knew precisely what to do to remedy the problem. Eddie didn't waste 7 years pouring his heart out on paper, writing down and downloading into zip files, all the things he should have been saying to you. Well, it's a new solar year and I'm pagan enough to feel reborn with the solstice. I'm the new Fox Mulder, improved and ready to work at open communication in my relationships. Go ahead, Scully, read what I've just been pondering on this page. It might be stupid, but it's exactly what I feel at 5:42 a.m. on Christmas morning, 1999. The new Fox Mulder is ready to share everything with you. More than you care to know? I admit, my mind is often a strange and terrifying place. Hell, this is just my conscious mind. The thought of going deeper scares me silly. Why do you think I'm an insomniac? I slept last night. I think I even dreamed. Nice, normal, regular, sane kind of guy dreams. I awoke this morning and the television set is still off. I'm stuck in bed, wide awake as always, but today is different. Today, I'm content. My entertainment - a serenade. At first, I couldn’t quite place the aria that floats out from your steamy shower stall, concert stage. I've never heard it sung in that particular key, with the notes bent in quite that manner, but finally, I recognize the words. "Joy to The World." The carol, not Hoyt Axton. Oh, I think you sang the first verse in Latin. That's probably what threw me. Right? You've got our day planned. After your shower, we're going to sip a little eggnog (sans liquor due to my medication) and curl up together (here in your room) with a couple of my favorite flicks. (My favorites from the collection in my bookcase, not my underwear drawer). If we drift off, no problem. The Christmas dinner with all the trimmings your mother prepared for you and your ailing houseguest is microwaveable and ready whenever we are. Somewhere in there, I think you have opening gifts and watching a certain holiday classic on the agenda. Perfect. I can't think of a better way to spend a Christmas. I have gifts to open, movies to watch, and food to eat. I know now that I *have* you. I even wound up uncovering a pretty amazing truth these last couple of days. You know what I discovered, Scully? It really is a wonderful life. The End Back to Chapter 1 DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" and its characters are owned by FOX and its related entities. All rights reserved. This website, its operators and any content on this site relating to "The X-Files" are not authorized by Fox. No copyright infringement is intended. This site created and maintained by Wasatch Design and Consulting.